Such was the frenzy that was Englandā€™s successful run chase at the MCG on Saturday that at one point, Ben Duckett played an orthodox forward defence and was greeted with the sort of roar a crowd usually reserves for a rasping straight drive or a soaring hook. The erstwhile rule had become the exception.
Duckett ramped poor old Michael Neser for six (ramped! You can see the gameā€™s veteran wincing at the very word). Zak Crawley straight drove the same bowler for a different six. Jacob Bethell played a scoop to the first ball after the tea break and got away with it. Between times, Brydon Carse had come and gone as a kind of guerilla at No.3 and literally was running as he went. Heā€™d made six. Meantime, Usman Khawaja signed autographs at third man.
None of these are bad things in themselves, but collectively they beg the question: what was that? Almost nothing about the Boxing Day Test computed. Not the pitch, not the way both teams played on it, not the rush to the finish, not the outcome, another exception to the general rule. Nothing fitted into any known Test cricket algorithm. It was Christmas cricket, novelty by the sleigh-ful, ho, ho, ho.
How to process this? Instinctively, the temptation is simply to call this Test maverick, a mulligan for Australia, a get out of jail free card for England, a wildcard all round. It might even be granted its own category in the records. Good performances can stand, for who would deny Bethell and his suave first impression, or Josh Tongue his valour, or several others on both sides who toiled at what was vaguely recognisable as Test cricket.
But the failures should be allowed to have their contributions expunged. At least four Australians would jump at a free pass. England can keep their win; theyā€™re rare enough in this country, deserved by their long-suffering fans, not to be confused with insufferable. Australia can write off their loss, less so some of the, well, England-ish cricket that led to it. This was one for the sealed section.
Travis Head, leading runscorer in the series, signs autographs on what should have been day three of the Boxing Day Test. Credit: Getty Images/Cricket Australia
A rare combination of rogue pitch and dead rubber meant that by the fourth innings nothing could be lost that was not already lost or gravely imperilled, and that includes the dignity of the game itself. It made for cricket almost entirely without consequence, the essence of Bazball. Itā€™s a rare circumstance for Test cricket.
The alibi is obvious enough. In Perth, the batting was culpable. Here, the pitch largely to blame. Feel for curator Matt Page; he got caught between a meteorological rock and a hard place. I canā€™t remember so many playing and missing, and by so much. No one made even a half-century.
But this wasnā€™t the first bad pitch in history, or the worst. For more than a century, until recently, batsmen were expected to tough it out on such a bed of nails, wearing them and winning them, counting the bruises as they went. Perhaps it was only ever out of some old, militaristic expectation of duty, to stand in the line of fire, a death before dishonour thing.
