A
Basin Reserve Test between New Zealand and England must always be worthy of report.
For us in the South Pacific it is the nearest we get to the G on Boxing Day, or
the Ashes at Lord’s. But in truth the second Test was a touch mundane. I was
there from lunch on the second day until the rain sluiced the game away on the
fourth afternoon.
The
encouraging performance in Dunedin had not done much to make us locals any more
cheerful about New Zealand’s prospects. Five years ago a victory in Hamilton
was quickly offset by a resounding loss here, and it was hard to find anybody
who would stake more than a few cents on anything other than a repeat here.
When I arrived, Trott and Compton had both departed having scored centuries in
the manner of accountants totting up the petty cash.
Splendid
achievement as any Test century is, I did not feel deprived on account of not
being there to see them. A century by Compton is much like Christmas dinner. As
enjoyable as one may be, you don’t feel like sitting through another one a week
later. There remained a feeling that the New Zealand attack may have done the
Australians an unintended favour (all favours done to Australians by New Zealanders
are unintentional) in establishing Compton at the top of the order.
The
immediate appeal when I burst through the CS Dempster Gate was that Pietersen
was in. Purveyor of fifteen kinds of foolishness he may be, but Kevin Pietersen
is a wonderful, innovative, unpredictable batsman who any cricketing cognoscente
would want to watch. It was therefore disappointing when he tapped a catch to
Fulton off Martin a few overs into the afternoon. That three of the top five
fell to catches by Fulton at mid on/off suggests that some the English batsmen
remained afflicted by the laxity that had been their downfall in the first
innings in Dunedin. There were plenty of scornful remarks about Pietersen’s
frequent absences from the field later in the game, but it turns out that he
was struggling with the knee injury that kept him out of the Auckland Test and
all cricket until the start of the Ashes series at the earliest.
Matt
Prior provided the most watchable batting of the day—as he had in Dunedin and
was to do in Auckland—bustling along to 82 at not far short of a run a ball.
Around him there was subsidence, if not collapse, as the last seven wickets
managed 198 between them from a starting point of 267 for three.
The
Basin was close to full on Saturday for the most enjoyable day of the Test,
even if it largely consisted of New Zealand’s futile attempt to avoid the
follow on. Starting the day on 66 for three, the home side had to scratch
together another 200, a target that should have been well within their ability on
a pitch so friendly that had it been a Labrador it would have licked the
batsmen on the chin. After the early loss of Williamson and Brownlie, McCullum
and Watling put on a hundred before the captain was sixth out with 77 still
needed to deprive Cook of the option to ask New Zealand to bat again.
Out
strode Tim Southee, apparently having just finished his copy of Brain Dead Batting the Broad Way. Finn set
a trap so obvious that the heffalump with the lowest IQ in the herd would have spotted
it and taken avoiding action. Two men back on the boundary and a short ball almost
at once. Southee obliged by hooking it straight to the squarer of the two.
Watling and Martin (who batted capably again) took New Zealand to within 30 of
the target, but Wagner and Boult could not survive long enough to reach it.
The
top order was more assured in the second innings, reaching 162 for two by the
time the rain brought an end to events on an episodic fourth day. There was no
play, or even the remotest prospect of it, on the final day, which my Whiteladies
Road correspondent spent in Te Papa, our excellent national museum on the Wellington
waterfront.
The
action on the field was not the totality of the Basin’s charms; I bought five
books for $10 at the second-hand book stall, three by John Arlott. There was
the great man’s account of the 1959 season and, more intriguingly, of the MCC
tour of South Africa of 1948/9, which Arlott covered for the BBC. He returned
imbued with a hatred of the racial divide that remained with him for the rest
of his life. It will be interesting to see how much of this comes through in
the book. There was a spin off from the TV series Arlott and Trueman On Cricket, which enlivened the Saturday mornings
of my Blean correspondent and myself in the spring of ’75. Also two of
cricket’s best-known autobiographies: Jim Laker’s Over To Me, which provoked Surrey to sack their greatest spin
bowler; and Don Bradman’s end-of-career Farewell
to Cricket.
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