Eye on the Ashes

There have been a few legends involved in this game, but only two 'Legends'. The Australian and St George’s flags were escorted onto the field on Day One by local and visiting 'Ashes Legends'. In the baggy green and gold corner, Bill Lawry; from the Anglosphere, Dennis Amiss.

In the latter case, the word ‘legend’ must have been used in its liberal modern interpretation. No disrespect intended to a stout-hearted opening batsman – and one who was kind enough to give me his autograph at Kardinia Park in 1978 – but his main contribution to the Anglo-Australian game was the enrichment of Dennis Lillee’s legend: he made 305 runs in Ashes Tests at 15.25. Surely a greater Ashes Legend was on hand. Derek Pringle doesn’t look very busy at the moment.

Before the day's play, there was a certain amount of press-box debate not merely about Shane Warne's chance of a 700th wicket, but of his chance of a 706th. Warne took six wickets in last year's Super Test. What might happen were that pretty daft and pointless game to have its Test status revoked? It can happen. After all, Wisden gave Alan Jones a Test cap for playing against the Rest of the World in 1970 only to confiscate it later.

Some press box talking points last longer than others: this one seems to have been more or less disposed of by today's events. Unless, of course, it's decided that the entitlement to top level status of Tests against Bangladesh and Zimbabwe should be reviewed. In which case Warne would have rather less to lose than Muttiah Muralitharan: 17 wickets versus 137. But however you count it, 700 is a stupendous quantity of Test wickets. I was at the Melbourne Test just over 30 years ago when Lance Gibbs broke Fred Trueman's record of 307. It seemed like the scaling of Everest. Now we have a new Everest, and Murali's K2.

Both Warne and Murali, of course, are slow bowlers: hard yakka at the best of times. 'Bowling spin can be a lonely business,' Warne observes in his new book. 'A lot of the time you are the only spinner in the team.' That being so, however, where a seam bowler on an overcast day or faced with a lush wicket might have to split the overs three ways, a spinner usually faces little competition for overs when conditions are favourable. So while we'll probably continue fetishising the new ball, it's likely that our major long-distance wicket takers will be those who use the old.

Had a hit today with a few of my Yarras teammates. We'd all been out to see bands the night before. I'd been to see The Models at the Espy, they'd been to see Mick Thomas at the Corner, and had passed a considerably heaver night. Found myself, as a result, in relatively sparkling form. It's all about preparation.

We no longer play cricket in Australia on Christmas Day - except maybe in the backyard in the afternoon, to stave off post-prandial stupor. Oddly, perhaps, given how long Sabbath observance persisted in Australian cricket, we used to. West Indies won a Test at Adelaide Oval on Christmas Day 1951, and the ground also developed a tradition of Queensland v South Australia Sheffield Shield matches at the time. One day, the story goes, a barracker from the hill shouted to Ken Mackay: 'Piss off Slasher. You've been bumming Christmas dinners off us for long enough!' These days, however, Christmas is merely Boxing Day Test Match Eve. So enjoy whatever you're up to and I'll meet you back here in a couple of days.

Most natural disasters are low-key by comparison with the retirement of Shane Warne, but Glenn McGrath’s post-practice press conference to announce the end of a career so splendoured seemed extraordinarily subdued, like the Rolling Stones being reduced for their farewell gig to playing covers in a pub. In his keenly observed account, my colleague Andrew Miller describes it as ‘strangely fitting’, McGrath being a cricketer without affectations or flourishes, and he may well be right. Yet it was also another confirmation of the Warne phenomenon which, like a fire exhausting all the oxygen in the room, somehow manages to leave little over for colleagues – even one as marvellous as McGrath. The humourist Beachcomber (J. B. Morton) famously defined ‘bombshell’ as ‘the omission of a cricketer from a team’. Much of cricket season also overlapping with ‘silly season’ in news and current affairs, Warne's valediction has much the same effect.

It’s not that long since I watched McGrath use the Lord’s slope to rout England in the last Ashes series. An electron microscope could not have submitted the batsmen’s techniques to closer examination. Yet, since that Test, his figures have been 47 wickets at 28.14: respectable, but a falling off from his stellar standards. At times this summer he has genuinely laboured. At Adelaide he was comfortably the least of the Australian bowlers, denouncing the pitch as ‘ridiculous’, even though others made an impact where he did not. There is an argument, moreover, that Stuart Clark might be more effective still with unquestioned custody of the new ball, which he used adeptly in South Africa. Which raises the question: how effective would McGrath be without it?

