Shahid Afridi’s actions today rank right up there with Dumb & Dumber © Getty Images

This weekend, I’ve seen some things on cricket fields which redefine stupidity. First cab off the rank - without even knowing what will become of the inevitable interview with the match referee, Shahid Afridi’s actions today rank right up there with Dumb & Dumber.

I write this post, barely ten minutes after the finish of a tense game in Perth, so I don’t even know if Afridi has been summoned to a “please explain” with Ranjan Madugalle or not, but I’d be hugely surprised if we see him at the MCG on Friday night. Goodness knows what he was thinking or what his excuse will be for seemingly gnawing away at the cricket ball, but as captain it really begs the question of whether he is true leadership material. He has always been accused of playing stupid shots while batting but that is also his charm and excitement. This latest incident has no up side.

I daresay there will be the usual protestations of wide-eyed innocence but I’m not sure if it will wash this time around. Umar Gul’s earnest conversation with him during a subsequent break in play seemed to be about anything but the next bowling change. Of course, that is only my guess but I reckon the dressing room would have been sending urgent messages to the captain, trying to find ways to put out fires that will burn long into the night. Actually, leading up to that incident, his leadership seemed pretty inspiring, in stark contrast to what Mohammad Yousuf's charisma looks like from afar, watching on TV. However, the TV coverage of the 'bitegate' was not pretty – as much as I love watching Afridi play, I just can’t imagine what excuse will save his skin this time.

Running a very close second to his stupidity was the (presumably inebriated) spectator who invaded the WACA ground and tackled Khalid Latif. In fact, in terms of player safety and the spirit of the game, that action deserves nothing short of contempt. It is to Latif’s credit that he scrambled to his feet with a smile on his face and did his best to make light of what was a very potentially serious incident. If he was an international footballer (soccer), Latif would have done four death rolls and writhed in pain for a few minutes until he got sufficient TV coverage and then sprung to his feet like a startled gazelle when the magic sponge was applied! Fortunately, these Pakistani cricketers are a tough bunch of lads.

On a far less public stage, I witnessed (again and again) an umpire in club cricket who persisted in dropping his lighted cigarette butts on the edge of the field as he walked out to start each new session. Apart from the litter and hygiene aspects, most of Australia is normally in the midst of some fire ban or the other. The horrors of the Victorian bushfires, barely a year ago, should still be vivid in our minds, especially considering some of those killer blazes were allegedly ignited through carelessness or murderous intent. And yet, grown adults, entrusted with some leadership roles, repeatedly do this sort of thing! My two-year old son, accustomed to coming down and playing on the fringes of the oval, picked up one of these butts and was about to suck on it in curiosity when I intervened just in time. When confronted on the issue, the umpire initially tried to deny it but soon realised that the evidence was overwhelming. Dumb, Dumber and now Butthead!

Final observation on less than clever things I’ve seen this weekend? Pakistan’s continued obsession with Younis Khan at the top of the order. With Imran Farhat waiting in the wings, a dead rubber and a batsman clearly out of his depth on Australian pitches (on this tour anyway), it seemed like a deliberate own goal to keep sending him out at No. 3. His inability to score off the short ball meant he was just pinned back in the crease, chewing up valuable balls in the Powerplay and then forced to play away from his body, nicking to keeper or slip. If it was essential that he played in all 5 games (I can’t think of why but….), why didn’t they allow him to ease into things gently at 5 or 6 when the field is usually spread and singles are more easily available?

Pakistan’s cricket this summer has been a series of inexplicable events. Unquestioned talent, missed opportunities, daft cricket at times and a real lack of sensing the moments when the game swung on a knife’s edge. It was a fitting end to the tour really, to see the game won with a lobbed catch off a waist high no-ball. I read just now that the chief selector has just resigned too. Another tour that promised so much and has so far delivered sweet nothing. Isn't that oh so Pakistan!

Some of Australia's Under-19 players have already been blooded in the Sheffield Shield © Getty Images

Having watched youngsters playing cricket in just about every part of the cricketing world, it still astounds me that countries like Australia make it to the final of the Under-19 World Cup. That is not to decry the talents of the Australian U-19 team – that is unquestioned with the likes of Mitchell Marsh, Josh Hazlewood and Alister McDermott already having tasted the hard world of senior men’s cricket. I still don’t understand how the non-Asian nations manage to bridge the massive gulf of talent that seems to be so apparent at about age 15 but obviously closes rapidly by the time they reach U-19 level.

