On Monday morning after the conclusion to the test I sat on the tram in a daze. I had taken my book from my satchel and was planning to read it but I just sat there with it in my hands as I thought about the cricket. My breathing was all over the place. I was basically sighing or maybe even panting – there was exhaustion and tension and exhiliration all involved in the make up of my gasping. And I hadn’t even satyed up to watch the England innings. I only heard about the score on the morning news. These magnificent last ditch efforts by the Australians (or should I attribute them more precisely – El Warno and Lee) are all well and good but just not quite good enough. Its tantalising stuff.

Its a shame there’s been so much whingeing from the Australian camp about substitues (ok, it’s a pretty iffy tactic of the Poms but it should be pursued quietly along the proper channels) and the umpires (certainly the umpiring’s been poor but only in the same way that Hayden’s form has been poor, or poor old Dizzy – misfiring players get replaced by other players, not by computer animated simulations.) Its not the outbursts on the field that are a problem, that’s heat of the battle stuff, the frustration after having worked so hard takes over, as is reasonable. Its in the days between matches that losing teams need to keep their gripes tightly quiet, to speak is to be a sore loser and displays in some sense an acceptance of the fact that they are not cut out for copping sweet blows and going on to really challenge a dominant opposition.