Without Flintoff, victory seems a fantasy

When all was said and done, the Leeds Test was a contest for which the words “won” and “lost” were totally inadequate.

On days one and two, England were mugged, assaulted, tied up and stripped to their underwear. On the third morning they rose, cavorted for a while and taunted their assailants. They were still bankrupt and humiliated.

Australia won the fourth Test of the series yesterday by a mere innings and 80 runs, nothing like the innings and 200 plus that seemed likely overnight before England’s all-rounders, Stuart Broad and Graeme Swann, led the cavorting. It was not, statistically, anything like England’s worst post-war defeat against Australia.

But it was over at 2.04pm, less than halfway through the scheduled five days, and was certainly the worst defeat one can remember England suffering in such a finely balanced series. In principle, it’s still dead even: with one Test to go, the teams are 1-1 with everything hinging on the decider at The Oval on Thursday week. But now Australia, as holders, need only a draw to keep the Ashes.

Andrew Strauss, the England captain, said yesterday he didn’t really believe in momentum. Lucky, really. Aside from Broad and Swann’s happy hour – 108 runs in 66 minutes – everything about this match went Australia’s way.

The bad news started with the 5am hotel fire alarm on Friday (now attributed to an Aussie prankster) and ending with the leaking of a dossier written for the Australian players by Justin Langer, their former opener, who now captains Somerset. “Because they play so much cricket, as soon as it gets a bit hard you just watch their body language,” he said of England, “and see how flat and lazy they get.”

Please note the first six words of that quote, and the insane schedule of rubbish tournaments and contractual-obligation fixtures England start on as soon as the Ashes finish.

All the critics will today be lambasting England, especially the batsmen: numbers three, four and five, the engine room of the batting line-up, made just 16 in two innings between them. On these occasions, the burying is done at once; the praise can take years to filter through. The press will focus on England’s failure, history will note Australia’s excellence.

Whereas England were suddenly without their two best players, Kevin Pietersen and Andrew Flintoff, in contrast, the two lost souls of the Australian attack, Stuart Clark and Mitchell Johnson, suddenly remembered how to bowl. “Johnson’s back to his best,” someone remarked brightly to Richie Benaud on Saturday night. “Almost,” replied the sage with an air of very Antipodean menace, “but not quite.”

All the Australians bowled superbly some of the time; England never grasped the right length for this pitch. That, far more then the batting statistics, was the difference between the teams.

England started the day on 82 for five, and three balls later it was 86 for six. It might have been over in half an hour, but still the ground was packed. (It’s Yorkshire after all: “We’ve bluddy paid, we’re bluddy goin.”) And the crowd did see some fun. Had the game been winnable, Broad and Swann could never have hit like this: only the lack of tension made it possible. As things were, they just whacked the ball.

This is roughly what happened here 28 years ago when Ian Botham led England to a near-impossible victory. But the deficit this time was even more enormous, and neither of these two seem like knighthood material. But at one stage, 49 runs came in three overs, and a few souls in the press box shifted from contemplating the journey home to worrying about play continuing till Monday, leading to the hotel-cokey (“You check your suitcase in! You check your suitcase out! In-out! In-out! Shake it all about!”)

The Australian fielders were irritated but not dismayed. It soon ended. A couple of local idiots booed Strauss; a couple of thousand booed Ricky Ponting, his Australian counterpart. Strauss insisted he wouldn’t panic. Maybe he won’t but the rest of England will be panicking, yet again, about Flintoff’s fitness. Without him, victory at The Oval feels like fantasy.