Having spent a lot of time watching and coaching kids in England and Australia, it is clear that in general terms (not looking at elite squads), there is a significant difference in technique, patience and passion for the game between those countries and India, Pakistan or Sri Lanka for that matter. An average 13 to 15-year-old kid playing school or club cricket in Brisbane is not even close to the ability level of a random kid playing on a maidan in Mumbai, a laneway in Colombo or on a cobbled street in a Karachi bazaar. The Asian lads seem to have infinitely more sophisticated techniques, more patience and an appreciation of the finer arts of the game.

I recall walking through the park that borders the Bombay Gymkhana and watching in amazement at the numerous cricket matches being played in perfect synchronicity with each other, each game independent of another but still played in perfect harmony, rarely getting in the way of the adjoining match, despite sharing common ground. Young boys waited patiently to bat for hours on end, scoring, clapping, cheering and being totally absorbed in every single ball that was bowled.

One young chap, clearly no more than 12, was bowling offspin with an uncanny Saqlain Mushtaq action and as I walked by, he produced a beautiful doosra that clipped off stump. It was obviously no accident because the wicketkeeper moved to cover that very delivery. Hardly believing my eyes, I went up to him and quizzed him about that ball and he showed me how he delivered the killer blow. Still incredulous, I asked him to repeat the same delivery next ball. Lo and behold; another perfectly pitched doosra, a little nick to first slip and ‘Little Saqlain’s’ on a hat trick! No longer prepared to doubt my own eyes, I stayed for two hours in the stifling heat on an April morning and watched more marvels unfold in front of my eyes. I was with some other Australian cricketers at the time, including James Hopes, and we all agreed that this sort of skill level was unparalleled among boys of similar age back home.

I compare that to my son’s junior cricket in Brisbane and it’s a world apart. Their techniques are rudimentary, most of them are flat out bowling over-arm (let alone bowling doosras) and they have little interest in watching the game unfold, preferring instead to climb trees or play on the swings when they’re not batting themselves. They appeal for anything and don’t even understand the difference between leg-byes and wides. At this age, a World Cup would be annihilation for youngsters from Australia, England or New Zealand, I dare say.

People in Australia think I’m on drugs when I recount stories of three-day games at school level. The famous Royal Thomian encounter, now in its 121st year in Colombo, is almost played along first-class timelines. Many first XI games in Brisbane are played over just one afternoon, certainly never more than one day in the private schools.

Yet, something happens in that crucial period between say 16-19 years of age when the other countries catch up to the subcontinent. It’s inexplicable. The only reason I can attribute it to is that perhaps the cream of Australian talent (perhaps 25 boys) get identified and are nurtured to a level that sees them compete with say India’s first XI for that age. In terms of depth, I don’t think Australia stand a chance. Hypothetically, if you had to pick a seventh XI from both countries, I reckon the Indian boys would win handsomely. But, in that select few that play for their country at U-19 level, the gap is almost negligible. It’s quite amazing really.

Clearly something else happens at grade cricket and first-class level that elevates Australia to a superior position. Perhaps it is physical strength or the battle-hardened psyche that comes with playing a brand of cricket that simply spits out the weak and timid players. That is another debate, best left for another blog piece.

New Zealand are an even more amazing case in point – with such a small population, steeped in rugby fever and with variable cricketing weather, their performance on a man for man basis is testament to their incredible sporting talent. I’ve watched a bit of cricket in South Africa but do not profess to understand their system enough to offer any sensible commentary as to how they seed their next generation of players. Is cricket a game for the common man in the Rainbow Nation or is it still a rich man’s sport, leaving football for the talent-rich masses in the townships?

I’d be terribly interested in reading your viewpoints on this essay from whatever global perspective. Is it that the Australians catch up in those last few years before an U-19 World Cup or that the Asian nations slow down? Does it matter greatly that this tournament is in New Zealand where the pitches may favour the Australians a bit more? Would the Aussies have been a decent-money bet to have still made the final if it was played in India or Pakistan? Subscribing to that theory, Pakistan must surely have been at long odds to make the final in New Zealand then.

One thing is for sure – you’d get better odds on Pakistan U-19 winning in New Zealand than the senior team winning in Perth this weekend. Umar Gul’s performance in the field, even before his awful finishing burst on Tuesday in Adelaide, hinted at something that was seriously amiss. But that’s another story.

