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.

When Rohit Sharma won the toss and inserted the home side, he was gambling on two things: that the pitch would not break up, and that there was nothing to fear from Nathan Lyon late in the match. That’s as may be, but many a captain before him would have advised against this. Day One was ruined by persistent showers, and the home openers negotiated the fourteen and a half overs without mishap. Even more so than in Perth, the Gabba is ruled over by Janus, the two-faced Roman god of doorways and beginnings. If you can’t bat, you will be found out. But … while batting will be very demanding for the first thirty overs, thereafter you may usually help yourself until the new ball.

So while one might well claim that the Australian top order failed yet again, another way of looking at it would be that they did their job. Nos 1 to 3 barely troubled the scorers, contributing just 42 runs. It was of probably more moment to suggest that the 158 deliveries they absorbed was just as crucial as the later carnage. Batting really does get a lot easier in Brisbane. Both openers were out to the unearthly genius of Bumrah, and there wasn’t a lot they could have done abut it. Labuschagne was more to blame, chasing a wide one from Reddy. He really needs to stop doing this, else his place in the side will be taken by others.

And meanwhile there was Smith, arguably on his last chance. He is a frightful tease for bowlers, and has been for time out of reckoning. His response to his late travails was to wander around the crease more rather than less. But his decision to bat out of his crease was well-judged. Surprisingly, at absolutely no point was Pant asked to stand up to the stumps (save for the spin of Jadeja). Smith was suitably grateful, and nurdled his way to a sedate thirty-odd. Thereupon he opened up, and behold! the demigods of the game were with him. He brought up his hundred and was so relieved that he got himself out straight afterwards.

By this time Travis Head was well past his own century. It had been a brilliantly-judged partnership of 241 from fifty-odd overs. Both men knew that batting would be much harder later on, and filled their boots while the going was good.  Head of course knows that his best strategy is, as ever, to hit the ball hard and often. And he did. India must be sick and tired of the sight of him: his bowler’s droop moustache, his guileless countenance, and his incandescent blade. They could do nothing about it, and Rohit barely even tried to do something different.

With the advent of the second new ball, Bumrah roused himself for one final effort. He has been India’s first, last and frequently only hope this series with the ball, and his new ball spell garnered three priceless wickets, including the two centurions. If only one of the others could rise to the occasion. But they could not. Deep and Siraj huffed and puffed: the latter with more testosterone than good sense; but neither made much of an impression. Jadeja had a day he would rather forget. Head and Smith hopped joyfully into his toothless bowling, which cost him almost five an over. But there: the Gabba is a terrible place to bowl flat spin. Ashwin’s flight would have been a better option.

When the sixth wicket fell at 327 the game was still evenly poised. With the rampaging Bumrah swinging and seaming the new ball all over the shop, it seemed for a moment that the home side might be dismissed for 350-odd. He has bowled 25 overs already, and his return of 5/72 barely does justice to the quality of his work. But new ball or not, Alex Carey calmly sailed the ship into calmer waters. He put on 58 with Cummins, and (so far) another 20 with Starc. Four hundred has been raised, and Carey himself has raced to a barely obtrusive run-a-ball 45, if such a thing is possible. India must strike early on the morrow. But poor Jasprit must be exhausted already. Mayhap one of the others might rise to the moment. Or not, of course.

India’s faint hopes of a Headingley miracle did not survive Starc’s opening over. It was a thoroughly eventful one, in which Pant alternated between watchful defence and wild gesticulation with his bat. Australia burnt another review when the ball brushed the Indian keeper’s pad, but on the final delivery Starc produced another memorable gem. His inswinger is potent enough without adding in his away-cutter. This ball did both, and no blame attaches to Pant for nicking it to Smith.

Ashwin by contrast was very much to blame for repeatedly swiping at Cummins’ bouncers. It was third time unlucky for him when he nicked it to the keeper, thus reprising Rahul’s earlier dismissal. Ashwin has six Test centuries to his name; but his batting form has drifted alarmingly, which might perhaps explain India’s reluctance to pick him as their front-line spinner. Most fast bowlers can be safely hooked on most occasions. Cummins cannot, owing to his steepling bounce. He has a goodly harvest of wickets to prove it.

