Australia began the day as they had left off overnight. Head proceeded to 170 before hitting a catch to Crawley from the persevering Tongue. Thereafter events moved with ominous speed. Before lunch Australia found themselves all out for 349. Tongue, Carse, Stokes, and finally Archer harvested six fairly easy wickets. It was as though the Aussies had decreed that they had enough runs and may as well have a crack at England. Allan Border would have kept them out there for much of the day. The taciturn Captain Grumpy would have decreed much more pain, and a target of at least 500. But there: repeated disappointments had driven the iron deep into his flinty heart. Captain Pat seems made of more sanguine and exuberant stuff.
He began by prising out the hapless Duckett in his only over before the main break. If the definition of insanity is to keep on doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result, then Ben Duckett stands accused. Wafting an optimistic diagonal bat well outside off-stump has not worked well for him thus far, and today was no different. Straight after lunch Cummins had the equally hapless Pope brilliantly caught by Labuschagne in the slips. But he saved his best delivery for Joe Root, who had stroked his way to an effortless 39. The Cummins leg-cutter struck again. Root had no need to play at it; unless he feared the off-cutter. As well he might, for a fast bowler who seams the ball both ways is a perilous antagonist.
The crisis came with Harry Brook. We have begun to suspect him of being a flat-track bully. Well here he was, finally batting on an excellent track, and doing as he pleased with the bowling. England had learned their lesson and decreed that in future batsmen would play themselves in before becoming expansive. This Brook did. He, Root, and Crawley had dealt harshly with Lyon, sweeping him (forward and reverse) with impunity. But on 30, with English hopes flickering into new life, he attempted a hopelessly optimistic reverse sweep to Lyon’s quicker, fizzing off-break. It took the leg stump. Brook stood there, bewildered, unable to comprehend what had happened. As Wilfred Rhodes once told a young Varsity man: ‘Tha’s missed it young man. Now p— off: we’ve a train to catch.’ Fortunately, these are more polite times.
Suddenly energised, Lyon steamed in to Stokes and bowled another of his dream balls. Stokes stood motionless, all too aware of what had happened. A 90 k delivery aimed at the stumps, swooping into the pads, and turning away to strike off-stump. There is not much Stokes could have done about it. Meanwhile there was Zak Crawley. Here is a man who has underachieved as an opener. A Test average of around 30 is rather under par. All too often he goes out too hard and throws his hand away. Not today. After 30 balls he had made a solitary single. Thereafter he appeared to discover that patience really is a virtue. As wickets tumbled around him he stood firm, defended when he needed to, and scoring freely when possible.
He made his way to a brilliant 85 before leaving his crease to drive at Lyon, who floated the ball up outside off. Alas for Crawley, it was Lyon’s arm-ball, which sailed impudently past his bat and into Carey’s waiting gloves. The day ended with Jacks and Smith defending desperately against Lyon and Head. At 6/207 you could get odds of a hundred to one on an English victory. The target is 435. Tonight it seems as far afield as the Hindu Kush.