Captaincy, while being an honour and a privilege, is also a rum business © Getty Images

A couple of weeks ago, on my return to play a game with my old Sydney team, I was generously invited to captain the team in the absence of our regular captain, who had been called away on family duty. And I learnt once again, that captaincy, while being an honour and a privilege, is also a rum business.

Many years ago, in my final undergraduate year, I had captained the Mathematics Department in the Interdepartmental competition. We lost narrowly to Chemistry by three runs as I failed in both tactical and performance dimensions as captain: I glibly assumed the one attacking plan I had would work, and later, I failed to stick around long enough to let our star batsman finish the job he had started. In the former, I assumed our star opening bowlers, both left-handed quicks, would simply run through the opposing line-up. The bowlers instead, lost their line and length and I was left floundering. When we chased, I came together with our best batsman and simply had to hold up one end while he blasted away. But I got too cute, and in trying to play a clever tickle, got myself bowled. The collapse of the tail was inevitable, and we were out of the competition.

My recent experience in the Northern Sydney Suburbs competition was similarly educative on another aspect of captaincy: how is the captain to assert authority? I was captaining a team many of whose players I barely knew: the personnel turnover had been high in my absence. I had gone in at No. 10, and scored one not out; they had no idea whether I was a decent bat or not. And I couldn't bowl, because I had a bad back. All I could do, really, was ring in the changes, set the fields and say the right things out on the ground.

Easier said than done. Our opening bowlers were set upon by the opposition batsmen who began blasting boundaries on a smallish ground. It's hard to make fielding changes when boundaries are being scored at a high rate. Where does one make the necessary changes? Several of them seemed to suggest themselves all at once. But could I really send a man or two out of the park? For ball-retrieval, sure. But for fielding?

And then things got worse. Our leftie seemed to be struggling a bit with form. It would help if he got a wicket. Sure enough, he induced an edge. And I dropped the catch at second slip.

At that moment, the balloon of authority was well and truly punctured. Our team is a good-spirited one, and my catch wasn't the first to be dropped. But I was the captain, and I had placed myself at slips.

Did I say things got worse? More gloom awaited. We dropped more catches, and continued to get carted all over the park. Time was running out. We had taken two wickets (both bowled, thankfully) but needed more. I decided to call back our quickest bowler for one over. He already had two catches dropped off him. He came on, induced the edge. And I dropped it.

Mercifully, the match ended soon thereafter. While I hadn't made too many tactical blunders, I had failed in a very simple way: I hadn't performed. Whatever chance I had of stamping my authority on the game and the players rested on my being able to take those chances when they had come my way.

After the game, we drank our cold beers, and cracked a few jokes at our collective fielding incompetence. It was just as well I hadn't been the only one with butter-fingers out there. And it was just as well it hadn't been a close game.

Salman Butt was involved in two mindless run-outs in Hobart, instances which highlight Pakistan's poor out-cricket and how badly it lets them down © Getty Images

Forever, since cricket began, players from the Asian countries have been labelled wristy, mercurial, mystical, whippy and many other superlatives that attempt to describe their unique styles, as distinct from the non-Asian countries. These generalisations were probably easier to make some twenty years ago but many of them no longer apply. Players like Jayasuriya, Wasim Akram, Virender Sehwag, Tillakaratne Dilshan, Shoaib Akhtar and a host of others have shown off techniques, physiques and styles that defy those typical Asian sterotypes, positive and complimentary though such descriptions were meant to be.

On the flipside, Asian cricketers used to also suffer from the perception that they were a bit unathletic, had poor throwing arms and often did not do the basics as diligently as teams like Australia and South Africa were renowned to do, almost to the point of being boring. Right until the point when it paid dividends – often at the most unexpected instant.

Watching Pakistan’s openers starting off comfortably in pursuit of Australia’s 519 in Hobart, my cricket-crazy six year old son observed that the batsmen weren’t running as hard as the Aussies usually do. Piqued by his naïve analysis, I started paying more attention and found that he was absolutely spot on. Nothing major, nothing catastrophic, just little things like turning blind or running with gloves in hand or dawdling on the first run. Nothing catastrophic until day gave way to Evening Horribilis for the visitors, when they lost Mohammad Yousuf and Umar Akmal to ridiculous run-outs.
On a flat pitch where a player of Yousuf’s technique would have been virtually impossible to prise out, he found a way to dismiss himself. A few minutes later, Akmal joined him, another victim of not doing the simple things correctly.

