After the baking weather of yesterday the pitch had notably faded from celery to parsley, and getting people out was going to be harder. Smith had a point to prove, and so did the captain. So well did they play that their partnership blossomed. Cummins of late he has recovered some of his early form as a batsman. When he lunged forward, he drove. When they dropped short he scythed them through the off-side. He did not let up until Jadeja held one back a trifle and he holed out to deep mid-off for a superb 49. The seventh wicket stand produced 112 priceless runs.

But the story of the morning was Smith. As hyperactive as ever, he appears to have concluded that back-and-across does not work for him. Sideways and across having likewise failed him, he now moves forward and across. His pads are outside off. If the ball travels stumpward, he plays French cricket with both pads, bat, body and kitchen sink behind it. If it’s outside leg he might hook in the air and carry the boundary. And outside off he will drive, glide, or leave. It must drive bowlers mad, but it works. Especially at the MCG. He averages eighty-something here.

By lunch Australia had reached 7/454. That’s 143 runs in a two-hour session. Some of the blame must be levelled at Siraj, who gave as acephalous an exhibition of fast bowling as we have seen in a long time. Some of the blame must also go to the aimless captaincy of Sharma, of whom a charitable depiction would be likened to a palaeontologist confronted for the first time with a Rubik’s cube. But the bulk of the runs were down to sensible, adventurous batting on an easy-paced pitch. Smith now has back-to-back hundreds, and may write his own ticket for another season or two.

After lunch India finally got their act together and polished off the tail. The hard-working Deep finally bowled Smith under absurd circumstances (played on after advancing halfway to the grandstand for a wild swipe) for 140, and the end came soon after. A late minor highlight was Mitchell Starc off-driving Bumrah for six using his wife’s bat. Apparently he feels his levers are long enough already and he prefers Alyssa’s short-handled weapon. Bumrah, as ever, smiled. At least he’d pitched the ball up. India were too short yesterday afternoon, and Siraj persisted with hairy-chested folly even today. 23/3/122/0 was his final less than flattering analysis.

Chasing 474 was an unappetising prospect, and when Cummins removed Sharma (who promoted himself to opener) for 3 things got worse. Jaiswal however dug in with Rahul, and raised the fifty. Starc could make nothing of the surface; Boland kept them pinned down, and Cummins was, as ever, a constant menace. On the stroke of tea he bowled Rahul with another trademark leg-cutter into the off-bail and India were two down. No blame attaches to Rahul, unlike his captain, whose hesitant half-pull was the stroke of a man wondering what numbers he should choose for weekend Tattslotto.

At 2/51 India were in dire straits. But Kohli and Jaiswal put their heads down and put on over a hundred. Jaiswal was superb, showing all the class he had demonstrated in Perth. Kohli meanwhile batted like a man truly in peril of his place, and showed the broad bat so greatly feared during his long career. Disaster struck in the 41^st over when a grotesque mixup sent Jaiswal back to the pavilion, run out for 82.

He played the ball to a deepish mid-on and called for a single. He was running to the danger end. Inexplicably, Kohli turned back, and left his young comrade high and dry. So distressed must he have been that soon afterwards he forgot all his earlier caution and got himself out in his usual fashion, hanging his bat well outside off as if inserting a stake in his front garden. Boland gave a wry smile. He is a caution on this pitch with his accurate, consistent length. He knows the pitch well enough that the stumps are always in play when he’s bowling. Then Deep the nightwatchman failed to survive, edging him to Lyon at leg-gully. India will resume at 5/164 with a mountain ahead of them.

As happens all too often on this day, the weather was unpropitious. 39 degrees, cloudy, with the promise of, if not meatballs, at least rain to follow at some juncture. The first surprise was team selection. Australia retained Marsh, for reasons obscure, but took the plunge and inserted teenage wunderkind Sam Konstas, of whom it will often be said, and frequently ad nauseam. India meanwhile lost patience with Gill and chose a curious side consisting of four batsmen, a keeper, three all-rounders and three seamers. Actually this was a sensible choice. Washington, Jaddu and Reddy are a more reliable source of runs than many of their alleged batsmen.