Meanwhile there was the diligent Reddy. He was fortunate to survive a difficult dropped chance from Starc, but he persisted, hoping that someone might stay with him. Rana survived a popped chance from Cummins where Head, running backwards from short leg and looking fearfully over his shoulder like Ben Turpin beneath a falling building, just failed to haul it in. But Cummins and Boland swept the tail away, Reddy again top-scoring with an admirable 42. Australia knocked off the 19 runs needed for victory without mishap, and the victory was achieved in seven sessions.

It was a stunning turnaround indeed from the debacle in Perth, and a quiet vindication for Captain Pat, who has turned the deafest of ears to the peanut gallery and their asinine cries of Let Loose The Old-Time Mongrel. Cummins and his men are well aware that blokedom and macho are two quite different qualities. This may well be the wokest team in Australia’s history, assuming that the w-word still retains any meaning after the postmodernist grumpies have had their way with it. This side does not care in the slightest about the alleged virtues of the larrikin past. They are old only in chronology. Tough as old boots is what they truly are.

And so to Brisbane, with added rest days. For the visitors, presumably Rana will give place to Akash Deep. Sharma, Gill and company will seek to prove that they are more than flat-track bullies. And Reddy must be given more scope for his undoubted talents. He has been their most consistent batsman so far, and his lively medium swingers create chances. For Australia, Smith may get one more chance to prove he still has it. Marsh’s position is under threat from Webster. And Boland, who took five good wickets, will doubtless give way for the return of Hazelwood. But unless the pitch takes more seam than is customary at the Gabba, Boland’s unerring accuracy might work against him. Huzzah for Australia, and let the contest continue.

Rohit Sharma, parachuted back into the team as captain, has enjoyed two dreadful days of Test cricket. Dismissed cheaply in both innings for 3 and 6, he set fields which were unimaginative to the point of catatonia. He overbowled his strike pacemen Bumrah and Siraj, and underbowled Reddy, who picked up Labuschagne and created more chances in his paltry six-over stint. He was caught napping by Head, and failed to bring Ashwin into the attack until it was almost too late. He has much to ponder. India might be well-advised to return the captaincy to Bumrah, who did nothing wrong in Perth and presided over a crushing victory.

But the day was Travis Head’s, first and last. He arrived at the crease earlier than he would have hoped, as the dauntless Bumrah dragged his team back into the contest with the first three wickets of the innings. And from the first he launched his customary, blistering counter-attack. The man averages eighty-odd in Tests on his home ground, and he settled in to enjoy himself. McSweeney perished to a good one, and Smith came and went, as is his wont these days. He was unlucky again: a leg-side strangle. Yet a technique as unorthodox as his can only be praised when it works. His recent record is consistently dreadful, and time is running out for him.

The other batting hero was Labuschagne. His first twenty-odd was painful to watch, but after a while he straightened up his technique; began to move his feet forward or back rather than merely across; and blossomed into a glittering array of strokes. His 64 was a fine effort when others about him struggled. Marsh played Ashwin as though the tall off-spinner were propounding riddles in Sanskrit, and was so befuddled that he walked off after a half-hearted appeal for a catch behind he didn’t even hit. But Head smashed the attack all over the park, and India could do nothing about it. When his century came up he perched his baggy green helmet atop his bat handle and gestured to his wife Jess and baby Harrison.

With the home side eager to bowl in the evening Head upped his already stellar scoring rate. When he finally played all over a fast yorker from Siraj, the latter offered him some friendly advice on his departure. Delighted with this display of sportsmanship Adelaide’s fifty thousand gave Siraj a rousing reception thereafter. It was an outré act from a man whose bowling had been put to the sword by Head’s run-a-ball 140; but to do the young man justice he bowled fast, with more vim than good judgement, and was rewarded, if that is the right word, by four late wickets. But the bowling hero was, as ever, Jasprit Bumrah, whose 4/61 was barely adequate to his magnificent skills. He swung the ball both ways, he seamed it off the pitch, and he flummoxed all but the best Australia could offer.

They now had a comfortable buffer over the 150-mark, and two hours to make incisions into the visitors’ second innings.  Cummins began with a brutal bouncer which Rahul edged behind attempting an injudicious hook. Thereafter Jaiswal and Gill briefly prospered, and after eight overs had managed 42. The advent of Boland at first change wrought momentous consequences. His first delivery took Jaiswal’s edge. For latter-day Kohli Boland’s metronomic fourth-stump line could not be bettered, and it was no surprise to see the veteran follow Jaiswal. At three down India were already in extremis. Starc ended Shubman Gill’s run-a-ball 28 with another trademark swinging yorker, and Sharma followed soon after. Starc had already trapped him in front second ball, but he’s overstepped. Cummins put an end to him through the gate, and at five down India were on their knees.

