At the end it was easy to forget that the pitch had been rubbish and the match uneven. It seemed we were chasing a great victory, not merely trying to get as many runs in two innings as the Australians had in one. But it was as compulsive a listening experience as I have ever had. Here in expat-land it can’t be got on a transistor radio and I suddenly found I was stranded with the gin, twenty-two yards from the tonic, and I had to scramble a Collingwood-like two to get back in time.
This was test cricket at its best, in terms of entertainment rather than cricket. It is a failing of cricket lovers to believe that all the great stuff was in the past, but truly there was no greatness on the pitch, except for Ponting, and occasionally Flintoff, who puts so much sinew-straining torque into each delivery you fear he cannot be far from the knackers’ yard. We desperately need a bowler with the easy rhythm of Courtney Walsh.
This, then, was a game not of exceptionals but of exceptions: well done Cardiff, except for the awful pitch; well done England, except it was only just a draw; well done Test Cricket, save for the sight of England sending on the 12th man and the physio unrequested in order to waste time: better to lose the match than to cheat.
Oh – and well done Test Match Special which will have gained another couple of years’ reprieve from the eager axers of the BBC.
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