So that was a bit of a shocker then, the
first Test.
Not only was Wickman confident that England would
rediscover form with the bat, Wickman also believed that our bowlers would have
too much for a fragile Australian batting line up.
There’s absolutely no doubt in Wickman’s
mind that Ryan Harris is an excellent Test bowler in the mould of Terry Alderman
and in more recent times Stuart Clarke. Nathan Lyon is a decent offie. But Johnson, despite showing some one day form was hardly the threat he once was... he bowls to the left, he bowls to the right, that Mithchell Johnson, he bowls a load of shite.
The first day and most of the second morning
were to plan. The Aussies were dismissed without much fight except from the
redoubtable Brad Haddin. Johnson looked agricultural but more than justified
his selection as a bowling all rounder. But we blew away the tail and then
Carbs and Cheffy settled down to bat through to lunch.
On Twitter there was a carnival atmosphere.
Scribes, bloggers, fans and Wickman’s milieu were all pronouncing that the
pitch was a road. All the indications pointed towards parity for England by the
end of the day with perhaps five wickets down. Johnson came on and hurled the
ball down but was about as likely to take a wicket as Wickman’s dobbers. To say
that Brad Haddin did well to get a glove on some of it was an understatement.
As with so many things in cricket it was
something innocuous that kicked things off. Harris bowled one across a static
Cook who slightly hung his bat out. Australia were in business when
only a moment earlier they were beginning to look desperate.
A with hindsight scrambled Trotty came to
the wicket. None of those watching could have seen any indication that the man
was in turmoil… although the fact he was almost slogging in a warm-up game
might have indicated… no. We didn’t know. Johnson then bowled the ball that set
Trott up, set Johnson up and set the game up.
Who knows if he meant it? He was spraying
it like a club bowler trying too hard up until that point but right on cue he
lasered one in at Trotty’s heart. It was close to unplayable. Brutish. Lifting.
A heavy ball amongst heavy balls. Trotty couldn’t get out of the way and at the
same time wasn’t in line. It looked ugly. It was destabilising. It was pure
Bodyline. There. Wickman's said it. Invoked the worst of all Ashes words.
From that moment on there was only one
strategy. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Eventually Trotty succumbed and feathered a
ball that was a foot outside the leg stump to a jubilant Haddin. Johnson had
taken a wicket with a superb ball. That that ball had come perhaps two or three
overs earlier than the rank half tracker that actually claimed the wicket did not matter.
The rest was misery.
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