An early finish tomorrow? Maybe. And maybe not. Rishabh Pant is unbeaten on 28, and the enterprising Reddy on 15. Both are scoring at breakneck speed. The former’s reverse lap for four off Boland had to be seen to be believed, being more reminiscent of the Cirque du Soleil than a Test match. But this is how he bats, and it works for him. The game isn’t over till it’s really over.

India won the toss and decided to bat at this most picturesque of venues. The decision made sense, despite the menace of the pink ball, the well-grassed wicket promising seam and swing, and the all-but-nameless dread of having to bat under lights later on. Gill, Sharma and Ashwin came into their victorious lineup, while Australia made but the one change: Boland for the injured Hazelwood. It was a day of more twists than a bag of liquorice. Starc removed Perth centurion Jaiswal with the opening delivery of the match: a classic Starc inswinging yorker. Jaiswal stayed on his crease and was blown away as by a left-arm hurricane. He ought to have played forward; but many a batsman before him has been undone by Starc’s signature weapon.

Gill and Rahul thereupon made merry with a stand of 69. The luckless Boland took Rahul’s edge with his first delivery, but had overstepped. In the same over he had Rahul dropped in the slips. Yet the taciturn Victorian went back to his mark and persisted. Later on he ought to have Reddy leg before for a duck; but Cummins, hearing two noises, failed to grasp that both were pads front and back. Yet he picked up both Gill and Sharma (also leg before), and only had his figures spoiled by Reddy’s counterattack. His 13^th and final over cost him 21.

Yet the day belonged to Starc. Whenever Australia needed a wicket he was there: a constant, slinging, smiling menace. He loves the pink ball in Adelaide. He finished with 6/48, his best ever Test figures, and snuffed out Reddy’s enterprising assault. As in Perth, the Indian no.7 top-scored with a belligerent 42. The other change in the attack was Cummins, who shook off his maritime lethargy in the first Test and bowled with fire and venom. The only demerit was Marsh’s four overs of cafeteria stuff which cost 26. If he’s unwell and cannot bowl at the required standard Australia could easily have picked Webster in his stead. If anyone can replace Cameron Green it is surely the giant Tasmanian.

India were out on the stroke of dinner for 180. The Indian seam quartet must have been licking their lips in anticipation at bowling under lights at the fragile Australian batsmen. Yet the home team dug in, and while they lost Khawaja to Bumrah’s last gasp of his opening spell, McSweeney and Labuschagne defied everything fired at them, and went to stumps at 1/86 with a decided advantage.  They were helped considerably by India’s bowlers, who allowed them to leave far too many deliveries by not attacking the stumps enough. The art of the Leave is an essential part of any Test cricketer’s handbook. Aside from Rahul, few Indians attempted it enough; while Kohli, as he all to often does, attempted both at once and offered a catch to Smith in the gully off Starc. One can almost imagine Yoda muttering from the sidelines: Play, or not play. There is no try.

McSweeney will resume on a splendid 38. His baptism in Perth was, if not by fire, at least hot enough for discomfort; but he is a game cricketer and deserved the one life he gave to Pant, who fumbled it off the perspiring Bumrah. And Labuschagne? Few thought he should be selected at all. In Perth he batted as though he had found himself with the wrong number of legs. He took 18 balls to get off the mark. But he clung to the crease as though it were the Titanic lifeboat, and made it to stumps unbeaten on 20. The crowd of fifty thousand will have gone home happy: at least those barracking for the home team. They even offered to help with their phones when the lights kept going out: a true stadium rock moment. More as it comes to hand.

The day began inauspiciously with Khawaja attempting an ill-judged hook from the pace of Siraj. So long did the ball hover in the sky you half expected to see ice crystallising on the seam. Pant took his time to take the catch, but he had sufficient leeway to boil a kettle. At 4/17 inglorious embarrassment loomed in the middle distance like a great looming thing. Would anyone be able to give the spectators their money’s worth? Would the ship go down at least with all guns blazing in the time-honoured Aussie way? And if it did not, would this tempt long-neglected selectorial blue-pencils out of shirt pockets?