The pre-lunch session was a revelation. Despite the furnace-like conditions an enormous crowd had foregathered, and behold! they were indeed entertained. Australia for once won the toss and decided to bat. You should generally bat first, and the weather would have persuaded Captain Pat that to field would be madness. The Boy Wonder took guard from Bumrah and was beaten four times in the opening over. Do not allow anyone to tell you India bowled badly before lunch. They bowled as well as ever they have. After six overs Australia‘s openers were clinging to the crease. The ball was seaming everywhere and it looked like only a matter of time.

The seventh over of the innings will doubtless be installed in You-Tube heaven. Not least of the wonders was that Konstas had already tried twice to ramp Bumrah and failed horribly. Yet he persisted. He took 14 off Bumrah’s fourth over, and 18 off his sixth. His ramps and reverse ramps were as audacious as anything seen in a long age. Fortuna fortes adjuvat? Well, yes, but there is much more to it than that. Young Sam reasoned that to stand your ground and be shot at by the greatest of all current bowlers would be suicide. So I am going to ramp him. And the others. I will march out of my crease and smack them all. Was he lucky? Of course he was. But it was a bold gamble: well-reasoned, and successful.

So successful that he was shirtfronted by Kohli, who really ought to have known better. Konstas hosed the matter down, and deserves full marks for diplomacy. Knowing when not to pour petrol on a spot-fire is but one of the skills young cricketers must learn. His audacious innings was cut short by the belated introduction of Jaddu, who persuaded the Boy Wonder that he was turning the ball when he wasn’t. Lbw for 60 off 65 is not a bad introduction to Test cricket. His opening onslaught gave the home side several priceless advantages. It took all the pressure off Khawaja, who quietly accumulated at the other end. And by the time he was out it meant that Australia had the whip-hand, and intended to keep it.

After lunch nothing much happened except that the fielding side flagged and drooped in the baking heat. That was fine with Usman and Marnus. Khawaja was eventually out to a mistimed pull for a fine 57. It was a geographical distance from Bumrah’s best deliveries, but if anyone deserved a bit of luck it is the tireless Jasprit. Thereafter Labuschagne and Smith played quietly until tea, taken with the home side 2/176. They had neither intention nor incentive to take any risks. The longer we keep them out there, the more weary and dispirited they will get. The proof of which would come in the evening.

The first hour after tea was all India. The scribes had suggested that it would be spin all the way on a baking afternoon in the pizza oven. While Rohit Sharma has hardly distinguished himself this series he knew enough to throw the ball to Bumrah. Who else? And once more he did not let him down. First Washington induced a false shot from Labuschagne, who gave his hand away at 72. Bumrah bowled Head for a duck; and India, so tormented by the left-hander this series, breathed a huge sigh of relief. Head left alone a wicked leg-cutter. As he shouldered arms his moustache might well have crumbled from his incredulous upper lip. Predictably, Marsh whacked a boundary and then edged to slip.

With the home side tottering at 5/246 Bumrah had three of them. No words can express adequately how brilliant a spell this had been. With an ounce of luck Australia would be all out by now. Not since Dennis Lillee has a team been so reliant on a lion-hearted paceman. But by drinks even he was forced from the field with what appeared to be a calf strain. He could do no more, and no-one could have done as much.  And there was Smudger, patiently accumulating runs, and grateful to be given an old ball wherewith to play himself in. Realising that the old ball needed to be punished, he whacked a couple of cow corner sixes from outside off. And Carey was Carey, quietly patting the ball here and there as though sweeping leaves from his front lawn. The home dressing room breathed a little easier. But no more wickets must go down tonight.

At 5.35pm the new ball was due. And Bumrah reappeared. Alas, he was a spent force by now. Anyone would have been in such weather, and after such a workload. Carey helped himself to seven runs from his over. But it was the persevering Akash Deep who removed Carey with an away-cutter which lifted alarmingly. Deep is a product of hardscrabble Bihar who worked his way into a cricket career in Kolkata. He has earned his place and gives everything to his side. It was he who strolled out at No.11 to save the follow-on in Brisbane, and made light work of it. He has bowled brilliantly without a scintilla of luck and finally got some just reward. Carey’s 31 was however a crucial innings, steering the home side into calm waters. Cummins took most of the remaining strike, for which Smith must have been grateful.