It got me thinking… India and Sri Lanka have now moved beyond those basic stereotypes when it comes to doing the basics. Their fielding and running is generally no different to the other international teams, although their fast bowlers are still a bit cumbersome in the field compared to the Steyns, Johnsons, Andersons, McGraths etc. But generally speaking, both India and Sri Lanka do the little things with all the professionalism and attention to detail that you come to expect from Australia, South Africa, New Zealand and England.

So why then does Pakistan still continue to make basic errors, time and again, game after game? Their ability and skill is on par with anyone else in the world but they seem to give away 10% in all the facets of the game that don’t actually require much more than discipline and habit. As desperately disappointed as I was to see those two wasted run-outs today, it made me wonder why they still seem to make these basic errors.
It cannot be a lack of ability. The stunning T20 triumph in England and impressive, albeit erratic ODI performances, just proves that when they are on song, Pakistan can mix it with anyone. What amazes me is why these performances are so variable? You look at a team like Zimbabwe in their prime 10 years ago, when the Flowers, Strangs, Whittals, Heath Streak and Neil Johnson were regulars. What they lacked in sheer grunt under the bonnet, they made up for by consistently making up for their inadequacies by doing the basics right.

The opposite is true for Pakistan. Even in the field, when it comes to backing up or saving the odd single or catching the sitters, they make difficult things look ridiculously easy at times but so many of the basics are ignored. Is that merely a function of them being a bit rusty because they haven’t played much cricket recently? What happens in domestic cricket in Pakistan?

I have never seen the domestic system in operation so my question is a very genuine one. Is the focus mainly on the batting and bowling skills, to the exclusion of the other, less glamorous aspects of the game? Even when South Africa were isolated from international competition for so long, their cricketing basics were on par with world’s best practices when they returned, so that alone seems to be a poor excuse if there is a viable domestic structure in place.

Is it because the outfields in the formative years of playing the game, not always lush cricket fields but, laneways, beaches and other uneven surfaces do not lend themselves to diving? Why did Akmal not dive to save himself tonight? Can you imagine De Villiers, Hussey or Collingwood not diving full-length to make their ground? Had Akmal done that, it would just about have saved his skin (metaphorically, not literally). So what explanation do we have for this lack of instinct when it comes to these simple things?

Watching these last three Tests, it is clear that Pakistan’s skills are the equal of any other nation. Man for man, they compete in pure cricketing terms except when it comes to those little ‘one percenters’. It’s all over the park – fielding, running, stealing singles, backing up, throwing, catching technique and tail-enders slogging indiscriminately. Desperation. Discipline. Detail. Nothing that can’t be fixed with minor adjustments. Little things but they all add up to a significant deficit when compared to a team that plays with brutal efficiency, squeezing every ounce of performance out of seemingly lost causes, as Australia proved in Sydney.

If a six-year old boy can spot these things merely by watching the telecast, surely it must have attracted the attention of the coaches throughout Pakistani cricket? I can’t explain it but considering I’ve backed the draw in Hobart, I’m hoping that some Pakistani brilliance will emerge these next three days. If not mercurial Pakistani flair, at least some reliable Tasmanian rain might just save my bet!

Ricky Ponting’s instincts, footwork and eye make him a magnificent sight when taking on the short ball © Getty Images

Let’s get one thing straight up front. Ricky Ponting will forever be remembered as one of the greatest batsmen to have ever played the game. That much will never be questioned, regardless of what he achieves in the twilight of his career. He has also been one of the best attacking players of short bowling; not just competent at avoiding it like Steve Waugh, Allan Border, Rahul Dravid and others, who generally eschewed the hook and pull strokes, Ponting’s instincts, footwork and eye make him a magnificent sight when taking on the short ball.

What will be interesting to see is what old age will do to Ponting. Or put differently, what will Ponting do with old age?

I write this post just as Ponting was dropped on nought on the hook shot (again) and then promptly played an ambitious pull a few balls later. Clearly, ego, instinct or his own unwavering self-belief will not allow the older Ponting to put those shots away early in his innings, despite recent failures and much commentary on that very issue. A young man he is no longer but perhaps someone forgot to tell him. Or perhaps he just won’t listen.

