Speaking of run-ups it seems opportune to mention Kasprowicz. He is a master of the short run. I don’t say any of this to suggest Shoaib should shorten, only to say that each bowler finds the run that suits them the most. If anything I think Shoaib should lengthen his run, hurdle the fence even. I just need to point out that Kasprowicz is a bowler who has attained absolute perfection in his run-up. It is short and explosive, he accelerates rapidly and keeps accelerating until he reaches the delivery stride, at which point there is nothing else his body can do, nowhere else for the acceleration to go, except to enter the delivery stride. It is a perfect physical logic. The whole thing lasts a second or two and its just this pureness of delivery from the start of the run to the ball meeting the batsman. His perfect run and stride is absorbed into the ball and it continues the stream and the acceleration, and it continues to leap about appropriately. There is never anything else that could possibly be happening when Kasprowicz bowls than Kasprowicz bowling – cricket and its strange actions becomes suddenly inevitable and absolutely necessary, there is no hint that this creature could exist for any other reason or to attend to any other task. A fittingness that Shoaib could find by lengthening his run.

There’s not too much that can be said about Pakistan’s capitulation in the second test. It was predictable. It’s also predictable that Shoaib will cop all the blame, being one of the few members of the side to have a reputation. Of course it’s stupid to cast blame at any time but when there’s a coach & captain of a cricket side telling their viper pace star to shorten his run up so he doesn’t get tired for the next test then there’s some pretty high level stupidity going on there. Shoaib’s run up is everything to him, of course he will react badly to having the team’s highest authorities tell him to cut it down – I’m suprised he even bothered to come on to the field for the final day. A protest would have highlighted where the lack of ticker really lies.

The day began with more sitting shivering and huddled. I was dreaming of an MCG fitted with urns of green tea or of having thought to bring a flask of hot go go go go go milo (if only my flat had some of the advertising that is everywhere at the G I might have thought of it). The contest this morning was between the ground staff administering to the covers and the intermittent showers. The showers were executing their drops with a precision of timing that, though undoubtedly prodigious, quickly became very annoying. The groundsmen would just get the covers off and folded and onto the tractor, the stumps would be driven in and the umpires would be waiting on the boundary to come onto the ground and get play underway, when the next shower would start to fall. The groundsmen would wrestle the covers back into position again, the wind fighting them hard all the way – the big white plastic sheet would take to the air like a big kite and then collapse on itself in a frenzy of uncoordinated folding that the groundsmen would have to try and smooth out once more. Just when everything was in place the rain would cease and the sun would shine. This just went on and on, off and off, it was like some sort of binary message. Kind of exciting too.

The thing about cricket is that it will always reward (though no reward is necessary for cricket has given me so much already) one for one’s generous dedication to it. My reward came in today, big time. A Martyn century, a Dizzy-Marto partnership, a Dizzy 50. It couldn’t have been better, except it was. Shoaib finished with 5 wkts.

& at tea time Boonie was there for the start of his charity walk to Hobart, they showed highlights of his career on the big screen.

Freak it was cold. An icy wind blew through the stands, and the rain had the play stopping and starting, sessions extending and being shortened. It was hard to get into the groove of watching. The crowd shrunk, contracting in the cold. By the end of the day there were only brave and drunk souls left and they haunted the stands with wild lonely howls as the wind blew the litter from under the seats and sent it throughout the tiers.

The agony of the cold and the despair in the atmopshere was all worth bearing for one over sent down by Shoaib to Langer. The combat and all its serious melodrama was like pure heat. At one point mild-mannered little Justin had both umpires closing in on him at once, coming in quite close and telling him to cool it. Unfortunately the over came to an end and at that point the rain fell again and an early tea was taken, ending the Langer-Shoaib form that was building so impressively. As the teams walked off Langer ran past Shoaib and brushed shoulders with him, digging an elbow into his side, the two looked at each other and laughed. Boys playin around. It was all so great. It was all so deadly serious but at the same time it was just a bit of a (hot)comedy for the crowd.

It was also kind of nice to just sit there at times when the covers were on and watch the rain fill the oval, observing the grass bend under the weight of the hail stones that sat upon it.

The real highlight of the day though, was endless pots of hot jasmine tea and a steaming laksa noodle soup from New Wind after the game.

There’s so much great about being in the stadium to watch a test match. I love getting there early and watching the teams warm up. Kamran, the Pakistani wicket keeper simply has one of the coaching staff hit ball after ball at him and he repeats his crouch, his rise and then the articulation, often acrobatic, necessary for the capture. The repetition and its differentials is wonderful to watch in this condensed form, the art & the work of the reflex is demonstrated.

All the action around the pitch just prior to the commencement of play is also fantastic. A legion of important looking men in suits come and stand around its edge and look at it for a while, and then they leave.

Listening to the sound of the crowd during the match is a very fundamental experience. The noise is a general hub-bub, but out of it rises particular distinctive chants, and the command of these particular sound forms moves throughout the stands. At one time in the day a group here will gain in intensity of communal sound production. At another time it will be over there and then the command passes elsewhere. The chants, in terms of their semantic signification are barely worth engaging with, but hearing the processes of their production and movement from and throughout the general to the particular, the intensities becoming discernible here and there as thresholds are passed over, this is a very exciting and eloquent statement to feel oneself a part of, even if only a very quiet & sober part.

