Psychologically Scarred Spectators,
At least MJ Clarke had the decency and sense, at the miserable dénouement, to show a modicum of culpability by relinquishing the T20 Captaincy, and indeed retiring from all T20 cricket forthwith, falling on his sword while accepting the fact that he was never really any good at the shortest form, and acknowledging that he needs to try harder at test cricket.
Wise move.
It was clearly a token gesture, but at least it was one.
Didn't find myself at the ground at any stage in the five days, largely on account of the preponderance of gloating Poms, the small and uncomfortable seats, and the complete lack of full-strength beer throughout the outer ground bars.
If the point of watching cricket is pleasure, there certainly wasn't any to be found anywhere at the SCG last week, and if you are uncomfortable, tounging for a proper drink and deriving no pleasure from it, then obviously, there is no point.
Don't know that anyone has, as yet, really grasped the full extent and devastating impact of the terrible Sickness in Sydney.
Even with the Ridiculous Little Urn already long gorn.
Pup didn't really make an auspicious start to his career as Captain.
His well-made 4 on Day 1 after pulling the wrong reign at the toss and electing to bat under leaden skies on a typical Sydney summer's day dripping with humidity faced with something of a green top against a side full of quality ball-tampering seamers didn't exactly endear him to the general public or silence his legion of critics.
Fiddling with the batting order, just because he could and wanted to stamp some kind of mark of authority on the caper is never a good idea, particularly first up.
It just unecessarily messes with some ego's; putting Haddin down to six didn't work anyway, with SPD Smiffy looking good while fuming under his hat at number 7 -- until he got out.
Old timers at the ground did credit Clarke with some astuteness in the field on Day 2.
Working the bowling changes and the field placing with a little aplomb, taking Joke Johno off early after pulling the wrong reign in deciding to open with the jester, and did all he could to rally an effort out of the pop-gun attack at his disposal that was not even close to firing on all four cyclinders.
Just a pity about the Beer wicket off a Billy "Idiot Savant" Bowden no ball.
Pup found himself seriously challenged on Day 3, and struggled to skipper up to standard, for mine.
Harsh, but true.
Again he had steam coming out of Smiffy's ears as his leggie credentials were ignored until very late in the piece...mind you he went for almost 50 in ten overs, so the skipper could say with justification that he was probably right in the first place.
He ringed the changes like church bells and toyed around with the scattered chooks, but to not much avail, and eventually lost his rag, given that low down brown dog cheatin' bastard Cook, before he was eventually, at long last, finally given out.
The way it's going we might as well do away with the field umpires and let the players decide between themselves what on earth's going on.
Umpires only encourage sharp practice, underhand tactics, and bald faced cheating.
Or maybe we should go back to the Darell Bruce Hair glory days and just call whole thing off.
By the time Day 4 arrived, Pup was in no position to plug the dyke with his finger as the floodgates had by then well and truly opened, with runs, all 644 of them, flooding their way down to the coast of victory and out to a sea of ashes.
Did it not occur to him that he should have put himself on to bowl a few overs of his surprise wicket-taking left-arm dibbly-dobblers, or was the Shagger's Back playing up, or did he see it as a self indulgence that wouldn't go down well, given all that had backfired to date?
Little wonder he screamed out loud when he finished up his 2nd innings in the afternoon for a well-made 41; not enough, not nearly enough.
Just like in Adelaide, the match lost there and then to a nothing shot against a nothing ball.
Who, in their right mind, would be Captain?
Surely Day 5 was simply put on by the match promoters as an opportunity for a large mob of hopelessly pissed Poms to go completely stupid, there can be no other reasonable explanation; in any other game the mercy rule would have been invoked.
Of course the Royal Commissioners should be assembling as we speak to begin taking evidence.
Don't care if the letters patent are along the lines of the Royal Commission into The Bombing of Darwin, where even today they won't even reveal the list of witnesses, let alone a single word of the testimony.
But, then as now, the consequences and ramifications were widely known; people quietly lost their jobs or were subtly move sideways, as blame was apportioned in private.
The court jesters puportedly in charge of the game must be held to account, sacked, and the new lot, whoever they are, commanded to make damn well sure it never happens again, ever.
You can only hope it's going on, but with the Chairman and the Three Wise Men and The Board and The Punter all siging from the same hymn book as if nothing at all had happened; probably not.
With August in Colombo and Kandy now deemed to be a long way off, there's troubling unconfirmed talk of a couple of test matches in Bangladesh after the one day World Cup -- Straya is due to play them.
If it happens, that should give everyone a reasonably clear idea about where Straya stands viz-a-viz the rest of the real world.
It would concentrate the minds of the new powers-that-be when it comes to picking the next XI.
Winners are grinners, so the Poms can go please themselves as they try again, as they do, for world dominance.
The Empire strikes back.