With 6/311 Australia is ahead of the game. For once the top four all made fifties. None has gone on with it, which has caused comment. But there: you’re never really in at the G. Smith loves batting here because he knows that. His battle computers never switch off. His unbeaten 68 holds the key to further progress. But the day belonged to Konstas. Urged by his captain to play as if it were backyard cricket, he did just that, and turned the tide in an hour of fury. Only 86 overs in six and a half hours? For once there was excuse of a sort. It was horribly hot; and several batsmen were recipients of Ted Wainwright’s advice to the young Neville Cardus: ‘It ‘im in t’cobbles! A moment’s respite is owed to the victims. More tomorrow.

Persistent rain, injury and ill fortune conspired to foil Australian hopes for a quick victory today. But the most crucial reason was India’s resolute batting. Bad luck struck early. On the very first ball of the day Cummins beat Rahul pointless. The ball flew straight into Smith’s breadbasket. And he dropped it. Nobody could believe it, least of all the misfortunate Smudger. The man is one of the best slip fielders ever to play this summer game. He has almost two hundred Test catches, mostly in the slips. And no: his reflexes are still fine. He proved it in the gloaming by taking a blinder at slip off the persevering Lyon.

And yet. His earlier miss was the game’s turning point. With India four down already, and nobody expecting Sharma to stay long (he didn’t), it was absolutely vital to get Jadeja and Reddy batting while the ball still had some life in it. India could have been rolled for 150, and following on: who even knows? An innings victory beckoned. As it was, Rahul stuck around. More than that: he played his shots. After the thirty-fifth over or so conditions had settled into the standard Gabba pattern. Help yourself while you can. And he did. His 84 saved India from innings defeat. And Jaddu? He may not be the world’s best fielder any more. His bowling – so lethal on the subcontinent – is quite unsuited to these hard Antipodean pitches. But he can bat all right.

Australia toiled hard and nobly in the field. Losing Hazlewood to what was described as ‘calf awareness’ was a huge blow. We don’t really know what calf awareness is, and it sounds like a job for a blue heeler; but as a result he is out for the series. Marsh’s bowling proved again a broken reed, although he took two brilliant catches. If enthusiasm were all he would still be worth his place. This left everything on Cummins, who was magnificent throughout; Starc, who was menacing and persevering; and Lyon, who was accurate and probing. But with an old, wet ball, getting batsmen out wasn’t easy. Rahul and Jadeja stuck to their task admirably, and were only denied centuries by two brilliant catches (Smith and Marsh).

When the ninth wicket fell the follow-on was still some distance away. India’s batsmen have not flourished here, by and large. But their bowlers have carried them. Bumrah and Deep assessed the situation and realised that the new ball was 14 overs distant. Plenty of time to knock off the runs. If you pitch up we will drive. If you bowl short we will carry the boundary. It was nothing to them to add 39 off nine overs, and save the follow-on. With conditions all in their favour, why not?

What will happen tomorrow? Who even knows? Captains of old would treat day 5 as batting practice in these circumstances. It may still happen. But we don’t know that. There may yet be a twist in the tale. Doubtless Hazlewood will be replaced by Melbourne’s favourite son Scott Boland. Marsh may possibly give place to Webster. India need to decide if they are going to keep on carrying Sharma and Kohli, and leaving too much to the rest. Given the politics of the BCCI, the odds are still on that. They might even score runs in Melbourne.

Meanwhile across the ditch New Zealand completed their consolation win over England, by a mere 423 runs. The chimaera of the so-called moral victory will be doubtless stricken from English lips. But they are a resilient lot, these English. Before succumbing to Santner’s left-arm tweakers Gus Atkinson belted an amusing 43 as the ship went down. He and Brydon Carse are part of the new wave of English quicks. They will be waiting for us, next Ashes. Bring it on!

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.