A few hours in India produced more entertaining cricket than a whole summer in Australia. The motives of Nagpur’s pitch doctors might not have been honourable – grounds-people are part of the national effort – but the outcome was the best Test cricket Australian fans have seen in a long time.
Test cricket has a way of regenerating and improving in spite of its own worst efforts. In India, as Ravi Shastri wrote in these pages, it’s their turf – and the rest of you can go and get knotted. Or something like that. The belief around much of the cricket world – certainly in the subcontinent, England and New Zealand – is that home conditions are there to be exploited in the most inhospitable way, its purpose to make life a misery for visitors.
Australia’s curators are pig-headed enough not to take orders from anyone, least of all local administrators. This earns them a reputation for independence, but it can also lead to bland cricket that flatters those who can hold a bat.
In Nagpur, the conspiracy theories were a distraction – and also a pretty ordinary conspiracy. Yes, the curators made a pitch to help the home team. The end. As a story, it was hardly John le Carre.
If there was precious little moisture on the ground, it was made up for by mouth-watering cricket. Momentum, that white whale that changes direction once or twice a season in Australia, jerked and snapped constantly on the first day. The dismissals of Australia’s openers threatened a rout. Then, a Marnus Labuschagne-Steve Smith partnership showed the richness of those two batting talents.
‘Yes, the curators made a pitch to help the home team. The end. As a story, it was hardly John le Carre.’
Once they were split, three wickets fell in a few minutes. Instead of collapsing, Alex Carey channelled Adam Gilchrist for an enchanted hour and Peter Handscomb put the “un” back in “orthodox”. Even though India gained an advantage in the match, Nathan Lyon and Todd Murphy beat the bat often enough to keep things interesting.
Cricket is usually like this in India, and it takes place in our prime time. To the Australian Test cricket lover, it felt like the summer season had finally started.
Australia made their contribution to this sudden engagement of attention. Their eccentric team selection was an example of overthinking, underthinking, or both. Handscomb, Matt Renshaw and Murphy had been earmarked for this series for several months, in spite of the absence of recent evidence in the form of first-class cricket. Since last year, Australia’s selectors had been cooking up a cunning plan. But soon, like Blackadder and Baldrick, their sneaky thinking looked less like masterful preparation than an attack of panic, where suddenly anyone was given a Test cap and Travis Head was dropped because, well, the selectors had decided last August that these were the horses they would pick for this course.
Injuries to Mitchell Starc and Cameron Green forced their hand a little, but there was still a sense that the hierarchy felt their planning was so thorough, they had to reward it, in spite of what had happened during the Australian summer. Head has been Australia’s best batter for two home summers. In Brisbane in particular, where the batting sheep were truly sorted from the goats, Head stood out as the best. But this was on a Brisbane green top. The form line that had to be followed was his batting on Pakistani and Sri Lankan pitches, and the selectors in their wisdom looked over the top of the Australian summer to Head’s performances in Asia last year.
This might make some sense, except for the one who is making a living as the elephant in every room he enters. If Head’s form on Asian pitches was to penalise him here, what of David Warner? His record in India, unlike Head’s, has proven itself for a decade – 389 runs, highest score 71, average 22.88. Even in Australia, his summer was poor by his standards, with one Melbourne rose amid a barren tangle of thorns. It was the least surprising event on that exciting first day in Nagpur when Warner looked around to see his stumps scattered by a new ball delivered from around the wicket. As they have been for a decade in India, Australia were off to a bad start. And yet Warner has an exemption from the metrics that are applied to Head and everyone else. Asked to comment on why Warner is still being selected, those responsible can tell you how nice the weather has been and how about that Novak Djokovic, eh? Anything but face the facts. Poor old Head must wonder what he’s done. Or not done.
All of this adds colour and movement to what merits its billing as the marquee series in Test cricket. The Ashes will also be riveting in England, another country where the curators have doctorates in parochialism. There might be a lesson in that.
Test cricket finds itself in a paradox. In places where the ground-speople are most swayed by hometown bias, they are accidentally producing surfaces that promote interesting and exciting cricket. They might not be acting for the good of the game, but they end up helping Test cricket survive and prosper. On the other hand, in a country like Australia where grounds-people won’t take orders, they have been fostering boring games that do Test cricket few favours. (The other paradox, so typical of Test cricket, is that in Brisbane, where an Australian curator provided a surface that gave us a watchable contest, his work was rated substandard. The Nagpur staff can only dream of winning the same honour.)
Pitches that encourage bowlers, whether fast or slow, provide what everyone – other than fans of batting – agrees is better cricket. And crude fans of the flat-track bully already have a daily diet of Twenty20, so they, as Ravi might say, can get knotted too.
It has become customary that Australians have to wait for their team to tour overseas before seeing a real test of their quality. But this is what India gives us. After a summer of centre-wicket practice, Patrick Cummins and his team are seeing how they measure up against the real thing.
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