As it happened, yes it would, and did. Travis Head is an uncomplicated fellow. As befits a man whose home is the Adelaide Oval, he hits the ball hard and often. His technique could best be described as homespun, but it works. He began with commendable caution, scoring but a single of his first dozen deliveries. Thereafter he set about the attack in the only way he knows how. Play back, flick it off pads or body if it’s to leg, and thrash it through the offside otherwise. Smith meanwhile toiled away at the batting crease, having adjusted his stance yet again. Shuffling across to Bumrah simply will not do, and he showed every sign of having reminded himself of this evident truism.

He still shuffles across, mind you. Just not so far. It is his way, and it has worked superbly for him in the past. Until it doesn’t. Rana struck him full amidships, and he went down like the Titanic, and had to be revived. Once upon a time he would have overcome this and all other obstacles placed in his path; but a beauty from Siraj (seaming away instead of in) took the shoulder of his bat. He had laboured painfully for an hour and a half and garnered just 17. Smith shook his mournful head and stalked off, one step closer perhaps to his final curtain.

Head (Travis) by this time was homing in on a virile half-century, and was joined by Mitchell Marsh. They made light of the hostile pace bowling and managed 82 in just 14 overs. Batting, they seemed to show, was by no means impossible. They rode their luck, and were severe on Rana, who did however bowl with pace, fire, and general vim. But Head was undone by Bumrah, and departed for a splendid 89. Thereafter the innings gradually subsided like the slow collapse of an ancient monument. Marsh chopped on to Reddy for 47. Carey and Starc were industrious, managing a brisk 45 off ten overs before Starc clipped Washington in front of square and was brilliantly taken by Jurel at short leg.

Two balls later Lyon played all over Washington and was bowled. The off-spinner had slowed his pace from his subcontinental practice. He did not trouble the batsmen proper, but he proved too much for the tail. The end came just after tea when Carey succumbed to Rana, who thoroughly deserved his consolation wicket. So Australia was massively defeated without the feared humiliating debacle; but Something Will Have To be Done. These top-order collapses have become an endemic bad habit, and a proper opener must be drafted in immediately. Let McSweeney bat at his usual no.3, and please tell Marnus to go back to Shield cricket and practice. At the moment his painful visits to the crease make it appear that he is batting with a musk stick.

India? Well may they rejoice. All eleven players made substantial contributions, and the new-look team is a credit to them and their coach Gautam Gambhir. We await with interest to see if Rohit Sharma in due course elbows one of the openers out of his position. We hope not. Stick with a winning formula.

Cricket, as the late, lamented Brian Johnston used to remark, is a funny game. There is surely no other pastime so dependent on a strip of grass. Depending on conditions, you might pick four seamers, or four spinners. The ground staff promised that this pitch would not form craters, and it hasn’t and doubtless won’t. But it has developed some weird habits. It quickened up on the first evening just in time for Australia’s first innings. Then it levelled out to an excellent batting track. By the third afternoon it has developed some unpleasant quirks, just in time for Australia’s second innings. Some deliveries are flying off the handle. Others are creeping underground, as if hunting for wombats. And there is still abundant seam movement left and right. Strange days indeed.

Conditions have well and truly favoured the visitors. This should not blind anyone to the fact that Australia has been comprehensively outplayed thus far; and barring a miracle the torment will end tomorrow. India began the day as they left off. The idea seemed to be that Hazelwood and Lyon would be played with cautious circumspection. The rest? Why, help yourselves. And they did. Jaiswal’s eventual dismissal for 161 surprised everybody, not least the fortunate bowler (Marsh). A wild and wide one was smacked straight into the hands of Smith in the gully, who held onto it. After a doom-laden scorecard of 1/275 (Starc having removed Rahul for an excellent 77), four wickets fell quickly.

One may have mentioned the question mark against Washington Sundar’s bowling suitability for this surface. As a batsman there can be no doubts. He is a fine cricketer, after all, and he gave stalwart support to Kohli in a stand of 89 for the sixth wicket. After two hours’ worth of patience he flailed wildly at Lyon and gave the veteran spinner his second scalp to add to Pant’s riotous extravagance earlier. But this brought the debutant all-rounder Reddy to the crease. He and Kohli hopped into the bowling with joyous abandon in an unbeaten stand more suited to T20 cricket (77 in 9 overs). Admittedly the bowling by this stage was either exhausted (Lyon), or well below standard (the rest).

