It was only one of its kind mornings in Brisbane. This was a kind similar to the one on which Ashes is played. It is the one where momentum does not hold importance. Rather it is the wickets that translate the domination of a team. Three times in almost
fifteen minutes a loud yelling cut through the course of air. The people would look up to see who had moved, what had happened. Only to find out that no one did actually move and nothing extra-ordinary happened.
It is counted as one of the charms of Test cricket that when not much seems to be happening, that is when it’s actually happening. An hour went by. Those three leg before wicket shouts were the only moment of tumult. One was not out, the other out yet not
out and the last one not out. Everything else depicted an unspectacularly not so complex surrounding. There were not many runs made. There were moments where the batsmen poked and missed. And still the bowlers kept bowling the same line and length.
It was absolutely marvellous bowling when it comes to James Anderson. The fine display of bowling inflicted a mesmerising effect on the viewers. Had Australian rules been the game, England might have preceded three goals ahead. But Test cricket is not exactly
meant to be all that fair. Momentum has paradox thinking. It does not necessarily imply that one team having it will win, the other will lose. You have to pick up a wicket to prove dominance. For a moment that wicket seemed to be the decider. In actual terms,
it remained imminent for only an hour, and then it didn’t.
It can shred on the fielding side, sensing the momentum, yet no picking up wickets. All of a sudden the hour was finished and one could feel it. The feeling also grasped the English minds which were on the field that the hour is over. This feeling was clear
on their mind that wickets are not going come. Stuart Broad’s mid-off mis-field let the England camp more down, allowing Haddin a run. A near overthrow afterwards nearly awarded him two runs. It was a second’s ineptness. It was block infringement. The next
“best” thing happening, a cracking sound of the bat and Haddin down the track pouring Anderson high and perfectly straight.
This was the morning’s 85th delivery, the only confrontational drive. And the feeling one had, was not a feeling anymore. It was a fact.
For the rest of the five and a half hours a highlights reel played on. Michael Hussey’s batting average, fresh from one innings stint in sub 50 terrains, returned to its original. Haddin also remained to be extremely consistent and blocking well on the other
end. Tim Paine might be wondering whether he will ever play in the Ashes. The class of Haddin supported the thundering of Hussey, ruling out the English massively. The runs, they flew. The drama was chunky. The England skipper nearly bagged a pair. It was
all happening in the middle.
With the exception of that, all had already happened. And that too when it was difficult to picture what was happening. This was the first hour. The hour had a lot happening in it. Then one realised it had nothing but clumsiness in it. Then some predicted
it had runs in it, the others that there was a wicket in it. The all important one hour it seemed. Just what ever was happening, was big enough to encompass everyone with it. So big that everyone seemed hypnotised with it. By summer’s end everyone will realise
how big.
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