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Until we stepped into the press box, Trent Bridge had existed only in the imagination, a name in television fantasy. Abruptly, messianic, it had been made flesh.
The gold-green glow of the field broke open before us through panoramic glass, stretching across to the perfect but strangely modest grandstands.
“Oh, this little party?” English cricket seemed to be saying with a #humblebrag blush. “I really wasn’t expecting so many to come.”
The party was still under preparation, with a military band and determined singer marking out the dimensions of ‘Advance Australia Fair.’ Officials wandered back and forth. A giant St George’s Cross was stretched out and refolded on the turf.
Malcolm Knox tapped away on a laptop on the mostly empty observer benches. Derek Pringle made polite conversation.
I kept drifting off in disbelief as I tried to concentrate on information from Eddie, the ECB’s man in Moscow.
Trent Bridge was where Steve Waugh had once been taken off with a torn calf, a crumpled teddy bear folded in undignified fashion on a stretcher, before coming back for that savage Oval century on one leg.
Trent Bridge was where Ashley Bloody Giles had effectively won an urn for England with the bat, against all the controlled rage and bluster and heart of Shane Warne’s finest series.
Trent Bridge, in a roundabout way, was why I remain adamant that David Warner should be dropped for the first Test.
I first realised I was a cricketing selectorial genius before the Ashes in 2001. Internet comment boards have shown that many credit themselves with the same skill. But I never claimed to know everything. It’s just once in a while I feel an unshakeable conviction, a pour of concrete setting in my gut.
As Australia’s epic 2001 tour of India wore on, I had one such conviction about Damien Martyn. He had shown what I thought was irresistible form, but couldn’t land a spot in the Test side.
Justin Langer had a reasonable tour batting at three, but he seemed tired, frazzled, unsure. I liked him, but knew he should be dropped to freshen up, while also letting Martyn in. I willed the selectors to listen.
When the Ashes began, they did. Martyn promptly made a hundred in his first match, fifty in his second, and hit the winning runs to retain the Ashes in his third.
Meanwhile, by Trent Bridge, Michael Slater had lost my confidence, and his own. Then my flash of genius arrived: with Ponting now batting at three, we should bring Langer back as an opener.
Two Tests later, it happened. Langer made hundreds in his next three Tests, kicking off one of Australia’s best ever opening partnerships with Matthew Hayden. In my lounge room, I took most of the credit.
Which is where Warner comes in. By the third Test of the recent India series, I had that same conviction that he should be dropped.
It’s not that I don’t like Warner as a player. Very much to the contrary.
I was at the MCG for his T20 international debut against South Africa, and I have never seen such crisp, clean display of power hitting. Replays may prove this a senile aggrandisement, but I clearly remember one ball hitting the advertising boards on the grandstand’s second tier.
Then there was an innings in Sydney. Yes, it was only the Big Bash, but bear with me. In Shane Warne’s hyped return to competitive cricket, with a home crowd at the MCG, Warner assembled 102* from 51 balls to complete a run chase in a perfect combination of judgement, pacing, caution and showmanship.
Somewhere in my great pile of half-written articles is one titled ‘Warne, Warner, Warnest’. Warner, I thought, could be the first Australian player since Warne to generate the same kind of excitement and pulling power among crowds.
I still believe that can be the case. But in India, Warner looked angry, erratic and impatient. His batting aggression has been far better channelled than in wild swipes outside off. His dismissals just looked like he didn’t care.
He tangled with opponents and looked fed up. He got into online slanging matches. He was still wired enough to need late-night booze in the middle of a tournament in England, and tetchy enough to swing a punch.
Suspending him for a few one-dayers won’t make a dent. But dropping him from the Test side may help him clear his head, feel the sting of being dispensable, and re-evaluate what he wants.
Unless every other Australian batsman fires this series – a proposition one could describe as unlikely – Warner will have a chance to come back into the team. But even a couple of matches off could do the job. It worked for Langer.
Also like Langer, Warner can come back reinvented. Number six is the spot for him to stay. There are good arguments for him being an opener: his explosive scoring, his buckled-down century on that greentop at Hobart, his quick running and ability to find the gaps.
But all of those are attributes that suit a six, perhaps even more so. In a tight spot, a six has to be able to grind out a defensive innings in tough conditions. With a big score on the board, he has to aim for smashed runs to push the total.
Coming in supporting a well-set batsman, he has to turn the strike over regularly by finding gaps.
But more often than any other player, he also bats with the tail. This requires a good gauge of running, manipulating the strike, looking to smash boundaries where appropriate, and above all keeping a cool head.
These are exactly the reasons why Shane Watson was never suited to bat six: a player made rigid by nerves, with hard hands, a boundary-only mentality, a preoccupation with personal milestones, and lacking the flexibility to rotate the strike.
Without runs, Watson’s Test chances surely have to expire this series. He has averaged under 29 since December 2010, and never topped 40 in his career. His bowling is minimal when opening the batting. Big scores are required.
If Watson makes way – or any of the others – Warner will have the perfect opportunity to slot back in, and do some damage to the series from the lower end of the batting order.
I’ve no doubt that Darren Lehmann and the selectors will not make that decision, but now’s the time to make it.