Padded up

Obviously I had no thoughts about the 3rd Test. Or the 4th Test. Or did I? Possible scenarios :

• No thoughts about the Tests
• So absorbed in Tests that distance of reflection impossible
• Thoughts about Tests, but too absorbed in life to put them down

Maybe a bit of all three. David Warner’s century was certainly fun, and I recommend watching David Warner bat with menfolk around, preferably with a couple of them under 15. But otherwise it was all a bit of a fizzer, non? All the runs, yes, but how many runs does one batsman really need?

People will remember the runs, but I give you some other things that have left their mark on the 2011-2012 test cricket season:

The Bupa ads.

You have to dislike an ad that is coy about what it is advertising, but the real source of irritation in the "What would you do if you met the healthier version of yourself?" scenarios for me is their emotional palette. Where is less-healthy You’s suspicion and resentment? Where is healthier You’s pity and disgust ? And if science fiction has taught me anything, it is that any story that begins with you meeting another version of yourself, ends in a frantic fight to the death. Perhaps we could have a follow-up series: young woman selves suddenly leap at each other’s throats over the cafe table, older woman selves suddenly start chasing each other around the park, middle-aged man selves suddenly stab each other in the gut.

The drinks-break Gatorade bottles

These have morphed from one enormous comic phallus wheeled out onto the ground, to two smaller ones strapped to the backs of guys on segues, both remaining however within the realm of an early Woody Allen sex comedy. I look forward to the day they jump a genre and we see the drinks carriers arrive via Gatorade-bottle-shaped Thunderball jetpacks.

This year’s KFC

Still in the realm of hospitality, there’s the 12th man who carries the drinks, and then there’s the 13th and 14th men, Mitchell Johnson and Cameron White, who have the hidden but crucial task of sitting in the dressing room Fresh Testing chicken sandwiches for the rest of the team.

PS

I woke up in the middle of the night with a crucial codicil to the last post about Michael Clarke. You can’t separate the good looks from the marketability. When the Australian public looks at Michael Clarke, they see the face that launches a thousand products, but this only because when a marketer looks at Michael Clarke, they see a model. If Clarke seems especially promiscuous from a commercial point of view, it is only because he is the captain who can be let loose on an unsuspecting television audience during normal programming time and ratings periods. They don’t show those Steve Waugh Johnnie Walker ads outside of cricket matches, you know. And the "face" of Swisse during prime time is Sonia Kruger, not Ricky Ponting. For all we know, Steve Waugh was desperate to hock himself on the market, but what product would you stand him next to and make it look better?

Border-Gavaskar Trophy, Test 2

The SCG

My first visit to the SCG was when my Uncle David took me (and maybe my Dad?) to watch some cricket there some time in the mid-1980s. Based on how many people were at the ground, we were probably watching part of a Sheffield Shield match. We were somewhere near the Hill, but not on the Hill, because my overhwhelming memory of that afternoon is of the turquoise plastic seats which, combined with the heat, made me sweat through my thin home-made grey cotton “Buffalo Girl” skirt to the point where I was sure it looked like I’d wet myself.

In my imagination a couple of young guys behind us made a derisive comment about it when I stood up. I don’t know whether they did or whether I was so feverishly self-conscious and afraid they would that I hallucinated it. Once I’d registered the problem I was wholly absorbed in worrying about it, trying to minimise it by perching on the edge of the seat and working out how I could gauge its extent without exposing myself to further ridicule. Ah, sweet 16. It wasn’t a great afternoon. The cricket seemed physically far away and I had no idea what was going on.

The next visit was this time in 2000, when the cricket seemed close and the ground was like a secret garden. That particular low angle across the ground was highlighted during this year’s test by the tribulations of Joe the Cameraman on his segue.

Michael Clarke

Kerry has been going on and on and on and on and on and on all summer and for some time previous that the Australian public has been very unfair in its treatment of Michael Clarke and would get its comeuppance. He reckoned this test was that time of reckoning, but I don’t know. I don’t know that runs were ever the problem and I’m not sure than runs overcome the problem. I think the Australian public demands a certain admixture of mongrel in its cricket captains and Michael Clarke is too well-behaved and, when it comes down to it, too good-looking for people to really warm to him.

Too good looking: hardly his fault, of course, and better and worse Australian cricketers have suffered before him on this count. (I’ve always suspected Michael Bevan was unfairly overlooked because of an excess of prettiness. Head to head with Steve Waugh in a number of epic batting partnerships, he could never win against the Gristle King.) The last pretty blond captain was Kim Hughes, enough said.

Too well-behaved: When Clarke started, he really did have puppy-like appeal, all bright and bounding and energetic. But instead of developing some of the more rascally, poo-in-the-slipper aspects of puppydom – he would have been well served by a Bourbon & Beefsteak-style incident during this period – he channelled all that enthusiasm into becoming the very straightest-backed, teacher-pleasing boy in class. The shiniest shoes, the first hand up. Being a swot is not a good strategy for winning hearts and minds, especially if winning hearts and minds is what you appear to be swotting up on. Did you hear the pointed references after the Sydney win to looking forward to spending a long night in the sheds enjoying a few coldies?

