The pitch had awoken somewhat from its slothful inertia of the previous day. While it was still easy-paced, there was more bounce. Encouraged by this the Proteas at once proceeded to waste the new ball with a surfeit of bouncers. They may as well have thrown rocks at Table Mountain for all the good it did. This allowed Renshaw to ease himself into his work in his new job as opener. Even Head restrained himself early, before peeling off a series of boundaries. From the opening stand of 58 Head managed 41 before it finally occurred to Bavuma to give his spinner a go. Harmer’s first ball Head edged into his stumps. His sixth ball – a faster arm-ball – had the prodding Labuschagne stranded on the crease and edging to Markram at slip.

At this point the dressing room must have trembled. They need not have worried. Aside from an edge to slip from Green which may, or may not, have hit the turf in Harmer’s grasp, Renshaw and Green played themselves in and picked up runs at will. Rabada was not himself, pitching too short to threaten. Mulder was industrious but unexciting. Jansen by the halfway point had only bowled six overs, which raised a few eyebrows. Harmer looked the best of the bowlers, but conceded far too many easy singles on the drive. One felt Bavuma should have brought the deep fielders up and dared the Australians to hit over the top. The hundred partnership came up in just 21 overs. Green took 15 deliveries to get off the mark, but thereafter expressed himself with calm confidence. And Renshaw batted as though he had all day. Perhaps he had.

After drinks Bavuma recalled Jansen at last, and batting looked harder. Nevertheless when Renshaw spooned a meek catch behind it was as if he had suddenly produced a ferret from down his trousers. He reviewed, despite having clearly hit the ball. Perhaps he could not bring himself to believe he had committed such flagrant batting suicide. Nevertheless, the partnership of 126 at four an over had been full of merit. How had they done it? By keeping their bats straight and elbows up, and careful shot selection. It was a heartwarming thing to see correct technique for a change. This brought Inglis to the crease. It has been a while since he has troubled the scorers much in any competition, but he does hit the ball hard and often. Worse was to follow when Green edged Jansen to Harmer in the gully. Having batted Australia into a commanding position the two amiable giants had undone everything. Carey and Inglis held on until tea. And your correspondent retired to his possibly virtuous couch.

One awoke to discover that Josh Inglis and Alex Carey had done what needed to be done. We can imagine what they said to each other. The ball is old, the pitch is friendly, Rabada and Jansen appear to have strained fetlocks. The support crew are nothing special. Harmer is persistent without being deadly. Coetzee is energetic, but once he’s banged the ball in short he’s pretty much shot his bolt. We can do this.  Time, in short, to dig in, and prosper. And they did. An unbeaten stand of 145 was the result. Inglis rode his luck. Several times he lofted the ball just out of the frenzied grasp of the fielders. But this was his day, and he finished unbeaten on 85. Like his team-mate Renshaw Inglis is a closet Yorkshireman. Make ’em paaay! as Emmott Robinson or Wilfrid Rhodes might have uttered. The blood of his forefathers runs strong in this one. Broken finger? Pay it no mind. Ahm here, and ah’ll mek haaay while t’sun shines.

The unsung hero was Carey. Where Inglis rode his luck, Carey was patience personified. Maybe he pondered that Cooper Connolly deserves his chance against a weary attack. I must take the rearguard. By stumps he is unbeaten on a chanceless 51. Australia has the opportunity tomorrow to put their feet on their opponents’ neck. Maybe they shall take it.

Australia made four changes to the team humiliated at Cqeberha. Some were compulsory. Maddinson’s departure was an admission that calling someone up without recent red-ball experience really was a bit of a floater. Rather than throw Sam Harper in at the deep end, the young Victorian was sent home and Renshaw dutifully moved up the order to open with Head, leaving his spot for the return of Green. Connolly replaced Webster as the all-rounder, as expected. Smith’s neck injury has only gotten worse, hence Inglis. Lyon’s return came, not at the expense of Hazlewood or Starc as expected, but the long-suffering Boland. Incredulous eyebrows were raised. But all this paled into the shadowy backdrop as the coin came down under the looming heights of Table Mountain.

