It became apparent that the third day pitch had quietened down somewhat, although the up-and-down movement troubled all batsmen. It was a pitch which screamed out to anyone watching it that this was above all a day to play with a vertical bat. This is hardly rocket science, yet the white ball invasion has made this basic skill unfashionable. The Australians did just that, especially Webster. Diagonal bats will come to grief quicker that you can say Played On! Knowing that their side was one step away from disaster, Head and Webster began circumspectly, yet looking for runs at every opportunity.

The crisis arrived when Head nicked the luckless Shamarr to second slip, whereupon Greaves muffed it. It was the seventh dropped catch by the home side, and the most costly of all. The 5th wicket partnership produced 102 in a mere 28 overs before Head was trapped in front by Shamarr. The indefatigable Guyanese kept demanding the ball, and kept his team in the contest. He nipped out Webster to an unlucky leg-side strangle. He swept away Starc with a brutal in-dipper. And with the new ball he put an end to Hazelwood’s brief defiance. His five-wicket haul was no less than his due.

And yet. The other bowlers toiled away without much fortune. Australia’s batsmen lived up to their billing for once and piled on every run possible. The decisive innings was played by Carey, who swept his first two deliveries from Warrican off his stumps. He danced down the pitch to the quicks. He reached his fifty from forty balls by depositing Joseph onto the pavilion roof at long-off. He was only dismissed for a brilliant 65 when Chase belatedly brought himself on and tempted him with a looping wide ball, which the pugnacious keeper lofted to Greaves in the deep. Meanwhile numbers 8 to 11 contributed a priceless fifty runs between them, stretching the Australian lead past three hundred.

This would be a far from easy run chase. The worst fears of the home crowd were realised early when Brathwaite fell to Starc’s first over, well taken by Konstas at leg-gully. Brathwaite has had a fairly distinguished career as an opener, but his awkward sideways crouch at the crease – resembling a diffident crustacean approaching its evening meal – leaves him open to a lofted glance. Starc then induced an outside edge from Carty. Incredibly, Green muffed it: proof positive that the man is out of sorts with himself. Normally he catches everything within a bull’s roar of his giant arms. Campbell and Keacy played positively, and after ten overs the scoreline was a healthy 1/47.

Josh Hazlewood then induced a hideously inappropriate scoop from Campbell, taken by Carey with ease. This was the prelude to catastrophe. Next ball the hapless King edged to Green at gully, who retrieved his previous error with an exuberant leap skyward. In little more than an hour seven wickets fell, mostly to Hazlewood. Yes, Australia bowled superbly, and caught everything thereafter. Yet the home side played in a sweaty panic. Alzarri Joseph managed to run himself out for an ignominious duck. Only Greaves kept his head and managed to stay in. At 8/86 the redoubtable Shamarr came out to bat, steaming gently through his ears. One can see his point. Having bowled his heart out, he had been obliged to watch his batsmen lose the plot. There was nothing for it but a furious counterattack.

He has done it before, after all. Yet this was something else. In twenty-odd balls he whacked four fours and four sixes. Out of a ninth-wicket stand of 55 he contributed 44. That he fell to Lyon is no fault of his. In the extremity of his frustration nobody would, could, or should blame him. Lyon finished the game by picking off Seales, and the visitors had triumphed by 159 runs: a cavernous margin which hardly reflects the bedrock fact that for two days the home side had constantly threatened victory. Yet Dad’s Army prevailed. There is no substitute for experience after all.

Darren Sammy was far from impressed up in the coaches’ box, but all we can say is that yes: the close calls on review mostly favoured Australia; and yes: the decisions made were the correct ones. Sammy’s frustrations cannot have been eased when Konstas was dropped twice in the slips from the luckless Shamarr Joseph. It was an untidy day’s play from all save the seam quartets of both sides, who performed marvellously on a pitch which offered them plenty. Batting was far from easy. The new ball swung alarmingly, and there was seam movement in abundance. Several batsmen lost their off-stump to ill-advised leaves, notably King and Inglis.

The point about batting on a dubious wicket against hostile seam bowling is that you have to be looking for runs even if you aren’t actually scoring. And it is under these conditions that technical flaws are horribly exposed. Cameron Green will not enjoy the footage of him waving a diagonal bat well outside his body. At least he did use his feet on ocasion today. And the home side’s theory about Sam Konstas’ vulnerability to fullish off-cutters was vindicated. Konstas’ problem is that his strokeplay is actually quite limited. His 38-ball five was excruciating to watch as the Caribbean seamers worked him over.