As he nears the end of a brilliant career, Ponting will need to decide if he will go down in flames, hooking and pulling like a man still in his pomp, or whether he can shelve the ego and grow old gracefully (in a cricketing sense). He will be defying just about every other great modern batsman before him if he chooses to take the road less travelled, the path that will see him continue to attack the short ball, regardless of pitch conditions, age or field placements.

Players like Steve Waugh, Sachin Tendulkar, Richie Richardson, prolific players of the hook and pull shots in their prime, faced similar conundrums as age crept up on them. All three chose a more conservative approach, either playing the shot judiciously (Tendulkar), virtually giving it away (Waugh) and crashing spectacularly (Richardson). I can’t recall what Viv Richards did towards the end of his career but like Border, he did drop down the order in the fading years.

Matt Hayden probably kept playing those booming pull shots all the way to the end but his technique was essentially different to Ponting. He didn’t hook instinctively but he tended to muscle his pull shots, sometimes off the front foot, sometimes even in the arc between midwicket and mid-off. To him, it was almost a deliberate statement of intent, of domination, of complete contempt rather than Ponting’s instinctive swivel.

Ponting clearly has no intention of going quietly. Not for him, the gentle drop to No. 5 or 6 in the order and a career that finishes off in quiet accumulation mode, still as efficient as ever but lacking the rollicking strokeplay of youth. Tendulkar is very much in that mode now, almost more reliable than he ever was but happy to let the memories speak for themselves. Brian Lara was heading that way when he pulled up stumps and other instinctive players of these back-foot shots like Aravinda De Silva and Inzamam-ul-Haq certainly found themselves too slow or too wise to keep having a crack at every short ball as they neared their inevitable retirements.

If you can think of any other great batsmen who voluntarily changed their game to cope with advancing years (especially if they gave away their pet shots), please write in and tell us. I'm sure there will be some fascinating histories to mull over.

As I conclude this post, Ponting is still at the crease on 10 not out, still playing the shot with mixed success. No doubt, Pakistan will continue to pepper him for the duration of his innings. It was always a high-risk strategy, bowling short to Ponting. Only time will tell if the risk premium has now swung against Ponting for the first time in his life.

As for my money, I’m still not prepared to bet against him. Having missed him early, I reckon he might just go on to make them pay. Whatever happens, his wagon wheel in the fine leg to midwicket area will have plenty of lines on it I daresay.

(Note: The article was sent in by the author well ahead of Ricky Ponting's century during the first day's play between Australia and Pakistan in Hobart.)

As a sub-teenager, cricket players were, quite literally, giants © Cricinfo Ltd.

Cricket fans, like pitches, change with time. Where a devotee of the game might once have spent his youth waking up early for radio commentary from distant lands, he could move on to spending those morning hours playing with his little children; where an ardent lover of the numerical aspects of the game might have spent hours calculating the fluctuations in his hero's batting averages, the only number with decimal points he might care about in his thirties is likely to be the mortgage rate on his city apartment.

In my case, the most significant change was the realisation a few years ago that I was older than anyone who currently played Test cricket. That slowly developing shift in my perspectives on the game's players has been enlightening in more ways than one. This change has occurred at the same time that I have had increasing access to the players via the media: their spoken words, their writings, their antics in the many-splendoured television coverage that is now ubiquitous.

As a sub-teenager, cricket players were, quite literally, giants. They looked bigger, they did adult things. They looked like my uncles (and these were just the Indian players). When it came to cricket players from other countries, the distance was even greater. They looked different; they were names in books, faces in photographs, flickers on television screens. They weren't real, really.

When I finished high school and started university, I realised with a start some of the young men I was friendly with were potential international stars. [Syed] Saba Karim was a college mate, and he played for India (years later at Kingston, I called out to him from the boundary line and he stopped and chatted briefly; he invited me back to the hotel for a chat with the rest of the team, but alas, I had a flight to catch the same night). It was the first time I realised the pitches out in the middle of a large cricket field were not on distant planets. They were just a few dozen yards from the boundary ropes.

At the same time, I saw more, read more and heard more, about the players. Their aura, once carefully constructed by my temporal, psychic, and physical distance from them, crumbled rather easily. When I had run across Kapil Dev outside a Delhi restaurant in my final year of high school, he had seemed a giant; when I met Chaminda Vaas at Melbourne's airport in 2003, I realized with a slight start that I was speaking to a young man who, had he been in high school with me, would have had to give up his school bus seat had I demanded it.

