Australia began as they had done last evening: Green assured and confident, and Carey rather less so. Had it not been for a curiously attenuated slip cordon Carey might have succumbed sooner. But the morning belonged to Mehidy Hasan Miraz, who found some worn footmarks outside off-stump and attacked them with might and cunning. A good off-spinner makes the ball drift away through the air. Nobody needs a doosra in that event, since the arm-ball behaves like a leg-break. He had Carey caught behind for a struggletown 30, and he deceived Webster with an straight one, where the giant Tasmanian played for spin where there was none. Twice now Webster has been bowled by playing inside the line. And Cummins? Captain Pat has been out of sorts with the bat. He looked unconvincing against Taijul’s left-armers, but succumbed to a catch to short leg from Miraz.

By now the rampant all-rounder had four cheap wickets and Australia was on the mat. But the rejuvenated Green held firm, and found a willing ally in Starc, whose devoted wife Alyssa was sitting in the commentary box, presumably with her heart in her mouth. Please not the slog-sweep, Mitch? she might have been thinking. But the veteran quick has considerable talent with the bat. Far too often he undoes himself by injudicious swipes. This morning he was caution’s own son, watching the ball right onto the bat and only attempting strokeplay to the rare half-volleys he was offered. Shanto took the new ball after 80 overs, hoping for a repeat of Hasan’s early carnage. But the two Australians held firm until lunch, by which time the innings defeat had been averted and a slender lead of 15 achieved. Would they be able to go on with it? Could  there be an improbable resurrection?

Well, no. Not against resolute, well-disciplined opponents. Starc succumbed to Taskin, whose bounce and seam movement undid him. The question then became Could anyone stay with Green long enough for his century? The Goat obliged, and Green raised his bat, relieved and happy. Hasan removed him shortly afterwards for a superb 104. He did little wrong, playing back to a shortish delivery from Hasan which kept low and edged onto his stumps. Lyon was trapped leg before by Miraz, who finished with 5/66 in his 34th over: a master-class in off-spin bowling on a pitch which offered him but a modicum of assistance.

Chasing a mere 57, the last rites were enacted with little fuss. Tanzid succumbed to Hazlewood for a duck, having played the wrong line. Mominul and Shadman picked off the runs, and Bangla Desh celebrated, having outbatted, outbowled and outfielded their more fancied opponents. For the home side, Smith, Green and Hazlewood performed excellently. Starc bowled well without luck. The rest? The shockers are gone, the motor is firing on two and a half cylinders and the radiator is full of rust. Change is coming…

(A word of apology: your correspondent is now on holidays and will be offline for some weeks. Enjoy the cricket in my absence.)

Australia might be forgiven for expecting the Bangla tail to fold relatively quickly. Aside from Mehidy Hasan Miraz none has any pretensions to batting ability. What they do have is an implacable thirst for the struggle. Have you brought a front-end loader? they appeared to be asking. Do you seriously expect us to give our hands away? Not in these nor any other trousers. From the fall of the sixth wicket till the innings’ close occupied more than 52 overs, and four hours’ worth of torture. 426 was the final bill, and the scoreboard told its own tale of dread. For Australia the beginning and end of the story was Josh Hazlewood, who brought up his 300th Test wicket on his journey. He took the final four to finish with six, and nobody else even looked like breaking through. The truth is that the laconic Hazlewood is always at his best when the tide has turned against his team. He thrives on adversity. It is considered an essential virtue in Tamworth.

This pitch has flattened out into an autobahn. Only the new ball offers anything to the bowlers. And so it was that Wetherald lasted precisely three deliveries. He essayed a diagonal bat against Hasan and chopped on. It is possible that he might survive the disapproving eyes of the selectors, but it would appear that his successful summer of county cricket must be regarded as fairy gold which evaporates under the harsh, unrelenting sun. Labuschagne survived a massive shout for leg before from his first delivery. The phrase ‘under the pump’ – whatever that means – applies just as much to Marnus. He must move his feet or perish.

