Bairstow furore masks England’s blind faith and allows them to bask in role of tragic heroes
To have been there under that milky s k y, watching Stuart Broad’s dismemberment of Australia — 8 for 15 in 57 balls on a Trent Bridge morning eight years ago — was to imagine he would never put in a more vivid performance.
‘Pomicide’, the Sydney Morning Herald called it at the time.
That was before Sunday brought us Broad the arch- agitator, captain’s liegeman and a tormentor-in-chief, killing Australia with his delicious mockery and those six little words, now enshrined within the legend of the Jonny Bairstow incident in perpetuity.
‘You’ll forever be remembered for that.’ Taking blows and runs in near equal measure, as if his very life depended upon it.
And because of all the theatrics, the neatly ascribed roles of hero and villain which we all thrive on and positively drool over in sport, a few inconvenient questions almost stole away into the evening at the end.
Like: why did it take a raging sense of injustice to galvanize England? Why hasn’t grinding Australia into the dust — by any available means — mattered more than demonstrating how fabulously clever their so- called cricketing ‘philosophy’ is?
The acts of outrageous brilliance from Ben Stokes, the colossus, and Joe Root, the genius, have somehow allowed a fallacy to hold sway this summer which contends that winning is some grey, dull subsidiary to a gorgeous, heroic sporting aesthetic.
Simply positing the theory of seeking a blend of 80 per cent chaos and 20 per cent order is to be deemed feeble, unimaginative, and locked into the old ways, as if this were a binary consideration. All or nothing. Live in the moment. To hell with tactics, nuance, an ounce of pragmatism.
ATEAM intent on pursuing victory to the end of the earth would never have taken on the Australian bouncer barrage in that hour or so of England folly on Friday. Especially after batting themselves into a position of such security at 188 for 1 on a flat pitch, with Nathan Lyon out of the equation.
To be bowled out inside 76 overs on that pitch, losing six wickets for 47 runs from that position, was pitiful. When Stokes was dismissed and ollie Robinson emerged on Sunday, there was still a fragment of hope. It evidently counted for nothing, given the way Robinson blithely tossed his wicket away.
In the aftermath, the Bairstow controversy provides useful cover for England. It deflects from the enormous realities — the failure of the batting, the anaemic firstday bowling, the 2-0 deficit — and allows them to bask in the role of tragic heroes ahead of Headingley.
Even the Prime Minister now weighs in, as those of his ilk are inclined to do when they spy political opportunity, offering pronouncements on morality and the ‘spirit of cricket’.
What unmitigated nonsense. Bairstow, casually pinching his toe into the crease and blithely wandering off for a chat with Stokes, was somehow symptomatic of an England who have seemed blinded by their own cool insouciance and vast confidence at times this summer. There is an element of falseness about some of this outrage, given how helpful it is to England.
Bairstow’s place at the altar of the new England is cemented, too, with much delight taken in the MCC members morphing into Millwall as the Australia team clattered through the Long Room. Well, be careful what you wish for in this new world. Had a partisan English football crowd witnessed a capitulation like that on Friday, it would have been their own players leaving the field to boos.
By Sunday afternoon, as England’s poor first-day bowling and suicidal third- day batting were conveniently drowned out by the mood of insurrection, there was a hint from Stokes that pragmatism might now replace a slavish devotion to the mantra. ‘We’re not saying, “Go out and play this way” but, “Play with complete clarity”,’ he said.
Sir Alastair Cook felt this was ‘for the first time, a slight change of words about decision-making and how they want to be better than attack, attack, attack.’
Brendon McCullum feels that the sense of seething injustice will ‘galvanise’ the team for Headingley and the effect will, of course, be at its most visceral on the Western Terrace, which will be a braying bear pit. Wonderful drama awaits. But blind fury is not conducive to exacting cold revenge and learning from the errors of the first two Tests when England go to work at Leeds.
History offers few clues to the best psychological state for these moments. It certainly wasn’t a visceral wish to annihilate the Australians which inspired Ian Botham to his legendary 149 not out against them in the miracle of Headingley in 1981.
He entertained both teams to a barbecue at his house on the Saturday night. Mike Brearley was so convinced England would lose by an innings that he was showered and changed while
Graham Dilley was playing his match-winning support role.
BuT for a real sense of the approach needed, consider the wisdom of Jason Gillespie, a columnist on these pages, who reflected at the weekend that nothing frustrates coaches more than players continually repeating the same mistakes.
‘The last thing you want to hear is, “That’s just the way I play”,’ Gillespie said. ‘ You’ve got to adjust and adapt your game to the situation and learn from your mistakes.’
You would hope that McCullum would feel the same way, though he certainly doesn’t sound like a man chastened by the fact that England face an uphill battle at 2- 0 down with three to play. ‘Three-two has a nice ring to it,’ he said, exuding that ultra-confident air of the modern England.