The thing about Newlands is that it’s a batting paradise. It’s the sort of wicket batsmen carry around a picture thereof in their handbags, hoping to feast thereon. On winning the toss here, the choice is between a bucket of strawberry ice-cream and a rusty bear-trap. Incredibly, Cummins chose the bear-trap. Asked to explain himself, Cummins opined that there was moisture in the pitch. Doubtless there was some of that in the well-baked Yorkshire pudding of a wicket. But it didn’t help. Bavuma’s heart must have sunk into his boots at the call of Heads, but it would have turned cartwheels on hearing his opposite number’s improbable choice. His face betrayed none of the elation he must have felt. One wonders if Temba plays cards. His deadpan expression would be an asset indeed.

As the first delivery died after a brief illness on its way through to Carey, Cummins must have realised his ghastly error. Head dropped a sitter from Markram off Starc’s bowling, and the latter’s customary sang-froid received an unwanted stress-test. For the rest, Ackerman and Markram did as they pleased. The lunch score of 0/140 said everything needful. Ackerman pillaged four successive boundaries from Starc and seemed intent on a century before lunch before throttling back for the moment. They will be eyeing off 400 by stumps, with more to come.

Perhaps the question Australia needs to ask is this. Does Pat even want to be captain any more? He has given yeoman service ever since being pressed into the job faute de mieux. Is it time to give him a rest? This was such an uncharacteristic blunder that one must wonder what is going on behind that frank, noble countenance. Perhaps he has become an existentialist. The next few days will tell a tale.

However, the match changed abruptly after lunch. Whatever was in the respective menus must remain a culinary secret; but Australia emerged from the rooms quietly resolute, while the home side must have dined on fried exuberance with a topping of baked hubris. Ackerman and Markram resumed as they had begun, pitilessly savaging the Australians at every opportunity. But the former began to be troubled by Lyon’s off-spin. He hit one sharp return catch back, but the Goat was unable to hold onto it. Undeterred, he bounded out of his crease like a springbok out for a day’s voortrekking and missed it completely. Carey removed the bails without fuss and Ackerman departed, having squandered the maiden century which was his for the taking. A run-a-ball 95 tells its own tale.

Markram likewise succumbed to excess of high spirits, mistiming a hook off Hazlewood into the safe hands of Starc at long leg. The stands went quiet as Bavuma took guard. Alas for the diminutive skipper, he misread Lyon’s arm-ball which cannoned into his off peg. Breetzke played what he thought was a classic forward defensive prod to Connolly. Unfortunately for him the ball had struck his front pad first. By tea, the home side had reached a chastened 4/221.

The evening session was all about Mitchell Starc. He had bowled dreadfully until then. 0/60 from 11 overs neither flattered nor understated. But the resilient left-arm quick pulled himself together and began to let fly his missiles. He had Bedingham caught by Hazlewood at long leg for 50, and Mulder caught behind for a duck. At 6/232 Australia could rightfully claim a thoroughly unexpected upper hand. But the old ball in this country is unforgiving, and sensible batting by Rickelton and Jansen saw a sprightly stand of 95 at four an over for the seventh wicket. The new ball? Starc required just nine deliveries with it. His super-power is his fast, late-swinging yorker. It doesn’t matter how dead the pitch is if you bowl sandshoe crushers. Two bowled, two leg before. Simon Harmer stared unblinking at the non-striker’s end as Starc blew the innings away.

What now? South Africa blew up a golden opportunity to make 500 and take the game away. Australia demonstrated notable spirit and are back in the match. But the runs still have to be made, and with a reconstructed batting order. More tomorrow.

Australia did not save the Test match today. But they managed to restore their lost honour, which is arguably every bit as important. Travis Head’s luck finally ran out on 121, bowled by Mulder. It had been an excellent return to form by the agressively moustachied one. Which brought Smith to the crease, though he looked far from his usual hyperactive self and soon holed out to Rabada’s bouncer. Medical advice would have been against his return to the match in all probability; but try keeping this man off the park. You’d need a crane, a barbed wire fence and a dozen armed security guards. Carey came out to bat at number 8, after some batting horrors in this series. He defended resolutely, and hope still flickered in the dressing room. The start was delayed by rain, but there was still a mountain to climb.