Earlier the Australians did their level best to wrap up the home side quickly. Chase and Hope made them wait in a commendable sixth wicket stand of 67. They were watchful, yet took every run on offer. When Lyon was thrown the ball the Windies chanced their arms and plundered 28 off his five overs. It may yet be a pitch that takes spin, but that day was not this day. Webster was introduced belatedly – a rare occasion when Cummins missed a trick – and his immense height and seam movement proved too much for Hope and Greaves, who both edged behind to Carey. Starc, Hazelwood and Cummins shared the rest of the wickets until Lyon – brought back to remove Seales at the end – brought the innings to a close. It was an imprudent swipe from the no.11, since he had Alzarri Joseph at the other end unbeaten on a rapid-fire 23; but really: the last man in is usually allowed some leeway for rushes of blood to the brain.

Thanks to the matchless seam attack from Australia the home side’s lead was restricted to just ten runs. But the Josephs, Seales and Greaves came out breathing fire and brimstone, and the visiting batsmen had no answers. A good eye and a dubious technique may work on a flat pitch; but it will not pass muster hereabouts. Head and Webster survived until stumps. Their stand of 27 included 19 runs from the towering number six. He has faced a mere 24 deliveries, and used his Brobdignagian height to pummel the rare loose deliveries into the middle distance. Much depends on these two tomorrow.

The day finished with Australia once more hanging on by their fingernails. It has been an all too familiar tale of late. Despite moaning from the peanut gallery about Australia’s veteran bowlers, it is they who are currently holding this team’s collective head above the waves. Of the younger brigade only Webster has shone in this match. The rest appear to be in urgent need of remedial coaching.

In the Headingley Test match just concluded, doubtless India will be asking themselves how on earth they managed to lose a game in which their top order had twice put England’s bowlers to the sword. Two reasons stand out: their lower order was twice swept away with maximum contumely by Josh Tongue; and a surfeit of dropped catches. Catches win matches is the hoariest and most ageworn of saws, yet it remains as relevant as ever. Last night in Barbados the truth of this may yet be tested.

‘If you short or full today, you goin’ to get paint.’ Thus a long-forgotten Bajan commenting on the idiosyncrasies of cricket hereabouts. This is an unforgiving ground with more pace than most in the Caribbean. Bruce Yardley once scored 74 and 43 here batting at number eight against the full fury of Roberts, Holding and Garner. Courage under fire can be rewarded here.

Cummins won the toss and elected to bat, on the grounds that spin is expected later on. Roston Chase opined that he would have done likewise. Chase’s seamers were rarely short, preferring a full length and allowing the ball to swing extravagantly. Shamarr Joseph had spearheaded that improbable ‘Gabba victory with his boundless aggression, and he has lost nothing in hostility in the interim. He removed Konstas with a snorting off-cutter adjudged leg before on review. The teenaged opener did little wrong. Sometimes the bowler is simply too good.

The same could not be said for Cameron Green, whose annointing as Australia’s long-term number three looks increasingly ill-advised. Offered a life when he prodded forward and edged to King, he repeated his error and presented Shamarr with his second scalp. This flat-footed myopic prodding will not do in Test matches. Either play forward using your enormous height, or else back into your crease. Josh Inglis meanwhile on receipt of a rare short ball from Jayden Seales obligingly lifted it skywards to Shai Hope. Suddenly Australia was three down for not much and in a whole world of trouble.

Khawaja meanwhile had troubles of his own, having edged behind and been reprieved by the butter-fingered. His subcontinental style looks ill-suited to Test cricket. And yet he knows his game well, and clung to the crease, waiting for some loose deliveries. Shortly before lunch the home side obliged, and he went to lunch somewhat happier. Travis Head was his usual belligerent self. When he is on song batting looks easier. Cover drive or square cut outside off, and glance to leg on the pads. Anything on the stumps, block it. At 3/65 the visitors could be well satisfied with the second hour of the morning session.