Shortly after lunch a squadron of minature zeppelins took to the air from within the great southern stand. They drifted over the heads of the crowd who willed them on their way with prods and pushes, until one by one they would catch a wind drift and float out over the ground. Once over the open terrain they would lose altitude rapidly, and upon touching the grass burst, leaving a small spread of debris. The fieldsmen were never in danger, though it may have seemed as though they were under some strange attack.

Yousuf Youhana was magnificent, he took on the captaincy of his beleagured side and took supreme command with the bat. His innings was carefully fought, he was patient and solid and when Warne tossed it up just that little bit too far he would send him straight back over his head into the stands. Six after six, Warne’s deliveries ended up in the stand directly behind him. Warne was totally dominated. Salman dominated him from the outset and Yousuf took the domination to a commanding pinnacle. Pakistan had learnt from their mistakes in Perth and it seemed had also learnt from watching Justin bat there. The timing off the attacks was precise and carried no risk. It was wonderful to see.

But the highlight of the day was the 15 minute long period immediately following tea. Every Australian player lay upon the ground sleeping. The batsmen sat together and chatted. McGrath was flat on his back with his hat over his face. Marto lay there propped up on his elbows as though he were posing for a calendar. Gilchrist and Lehmann lay close together behind the stumps. Someone, probably Hayden, lay spreadeagled out towards point. Once the sightscreen attendants finally managed to turn the screen’s panels to white Warne woke McGrath up by throwing the ball at him and some action commenced. It was a beautiful session.

Can’t you see this as a still from a Miyazaki film?

And just when you never want it to end, it all begins again tomorrow, the test set up for a real showdown.

There was an article in wednesday’s age under the headline ‘Death of the doosra.’ Now it is Harbhajan who must be submitted to the scrutiny of the biomechanists. Chris Broad is becoming a hateful villain, he is a colonial throwback. No one takes on the doosra and comes out of it with any respect, dignity or humanity. Chris Broad is looking death in the face. He will not kill off the doosra for it is already death – I have said this elsewhere. Broad does not act out of courage, he acts out of prejudice and ignorance. He acts from a basis that is ridden with morals that have nothing to do with cricket. The doosra is of cricket, it carries all the force of cricket with it and it will wreak its terror upon all those who confront it. When it is a batsman confronting it, the battle is magnificent to watch and the world feeds of it. When it is an administrator, the administrator is nothing but a fool. When a fool tries to poison cricket he does not last long.

Murali is the only authority that needs to be listened to on the matter – no one throws. It is obvious and it is really that simple. Watch harbhajan bowl and it is clear that he is bowling. That is not how one would throw.

McGrath’s been having a big mutter about Shoaib’s run up. Shoaib’s response was perfect – “Can a plane take off without a run-up?”. And McGrath was all like, muttering, well if that’s the kind of run-up a plane needs to take off then I must be like a Jump-Jet (please note the name of the site this link takes you to) or a helicopter or something.

Thank the Lord Santa that Shoaib’s recovered from his bruised shoulder.

With all the zeppelins and all those other floating things that have been pervading the cricket in the last couple of months, it’s time to commission two cricket films – the first will of course be an anime film directed by Hayao Miyazaki.

The second choice comes about as a result of a remark by the great Takeshi Kitano, talking about his film Zatoichi: ‘I realised that the way Zatoichi holds the sword is quiet like bowling in cricket: the way you hold the ball, the over-arm action.’ After this statement Kitano goes on to talk about all-rounders and dreams of making big budget films like the matrix where the sworsdman bats away the bullets one by one, hitting them away and then cutting each one in half as it goes. Can you imagine how fantastic a cricket film by Takeshi would be, with his sense of stillness and pace and the rhythm of form.

And Miyazaki, whose characters are basically all cricketers anyway – ‘The characters are born from repetition.’ It’s all so right. There’s a photo of Gilchrist immediately after the historic test series victory in India in which he is pretty much already straight out of Studio Ghibli. & just imagine the anime version of Dizzy Gilgamesh! I think he would have to be the lead role. The film would have to be called ‘Dizzy Gilgamesh’. If I thought anyone read this commentary I would announce a competition asking the kids to come up with anime drawings of the great hero. I don’t think there could be prizes but wouldn’t it be fabulous? Send entries to via the ‘contact nick’ link at the top of this page.

What a very very sad test match. By all accounts McGrath bowled superbly but surely Pakistan could have tried harder. At least batted on into the second and third sessions. Poor poor Inzy. I got home from christmas shopping just in time to see the production credits roll.

Anyway, I guess the real excitement is in McGrath’s advertising campaign for masterfoods. You can win a barbecue. The great thing about the ads is that McGrath is presenting himself as a batsman, talking about moving up the order and being an all-rounder. There’s all these dodgily edited shots of him playing cracking strokes mostly pull shots. Then, at the end of the ad, he gets bowled, the camera zooms out to a long shot of him walking off the field, and, if you’re really quiet, you can hear him MUTTERING away to himself about the dismissal.
It is perfect.

Look out for the ads and good luck with the barbecue.