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Some distressing intelligence has been brought to my attention. Nearly three-quarters of Australia’s squad for the New Zealand tour have never worn a jandal-crusher nor shied at a chully bun in all of their professional cricketing lives.
That’s right, of the 14 fine young gents selected for this tour of duty in Australia’s seventh state, only Steve Smith, David Warner and Mitchell Marsh have attacked a ball in anger on the gorgeous emerald arenas which await them.
Is this terminal for our chances? Of course it isn’t. But should we be really, really panicking, like ‘boarding up our windows and looting the city’ style of panicking? Of course we should.
Respected pundits have assessed this tour from an Australian point of view as a tough-yet-crackable walnut. However, I believe it’s wrinkly outer casing is camouflaging a greasy banana peel.
After growing fat on a diet of high-carb batting tracks in the Australian summer and with minimal experience on Kiwi soil, I’m whiffing there’ll be some familiar calamity involved somewhere for our batsmen- and you know the type of repressed memory I’m referring to.
As we all know, the baggy green possesses mystical powers. It can instil belief when all is lost, inspire some of the most vile sledging known to man, and best of all, it can protect half of an Australian cricketer’s forehead from sun exposure and errant Spidercams. It’s a special entity.
But another of it’s magical traits is its random capacity to thoroughly strip its wearer of their ability to bat. This tends to strike considerably more when in foreign conditions, and when so, usually in pandemic proportions with calamitous outcomes.
Two of the most famous instances of this mesmerising spell taking hold were The Great Trent Bridge Calamity of 2015 and The Mighty Cape Town Debacle of 2011. I’m not going to tell you how many runs were scored in either innings, because you seem like a nice person.
To put it accurately, these were two of the most shameful episodes in Australian history. It jeopardised important global alliances, shaved billions of dollars off our share markets and made schoolkids fat. The country has never fully recovered, and there’s blood on the baggy greens’ hands.
When newcomers are charged with a licence of aggression in surrounds of fierce interrogation, this disease can render our professional batsmen so poor that it can make a village team spew. Interestingly though, the issue only seems to have grown increasingly episodic in modern times.
Back in the golden olden days, crazy shit like this never happened. But while our superhuman teams of the 90s were known for wrapping up matches early, our current day teams are sometimes doing exactly the same- just sinfully, and with less effort and opposite results.
So can we expect another historical implosion at some point in New Zealand? My pessimistic opinion on this is in the affirmative.
With our band of high-confidence slashers in unknown climes, it will only require the Kiwi curators to produce just one of their trademark lush surfaces. Even one will still be one more than Australia’s had to navigate with a red ball this summer.
Will this be enough to kill the tourists’ chances altogether? It’s hard to say. But it’s going to be uphill against a team who rarely loses at home these days, especially since Chris Cairns has hung up his twelve mobile phones. And I’m sure the Brendon McCullum farewell tour will provide even further thrust.
As to the immediate answer for this conundrum, as per usual, I’ve got nothing. It’s just fact that when away from home, Australia produces some of it’s lowest work. You can’t biff on with science; unfortunately, there’s something about international flight travel that bastardises their batting techniques.
Is there something anyone can do to help avert another chapter in Australia’s book of two-digit scores?
Don’t look at me- I’ve already done my bit. I extensively searched for any Australians with extensive experience in New Zealand conditions, but all I could find was Luke Ronchi.
I’m pretty sure he’s already booked to be doing something else while we’re over there anyway.