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Excuse me? Australia is one measly draw away from mathematically graduating to kings of the Test jungle? Is this ranking calculated with the same madcap formula they used for Adam Voges’ batting average?
Firstly, don’t get me wrong, I’ll be sticking rigidly to my ‘moonwalk shirtless while fist pumping’ victory procedure if our boys manage this feat, so draw your blinds or pick up some chronic conjunctivitis if you’re in the local area.
But me thinks that instead of dotting their Pi and carrying the decimal points, the data monkeys at the ICC have been too busy stuffing around typing ‘BOOBIES’ on the calculator with this particular equation.
As wonderful an achievement it may be, there’s something about this possible coronation for Steve Smith’s bunch that sits uncomfortably like an angry jalapeno pizza that’s been washed back with a triple-shot latte.
With all due respect to Australia: Version 2016, the regal title of ‘number one’ conjures images more like the thundering West Indians from yore, Steve Waugh’s Galacticos, or the uber consistent yet trophy-resistant contemporary South African sides, not Mitchell Marsh.
But I must partially concede. In Australia’s defence, they’ve been gradually trending upwards under Smith’s new regime, so this formulaic quirk is hardly the Telstra of catastrophic technological brain-farts.
Fair cop – Smith’s troops are in the middle of a ten-game undefeated streak which includes victories against stiff opposition not including India, South Africa, England or anything that moves laterally. So credit where its due.
In addition, they’ve just gutsed out a gripping Test match win in the Shaky Isles too, those gruelling and unfamiliar climes where Australia hasn’t lost since the Clinton administration kicked off.
But even with these era-defining triumphs, you still can’t escape the fact that ascension to becoming cream of the creams will feel more hollow than a vegetarian sausage roll.
So who do we blame for this humiliating algebraic glitch?
While many will directly point the finger at popular choice Richard Illingworth, Australia’s undue rise to the top is actually the fault of a modern Test landscape that is a wash cycle of the humdrum.
Put simply, it is their turn at the top of the churn. Not long ago drowning, they’ve risen temporarily for a glorious lung full of winner’s oxygen as their equally moderate opponents take in water around them.
So in good news for all non-Australians, it shouldn’t be too long until the top dogs are eventually sucked back in to the whitewash. Keep faith, because it’s as close as the next turbulent transitional period or overseas tour.
While some clowns may see this period of equalisation as ‘exciting’ and ‘healthy for the game’, I reckon cricket sucks without a browbeating hero trouncing everything in its path. So I’m calling on the ICC to get real.
Time to replace the championship mace with a lifejacket sporting the face of Steven Bradbury and re-name the number one position for what it is: the 15 minutes for the best of a bad bunch.
Nevertheless. If it’s any consolation, Australia won’t be the worst number one to grace this earth if they manage to win or draw in Christchurch.
Must I remind you that we’re all guilty of facilitating the Macarena to global renown?
That human beings – some with which you may have fraternised – have made inappropriate financial contributions towards caterwauling like Mambo Number Five?
This is what happens when you leave humans in charge of determining a pecking order, so perhaps we should embrace any formula endorsed by the ICC. Maybe we should forget this is an organisation that wholeheartedly believes in Duckworth/Lewis and just go with it.
Whatever happens, I maintain my stance. Smith’s team will only have truly returned ‘back where they belong’ when they can avoid toe-curling shame on a spinning track, or endure a apocalypse-free Ashes in England.
Until then, they’re just another Los Del Rio or Lou Bega.