But it was their ever-increasing presence in the media that did the most to make me realise that cricket players were rather more easily worshipped when I had less access to them. They had cricketing talent, but that didn't necessarily translate into superior moral qualities or intelligence. Any projection of these attributes on them (and the resultant disappointment when they failed to uphold my standards) was more a reflection of a felt need on my part, than any failure on theirs.

I had grown, and the players hadn't. They formed an abstract grouping; one whose positions were occupied by a revolving cast that came and went, going about entertaining and performing. My perspectives on them, modified irrevocably by the passage of time, could proceed in no other direction than that of the markedly less hagiographic.

Nothing reminds me of this shift over the years better than when I go to see an international game at the grounds (as I did at the MCG and SCG these past couple of weeks). It's a game, and some men play it really well. And we like watching them go about their work. The rest of the romance is our doing, more easily sustained by younger, less jaded versions of ourselves.

As at Centurion, the Newlands Test was hardly a feast for the eyes until the final hour. © Getty Images

In the latest twist to the cheating row, South Africa have asked the match referee to conduct an examination of the England team's teeth in order to determine whether the skin of the said gnashers has been artificially enhanced with Velcro, superglue or some similar substance which allows England to unfairly save Test matches. Paul Collingwood will be first into the dentist's chair, since he is serially implicated in these draws by one wicket which England are specialising in. Following him will be Graham Onions, whose nickname of Bunny is allegedly short for “bunions” but actually describes his batting pretty well, so how he survived demands closer investigation.

Collingwood's chief accomplice on this occasion was Ian Bell, playing the kind of innings we have not come to expect from him. I have always loved his hundreds, even if they have always surfed a wave started by someone else, but I had grown impatient with his repeated failures when the side was in trouble. This innings on its own would not have convinced me to stop doubting his temperament, but taken with his ugly 72 at The Oval in the Ashes decider, the evidence is now there: he will never be as good at grafting as Alastair Cook or Jonathan Trott or Collingwood, but he is now, at least adequate.

As in Centurion, the Newlands Test was hardly a feast for the eyes until the final hour. Both matches featured one really forceful innings by a batsman – Graeme Swann at Centurion; Graeme Smith at Newlands – and one woefully unrewarded spell of superb bowling – Onions at Centurion, Dale Steyn at Newlands – and there has been the odd successful spell from Morne Morkel, James Anderson, Swann or Paul Harris, but mostly what we have had to watch have been Jacques Kallis and Collingwood in 'they-shall-not-pass mode'. I greatly appreciate the batting slowcoach – and wrote a piece before Christmas extolling the breed to prove it – but those two are so dull while standing firm that enjoyment of the match for those watching migrates to the abstract plane.

Whole books are regularly written about Test series. If they weren't filed under “sport”, they would appear on the thriller shelves alongside the Ian Flemings and Robert Ludlums.

A Fleming or a Ludlum writes thrillers which make superb movies. In a Bond or a Bourne film, action dominates over character and people do not spend their time musing over the difficulties of life or the moralities of conflict; there is plenty to hold the eye's attention but not much need to engage brain.

This series for the D'Oliveira Trophy, though, seems to have been written by John le Carre. Little actually happens in his novels; events move slowly - the course of the narrative changed by small incidents whose significance emerges only later. They are novels about character and motivation, about choices made and unmade by imperfect people with imperfect information. The clashes are of wills rather than forces, since the forces are largely fairly ordinary people – how effective they are depends on how well they are organised and how they co-operate rather than on superhuman derring-do.

In the 1970s, the BBC did a marvellous TV version of le Carre's “Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy” for which they hired a cast of outstanding actors who could convey many of the novel's subtleties and nuances, so that a couple of old men having a quiet conversation was riveting. Most other screen adaptations of le Carre novels have been less successful as visual events: you'd always be advised to read the book rather than watch the movie.

With only two or three really high-class players on each side, and most of even those showing only sporadic form, I'm afraid that I'm finding this series a bit wearing to sit through. I'm really looking forward to when the book comes out, though, because that should be a humdinger.