In all, though, what a wonderful bowler. And, from everything I have observed of him off the field, what a decent man. About seven years ago, Wisden Australia, of which I was then editor, anointed him International Cricketer of the Year, and hosted him at a lunch in Brisbane. Quite prepared to take an altogether unreasonable dislike to him, I found McGrath improbably but naturally modest, and extremely perceptive about cricket in general, rather than simply about 'putting it in the right areas' and 'bowling in the corridor'. Funny, too: even now, nobody gives a more drolly self-deprecating press conference.

Oddly, perhaps, I’d also like to salute his batting. The sight of McGrath with a bat used to be as incongruous as an obese smoker in lycra: the impedimenta just seemed completely superfluous. But he worked his way to being a capable tailender – probably as good a number 11 as any in the world - and that old reputation became a subtle advantage. If McGrath kept a fielding team waiting even a few overs for his wicket, you could sense the irritation and frustration intensifying. ‘Can’t get McGrath out? Wassamatter with ya?’ In last year’s Boxing Day Test, he drove South Africa to distraction, keeping Michael Hussey company from 50 to a brilliant 100. Having started his career as Australia’s batting postscript, he became the sting in its tail.

I seem to have been talking about Shane Warne all day, to people who know lots about cricket, and many who don’t, because he was the cricketer of whom everyone had heard, and on whom everyone held an opinion. My mum had a view on Warne. The girl at the post office and the guy at the servo, who know I’m into cricket, wanted to talk about him. I didn’t get to the presser because I had to field talkback calls about him on the ABC: it is fair to say that there was a wide range of very emphatic views.

It was said of Augustus that he found Rome brick and left it marble: the same is true of Warne and spin bowling. But just because Warne has done it with such apparent ease, noone should underestimate the degree of difficulty involved. Have you tried to bowl a leg-break? I’ve been playing club cricket since I was nine, and I would give anything to be able to bowl a proper one, but they either hurtle into the ground or fly off into outer space like a malfunctioning satellite. Yet Warne can drop them as precisely as a dragon fly alighting on a lily pad.

Cricinfo is reporting that former Test stars are ‘shocked’ by Channel Nine’s foretelling of Shane Warne’s retirement. They believe that he could go on for yonks – and in that they’re probably right. But that’s not the point. Desire in this case, I suspect, is more significant than ability. He’s not the messiah, of course – just a very naughty boy. Yet on the half-dozen or so occasions I’ve interviewed him, Warne has spoken about his family with unfeigned sincerity. At the risk of emulating E. W. Swanton’s habit of quoting himself, these are some lines I wrote about Warne for the Guardian back in October:

‘The imponderable in Warne’s considerations is his personal future, now delicately poised, with he and Simone maintaining a loose orbit round one another and their children, but passionately protective of their privacy. Warne was incensed when a female television journalist accosted him after his dismissal at the WACA Ground to voice rumours they had reconciled: a brave move without a helmet. A more ‘up close and personal’ cricket coverage has been mooted for this summer’s Ashes, with the revival of the old boundary-edge interview. Warne may be tempted to issue press releases instead.

‘What keeps Warne going? This summer, it’s probable he will pass 1000 international wickets: he has 978, composed of 685 from 140 Tests and 293 from 194 limited-overs games. But his great rival for bowling’s blue riband, Muttiah Muralitharan, already has 1082, and with his edge in years will probably leave Warne’s records in his wake in due course. The Australian captaincy, too, is now, almost certainly, permanently out of reach.

‘The Ashes, then, looms disproportionately large in Warne’s plans – for, after that, even he probably does not know. Cricket has been a faithful recourse for Warne; when all else has gone pear-shaped, the game has always been there for him. But Warne, who grew up in the bosom of a loving home and family, might well be prepared to make sacrifices for one of his own. Perhaps, in due course, Warne will have a shock for us that is genuine and meaningful.’

Sixteen years to win them back. Fifteen days to lose them. That’s one press box formulation I’ve already heard for England’s Ashes defeat. In fact, it doesn’t do the Australian effort justice. This campaign to recapture the Ashes has genuinely been 462 days in the making. It’s been fascinating to watch the systematic nature of the Australian preparation for this series – not least because of its contrast with England’s ‘it’ll-be-all-right-on-the-night’ thinking.

I remember the first inkling I had of it. In England last year, I had been taken aback by how casual the Aussies’ net sessions seemed to be. Then, during the ICC Super Series one-dayers at Docklands, the Australians began coming out during the intervals and doing seriously sharp fielding routines, severely showing up the Fred Karno’s Army of the World XI. I’ve felt that note of intent and intensity in their cricket since. Having not seen England between times, I’ve been taken aback by the slippage in their standards. As in 2005, the trophy was won by the team that wanted it more, and that planned, selected and executed accordingly. No real cricket fan can be other than satisfied with that.

