Thanks once more to the subtropical nature of latitude 27 degrees south there was little enough cricket today. Theoretically two days remain, worth at an optimistic maximum 196 overs. Surely enough to knock over the remaining sixteen Indian wickets? You would think so, but almost certainly there will be further curtailments to the match. What we did see on Day Three was enough to convince us that India are on the run, and the glories of Perth are suddenly but a distant memory.
Proceedings began with India defending the boundary against Carey. Cummins spurned the very idea of declaration. Why should I? one imagined him saying. Keep them out there and tire them out. With one last supernal effort Bumrah removed Starc with a slower ball, then retired to the outfield to allow Deep and Siraj to clean up the tail. Which they did in due course, but not before Carey finished an invaluable 70. With 445 on the board defeat was now more or less out of the question. Starc began proceedings with two wickets in his first seven deliveries: Jaiswal and Gill, both to loose wafts.
For reasons best known to the Indian selectors Kohli is still in the side at no.4. Nobody else can fathom it. Yes, he made a hundred in Perth’s second innings when the bowling was as flat as the Nullarbor Plain. On a wicket with any life in it he should be batting at No.11. Everyone knows how to get him out now. Fifth stump line seaming away; he’ll follow it; edge behind; thanks for coming. But here is the weirdest thing of all. The local men (Smith, Labuschagne et al) have tied themselves in knots trying to overcome the technical doubts which bedevil them of late. Virat? He just keeps playing the same old way; and to the complete surprise of nobody at all he departed in the same old way. Hazlewood grinned a blokey grin, wishing no doubt that all batsmen were as easily befuddled.
And then there was Lokesh Rahul. Now here is a cricketer of substance. We already knew that, but today he shone out like a diamond in a sweep’s ear. His first delivery from Hazlewood rose like a striking cobra and rapped him on the wrist, causing the usual swarm of medicinal attendants. But he brushed it all aside, dug in, and when the heavens opened again he could nurse his wounds in the pavilion. India’s hopes of avoiding defeat do rest with him, as well as the rain-gods. He is 33 not out in a score of 4/51, and a standing reproach to his fellows on what sensible batting might achieve even on helpful pitches. Little blame attaches to Pant, who succumbed to a good one from Cummins which lifted off a length; and that’s all that may be said of it.
Meanwhile in Hamilton England are chasing 645 to win. They are 2/18, and it is doubtful if Stokes will be able to bat. A man with his long injury history would not bowl 23 overs in an innings. But in Durham they don’t do restraint or caution. Assuming New Zealand win, it will be a victory of the unfashionable over the glitz and tinsel of so-called BazBall. For the Kiwis everyone made runs, none more so than the redoubtable Williamson. Allowing Mitchell Santner to prosper as he has (76, 3/7 and 49 thus far) might cause England a few red faces; but this is a fine cricketer, after all, and a worthy successor to Dan Vettori. And Test cricket bids an affectionate farewell to Tim Southee, who failed to add to his 98 Test sixes. 389 wickets weren’t bad either. More as it comes to hand.