And there was the nightwatchman, still batting. Scott Boland loves playing Test cricket. He doesn’t get to play all that often, and when he does he makes the most of it. He made 40 today: second top score for the innings. His forward defence was like an ocean-going liner’s gangplank, thrust forward into the breach. The ball generally dropped dead in its tracks. Someone has taught him the merits of soft hands. He batted more than three hours, stormed at with shot and shell, and gave away nothing but the odd rueful smile.

Watching from the grandstand was Jason Gillespie. He and Boland are Australia’s only two known First Nations Test cricketers. Gillespie was a notorious nightwatchman, as hard to dislodge as an impacted wisdom tooth. In his final Test he came in at no.4 and made an eight-hour double century. Was Boland going to do something similar? Alas, not this time. It took a brutish delivery from the persevering Mulder to dislodge him. It was one he himself would have cherished: pitched on a length outside off and seaming sharply in to take the stumps. He walked off, bat in hand, disconsolate but proud, to generous applause from one and all.

It took an even better ball to get rid of Cummins; who, remembering Boland’s dismissal, played for the off-cutter. It seamed away just enough to miss the bat and take the off peg. By now hope had evaporated. And at long last Bavuma recalled Jansen and Rabada, who finished proceedings before the fickle weather could intervene again. The match was played in a fine spirit, although uncreasing groans from behind the stumps gave the impression that Ryan Rickleton was announcing a burst appendix to the world at large. But there: keepers are allowed some licence in these matters. With the series at one-all, changes will unquestionably be made for Cape Town. This writer can think of at least four which might happen. But that is with the selectors and the coach.

In a series replete with deja vu, Scott Boland ended proceedings as he had a day previous, defending his wicket against a keeper, six predatory close fielders, and a rampaging attack. To lose 13 wickets in a day, on the same pitch on which the home side’s lower order had feasted royally, speaks volumes for a team who aren’t nearly as good as they possibly think they are. Coach Ronnie wins today’s award for creative understatement for his admission that ‘we are not a perfect batting unit’. The craters currently being papered over are legion. Steve Smith came out in his black war-paint, stroked his way to a fluent 15, and found himself becalmed after an injury to his neck requiring recurrent physiotherapy. It says much about Smudger that he clearly never considered retiring hurt, and stuck around long enough to bring up 11,000 Test runs before succumbing.

Australia cannot keep relying on Smith to dig them out of deep, self-imposed chasms. Or on Renshaw, who lost his wicket twice in a day: once to Jansen’s steepling bounce, and once to Rabada’s in-cutter which he inexplicably decided to leave alone to find its own way into his stumps. Labuschagne battled hard for 14 and 39. But having made a start he needed to carry on. His time, alas, may be up at long last. Webster fiddled once more outside off, and found himself trapped in front by Harmer. The mortifying collapse was compounded by an injury to Nortje, who went off with a strained fetlock and won’t bowl again. Undeterred, the remaining bowlers flung themselves into the fray with might and main. Jansen was unplayable at times. The scary thing about Marco is that the giant from Klerksdorp has a twin brother Duan, who is also six cubits and a span and does the same things. Expect more terror in the future.

Marco took 5/33 from a mere eleven overs in Australia’s 99 all out. Rabada chimed in with two wickets, as did Mulder. Had Scully been thrown the ball she would probably have picked up wickets as well. It was an awful performance. The second innings began just as horribly. Maddinson whacked a couple of boundaries, then fanned at Rabada and was picked up in slips. At stumps Australia is 4/156 and headed for innings defeat. Except …. except that Travis Head is still there, having ridden his luck outrageously. He has made 87 so far. If the game is to be saved, one imagines he will need 150 at the very least. And he will need help. We cannot tell if Smith will bat. He will certainly want to, but the medical staff may have something to say about that.

‘Anything you can do, we can do better.’ This might well have been the refrain from South Africa’s diminutive skipper Temba Bavuma. It became apparent early that the pitch had flattened out. Australia must have hoped that the tail would fold quickly enough for them to enjoy batting under a bright sun. Nothing of the sort happened. Bavuma was only too aware that he had given his hand away twice in the first Test. He was determined not to repeat his mistake. His technique is impeccable when he applies himself, and he did just that. By the time he was finally out in the closing moments of the day any chance of an Australian victory had evaporated hours ago.

