As happens all too often on this day, the weather was unpropitious. 39 degrees, cloudy, with the promise of, if not meatballs, at least rain to follow at some juncture. The first surprise was team selection. Australia retained Marsh, for reasons obscure, but took the plunge and inserted teenage wunderkind Sam Konstas, of whom it will often be said, and frequently ad nauseam. India meanwhile lost patience with Gill and chose a curious side consisting of four batsmen, a keeper, three all-rounders and three seamers. Actually this was a sensible choice. Washington, Jaddu and Reddy are a more reliable source of runs than many of their alleged batsmen.
The pre-lunch session was a revelation. Despite the furnace-like conditions an enormous crowd had foregathered, and behold! they were indeed entertained. Australia for once won the toss and decided to bat. You should generally bat first, and the weather would have persuaded Captain Pat that to field would be madness. The Boy Wonder took guard from Bumrah and was beaten four times in the opening over. Do not allow anyone to tell you India bowled badly before lunch. They bowled as well as ever they have. After six overs Australia‘s openers were clinging to the crease. The ball was seaming everywhere and it looked like only a matter of time.
The seventh over of the innings will doubtless be installed in You-Tube heaven. Not least of the wonders was that Konstas had already tried twice to ramp Bumrah and failed horribly. Yet he persisted. He took 14 off Bumrah’s fourth over, and 18 off his sixth. His ramps and reverse ramps were as audacious as anything seen in a long age. Fortuna fortes adjuvat? Well, yes, but there is much more to it than that. Young Sam reasoned that to stand your ground and be shot at by the greatest of all current bowlers would be suicide. So I am going to ramp him. And the others. I will march out of my crease and smack them all. Was he lucky? Of course he was. But it was a bold gamble: well-reasoned, and successful.
So successful that he was shirtfronted by Kohli, who really ought to have known better. Konstas hosed the matter down, and deserves full marks for diplomacy. Knowing when not to pour petrol on a spot-fire is but one of the skills young cricketers must learn. His audacious innings was cut short by the belated introduction of Jaddu, who persuaded the Boy Wonder that he was turning the ball when he wasn’t. Lbw for 60 off 65 is not a bad introduction to Test cricket. His opening onslaught gave the home side several priceless advantages. It took all the pressure off Khawaja, who quietly accumulated at the other end. And by the time he was out it meant that Australia had the whip-hand, and intended to keep it.
After lunch nothing much happened except that the fielding side flagged and drooped in the baking heat. That was fine with Usman and Marnus. Khawaja was eventually out to a mistimed pull for a fine 57. It was a geographical distance from Bumrah’s best deliveries, but if anyone deserved a bit of luck it is the tireless Jasprit. Thereafter Labuschagne and Smith played quietly until tea, taken with the home side 2/176. They had neither intention nor incentive to take any risks. The longer we keep them out there, the more weary and dispirited they will get. The proof of which would come in the evening.
The first hour after tea was all India. The scribes had suggested that it would be spin all the way on a baking afternoon in the pizza oven. While Rohit Sharma has hardly distinguished himself this series he knew enough to throw the ball to Bumrah. Who else? And once more he did not let him down. First Washington induced a false shot from Labuschagne, who gave his hand away at 72. Bumrah bowled Head for a duck; and India, so tormented by the left-hander this series, breathed a huge sigh of relief. Head left alone a wicked leg-cutter. As he shouldered arms his moustache might well have crumbled from his incredulous upper lip. Predictably, Marsh whacked a boundary and then edged to slip.
With the home side tottering at 5/246 Bumrah had three of them. No words can express adequately how brilliant a spell this had been. With an ounce of luck Australia would be all out by now. Not since Dennis Lillee has a team been so reliant on a lion-hearted paceman. But by drinks even he was forced from the field with what appeared to be a calf strain. He could do no more, and no-one could have done as much. And there was Smudger, patiently accumulating runs, and grateful to be given an old ball wherewith to play himself in. Realising that the old ball needed to be punished, he whacked a couple of cow corner sixes from outside off. And Carey was Carey, quietly patting the ball here and there as though sweeping leaves from his front lawn. The home dressing room breathed a little easier. But no more wickets must go down tonight.
At 5.35pm the new ball was due. And Bumrah reappeared. Alas, he was a spent force by now. Anyone would have been in such weather, and after such a workload. Carey helped himself to seven runs from his over. But it was the persevering Akash Deep who removed Carey with an away-cutter which lifted alarmingly. Deep is a product of hardscrabble Bihar who worked his way into a cricket career in Kolkata. He has earned his place and gives everything to his side. It was he who strolled out at No.11 to save the follow-on in Brisbane, and made light work of it. He has bowled brilliantly without a scintilla of luck and finally got some just reward. Carey’s 31 was however a crucial innings, steering the home side into calm waters. Cummins took most of the remaining strike, for which Smith must have been grateful.
With 6/311 Australia is ahead of the game. For once the top four all made fifties. None has gone on with it, which has caused comment. But there: you’re never really in at the G. Smith loves batting here because he knows that. His battle computers never switch off. His unbeaten 68 holds the key to further progress. But the day belonged to Konstas. Urged by his captain to play as if it were backyard cricket, he did just that, and turned the tide in an hour of fury. Only 86 overs in six and a half hours? For once there was excuse of a sort. It was horribly hot; and several batsmen were recipients of Ted Wainwright’s advice to the young Neville Cardus: ‘It ‘im in t’cobbles! A moment’s respite is owed to the victims. More tomorrow.