It’s a hard line to walk, being a good member of a team, a good employee of Cricket Australia, and a convincing man of the people. And beyond the stylistic issues there are the more substantial ones of dissing Andrew Symonds and dumping Simon Katich - obviously bigger problems for me than any “bros before hos” line of attack. I don’t know whether those problems can be solved, but I'm pretty sure runs won't do it.

Border-Gavaskar Trophy, 1st Test

I've learned from this Test that I have a bit of a tin eye for fine batting. I have no beef with Tendulkar and I enjoy the sense of occasion that swells around him, but once he'd settled in on Day 2 I was happy to make other plans and leave him to it. It’s like the incredible economy of effort and sense of ease is so effective that I can no longer see that anything is happening at all. As a technical dunce with zero experience I need things spelled out in big bold characters and only really respond to a vigorous spanking. A little more action, a little less sublimation, you get the idea.

At first I thought this was the opposite to my taste in bowlers. I used to say that Warnie fascinated me as a debutant because his wickets were like supernatural conjuring acts compared to the relatively transparent mechanics of fast bowling. But who am I kidding? As true as it is that Warnie is a tactical magician with all the freakish proficiency of a Tendulkar with the ball, I probably wouldn’t have paid attention if he hadn’t also played up the part of the big, bold character of the magician and put on the whole stage show.

Thing I

I have been following Ishant Sharma on Twitter purely on the back of this charming description of himself as “foodie, tidy and happy-go-lucky”, but I’m finding him just as charming as a visitor. So long and bendy and likeable, smiling sheepishly whether he’s been bouncing or been bounced.

Thing II

Harsha introduced Geoff Lawson twice on Day 1 as “Henry Lawson”. It made me wonder if he thought that was in fact his name, but it could have been some extra-dryness on Harsha’s part. I know “Henry Lawson” is the hidden stepping stone between “Geoff Lawson” and “Henry”, but it stays hidden, right? It’s either “Geoff Lawson” or “Henry”, right? Not “Henry Lawson”. I’ll give Harsha the benefit of the doubt. He seemed sad when he first came on and I thought he might have been missing P. Roebuck.

Thing III: James Pattinson, man of the thatch

When Warnie was first selected for the Australian team, he wore a fragrant beached mullet and only started to take wickets when he culled the party out back.

Twenty years later, young Australian bowlers have learned from their forebears and tame the mane prior to selection, but cannot escape the long arm of the search engine. I give you James Pattinson, c. 2008-2009:

*

 

* See here.

Sous le pitch, la plage

Well, there are mystery spinners, mercurial fast bowlers and batsmen maudits. Philip Hughes. Gosh, we talked about inner turmoil last summer, and when Hughes and Warner were batting it was a black hole down one end and a wide sandy expanse up the other. It was painful when Hughes got out, but it’s just stressful to watch him play. That kind of hell paved with good intentions is too close to home. It’s not the enthralling kind of stressful of watching Nathan Lyons on strike when Australia are 9 down and need 30 to win. Dave Warner again at the non-striker’s end, a picture of phlegm, casually leaning on his bat, filing his nails. Then he’d come on strike and everyone would run away, I don’t think I’ve seen a batsman left alone with the bowler and wicketkeeper like that before.

Warner Cricket Love: Warner pats his seniors. He did it to Ponting twice during a drinks break in their batting spell and to Haddin when he came out to the crease, little taps on the arm or back. I think you’d have to have a pretty special personality to get away with that. He also gave Haddin a lovely high hug around the neck when he made 100.

For a while it seemed like Warner would never live down/live up to that 29-run over, but it probably bothered the rest of us more than it bothered him, the man doesn’t seem to have an “inner”. He reminds me of the other Warner in some ways – certainly in his bowling action and there’s something in his post-match interview style as well, but maybe they just share a rhinoceros hide. (Nb. Poor old Warnie’s hide, the toasted cheese sandwich finally rose up against him.)

Dancing boys

Well I wasn't wrong about New Zealand bringing their traditional dash. Holy moley they punch above their weight in impossible good looks and general Uprightness. Daniel Vettori is old news to me, but I'd overlooked Brendon McCullum. Dean Brownlie! Doug "Bounce Me and I'll Flash my Dimples at You" Bracewell! And I don't mind a man who comes back for seconds, thank you very much Mr Easy Ryder. I'm glad they've nevertheless kept a spot open for a "Goofy-Looking Guy called Chris".

My friend Rachel and I used to amuse ourselves casting members of the New Zealand cricket team in 19th-century novels. Chris "Darcy" Cairns. Daniel "Slightly Diffident but is it Because he has a Sad Secret?" Vettori. Adam "Natural Son by Creole Temptress" Parore.

A couple of things.

Day 1: Hilarious first over. All that sawdust. More cowbells!
Day 2: When Vettori reached 96, I wrote a note: "out on 99?". Close. Somewhere Shane Warne whispered one of his spells into the winds and made it happen.

And then somehow or other at the end of the first day I found myself with a ticket to Hobart next weekend. It happened in a bit of a flurry but there it is, I'll be touching down early morning of Day 3. Bellerive's the only major cricket ground in Australia I haven't visited, and maybe Ricky will do something.

Obviously I am "Intrepid Maiden Lady Traveller" from an early 20th-century novel. Bring me my Baedeker!