The day began well enough. Wiaan Mulder was unable to keep Bavuma company for long, edging Starc to Renshaw. Hopes of a speedy conclusion stirred in Australian hearts. But Jansen was in a belligerent mood, and began carving boundaries to all parts. Bavuma meanwhile fed him the strike with careful singles, and Australia wilted in the morning sea breeze. In a seventh-wicket stand of 132 the moustachioed giant contributed 85 from a hundred deliveries until he flicked a half-volley from Boland to Travis Head, and departed in medium dudgeon, having squandered his chance to make a maiden century. Boland grinned ruefully. His fifth wicket had come from probably his worst delivery of the match.

But there was to be no respite for the perspiring tourists. Simon Harmer has rare talent for a number nine, with first-class centuries to his credit. New ball? No problem! For three tortuous hours Australia toiled  without reward. Hazlewood was still indisposed, and managed only fourteen overs. Cummins was not himself, and finished with uncharacteristic figures of 0/96. Many a time he bowled his trademark searing bouncers at Bavuma. He might as well have tried throwing rocks at Table Mountain. Short batsmen who play well off the back foot do not mind bouncers which sail over their heads. Temba was on a mission. Harmer finally fell to Labuschagne’s leg-spin for 82 after an eighth-wicket stand of 183 at four an over.

Why, one wonders, was not Labuschagne called upon earlier? The truth is that today was a poor day for Captain Pat. Matters deteriorated in the twilight. The persevering Starc finally removed Bavuma for 179 and the captain called it quits. There was just time for Rabada to induce a timid poke from Maddinson, caught in slips by Harmer. Boland the nightwatchman was met by six slips, but he saw out the over. As the shadows closed in there were two more overs of spin before time was called. Australia has two days of arduous combat left to save the match. Weather and bad light may help, but the batting must be firm and resolute.

Gqerberha (the city formerly known as Port Elizabeth) turned on a wildly tempestuous welcome for the visitors. Captain Pat won the toss again and inserted South Africa. Unsurprisingly, since he had omitted his specialist spinner again and brought in Boland. Normally this would be regarded as an outrage, but there were extenuating circumstances. Thanks to Jupiter Pluvius only 43 overs were bowled on days 1 and 2. The pitch is piebald, with odd patches of suspicious vegetation. Cummins has backup spin (three part-time offies). And the fourth seamer? Boland the miraculous: a fast-medium bowler who doesn’t seem to do much except plant the ball exactly where he wants it every time and make it seam both ways off a good length.

In any other team Boland would be among those first picked. His record is exemplary. His Test bowling average is currently well under 20. He has only been collared once in his late-blooming career, when the English marched down the pitch and clubbed him off his length. Since then Alex Carey has decided that anyone wanting to leave the crease to Boland will be met by him standing up to the stumps, ready to whip off the bails if they miss. Even that stratagem is now off the table. The laconic Victorian never complains when he is omitted. Rarely has he been known to express emotion beyond a satisfied grin when yet another batsman leaves the crease, disgruntled at having nicked off to the keeper or slips.

He has enjoyed himself at Gqerberha. Aiden Markram did little wrong. He merely pushed forward at an off-cutter and edged it into his middle stump. Bedingham was still less fortunate. Mindful of the previous ball, he played at a fifth-stump delivery which seamed away and edged it to Carey. On the second day, having rendered Ackerman strokeless, Boland induced a careless waft outside off, with a similar result. Starc joined the party by inducing an optimistic wave from Breetzke, again caught behind by Carey. Rickelton – now the wicket-keeper and batting at six instead of opening – shared in a 52-run stand with his captain until in the shadows of dusk Boland returned, and had him edging behind to Renshaw.

