The picture of Clarke’s century gives a much more thorough joy than the agony of watching Ponting manufacture it for him. It is not by chance that the picture is more a picture of Ponting than Clarke, and that Ponting seems to be in greater ecstasies than Clarke. The 100 was after all largely Ponting’s work, as he refused to run, took singles only with extreme jurisdiction, and played out maidens in order to make sure there would be enough runs left for Clarke to build his total to three figures. There is something in the way Ponting spreads his arms in celebration that sets him apart. There is no Steve Waugh controlled raising off arms hands open high above the inclined head. Ponting’s arms spread wide and their is an exuberant sense of achievement as his fists clench the air. Steve really raises his bat, for Ponting the bat is either extraneous or totally assimilated – and if rises it rises only because it is anatomically there. It is Ponting’s redeeming feature really. He has terrible teeth and bad hair and an arrogant swagger, but when the excitement takes a hold the little boy spreads his wings with irrepressible fervour, wide, wild joy – Ponting is the boy living the dream of being captain of the Australian cricket team. Ordinarily he puts on airs of maturity to command respect but when the successes bite the boy bursts free and deliriously enjoys them. Clarkie’s response was more of relief, gratitude and a bit of self ridicule. But there’s a symmetry between the two boys in the pic, their blades dramatically crossing as the distance between them is shortening into a fervent embrace. I have no doubt that Ponting is a Miyazaki hero too. His celebration is the celebration of the victory of his peers against all the odds, almost a spectator but deeply embroiled in the passions of the moment. There’s always a bevy of townspeople and kids from the villages lining the boundary in Miyazaki films, celebrating the incredible, vital victories of the protagonists – heroes of the people. (Perhaps no one ever celebrates like this in Miyazaki films really, maybe it is just how I feel after watching them). So eventually I’ve come to the conclusion that Ponting isn’t the hero here, Clarke is undoubtedly so and Ponting is just a boy from the valley looking on and relating so intensely with his role models that he could not possibly bear to see them acheive anything less than ultimate success. He will work whatever small manoeuvres he can to assist the one who has, as it is written in the oracles, come. & he will feel their triumph in ways that they are way too cool & heroic to feel them.

Other highlights:
There is more drama yet in Watson’s hair.

Lee floats and across the Tasman Murali flies.

There is little more fascinating in a game of cricket than watching the rain fall on a covered square, and watching with such an involvement, anticipating the breaks in the weather, absorbed with every slight letting up in the downpour. Turning over in your mind the possible effects the delay may have upon the resumption of play and the new, surprising directions the game may take from here. Is the pitch sweating under those covers?