Long ago, in another time and epoch at the MCG, a Victorian fielder turned to NSW captain Alan Kippax as they watched Hal Hooker come out to bat for the visitors at no.11. ‘Soon be over, skipper,’ he suggested. ‘You never know,’ the inscrutable Kippax responded. The result was a last-wicket stand of 307: a record which still stands to this day for first-class cricket. The good news for the home team was that it wasn’t as bad as that today. Yet it was not good, and exposed a chink in Bavuma’s seemingly invincible side. On inspecting the pitch first thing they will have noted that it was flattening out. Just sweep away the tail and we can make runs at will?
If that is what they thought they may be forgiven. Yet it did not turn out that way. Luck, which had signally deserted Australia yesterday, turned in their favour. The seamers did not attack the stumps enough, save for the energetic Mulder, who was rewarded with the wickets of Cummins and Starc. They gave Cummins room outside off, which is generally a cardinal error. Having given the ball loop and flight yesterday Harmer resorted to the spear-gun, all in vain. And Maharaj did not look himself: seemingly flummoxed by Renshaw’s willingness to sweep and reverse sweep whenever he thought it safe. And Bavuma did not call upon Markram’s spin until the 120th over.
Yet when Lyon came out to bat, surely the end must be nigh? Probably even the visitors’ dressing room feared as much. Yet the GOAT knows his game by now. Straight bat, block it on the stumps, hook off the body. By the time he was finally out, when it belatedly occurred to Jansen to bowl a yorker on middle stump, the grizzled spinner had made a priceless 27. Australia went to lunch after a prolonged first session at 8/277, and the frustration in the fielding side was palpable. The afternoon session lasted 41 overs of torment for the bowlers. They did not bowl badly after lunch. But the pitch gave them little, and they faced a seemingly immoveable wall. When Renshaw was batting the stumps must have seemed a tedious long way distant. He farmed the strike expertly and unflappably, batting like an amiably good-natured elephant. Pachyderms are known for their patience and unhurried precision. One was reminded of the normally gentle Hathi from Kipling’s tale. Where Hathi reaps, there is no gleaning. Renshaw batted, and batted, and batted. Does this man ever tire of batting?
Clearly not. It has been almost ten years since his first (and hitherto only) Test century, and he has lost years to avenge. Quietly. Without fuss, and with a nobly vertical bat. Accompanied at the last by Hazlewood, he went to tea unbeaten on 190, with Australia sailing into calm waters at 9/390. From a position of 6/124 yesterday, let it be marked. The day, thus far, had been his. Cummins and Lyon had certainly assisted with all their might. The former made a dauntless 43 from 86 deliveries. The Goat’s 27 from 92 balls was his share of a monumental ninth-wicket stand of 134.
After tea the centurion’s iron discipline faltered at last without addition to the score. Harmer, who had resumed his customary teasing flight, tossed one up outside off, and Renshaw edged to Markram at slip. The final session would test the patience of the exhausted home side. As the clouds gathered, Rickelton chased a wide one from Hazlewood into the bucket hands of Webster at third slip. A desultory flurry of boundaries ensued before the umpires called time, as a Stygian gloom descended. The battered home team will have felt nothing but relief. Tomorrow is another day.