At 5/92 South Africa is on the rack. Yet their doughty skipper is still there, unbeaten on 41. Temba Bavuma is a proud man, with every reason to be. Until Australia’s arrival he had captained his side 12 times for 11 wins and a draw. He has shown that the pitch is far from unplayable. But the menace of Boland still lurks in the shadows. Cummins might well congratulate himself for calling the situation correctly, all the more since Hazlewood was indisposed and unable to take the field. There has been no spin as yet. There may not be much for the entire fixture. But he had seam backup in Webster the utility, whose four overs were accurate, testing, and cost his captain just a single. More tomorrow…

Australia toiled unrewarded for most of the morning on a somnolent pitch with an anaesthetised ball. They bowled well enough to cause occasional alarums, but Markram and Mulder applied themselves with the grim determination of the Horatii on the Tiber bridge. Lyon wheeled away with his customary guile, yet the pitch defeated him. He ought to have had Mulder the previous night, but Maddinson at short leg missed the tough chance. Cummins swapped his bowlers around frequently, rummaging for the key which would turn the lock. And for almost two hours they were frustrated. Finally Hazlewood had a slice of luck when Mulder flicked at a wayward leg-side delivery and was brilliantly caught by Carey.

Kyle Verreyne came and went, as too many of the local batsmen have done. He fell to Renshaw’s flight outside off-stump, playing for turn which wasn’t there. To be fair to him, Renshaw had turned the odd ball sharply; yet more experience on the subcontinent would have taught him never to anticipate imaginary spin. One can only imagine Lyon’s feelings when the part-time offie gets two cheap wickets, and he had thus far nothing to show for his efforts. The main issue for Lyon was that the South Africans played him off the back foot. In Australia this is a perilous practice, since he bowls with considerable overspin. Here the docile pitch blunted his best efforts. He should probably have pitched the ball further up, and risked being driven to the boundary. Runs really weren’t important.

At lunch the home side was 6/166, with Markram unbowed and unbeaten on 69, from 200 deliveries. Only he and Renshaw have passed fifty so far in the game. He has shown that those prepared to concentrate and fight it out can prosper here. With him was Jansen, who already looked uncomfortable with the needs of the situation. He is far happier clubbing the ball into the middle distance; but sterner tasks awaited him. In the leadup to the new ball he was given some allsorts upon which to fill his boots. Then matters took an ugly turn. It was Hazlewood who broke through, finding a minute slot between bat and pad to demolish the stumps. Jansen’s 35 had been a decent effort, but with his departure the closing curtain began to tremble in the wings.

Harmer received a brutish delivery from Hazlewood. It was full enough for him to play forward, yet the ball exploded off the deck like an overenthusiastic firecracker and took the edge. Carey had to pull in a high mark well above his head, but clasped it as though he was still playing football for Greater Western Sydney. Markram still clung to the crease like a dazed shellfish, but Starc had him caught behind off a fine edge. It was Carey’s fifth catch of the innings and the end of a marathon vigil by the doughty opener. To be ninth out, for 75 painstakingly acquired over six weary hours, says everything necessary. When Nortje swung optimistically at Hazlewood and dollied the ball to Lyon the contest was finished.

The laconic Hazlewood finished with 6/49, and without him the visitors would have struggled. His ability to extract bounce and seam from the most moribund of surfaces is his superpower. Yet the player of the match was self-evidently Renshaw, with 190 and 82 on a wicket where most struggled to score, and 2/30 with his gentle off-breaks. It was a stunning revival for a cricketer many had thought done and dusted.

When Australia resumed this morning the threat of bad light was palpable. And while their position was comfortable enough, it was equally clear that there was not a moment to lose. Head’s departure to a nothing stroke on his pads was poor, and hints at a fateful complacency that has crept into his game. Lofting the ball through the off-side is his signature tune. Good luck catching him there. But at times he wafts lazily onto the on-side. He did so this morning and presented Jansen with a very soft wicket. But Maddinson and Labuschagne kept up the pace until Maddinson departed for a splendid 48. His stumps were scattered by a Nortje thunderbolt, but he had done his work nobly. At drinks Australia had raced to 111 for 2 from a mere 20 overs, and one was obliged (in memory of Shep) to keep one foot off the floorboard until the resumption.

By lunch the score was 4/174. Smith had lofted Harmer over long on for six, narrowly missing Jansen’s Inspector Gadget grasp. He repeated the stroke, and this time the giant from Klerksdorp hauled it in. Labuschagne fell to Maharaj. The wearing pitch was taking appreciable spin now. But an all too familiar sight had emerged, hulking, mild-mannered, and quietly determined. Renshaw began as he had left off, reverse-sweeping the spinners with ease and panache. He and Carey took the score to 205 until another lightning flash from the fire-breathing Nortje cannoned off Carey’s bat onto the stumps.