I’ve written about the contrast in preparation for tomorrow’s Guardian, so I won’t say more here. Having been toasted on the front and frozen on the back for five days, furthermore, I’ve buggered my neck and need some physio, so I’ll save further musings for after the three-hour flight to Melbourne - which I’m now really looking forward to! As I write this, Michael Hussey is in the middle of the ground sharing beers and posing for photos with the WACA support staff. Nice bloke. Feel free to lavish praise on him and others.

When you’ve as many Test wickets as Shane Warne, I suppose you can afford to be philosophical. But if ever a bowler deserved more for his dedication, it was Warne yesterday, who ended the day with 1 for 100 for 31 fierce, feisty and fun overs.

Great as he is on days like the last at Adelaide, where his self-belief fuels an entire XI, I somehow relish him more in situations like this, where he shows the depth of his character, competitiveness, obstinacy and optimism. I’ve tried to convey some of those depths in a couple of pieces for the Guardian today, although I so enjoy watching Warne bowl that it’s almost a shame to spoil it by writing: it’s like explaining a magic trick.

Some commenters this morning have responded with doubt and asperity to my remark that Adam Gilchrist 'may not be the greatest wicketkeeper batsman in history'. It was mainly a rhetorical construction, but it brought us back to the never ending debate about how well a keeper should be expected to bat: it's no longer, I agree, a question of whether a keeper should be able to bat at all. The answer, I think, will always depend on the team: an XI with two spinners and a solid all-rounder at number seven, for instance, will place a greater accent on glovework than an XI with four fast bowlers and no all-rounder.

For the record, I think Alan Knott is the greatest wicketkeeper batsman in history. I do, however, think that Gilchrist is the greatest batsman wicketkeeper, and that it's a shame he never had the opportunity to bat at number six for an extended period. I am also persuaded that, at his best, Don Tallon was the greatest keeper - Sir Donald Bradman is not a bad advocate to have in your corner. Who you picked would depend on your team. Any other candidates?

As for the Strauss lbw, I don't think it's material to say that it 'looked out' on TV. The effect of the elevated view of the TV cameras, which inevitably distorts height, is most pronounced where lbw is concerned. It is a truth universally acknowledged that this Perth pitch is a bouncy one: any umpire, therefore, should have at the back of his mind that balls short of a length, unless they very obviously stay down, will tend to pass over the stumps more often than not. Aleem Dar did, quite rightly, when he gave Hayden not out yesterday on 65 (he gave a poor decision against Katich at Trent Bridge last year, which may have made him more circumspect). Koertzen did not (if he thinks about much, he hides it well). And this was not even close: the ball hit above the knee roll, and was shown to be passing over the stumps by a foot and a half. To be fair, it can sometimes be difficult to pick up the height of an impact on a white-clad batsman. My own view is that umpires should more often consult with their square leg colleagues, generally better placed to give altitude guidance. But that may be easier said than done. I'd welcome comments from umpire readers.

On a day of centuries, the first and one of the more important was registered by the thermometer. The temperature was 38 celsius (100.4) at noon; 39.5 (103.1) at lunch, Hussey having just miscued a pull shot at Harmison over the head of slip for four. Had anyone requested a fried egg at the interval, the top of Harmison’s head would have come in handy.

The sun blazed. The ground seemed to shimmer. Breathing was like inhaling the backdraft of a jet engine. Spectators on the WACA’s grassed areas could be observed fanning themselves with their ‘Tonked’ placards – equivalent of the npower ‘4’ and ‘6’ boards. It is a wonder that keen-eyed sponsors did not equip the players with their own.

Australia, meanwhile, showed all the application that had eluded them, and then England, on the first two days of the match. Michael Hussey and Michael Clarke added 151 at five an over without attempting anything extravagant. England toiled – how they toiled! Yet this was staving off of the inevitable. At times, the play resembled the middle overs of a one-day match; then, in the last hour, it swung violently towards Twenty20 territory.

That was when Adam Gilchrist got going. Perhaps he is not the greatest wicketkeeper batsman in history - but surely no player in history has been better suited to the task of batting when his team is 400 ahead, it is 100 in the shade, and a 70m leg-side boundary beckons with a brisk wind to hit with. This was hitting of the highest quality and orthodoxy: there was nothing ugly, lusty or even particularly violent about it.