Border-Gavaskar Trophy, Test 2

The SCG

My first visit to the SCG was when my Uncle David took me (and maybe my Dad?) to watch some cricket there some time in the mid-1980s. Based on how many people were at the ground, we were probably watching part of a Sheffield Shield match. We were somewhere near the Hill, but not on the Hill, because my overhwhelming memory of that afternoon is of the turquoise plastic seats which, combined with the heat, made me sweat through my thin home-made grey cotton “Buffalo Girl” skirt to the point where I was sure it looked like I’d wet myself.

In my imagination a couple of young guys behind us made a derisive comment about it when I stood up. I don’t know whether they did or whether I was so feverishly self-conscious and afraid they would that I hallucinated it. Once I’d registered the problem I was wholly absorbed in worrying about it, trying to minimise it by perching on the edge of the seat and working out how I could gauge its extent without exposing myself to further ridicule. Ah, sweet 16. It wasn’t a great afternoon. The cricket seemed physically far away and I had no idea what was going on.

The next visit was this time in 2000, when the cricket seemed close and the ground was like a secret garden. That particular low angle across the ground was highlighted during this year’s test by the tribulations of Joe the Cameraman on his segue.

Michael Clarke

Kerry has been going on and on and on and on and on and on all summer and for some time previous that the Australian public has been very unfair in its treatment of Michael Clarke and would get its comeuppance. He reckoned this test was that time of reckoning, but I don’t know. I don’t know that runs were ever the problem and I’m not sure than runs overcome the problem. I think the Australian public demands a certain admixture of mongrel in its cricket captains and Michael Clarke is too well-behaved and, when it comes down to it, too good-looking for people to really warm to him.

Too good looking: hardly his fault, of course, and better and worse Australian cricketers have suffered before him on this count. (I’ve always suspected Michael Bevan was unfairly overlooked because of an excess of prettiness. Head to head with Steve Waugh in a number of epic batting partnerships, he could never win against the Gristle King.) The last pretty blond captain was Kim Hughes, enough said.

Too well-behaved: When Clarke started, he really did have puppy-like appeal, all bright and bounding and energetic. But instead of developing some of the more rascally, poo-in-the-slipper aspects of puppydom – he would have been well served by a Bourbon & Beefsteak-style incident during this period – he channelled all that enthusiasm into becoming the very straightest-backed, teacher-pleasing boy in class. The shiniest shoes, the first hand up. Being a swot is not a good strategy for winning hearts and minds, especially if winning hearts and minds is what you appear to be swotting up on. Did you hear the pointed references after the Sydney win to looking forward to spending a long night in the sheds enjoying a few coldies?

It’s a hard line to walk, being a good member of a team, a good employee of Cricket Australia, and a convincing man of the people. And beyond the stylistic issues there are the more substantial ones of dissing Andrew Symonds and dumping Simon Katich - obviously bigger problems for me than any “bros before hos” line of attack. I don’t know whether those problems can be solved, but I'm pretty sure runs won't do it.