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?

finally the blog has comments. all comments have been attracted to the one entry and are along similar lines. it may be the beginning of a mountain, the initial sediments have been deposited.

My fine research team also sprung this gem upon me. It is a desperate pity that the pictures don’t seem to be working on this site but the writing is so evocative you will be sure to conjure up some vivid surrogates with your brain. The fearsome aspect of the sherlockian lob-bowler keeps me awake at night.

Channel 9’s memorabilia is reaching incredible new heights. This is their latest addition to the cricket artefact market – the Shane Warne & Steve Waugh ‘Champs’.

Along the same lines my great team of researchers – there are hundreds of them, all busily working away behind the scenes of this blog – recently discovered this incredible site where you can view Takeshi Kitano teapots (you may have to scroll down a bit). It is clear that while Channel 9 may be reaching high there is still so much more they could do.

The VB series has been passing like days, transition from innings to innings like day into evening and then night falls, a few days later its a new day. One team or the other winning with relative ease and not too much to capture the imagination. Perhaps last night’s game was the most interesting because of the storms, the lightning. The game was reduced to a situation not unlike Twenty 20 and for me it was so much more exciting that this circumstance had come about due to natural forces. One of the issues I have with xx xx is that the excitement is built into the structure before anything happens. The great excitement of cricket, even one day cricket, is in waiting for the excitement to come about, and experiencing all the articulations of excitement that there are or will potentially be.

The tournament has provided some small bursts – the Afridi innings in Hobart, the carving up of McGrath and Lee; Symonds’ hair – seriously laying down a challenge to Dizzy as the best hair in world cricket (what matter his form when his hair is this good & he is still the best fielder to watch ever); Kaspro’s challenge to Symonds’ title of best fielder to watch ever in last night’s game; the storm last night which meant Channel 9 in an inspired piece of emergency programming played ‘One perfect day’ about Steve Waugh’s unforgettable last ball century in his pseudo last test at the scg at the end of the last ashes series, I just wept and wept all through it – it was such a perfect day.

Peter Beattie (QLD) dreams the dreams of the common man.

everyball is so important. it seems exhilirating to begin with like processed cheese slices it soon becomes diffcult to care

There is a quite amusing, if very English, wrap up of the year’s cricket online here. The highlight is undoubtedly letter E:

E is for Eggs
The year’s most shocking revelation came when Glenn McGrath admitted that he likes his fried eggs positioned bang in the middle of his toast, which must be white. There must be no overhanging egg white and the toast must be cut into quarters. Leading Australian psychiatrists described this level of precision as “perfectly normal”, while their British equivalents called it “barmy as a can of peas and no mistake”. More comforting for British fans, though, was the knowledge that there were now two such people in the world. Previously we had thought there was only one, a notorious wicketkeeper who wore the same floppy cap every day for 20 years, ate Weetabix only if it had been soaked in milk for 12 minutes and blindfolded people who wanted to visit his house. Are there many others still at large?

It is a dream of mine to see cricket sides made up of mercenary players from all corners of the globe roaming the world and taking on entire nations in first class cricket matches. Preferably these teams should be lead by Shane Warne. Yesterday’s match has spawned offspring already – like beach balls from the crowd along the concourse of the Great Southern Stand, so the buccaneer cricket matches come.

The event at the MCG yesterday was undeniably great – it was loaded with wonderful heart and goodwill. But the cricket match was disappointing. I think the reason it was disappointing is to do with the way the teams were demarcated. Rather than being Asia v The rest of the world it should really have been The world v The rest of the world. The teams should have been selected 10 minutes prior to the start of the game by the two captains. All the players should have gathered together at the centre of the ground, a bat thrown in the air and Ganguly should have called ‘hills’ or ‘valleys‘, the landing of the bat determining who would choose first. For instance:

GANGULY: Brian.
PONTING: Then, Gilly.
GANGULY: Ok, Kumar.
PONTING: Murali!
GANGULY: Then I’ll take Warnie.
PONTING: Virender, you’re with us.
GANGULY: Rahul. You are my god, you must be on my team.
PONTING: Cairnsie.
GANGULY: Zaheer.
PONTING: Anil Kumble.
GANGULY: Daniel.
PONTING: Sanath, with us.
GANGULY: Matty Hayden.
PONTING: Next one… um, Yousuf, cool.
GANGULY: Mr Gayle, you are on my team.
PONTING: Flemo.
GANGULY: Razza.
PONTING: Chaminda.
GANGULY: Sorry Rick, McGrath’s all yours – Goughie.

Having a world team competing in a cricket match is also good for the cricket writers who get to pen sentences that include grand fragments such as this- ‘the world was breathing more comfortably when Sourav Ganguly, the captain, drove to Gough at mid-off.’

At one point hundreds of small beach balls burst out of one section of the crowd and spread quickly throughout the Great Southern Stand.

Earlier a naked lady spent an extended period flying and zooming over the heads of the same spectators, dipping into the mass here and there only to launch immediately back into the lower stratas of the atmosphere once more, swooping & dipping in graceful arcs.