After lunch Khawaja on 45 edged Seales to King in the gully, who dropped another chance. This was a difficult catch, but it ought to have been accepted. Head meanwhile reached his half-century from 57 balls. Routine for him, remarkable for anyone else. The reappearance of Shamarr Joseph brough Usman’s good fortune to a close when he edged behind from one of his ambitious swipes across the line. It is a stroke which brings him a lot of runs, but it looks unsightly, as if a normally mild-mannered fellow has suddenly decided to doff his coat and avenge an imagined insult. Nevertheless his 47 had been a fine innings under trying circumstances.

Webster came and went in quick time. He too did little wrong, and moved into double figures with a succulent cover-drive. Joseph’s riposte next ball was a bail-high leg-cutter which did just enough to evade the groping bat. By now the man had 4/25 and the visitors were hanging over the edge of a deep crevasse by a single, fraying slip-knot. It had been an extraordinary display of fast bowling well worthy of the mighty names on the remodelled grandstands. Head then cut Shamarr from far too full a length and edged behind. Alas for Joseph: the ball had bounced just in front of the outstretched gloves.

Carey then wafted at Seales and was brilliantly taken by Chase in the slips. The ball appeared to have passed the Windies captain’s shoulder, but he pocketed the ball and displayed it as though presenting a spray of flowers from a top hat. Tea was taken at 6/138. Straight afterwards Head flailed at Greaves far too close to his off-stump and was taken behind. Seales removed Starc with an away-swinger and the end was nigh.

Or possibly not. Captain Pat had clearly had enough of all this and launched a blistering counter-attack. Some of his strokes were at least intelligible. Bouncers which stuck in the pitch were lifted over the keeper’s head. Windy woofs outside off which barely escaped the field were familiar enough. And some were unearthly, like the lofted cover hoick which carried the boundary for six. This cannot be found in even the most outré batting manual. Yet Seales kept his nerve and held one back just enough for Cummins to loft it to mid-off. His 28 had been a praiseworthy flurry, yet all too brief.

The innings ought to have concluded when Lyon edged Shamarr to Brandon King, yet the hapless debutant dropped it: his third fluffed catch. The end did come on 180 when Hazelwood gloved Seales to Hope. Seales finished with 5/60. His Test strike rate is well down in the thirties: an incredible statistic in itself. He simply has the knack of taking wickets. He and Shamarr gave the tormented Australians no respite. Alzarri Joseph went wicketless, yet you could not say that he offered any degree of comfort to the visitors. Aside from Khawaja’s early reprieve, most of the missed chances did not signify much. And yet. Had everything been pouched the innings might have subsided for a hundred.

With an hour and a half to bat, the home side had reasons for optimism. Yet only Brathwaite boasts a Test average above thirty. And when he fell to Starc, taken low down at second slip by Webster, tremors would have been felt. Starc’s chief weapon with the new ball is his deadly late inswinger. Yet the ball which holds its line, as this one did, is every bit as lethal. Campbell then poked at Starc’s away-swinger and was taken behind by Carey. When King edged his first delivery just past his off-stump, he must have felt that the cricketing gods had spared him further humiliation. Starc’s rueful grin spoke bound volumes. Cummins’ patented leg-cutter disposed of Carty, who had looked sound and competent in his 20; and Warrican, sent in as night-watchman, lasted just two deliveries, playing all over Hazelwood and losing his stumps. King and Chase saw the home side to stumps at 4/67. Australia had drawn level, at the very least. King had much redemption to achieve after muffing three catches, but his unbeaten 23 has been a promising beginning.

Many a past luminary was looking on from the pavilion, celebrating the fiftieth anniversary of their 1975 World Cup triumph. They would have liked what they saw. West Indies Test cricket has been an ongoing disaster for far too long. But this team is a credit to their coach, the indefatigable Darren Sammy. He was a cricketer of limited skills, but the Fire In Babylon lives on in him. He has dispensed with the shirkers, the self-absorbed and the half-hearted. Only those who truly want to be out there are welcome in his team. We should all wish them well.

Looking around the stands and the outer at Lords, there was no mistaking the quietly resurgent optimism. Consider their tragic history. The newly Rainbow South Africa has been playing international cricket for 33 years. They have frequently threatened. And yet they have won nothing at all. The latest disappointment was in the recent Women’s T20 World Cup, where as odds-on favourites they were brought down by New Zealand in the final. The Colliwobbles have nothing on the Proteas. How can a side which is always thereabouts manage to slip and stumble every single time when silverware impends?