His response was to bat out of his crease and lunge forward. Inevitaby, he edged one behind. But Litton Das has had a forgettable match thus far and muffed the catch horribly, as if he were trying to snatch at a rock expelled from the mouth of a volcano. One thing Marnus did do was look for runs at every opportunity. Anything on his pads was whacked through leg. Anything overpitched he drove. And this was all good. Head meanwhile took his time, scoreless from his first 14 balls. He settled into his work and looked set for a trademark quick hundred. But on 17 he inexplicaby repeated Wetherald’s blunder: a diagonal bat slash at a ball too close for the stroke.

Smith meanwhile came out looking for runs from the outset. When inexplicably given out caught behind he appealed with a suddenness that surprised everyone, and had it reversed. Enter Taijul, whose quicker ball deceived Labuschagne and took leg stump. He ought to have played forward; but his 31 gave promise of self-improvement. As did Green. His stiff-armed refusal to try softening his grip remains, but he used his feet and looked for runs. He edged the hard-working Taskin into his leg bail; but for no readily apparent reason the woodwork remained undisturbed, and he picked up four runs through fine leg. Taskin’s grimace of anguish spoke eloquent suffering. Truth to tell, Green is owed a little good fortune.

It seemed a surprise when Taijul was replaced by Miraz. It turned out a moment of genius by Shanto. Smith had motored his way to 44 when Miraz held back an off-break the tiniest fraction. Smith’s battle computers failed to detect the difference, and he spooned back a return catch. Thereafter Australia defended grimly until stumps, with Carey an uncharacteristically subdued 19no. Green meanwhile had rediscovered himself. Of late he appeared as though he has been holding his bat upside-down. Batting seemed an insoluble conundrum to the giant all-rounder. By the close he was unbeaten on 43, and seemingly mindful of the skills that brought him such acclaim in his early youth.

The Bangla bowling attack had been persistent, accurate, and vengeful. Hasan could not add to his opening two wickets, but Miraz’ 13/4/20/1 on a perfect batting track? He varied his flight and pace enough to command respect from everyone. Only in the day’s final over did he lapse and was punished by Carey. At stumps the home side were holding on by their fingernails at 4/161. The deficit is still 67. And with a strong lower order (at least on paper) still to come, hope has not perished in the dressing room. The Strangeness referred to in the title resides in the fact that for the third day running Australia has been outplayed.

On the final delivery of an awfully long day in the field, Labuschagne induced a false stroke from the obdurate Miraz, who edged it to Green in the gully. Who dropped it. It may not have mattered, since it did appear that Marnus had overstepped. But it was that sort of day. Even Smith, of all people, dropped a catch from the luckless Lyon. Australia tried eight bowlers, including Marnus’ liquorice allsorts. Nothing much worked save for a small respite after tea in which Smith redeemed himself by pulling in three catches at second slip in the space of fifteen minutes. Before and after, the day belonged wholly to the visitors.

Hazlewood picked up Mominul edging behind before the sun was too high above the stands. But the pitch had lost its savour by now, and the ball was looking listless and apathetic. Australia toiled, and Tanzid and Shanto stood their ground, stoutly defending, and peeling off every available run. They had the whip-hand, they knew it, and would only relinquish it practically at gunpoint. Australia bowled well enough, considering the flat, slow wicket and their redoubtable adversaries. But Bangla Desh these days are not the timid underachievers of yesteryear. Phil Simmons has experienced a chequered history as a head coach. But he appears to have lit a fire in the hearts of these players. You want to beat us? Earn it!

At 2/230-odd Australian heads were drooping. Yet as Tanzid approached his century the first signs of nerves were becoming apparent. He has never made a Test century until now. Lyon induced a false stroke which deceived not only the batsman but the substitute outfielder. Having completed a brilliant hundred he holed out to Starc in the deep and Lyon finally got some reward for his toil. Shanto and Mushfiqur took the score to almost 300. But the new ball saw the local quicks suddenly rejuvenated, as though they had been granted a sudden draught of the Fountain of Youth. Starc’s working over of Litton Das (a top-class keeper/batsman) was a masterpiece of seam bowling. At 6/306 there was at least the glimmer of hope lurking near the sightscreen.