Webster has experienced a lean time of it of late. He took a dozen balls to get his eye in before getting off strike and handing it back to the imperious Queenslander. Batting looks terribly simple when watching Renshaw play. On rare occasions he mishit, but in sweeping he clubs the ball into the pitch first, and to the quicks his soft hands saved him more than once from a slips catch. He and Webster managed 65 from 71 deliveries as the spectre of declaration approached. When Maharaj had him caught-and-bowled on the carpet for 82 it was a surprise to everyone, not least the delighted bowler, who juggled it a few times like a recumbent stage magician. He held the ball aloft, and the video replay confirmed his optimism.

Captain Pat emerged wearing a Cheshire Cat grin, and pummelled his way to an unbeaten 31 from 12, including four enormous sixes. His stand with Webster produced 45 from 19. He called time thereupon, decreeing that a lead of 420 would be sufficient. Aside from Head, no blame attaches to any of the Australian batsmen. All made it to double figures, and everyone who lost their wicket did so while pushing for runs. The innings total of 6/314 was achieved at the madcap rate of five and a half an over.

The home team, weary and battered, made their way out. Rickelton’s Test match thus far has been a dismal one, and it was not surprising when he wafted at Hazlewood as though swatting at an incursion of wasps. Carey pouched the catch and Australian hopes soared. But Aiden Markram stood his ground: grim, unsmiling, and determined to sell his wicket dearly. He erected fascines, gabions and barbed wire around his crease and defied everything cast at him. At the other end David Bedingham batted as though on a Caribbean cruise. He struck eight sumptuous boundaries on his way to 46, whereupon he wandered across his stumps, was accosted in front by Hazlewood and departed.

As in the first innings Bavuma found himself stranded above the waterline, unable to pierce the field or urge the ball off the square. Lyon was asking searching questions, without really threatening the stumps. In a moment of inspiration Cummins threw the ball to Renshaw. Why not? Had the captain asked him to walk across the harbour dry-footed to Bayhead he might well have done that too. He tossed the ball up just outside off, Bavuma’s bat edged it onto his pad and it flew to Maddinson at short leg. Sometimes the part-timer can achieve what the regulars cannot. Worse was to follow when Stubbs came and went, edging behind to Carey from Cummins.

And still the menacing clouds stayed away. And there stood Markram, still defending his personal rampart. At 4/86 the clouds of doom were present in spirit. Mulder joined him and saw off the final overs without further calamity. At 4/102 victory is a distant hallucination. For the visitors, prising out the last six wickets may take time and effort. Pitch misbehaviour has been conspicuous by its absence. Markram has shown his fellows the way. His unbeaten 45 has occupied 115 deliveries. He has rarely looked troubled. Want of concentration has been the downfall of the rest. More in due course.

The task awaiting Australia’s four greying veterans was a formidable one. Going by yesterday’s experience the pitch would offer nothing much, and the ball may be expected to die peacefully in its sleep after a prolonged illness around the fiftieth over. Swing? Seam? Neither of the above. You might as well expect to make an orange sit up and recite sea-shanties when pitched onto a sheet of glass. Day 3 is when most pitches are at their best for batting, and we might have expected that the home side would fill their boots. However. Cummins, Starc, Hazlewood and Lyon have around 1600 Test wickets between them: a stupefying statistic suggesting that even batting against them on a sponge rubber mat might be challenging.

And so it proved. Australia’s best effort came before lunch. Bedingham and Markram played watchfully, pouncing on anything over-pitched. Their stand of 84 was the best of the innings. Yet the remorseless Australians pulled back their lengths a trifle. Starc got one to lift outside off, and Markram attempted an injudious waft and was well-caught by Renshaw. Lyon channelled the offies of yesteryear by flighting the ball outside off-stump. Bavuma, rendered strokeless, essayed a reverse sweep from Lyon and was superbly caught at slip by Smith: the first of his four catches. He now leads all-comers in fielding catches with 223, three ahead of Joe Root. When Cummins removed Bedingham (caught at slip by the indefatigable Smith) Australia’s luncheon must have been rendered more palateable by the consideration that early wickets were imperative, and the awesome foursome had gathered one apiece.