Such questions are probably best left to psychiatrists and the like. But so it was that South Africa came into this contest as raging underdogs, despite having won all their previous seven Tests. Better yet: they were more match-fit than their opponents. And yet. Had it not been for Aiden Markram, South Africa would have been beaten yet again. Bavuma battled manfully for his 66, injured hamstring and all. Yet the other bats looked anything but secure, despite the billiard-table quality of the pitch. Any suggestion that Australia would meekly surrender this morning was put to bed very early. No: we have been well-beaten here. But we will make you earn it. There will be no freebies, today nor any other day. The attack was disciplined, the fielders keen and alert, and by the time Verreynne hit the winning runs half the side was out. Had not Australia exhausted their reviews there would have been another caught behind.

Yet all of that was merely to suggest that Cummins’ men would not turn it up. They haven’t turned it up in living memory. They will fight it out to the very last ball. And they did. Yet when the contest was there to be won, Markram and Bavuma did the needful. It is hard to escape the feeling that part of South Africa’s inglorious history may be sheeted to the clash of over-mighty egos. And it is this which is conspicuously absent these days. Temba Bavuma is the skipper, and what he says goes. Unity is strength, and it is this which has broken the longest hoodoo in the modern game.

Does the World Test Championship even matter? It does not rate highly on India’s radar, clearly. If it did, the final would be in Ahmedabad rather than St John’s Wood. They played in the first two finals at Lords, losing both, to New Zealand and Australia respectively. For South Africa this win means everything. Finally, a victory for the ages. And yet. A single match, played out of season for all save England, is not satisfactory. A tourney? If it were an eight-team final series this would not encourage anyone to exert themselves unduly. But a four-team series, played by the same rules as the IPL finals? That would be a fitting climax. No-one is guaranteed their spot. The Test series leading up to the finals would have moment and incentive. A short series of four finals would be a better test of mettle than a one-off match.

We can but hope. Expecting common-sense from cricket administrators is an exercise in creative optimism. Just occasionally, we are rewarded.

A three-day finish to this contest seemed inevitable when the indefatigable Rabada trapped Lyon in front early. Yet Starc’s stubborn defiance was by no means over. And Hazelwood, as last man in, does have form as a partner. He recently shared a tenth wicket stand of 116 with Green. The two giant quicks dug in, erected flags and bunting around their wickets and dared South Africa to dislodge them. The score mounted steadily and the bowlers gritted their teeth. Another fifty partnership was raised. Starc’s own fifty followed some time after. It took Markram’s offspin to break the last defences, right on the stroke of lunch. Hazelwood’s expansive backfoot drive smelt somewhat of batting hubris.

Nevertheless it had been a brilliant comback by the Australian tail. At 7/74 the game was all but over. Yet meek surrender is not Australia’s habit. Make them fight, seemed to be the idea. Starc’s unbeaten 58 occupied well over three hours. As he limbered up to bowl one sensed that the man would leave nothing out there. Rickelton edged his away-swinger to Carey. And after a promising start Mulder failed to keep his drive down and Labuschagne pouched the chance. At 2/70 the crisis was approaching. It came when Bavuma edged to Smith, standing at close-in slip. No only did the ball burst through his fingers, it smashed his little finger in several places. Smith left in anguish, and the last chance had passed.

Thereafter Markram and Bavuma calmly picked off the runs. By stumps Markram had reached his century. Bavuma had acquired a hamstring injury; but the diminutive captain disdained the very idea of retiring hurt. The pair were masters of the wilting attack, and the very idea of letting Australia bowl to a new batsman was scorned. The sober truth is that by Day Three the pitch had flattened out into a highway. The defiant stand of Australia’s last pair had already foreshadowed this.

South Africa have a long history of fumbling the silverware at the last moment. Markram and Bavuma were having none of that. The last rites will be performed tomorrow. Captain Pat will be hoping for a miracle; but even his genius would be stretched beyond the realms of the possible. Seventy-odd needed with eight wickets in hand? Surely not!

Looking at the scorecard one might be forgiven for suspecting that the pitch was a green mamba. Not only was it devoid of any colour save harvest yellow; there was not a serpent to be seen this side of Cricklewood. Already by the second morning conditions had eased. There was no swing to speak of, and less seam movement than before. Bavuma decreed that after the formation stoicism of the first evening  they would look for runs today. And they did just that. Bats which yesterday seemed to be groping in the twilight seemed to find the ball more easily. Australia bowled accurately and well, but the score mounted steadily to 94 and relative comfort.