Miraz had other ideas. His partner Hasan has no pretensions to batting skill, but his defence was cast-iron and he repelled boarders until stumps. Miraz already has 32 to his name and looks hungry for more. Australia is up against it. Yet the pitch has gone to sleep, and if they can prise out the tail and cash in on a third-day wicket then hope still remains. But they are a long way behind in the match.

Dragging oneself from the televised delights of Sophia Gardens has been somewhat of a wrench. The Hundred is a strange concoction to say the least of it. Five-ball overs? The option to take a ten-ball over if you feel like it? Outré prefabricated franchises? Yet it is still recognisably cricket, and the best female players in the world are all here. And there is nothing artificial about Tân Cymreig, or the Welsh Fire as some would have it. Hir Oes i Forgannwg! Even though they are captained by Georgia Wareham, better-known as an Antipodean leg-spinner, and feature the blazing bat of Georgia Voll at the top of the order. But the main attraction of the Hundred is listening to the glorious Swansea vowels of Robert Croft, like unto stewed peaches soaked in apricot brandy. I could listen to him all night.

But back to Darwin, which is marginally cooler than Cardiff. The humidity is something else, sometimes compared with scuba-diving in an ashtray. To our shame, we have not played a Test match against Bangla Desh for nine years. Longer since we hosted them. For Australia, Dad’s Army will front up once more. The bowlers have been extensively rested from the white-ball circus of late, and rightly so. Never have we fielded an attack so blessed in years. Would you bet against them nonetheless? Not I.

Despite the viridian surface – the pitch resembled a yellow carpet with patches of green chicken-pox – Cummins elected to bat. Best to get the rusty truck out of the garage and out on the road again? It did make sense, of a sort. That Australia went to lunch at 4/74 was not solely due to faulty strokeplay. Both openers perished to diagonal bat shots. Labuschagne appeared to be stuck in a Groundhog Day of his own manufacture: strokeless, parked on the crease, and eventually edging to slip for one from 20 deliveries. Green at least was looking for runs, although his lofted drive at Taskin to a sharp catch at mid-wicket was injudicious. A run a ball 13 was not what you want from your number five, but he did pounce on two half-volleys and a bouncer and punished them all. And Smith? He was dropped by Tamim in the slips, and survived a review for a catch behind which missed his bat by the breadth of a water molecule. At least he is still there, fidgeting in his inimitable fashion and planning mischief.

The real story of the morning was Taskin, Hasan and Ebadot, who sent down all 22 overs between them. (The over-rate was diabolical, although with four wickets falling there are slim vestiges of an excuse.) All three are medium-fast at best these days. But they pitched the ball on a length, seamed it around and allowed few liberties. Australia had no answers. The injury to Nahid Rana meant that Australia would not have to face his terrifying pace. As it was the visiting seamers gave a textbook class in taking advantage of helpful conditions. Our top-order conundrums remain as unsolved as ever. Matt Renshaw might well be looking on with cautious optimism.

After lunch Carey and Smith steadied proceedings with a fine partnership of 55. First ball after drinks Ebadot got one to seam back in to Carey, who edged it onto his stumps. Thereafter matters deteriorated. Webster did little wrong save playing down the wrong line, bat and pad together, and lost his off bail to the energetic Taskin. Cummins and Starc wafted optimistically outside off and were taken behind. And slowly the innings subsided: all out for 198. And there was Smith. What would Australia have done without him? To be ninth out, nicking behind to Das, for 71 is both a brave, disciplined innings from a veteran warrior, and a standing reproach to his fellows. He was up to all his usual tricks: wandering across the crease, wandering down the pitch, fidgeting all the while, but calculating where best to look for runs. It was his 82nd score of fifty and above. Which speaks all that is necessary of Boycott’s so-called ‘good club cricketer’. And Hasan’s six wicket haul was no more than his due, either.

The visitors finished the day on 1/96: the sole success being Starc’s. It wasn’t that Australia bowled especially badly. But the match-hardened visitors seized upon anything loose and banished it. The home side has much to do, and little margin for error on the morrow. Oh, and the Welsh Fire were victorious, thanks to disciplined bowling and a bright half-century from Wareham. Perhaps she might give tips to Australia’s men.