One might wonder at the bowling figures of Josh Hazelwood. His analysis finished at 1/28 off 21 overs. Out of almost five hundred! He alone of the seamers commanded respect from the batsmen. The short answer is that he has a long summer ahead of him, and Cummins did not want to kill him off early. There may well be changes to this team for the next match; but Josh will be there.

As soon as Kohli’s hundred came Bumrah called them in. There was only time for four-and-a-bit more overs, but the captain’s instinct was unerring. At stumps the home side is 3/12, having lost the unfortunate McSweeney to another glorious breakback from Bumrah, Cummins the nightwatchman to an injudicious waft outside off from Siraj, and Labuschagne fell to another Bumrah thunderbolt, trapped in front like McSweeney. The stark truth is that Australia went into this match both overconfident and half-baked. It is a grey, grizzled team: apparently the oldest ever to represent this country. They are out of practice, and out of sorts. This match appears beyond saving; but some among them might be playing for their places tomorrow.

India was made to wait before the inevitable wrapup of Australia’s innings. Not by Carey or Lyon, who both wafted unconvincingly at wide deliveries; but by Starc and Hazelwood, of all people. The latter has no pretensions to batsmanship, but he is a stout competitor in all weathers. And Starc? He has been horribly out of form with the bat; but his highest Test score is 99, and against India too. Their last-ditch stand of 25 – the highest of the entire innings – occupied well over an hour and kept the visitors waiting until Starc flailed once too often and holed out. His 26 – also the innings top score – was a fine effort, and Hazelwood also deserves praise for getting in behind the line and not losing his head.

And yet. When your no.9 top-scores, it say much about the other batsmen, and none of it complimentary. Worse, their stubborn resistance told India that the pitch was quietening down by the hour. And so it proved. Hazelwood was tight and accurate. His ten overs have cost just nine runs. Lyon was busy and occasionally demanding. Starc beat the bat repeatedly, but failed to gain the requisite edges. Cummins and Marsh proved broken reeds with the ball. The former was reduced to bowling Labuschagne’s brisk bouncers before the close. And India? Jaiswal and Rahul batted, and batted, and batted.

By stumps they had reached 0/172. Neither looked in much danger, although Jaiswal edged Starc to Khawaja, who spilled it. Jaiswal is a breath of fresh air in this team. He is young, surprisingly patient (given his stellar IPL form), and adaptable. Clearly he had taken due notice of India’s first-innings error and played mostly deep in his crease, looking to pick off the shorter ball when it arrived. And Rahul was Patience on a Monument. His unbeaten 62 has taken over four hours, and more than 150 deliveries. He will not care a jot. There is plenty of time to set the home side an impossible target. Don’t expect a declaration any time soon, however. The pitch is flattening out into a concrete aerodrome; Perth’s notorious crevasses are not expected until Whitsuntide; and anything under 400 is gettable. If Australia can restrict the target to that, they will feel fortunate.

More even than at the Gabba, Perth is the place where cricketing delusions are pitilessly destroyed. The wickets are hard, bouncy, and generally well-grassed. Wrist-spinners here do not prosper. Not even Shane Warne could manage that. You need four seamers, including one medium, into-the-breeze swing bowler, and a finger-spinner prepared to give the ball flight. When batting, (a) leave a lot alone; (b) play back if you can’t drive; (c) your bat must be either horizontal or vertical; (d) do NOT open the face; and (e) if you’re going for a shot, then throw the kitchen sink at it. For bowlers, pitch a yard fuller than usual, hold the seam upright and hope for some swing and seam movement.

So much for conventional wisdom. Both teams were a curious mixture: battle-scarred veterans for the most part; most convincing both themselves and the selectors that they still possess what it takes. Unusually, both teams are captained by premier fast bowlers. Even less likely: both men are pleasant, agreeable fellows. To see Jasprit Bumrah’s face when a catch is dropped off him is to witness nothing but a rueful smile. Bumrah won the toss and batted. Why not, after all? The Indian players flouted part (b) continually in favour of a curious policy best described as Prod Forward With Optimism. All this managed was to present the Australian seam attack with some awfully easy scalps. You poke forward to everything? Fine. We’ll pull our lengths back a bit and take the shoulder of your angled bats.