And then there was Cummins. He held one back the merest smidgin; Bavuma lofted the ball somewhat in the region of cover, and the hyperactive Labuschagne hauled it in, appearing from nowhere like the Demon King in a pantomime. Bedingham meanwhile had been the model of studious patience. Verreyne joined him and saw the Proteas safely to lunch at 5/121.

We do not know what was on the lunch menu. It may have been brimstone sandwiches, because Cummins thereafter ascended Olympian heights. At 126 Verreyne was trapped on the crease leg before. Jansen came and went in the flicker of an eyelid, caught and bowled. And Bedingham edged behind to Carey. Suddenly Cummins had five for nothing much. And this on a wicket with only a modicum of seam movement.

How is it done? If bowlers knew the answer to that they would all be enjoying their cricket a good deal more. But this much can be said. Not only does he possess metronomic accuracy and the ability to gouge sideways motion out of a glass runway; he also has minute variations of his release point. Bedingham played the correct line for earlier in the over. But the wicket ball was delivered a little closer to the umpire. The difference would be measured in inches. Yet it made the difference between a defensive block and a fine edge.

While Captain Pat was wreaking havoc at his end, the support staff gave little away save for one wayward over from Webster. Realising that the skipper was on a roll they merely tightened the screws and let him have his head. Maharaj was sufficiently panicked at the idea of Rabada facing the bowling that he attempted a second run more in the realms of fancy than fact, and was beaten home by Head’s sharp throw to Carey. Cummins finished the innings by working Rabada over and having him brilliantly caught in the deep by Webster. The last five wickets fell for twelve runs. Cummins finished with 6/28 and his 300th Test scalp. It was a prodigious performance by a master bowler on a surface which at best might be termed vaguely helpful.

With a goodly lead Labuschagne started brightly. Jansen did not trouble the openers unduly. Rabada however seemed determined to outdo Cummins. His spell before tea was another fast bowling masterclass. In an eerie repeat loop of the first innings he removed Khawaja and Green within three balls, and Australia went to tea on rocky ground. After the break Labuschagne drove lazily at a Jansen half-volley and edged behind. And Smith? There he was, batting in his own serene little bubble of self-absorption. Until, to the entire’s crowd’s stupefied astonishment, Ngidi trapped him in front. Not content with that, he did the same thing to Webster. To crown all, Mulder bowled Head with a superb breakback.

Just allow that to settle in for a moment. The backup seam attack, which had been a broken reed on Day 1, was slicing remorselessly through Australia’s middle order. Ngidi and Mulder were men transformed. It was as if they had beheld Cummins’ genius and told themselves I want some of that. Cummins missed a swipe at Ngidi and was bowled off his pads. At 7/73 the end was nigh. Or so it seemed. Carey and Starc had other ideas. They defended stoutly and took every run on offer. Carey was given out leg before and appealed successfully. And the score mounted. The hundred came up, then the fifty partnership. By the time Carey was finally out to the persevering Rabada the lead had exceeded 200.

It seemed the gods had turned their heads away from Bavuma. Three times Carey edged just in front of Markram at second slip. They advanced to the point where Starc edged to Jansen at suicide gully and the catch went down. At stumps Australia survives: 8/144 with a lead of 218. Carey’s 43 occupied just 50 balls, and brought his side back from the crypt. Tomorrow will see the endgame with the match evenly poised.

Temba Bavuma won the toss, took a long, slow look at the straw-coloured pitch, gazed up at the heavens, and decided to insert Australia. It made sense. The wicket appeared docile. But there: this is Lords. The Slope – spelling doom and defeat to many a neophyte batsman – lurks as an ever-present threat. As does the Dukes ball and an enticing atmosphere of lowering cloud. Bob Massie once took sixteen wickets here bowling swing. Glenn McGrath famously took eight ludicrously cheap English wickets here. Seven days out of ten, you bowl. And he did.