I write this post hastily; Pakistan delicately poised at 101 for 5, chasing 176 for what is an impossible, inevitable, guaranteed, 50-50, uncertain, comprehensive win. It is a measure of the quality of the Test match and the SCG surface that any of these adjectives can be used to describe this wonderful contest. In fact, by the time I finish writing this brief post, any of the earlier words might be redundant. That’s the sort of game it’s been.

What’s best about Test cricket played on this sort of pitch between two relatively evenly matched teams is that it has provided a platform for every type of cricketer to be villain and hero. When was the last time we had a game that created a stage for cricket’s entire cast to play the lead role at different times during a single game?

There we go … as I speak, Kamran Akmal has sewn up the role of Chief Villain in this performance. For a brief moment there, I was wondering if the sheer romance of this gripping, see-saw encounter would have seen him claim ultimate redemption by leading Pakistan’s fragile tail to a glorious victory. Such were the depths of despair he plumbed when dropping those four chances that it was almost tailor-made for the Hollywood script with poor old Kamran smiting a six to win the game by one wicket in the lengthening Sydney shadows.

Brad Haddin may already know what that feels like. Having played a dreadful shot in the first innings and a careless flick across the line to Danish Kaneria in the second, his shot at redemption came when Salman Butt glanced one down leg side. Whatever transpires in the next hour or so, his place amongst the “greatest wicketkeeper-catches by an Australian” is assured. Alas, not so for Akmal Snr.

Younger brother Umar, a breathtaking talent if ever there was one, still has the winning of the game in his hands, having started off in inglorious fashion by spilling a regulation chance in the second over of the match. Who would have thought the future of the game would still be in his grasp? When he launched that stunning assault on Nathan Hauritz in the first innings, it would have taken a brave man to predict these two would still control the destiny of the match two days later. And so it has come to pass …

This game has offered everything. Fast bowlers, legspinners, offspinners, great catches, straightforward drops, good umpiring, lots of overturned decisions, edges that have gone unnoticed, brilliant captaincy at times from both skippers and some very ordinary tactics too. Amazingly, Ricky Ponting, much-vilified for choosing to bat first, may still have the last laugh if his bowlers can make best use of bowling last on this fourth-day pitch which is still doing enough, yet without any real demons.

It may well come down to which team can conquer their demons in the next few minutes. Surely there’s another twist left in this game. I’ll sign off on this post with Pakistan edging closer at 120 for 6 and the game still in the balance. Test cricket dead? Not bloody likely!

	Kieron Pollard hits out for South Australia © Getty Images

Generally speaking, Australian domestic cricket has rarely embraced the concept of the ‘overseas import’. From club ranks through to state teams, there is a sense that the local lads are good enough to do the business and with a lack of money in club cricket (unlike in Britain where Aussies ply a good trade as Overseas Professionals for league clubs and counties), visitors are not feted in the same way that we get looked after in the UK.

Having played 12 seasons of cricket in England and Wales myself and been a direct recipient of untold hospitality and kindness, the likes of which the Australian club scene is scarcely equipped to reciprocate, I once made a silent pact to myself to go out of my way to look after any overseas cricketer who came to Australia. Quite often, they struggled to get used to the bouncier pitches, the style of cricket that could quite easily see you not batting for a month (club cricket is played over two Saturdays with very little Cup fixtures, evening leagues or social cricket in between). Having to find their own accommodation, part-time jobs and transport is a far cry from the sort of Rolls-Royce treatment we received as soon as we set foot on British soil.

There’s no need to worry anymore about the reception that the latest influx of foreign cricketers will receive on the domestic scene though – not if the first few games of the domestic Twenty20 tournament are anything to go by. Some of the players are hardly household names either and yet, their performances thus far have endeared themselves to the home crowds. Rana Naved-ul-Hasan, Dwayne Smith, Shahid Afridi and Kieron Pollard aren’t necessarily regular fixtures in their own national teams (Afridi the exception being Pakistan’s Twenty20 captain), yet they have already shown off the depth that these countries must possess if their qualities are deemed surplus to requirements.

Of course Chris Gayle, Dwayne Bravo, Daniel Vettori and Ross Taylor are world-class players so their bat is set at a higher level. It’s refreshing though to watch domestic cricket in Australia and see so many foreign faces with match-winning smiles and warm embraces from new friends. Afridi, dismissed for a first ball duck in his debut innings came back strongly to win the Man-of-the-Match Award at the WACA. Taylor played a blinder for Victoria in his first game, as did Bravo. Pollard’s athleticism was a highlight, as was Smith’s glimpses of brilliance for New South Wales. Naved was inspired in Tasmania’s first win over Western Australia – in WA’s previous game, Gayle was simply magnificent and courageous, even with a torn side muscle.