For the fact that India managed even 150 they can thank Rishabh Pant’s aggressive 37. He fulfilled part (e) with such implacable enthusiasm that at one stage he cleared the boundary for six while lying on the ground as if wrestling with a crocodile in the manner of Steve Irwin. They can also thank the debutant fourth seamer Reddy, whose top score of 41 was a splendid mix of caution and daring. Some kudos also belongs to Lokesh Rahul, who stuck it out manfully for nearly two hours; and only departed to the faintest of outside edges. For Australia, Hazelwood’s relentless, metronomic accuracy took the spoils with four wickets, while Starc, Cummins and Marsh shared two apiece. Marsh bowled only five overs, but fulfilled the role of the absent Green with aplomb and cunning.

All eyes were now on Bumrah. His batsmen having let him down, he attacked the stumps in a brilliant spell, taking three scalps in his opening four overs. Australia’s bats faithfully obeyed precepts (a) and (b), but it didn’t help. Seeing the preference for back-play, India pitched full. They swung the ball late, they seamed the ball sharply off the well-grassed surface, and the home side had no answers. Labuschagne had, it was rumoured, decided to play with caution and not chase the ball outside off. The result was a tortuous 2 off 52 balls before he succumbed leg-before to the equally inspired Siraj. At stumps Australia was a dismal 7/67, hanging on the precipice of an embarrassing debacle. India’s 150 looks a long way away now.

And yet. The unobtrusive Carey remains at the crease. Perhaps he can manage something tomorrow. We have already seen Reddy with the bat. He has not bowled yet. And the chosen spinner, inexplicably, is Washington Sundar, presumably on the back of his eleven wickets in a losing side against New Zealand. On a crumbling pitch his slow-medium off-breaks are a deadly menace. But this pitch wouldn’t crumble after fifteen rounds with a stump-jump plough. Once again Ravi Ashwin will be sitting in the dressing room wondering why on earth he wasn’t chosen. There are moments when reason fails.

Hello! This cricket blog started some years ago on David Greagg’s Facebook page. I am not entirely sure who David is, but I believe he is the man who earns the money to maintain the metaphysical superstructure that is Wizard Dafydd. He was an undistinguished park cricketer who bowled leg-spin (216 wickets – and yes, of course he counted them all – for Footscray United Cricket Club) and made a few thousand runs as an annoying batsman who despite a manifest lack of technique was very unwilling to go out and frequently ruined people’s entire day by batting, and batting, and batting. Usually in his motor-bike helmet: a source of considerable merriment for the fielding side. He specialised in match-winning catches in grand finals, but was otherwise not terribly good. He only gave up because he really wanted his weekends back.

However, you don’t have to have been a top-class cricketer to write competently about it. He thinks he knows a fair bit about the game, having been watching it ever since John Small first set foot on Broadhalfpenny Down for the immortal Hambledon cricket club. These bulletins were written down after each day’s play and put onto Facebook. No retrospective editing has occurred because that would be cheating. In the future this will be immediately apparent.

What we cover: Test matches involving Australia. (Men’s and women’s. Naturally.) World Cups, up to a point. (ditto) Many intelligent readers have asked for a separate blog for these reports, which have been pronounced thoroughly acceptable by cricket-lovers. So here it is.

Just one small point. There has been a curious decision made of late to include the word ‘batter’ in people’s cricket commentary. While I am happy to embrace modernity in all else regarding the Summer Game, I cannot bring myself to use this vile word. It has an honourable place as a garnish in fish and chips and other culinary delights. Let it remain there. I am given to understand that it is a term borrowed from a game called baseball, which appears to be a version of rounders: a pastime for young children. Cricket is a serious game, and there is no place for this neologism in my lexicography.

The word is batsman. Man as in Mankind, the Ascent of Man, ‘man’ and Mensch in German, ‘on’ in French and many other gender-neutral uses. And yes, I apply it also to women, whose continual improvement in this greatest of all games I applaud with enthusiasm. For women cricketers it is an honourable description, and the other term ought to be discarded along with those ridiculous short skirty things women were forced to inhabit until they demanded long trousers and got them. And huzzah for that. So bear with me on my single act of heresy. I believe I am right, and that cricket will eventually come to its senses and revert to what is proper. And historical.