As I sat watching the cricket at the Dick Whittington Tavern, I chanced to notice on the next tv screen along a big puffy mastercard zeppelin floating over the golf.

despite martyn depriving us of the joy of a third consecutive century, and gillespie depriving us of any sort of fight from the indian batting, it all ended happily. the indian tail got to have a bunch of fun belting warnie for sixers and mutter-man mcgrath for 4s, everyone was smiling (except maybe warne) and gilchrist thought it was all hilarious, he had little to worry about, except maybe getting his cap cleaned. its in a right state. i think the australians are having a grottiest hat comp & i blame steven waugh – if there were any pictures of warne’s hat id link to them in a flash but i think they may have all been banned by the censors due to extreme obscenity. when australia finally got that 10th wicket great joy was abundant. gilchrist wept throughout his post match interview as he thought of tugga back home. it was wonderful but now the sadness is setting back in. when gilchrist was asked what he was thinking about mumbai (upcoming 4th test) he said “mumbai. who gives a floating frik about mumbai.”

Simon Katich – “He is the son of a policeman, an amateur poet and, according to his captain, ‘the glue that holds the middle order together’.”

The banners in the Indian crowds are makeshift – texta on cardboard. They pen them as the game moves on to respond to the state of play. These cards make up a sort of haphazard ball by ball commentary, full of the game’s pathos and wisdom.

GILLISPIE FREE
HAIRCUT HERE
IN NAGPUR

Is Parthiv Patel
plays for Aussies?

(This one made me sad. The poor little guy gets a lecture from Dravid at first slip every time he misses a chance – as if he isn’t heartbroken enough)

not quite sure what articulation of pleading this next one expressed – somewhere around desperate pleading hope or resigned frustrated pleading:

KUMBLE
DO
SOMETHING

& there were many variations on this theme:

RAIN GOD
PLEASE

Not only did Katich’s innings ruin nearly all hope of the fightback, it also ended that elusive single too soon and thus denied the world the joy of the century. It was an innings that should have gone on forever. Katich’s feet were weapons, terryfying in their frenzied attacks on the pitch and line and entire being of every delivery. His feet pierce Kumble’s shape and leave his heart drained. They are missiles of frenzied anger yet the frenzy is so controlled and precise. Katich could almost do away with the bat altogether and just let his feet do the strokin. The voracious desire that fills his spikes is somehow restrained and rigorously directed to the boundary. Langer got himself caught up in Katich’s feeding frenzy and found himself madly frothing at the chops for Murali Kartik, he charged down the wicket and swung with nothing but insanity the ball travelled once around the globe and landed in the safe hands of VVS on the midwicket boundary. An opening batsman, having made a careful and dogged 30, loses himself in the fever of his surrounds- there is no controlling his ambition or appetite, he is doomed. A great test match moment.

Lehmann’s going to extraordinary lengths to be able to step aside for Clarkey – just when he starts really performing with the bat he tears a hamstring. He may never play another test match. I’ll miss his aberrant beauty and his experimentations with the crease. ] —— [

of course India could launch a comeback, and if they do it will be frighteningly incredible cricket, it will be up there with Kolkata 2001. But if they don’t the series could be over, the final test a dead rubber. Australia are playing awesome cricket and of course I want them to win the series – I’m not cool enough to get past that instinct – but I want them to win it in a thriller in the final test. Bring on the mega-fightback or bring on the rain.

McGrath 25 13 27 3
Gillespie 22.5 8 56 5

Last night late in the day a beautiful thing happened to the test match. With about 8 overs to go it practically stopped. All pressure left the series and the game expanded became fluffy and airy and drifted off for the rest of the day. If there’d been some pirates around with a bladder to stretch around the game it could have become a zeppelin. The game had become gas – lighter than air. India stopped trying to get Clarke out, the field spread to the boundary, everything yawned, Clarke picked off singles. Tendulkar came on to bowl long hops to Gillespie who was turning into pumice (after intense pressure molten rock flung into the lightness of the atmosphere – is that how pumice works?) or fairy floss. In a state of absolute relaxation Clarke edged a chance between the keeper and first slip for 4. It is not clear whether the ball went by because the gap between Patel & Dravid had yawned and spread with the rest of the field, or whether the ball actually passed through Patel who was struggling, like many of the other players, to prevent his organs from dispersing. He was disbanding, his physical presence was developing holes large enough for cricket balls.

This may have been a tactic by India to prevent the build up of pressure that created the wild atmospheric conditions that eventually brought the rain to Chennai. Today the weather will be fine, the only cloud will be the cricket – though its primed to get heavy again man.

here’s a lovely poetic tribute to 100 test McGrath by Trevor Marshallsea from the Sydney Morning Herald.

Dreaming line & length

Such are the
dreams of the
everyday
paceman. Or
rather, one who
has taken an
everyday
approach – line
and length and
more line and
length – and used
it extraordinarily
to wear down
446 Test
batsmen.
McGrath thinks
the dreams are
an extension of
positive thinking,
a sort of
visualisation
overtime.

Peter Roebuck has also written one