Takers of the breeze off the Derwent,
It seemed to me a touch ironic that Pup should score 166 in the company of the bloke whose job he's been plotting to thieve for at least the last six months.
A Vice-Captain's knock if there ever there was one; you only had to see MJ Clarke's reaction when Cap'n'Cockhead put on his first 50 of the 200.
Pup just sauntered through on the run and patted Punter on the top of the helmet, as if to say "well done, old man"
No idea what they did on the other milestones, as most people including me, were living their lives over the five sessions or so that it took them to to get the runs!
The Skip has to be credited for a well made double ton, if nothing else, the older person has all the shots, always has, perhaps that's why they keep picking him.
Now no one is labouring the point, as they did endlessly prior on the beckoning of Pup's people, about the dude on the wrong side of 30 losing his reaction time against quick bowling, nay his eye sight.
That said, on this occasion Ponting never really came under any serious incoming from heavy artillery, in an attack that quickly weakened to the explosive power of a pop gun as the days progressed.
Of course, as much can be said for my bloke, but Pup's cover driving, off cutting, straight hits, as good as it ever was, and what more can be said about the footwork that even Rudolf Nureyev would admire from the grave?
Pretty to watch.
Not to mention the fiendishly clever leg side play, forever rotating the srtrike, especially for The Captain, or just keeping it for himself from time to time with the effortless glance for two backward of the square leg umpire.
Wonder if the "whole of the western suburbs cried" on the kiddie making his highest test score, as they did, according to that Complete Loon Roebuck on the radio, when he made his 151 on debut in Bangalore?
Doubt it, somehow.
A rather odd way to get out, bringing the bat down in line with the pitch of the ball all the time intending to leave it, but at the last minute forgetting to offer the pads, only to see the ball sail through under his nose unattended and take out the off peg.
As simple as that.
No one was more astonished than the bowler, the batsman, and the wicket keeper.
Just a stunned silence around the bat.
After so many hundreds of minutes and so many hundreds of balls it only goes to show that the character is human, and no matter how big the ball is looking -- by that stage reaching the proportions of a huge watermelon -- it's still possible to make a fundamental, fatal mistake, made all the worse by the fact that you saw it all happen before your very eyes, and were powerless to stop it.
You could blame fatigue and a momentary lapse in concentration, but thinking the technical term for it is "brain freeze".
Never mind.
In the second innings, seems Pup had pretty much taken charge of the dressing room, refusing point blank to bat at five, or at all, for that matter.
The bloke at his imperious best by dismissively declining to appear before the masses as scheduled.
Of course no one asked why, but if they did, he would have just said "done enough"
So he sent Haddin in with that long handled bat of his that looks more like a Lance Cairns murderous Maori club; nothing in the laws that says it can't be a foot thick, as long as it's only 4" wide.
The wickie puts one onto the hill and is then run out, in comes Joke Johnno, who holes out immediately, and Ponting appears at the dressing room door, looking like one of his dogs had just lost as an odds on favourite at Devenport, signalling to the field to come in, as MJ Clarke has the feet up in the Jason Recliner while the team Entertainment Officer, Douglas "just call me Bubbles, everyone else does" Bollinger asks the Vice-Captain whether he would enjoy a high-ball of Pimms No.1 Cup from the freshly prepared drinks tray.
Mint optional.
Life's good, innit?