A curious feature of the day was the apparent willingness of the home team to repeat earlier blunders. Later on Verreyne echoed Bavuma’s mistake, with a similar result. And Cummins, pitching short to Stubbs, had him caught at deep square. Some time later Mulder managed a serviceable instant replay. The last two wickets garnered a vital 87 after the ball had mouldered away into a lump of putty. The stalwart batting of Maharaj, Harmer and Nortje merely served to show up the want of concentration from those more fancied above them. South Africa eventually made 284, but – incredibly – nobody even managed a fifty. Some blame attaches to them. But the laurels of the day are owed to the four immortals. They toiled away without any assistance to speak of, and secured a lead of 106.

After his excruciating torment on the first morning, it was not really a surprise when Maddinson whacked the first ball of the innings to the leg boundary. No point hanging around, he had evidently decided. Let’s get into them. He and Head raced to an exuberant run-a-ball 33 before the encroaching gloom brought proceedings to an early close, for the third day in succession. Is it too much to suggest that a pink ball might be substituted so play could continue under lights? Apparently it is. More tomorrow.

Long ago, in another time and epoch at the MCG, a Victorian fielder turned to NSW captain Alan Kippax as they watched Hal Hooker come out to bat for the visitors at no.11. ‘Soon be over, skipper,’ he suggested. ‘You never know,’ the inscrutable Kippax responded. The result was a last-wicket stand of 307: a record which still stands to this day for first-class cricket. The good news for the home team was that it wasn’t as bad as that today. Yet it was not good, and exposed a chink in Bavuma’s seemingly invincible side. On inspecting the pitch first thing they will have noted that it was flattening out. Just sweep away the tail and we can make runs at will?

If that is what they thought they may be forgiven. Yet it did not turn out that way. Luck, which had signally deserted Australia yesterday, turned in their favour. The seamers did not attack the stumps enough, save for the energetic Mulder, who was rewarded with the wickets of Cummins and Starc. They gave Cummins room outside off, which is generally a cardinal error. Having given the ball loop and flight yesterday Harmer resorted to the spear-gun, all in vain. And Maharaj did not look himself: seemingly flummoxed by Renshaw’s willingness to sweep and reverse sweep whenever he thought it safe. And Bavuma did not call upon Markram’s spin until the 120th over.

Yet when Lyon came out to bat, surely the end must be nigh? Probably even the visitors’ dressing room feared as much. Yet the GOAT knows his game by now. Straight bat, block it on the stumps, hook off the body. By the time he was finally out, when it belatedly occurred to Jansen to bowl a yorker on middle stump, the grizzled spinner had made a priceless 27. Australia went to lunch after a prolonged first session at 8/277, and the frustration in the fielding side was palpable. The afternoon session lasted 41 overs of torment for the bowlers. They did not bowl badly after lunch. But the pitch gave them little, and they faced a seemingly immoveable wall. When Renshaw was batting the stumps must have seemed a tedious long way distant. He farmed the strike expertly and unflappably, batting like an amiably good-natured elephant. Pachyderms are known for their patience and unhurried precision. One was reminded of the normally gentle Hathi from Kipling’s tale. Where Hathi reaps, there is no gleaning. Renshaw batted, and batted, and batted. Does this man ever tire of batting?

Clearly not. It has been almost ten years since his first (and hitherto only) Test century, and he has lost years to avenge. Quietly. Without fuss, and with a nobly vertical bat. Accompanied at the last by Hazlewood, he went to tea unbeaten on 190, with Australia sailing into calm waters at 9/390. From a position of 6/124 yesterday, let it be marked. The day, thus far, had been his. Cummins and Lyon had certainly assisted with all their might. The former made a dauntless 43 from 86 deliveries. The Goat’s 27 from 92 balls was his share of a monumental ninth-wicket stand of 134.

After tea the centurion’s iron discipline faltered at last without addition to the score. Harmer, who had resumed his customary teasing flight, tossed one up outside off, and Renshaw edged to Markram at slip. The final session would test the patience of the exhausted home side. As the clouds gathered, Rickelton chased a wide one from Hazlewood into the bucket hands of Webster at third slip. A desultory flurry of boundaries ensued before the umpires called time, as a Stygian gloom descended. The battered home team will have felt nothing but relief. Tomorrow is another day.