In the matter of trash-talking the opposition, many would suggest the sage counsel of soccer warlord Brian Clough: ‘Say nowt. Win t’game. Then talk your head off.’ Kagiso Rabada spurned this wise advice and talked his head off beforehand. If you take this course you would be well-advised to let your deeds match your words. And didn’t he just. He and Marco Jansen bowled a combined spell which overwhelmed the Australian top order. Little blame attaches. Khawaja, Green and Labuschagne were swept away by hostile pace, late swing and venomous seam movement. None threw their hands away. They were caught behind from obligatory defensive shots. And just before lunch, the crowning catastrophe occurred when Head was dismissed to a leg-side strangle – ever the most misfortunate of demises. At 4/67, the famed luncheon of sticky date pudding would have been as ashes in their mouths.

And then there was Steven Smith. Smudger is, as previously related, a man reborn in these latter times. He no longer goes back and across. Now he waddles sideways on the crease outside the off-stump and waves his bat at the ball. Apparently there is method in it. Frankly it is not for us to question his methods. Hours of patient planning have gone into this. And every time he bats these days it is as if he is playing on a different pitch to everyone else. It is not the most bizarre of techniques in Test history. Shivnarine Chanderpaul made almost twelve thousand Test runs by assuming a position like a fiddler crab attempting to find his front door with his house key after a long night on the sauce. He was the despair of bowlers. And so is Smith.

He batted, and batted, seemingly untroubled. He reached 66 before Bavuma belatedly realised that, counter-intuitively, the biggest threat to Smith was not Maharaj’s left-arm orthodox, but rather Markram’s off-spin. Last ball of Markram’s opening over Smith advanced, edged the away-drifter to slip, and the Inspector Gadget giant arms of Jansen hauled it in at the third attempt. He had made an effortless 66, but his team needed a big hundred from him.

And then there was Webster. After lunch Rabada’s second spell had him bound and gagged. Had the bowler advanced and offered him a gimp mask nobody would have been surprised. Yet somehow he clung on. Beau Webster is a cricketer of substance. Yes, he seemed to say. You had me beaten flat.  Nevertheless I’m still here, and now I am going to cash in. He was helped by some innocuous seam bowling from Mulder and Ngidi. The latter was once a lethal fast bowler. But he has lost a yard or two, and hereabouts this makes all the difference. England is no place for fast-medium trundlers, and he was punished horribly. The score mounted merrily, and at tea Australia had reached 5/190.

After the break Rabada and Jansen swept away the tail. Webster top-scored with 72, but the rest could do little. Rabada’s five wickets were no less than his due from a superb display of fast bowling. He may have a big mouth, but with pace, late swing and biting seam movement he lived up to his own estimation of himself. And Jansen – frequently wayward as might be expected of a man from the Land of Giants – was scarcely less impressive. At 212 all out South Africa could feel well-pleased with their work.

If batting seemed hard for Australia, the Proteas soon discovered just how arduous things could be. In Starc’s opening over he lured Markram into a somewhat false stroke. The ball swung in late and disturbed the woodwork. He marched off disconsolate, knowing that many a man before him has succumbed in similar fashion, either bowled or leg before. Somewhat surprisingly, Wiaan Mulder came in first drop, and the Australian seam trio worked him over. They bowled a fuller English length; the ball seamed and swung alarmingly; and he clung to the crease like a limpet. Rickelton meanwhile struck a few boundaries before chasing Starc’s away-swinger and edging to Khawaja.

Mulder and Bavuma defended desperately: strokeless and obdurate. But Cummins’ late movement rattled through Mulder’s defences; and Stubbs – only too aware of Hazelwood’s genius for wicked leg-cutters – played around the off-cutter which cannoned into his stumps. By the close South Africa was 4/43, and suddenly Australia’s two-hundred-odd looks a long way off. The captain Bavuma is unbeaten on three, from 37 deliveries. He and his fellows had been waiting for loose balls. From these blokes? Forget it. There weren’t any to speak of. What Bavuma must have thought to see Bedingham help himself to two late boundaries from Cummins can only be conjectured.

What the morrow will bring is anyone’s guess. If the ball stops moving about the Proteas have a chance for a first innings lead. If it doesn’t – well. They are up against it. But this was a thrilling contest between the two best teams in Test cricket. Both sides produced brilliant seam bowling, superb catching, and resolute defence against the odds. The difference thus far has been the backup seam attack. Ngidi leaked runs like a rusty colander, and after a promising opening spell Mulder’s lack of venom was pitilessly exposed. The Australian trio gave nothing away until the very close of play. More tomorrow.