The word on the street is that these players are proving to be immensely popular with their new team-mates. It’s a credit to the Australian teams that they have created an atmosphere that is so welcoming to the overseas players, clearly evident in the way they celebrate each other’s successes. Anyone doubting the commitment of these hired guns need doubt no more – there is a palpable sense of players giving 100% and really putting their bodies and emotions on the line. It’s brought another dimension to domestic cricket here and I’m hoping it will be here to stay.

It will be interesting to see what happens if an overseas import has a long period of continued failures but I suspect that it won’t really be an issue. The Australian cricket scene is fiercely loyal to any team-mate and it really doesn’t matter who that person is. The very qualities that can sometimes make them nasty opponents also make Australians the very best of people to have in your trench. When you’re fighting for the same cause, you never need to worry about a knife in the back.

For a country that has for so long relied on domestic depth to sustain itself, sometimes scornfully discounting the value of foreign cricketers, these last few days have been a breath of fresh air. So long as the locals can see that their foreign import is giving 100%, I suspect that’s all they want. It’s generally what most clubs get from an Aussie player when he signs with an overseas club – a wholehearted effort. From what I’ve seen thus far, the world’s cricketers are repaying that attitude and making new friends every time they take the field. Good on ‘em.

	Stuart Broad's magic touch accounted for three crucial dismissals in South Africa's capitulation© Getty Images

It's only one game and South Africa can still win the series; when they start again at Newlands, the scoreboard will show 0 for 0 and anything can happen over the following five days; England should not start getting ahead of themselves and believing that it will be a cakewalk from here on in. All that is true, but there is no reason why any England fan out in the streets today shouldn't have at least a little dance about the result at Kingsmead. Only a few weeks ago, South Africa were the number-one-rated team while England bobble around in mid-table, and yet they were utterly crushed. Victories that comprehensive and impressive need to be celebrated.

But they also need to be explained, and explaining this one is a toughie. Of course South Africa can be beaten in a Test match, but they don't get beaten by an innings that easily. Australia did it during their period of dominance, now happily ended, and Sri Lanka did it a couple of times when Muttiah Muralitharan ran amok, but ordinary sides – and England are definitely an ordinary side – do not thrash South Africa like that.

South African batsmen, when in trouble, get their heads down and block for hour after tedious hour. It ain't pretty, but it's effective. They may still lose, but it's after at least a day's batting and they don't get rolled over for 133. No-one exemplifies this better than Jacques Kallis.

So, in company with Sherlock Holmes, we come to the curious incident of the shot which Kallis played at Stuart Broad. And when we point out that he played no shot at all, Holmes replies that that is the curious incident: why would a batsman of Kallis's calibre play no shot to a ball which was going to knock his stumps over? If we can work that one out, then it is probable that the same will apply to AB de Villiers and J-P Duminy, who also failed to offer shots to balls bowled by Broad and departed as a result.

Some will no doubt talk of the pressure caused by having to bat with no prospect of winning the game or of the superb length, direction and movement of Broad's bowling, but these are not factors which would normally cause Kallis' brain to freeze.

Now, if you watch the replay of the whole delivery, it is apparent that Kallis simply did not see the ball until it was too late: after hearing the death rattle he took a long, hard look at the spot where the ball had pitched, as though the ball had suddenly emerged from there without warning.

My theory is that Broad has somehow acquired the ability to make things temporarily invisible to specific people. Most of the time he has to use it on the umpire at his end to hide his ridiculously petulant antics and thereby avoid being reported to the match referee – a far more satisfying explanation for his lack of a ban so far than Sunil Gavaskar's conspiracy allegation – but occasionally he takes the risk of being seen by the umpire in order to bamboozle batsmen. After tea on day four Kallis, de Villiers and Duminy were successively blinded so that they played no shot, with the results we all saw.

The alternative explanation is that the South Africans were simply batting abysmally, and that is so unlikely as to be ruled out by anyone sensible.

Well, that's my theory and even if you think it's baloney, here's wishing you and yours as happy and prosperous a New Year as is possible in these troubled times.