But if I didn't have little faith I would never have discovered the phrase "petty fidianism"

“The Real Mitchell Johnson”, if that is his real name, accused me in the comments yesterday of petty fidianism and look, I admit it. When Michael Slater quoted Latin sage Bon Jovi (“Good cheer”) before the start of this match – “you gotta keep the faith” – I was tempted to paraphrase Monty Python – “what are they gonna do, bleed on them?”

But why wouldn't I have little faith? There’s only so many times you can hear “It’ll be different this time, I can change”, only to come back in from putting the washing on the line to find the Australian team again blotto on the kitchen floor.

Even now, you would have thought a truly joyful bowling effort and a juicy first innings lead would ease the collywobbles in the Australian top order, but... what is it? but... but oh? BUT NO. Lord help me I am even developing feelings of thankfulness – real and not just grudging ones – for Shane “The Wodge” Watson.

But let's speak of other things:

Terry Alderman: welcome back Terry Alderman, your relentless indignation is like an old friend. He managed to maintain a rant about short deliveries and their uselessness in getting wickets right up to, through and out the other side of Peter Siddle getting a wicket with one. That’s top-shelf crabbiness. He followed it up with a good spray at the old chestnut of Drinks Breaks.

The KP sleaze bomb:
Here’s a curious thing. They did a little ring-side interview with Mitchell Johnson on Channel 9 toward the end of the day yesterday, and they asked him whether any of the wickets were particularly special. He said they all were, of course, but that he supposed Pietersen’s wicket gave him special pleasure because KP had been repeatedly asking him for his phone number and saying he wanted to be friends. I suppose this is a new form of sledging? I would give anything though that it weren’t and that Johnson was simply declaring his revulsion at the overture.

Because there are in fact suggestions afoot that Kevin Pietersen is waging a terrifying campaign of sleaze in the antipodes. The speeding in the yellow Lambourghini of course, and then in the last session yesterday he actually draped his arm around an umpire and it looked like Strauss came up to detach KP’s hand from the umpire’s shoulder. Dude, stop touching the umpire. It must be quite a stress on the whole team to keep KP’s sleaze fallout to a minimum radius.

Windies Test 3

I’ve been a bit off my cricket. It’s not a good sign when you miss the first day of a Test because you just hadn’t realised it had started, which is what I did with this last one. I might not have enjoyed seeing Simon Katich hole out on 99, but I could have been there and explained that Warnie did just the same thing. And even if I am a bowler’s girl, it was very poor form only half-watching Chris Gayle’s century because I was making dinner. For myself.

It picked up the last couple of days or so. So, things.

Grandstand commentators

I’ve got a certain amount of time for Justin Langer—he’s a famous cuddler—but I start to steal glances at my watch when he goes all shiny-eyed happy-clappy, which is a lot. Every ball, every state of play: an occasion to see the sunrise and live the dream, and if there’s space to fill there’s plenty of pride and joy in wearing the Baggy Green to go around.

It doesn’t stop at the boundary. Post-retirement, behold the terrifying Justin Langer “Power of One” World Tour of Duty, Passion and Self-Belief: getting his black belt, doing a marathon, the Kokoda Trail (here I muttered “Antarctica, surely” under my breath, and, close…), the North Pole. All the chestnuts of the cross.

Balance is of course offered by Terry “Backseat Driver” Alderman, whose default attitude to Australian goings-on on the field is disbelief mingled with disgust. It’s a bit like being at a school assembly where an interminable special guest address is succeeded by a lengthy harangue from the irritable deputy principal.

Unlikely lookalike #342

And speaking of poles and opposites, is it ridiculous to suggest that Doug Bollinger is the sunny half of a pair whose dark pole would be… Dwight Schrute?

Doug being the blond to Dwight’s brunette; the bogan to Dwight’s bumpkin-geek; upbeat, energetic and straightforward where Dwight is sneering and Machiavellian? But both strongly resembling root vegetables. Dougie Bollinger: another brutti ma buoni bowler from the Sunshine State. Do they export all the pretty ones to WA?

Swotto

Shane Watson, after all, “has the face of a dickhead”, according to my flatmate, although I admit this association could have been set up by me saying “dickhead” whenever Shane Watson’s face appeared on screen.