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There are days in cricket that are magical. Sometimes, in a world of repetition, you are still able to see things that have never happened before.
Traditionally, opening a column would involve a recap of the day just gone. Today there’s no need. When I say ‘Ashton Agar’, there will be very few people in Australia who won’t know what I’m talking about.
Rather than seeking information, they will have come here to confirm that what they saw last night, and to relive some of the feeling.
In yesterday’s diary I implored Australia’s batsmen to surprise me. They couldn’t have done better if Boony had leapt out of a cupboard on my birthday to tell me that Bruce Willis was dead the whole time.
While Agar made his runs at No. 11, he is not a No. 11 batsman. Team custom, alleviation of pressure, and the records of his bowling colleagues saw him assume the place almost out of politeness.
But for those with an eye out before this Test, three half centuries from ten first-class games signalled something. Not just late swinging: his second Shield match produced a fourth-innings 71 not out, his partnerships worth 155 as Western Australia’s tail chased 358. That’s the kind of work that made VVS Laxman famous.
Still, nothing could have signalled the events of the day just gone. Competent first-class tailenders are not supposed to walk into Test cricket, on debut, with their side on the brink of a series-imperilling defeat, and play like they own the pitch, the bails and the umpire’s hat.
For us at the ground, Agar-watch started as a curiosity, once he’d reached 18 to be Australia’s third-highest scorer.
With Hughes in the 30s and Smith having made 53, Agar’s three classy boundaries still hadn’t led us to think he would improve his position in that particular race. Heedless, he accelerated down the straight.
Not long earlier, Phil Hughes had sent Agar back when he wanted a second run, assuming the batsman’s role as guard of the tail. Agar soon let him know he needn’t have bothered, ambling down the pitch to deposit Graeme Swann over the fence.
Three overs and four more boundaries later, Agar had passed Hughes’ score. Three more overs and he’d reached 50 at a run a ball, the second-fastest by an Australian on debut behind a fairly reasonable lower-order nudger named Adam Gilchrist.
Hughes, too, had become more expansive as he relaxed. Earlier, he’d helplessly watched a crash of five wickets for nine runs, and on 17 with one partner left, he had carried the weight of a no-win scenario.
Now, his shoulders straightened, his back lost its hunch. A thick edge through a vacant second slip was praise-sandwiched between two rasping square slashes to take 12 from a Stuart Broad over. Broad, to be fair, was probably still trying to get over the truly horrifying portrait of him on the fence outside the ground.
Worst Stuart Broad ever (Image: Geoff Lemon)
The extra half hour before lunch was enthusiastically accepted. The spectators didn’t want this show to stop and the talent felt the same, striking his second six to head toward the 60s, then a fine late cut to improbably level the scores.
It seemed only moments earlier that Australia had been nine down and a hundred behind.
In quick time Agar ticked off names like Snow, Bari, McGrath and Vogler on the list of No. 11 high scorers, and finally headed to the sandwich tray equal with Richard Collinge’s third-placed 68.
It was after lunch that things really began to get interesting. Clearly we were witnessing something in the upper echelon of the unusual, and word began to spread. From our position, we could see its effect on people in the ground – the growing intentness on the action and the volume in response.
But at the same time we could see the Australian reaction unfolding online, the comment threads and Twitter feed and Facebook posts proliferating the way coils of ticker tape once spooled out of telegraph receivers.
The tangled relationship between sport and nationalism is often discussed and more often eyed warily from a distance; an intertwined mess of mating snakes that you’d be very unwise to reach a hand into.
But the interest we were seeing was far less about any kind of patriotic fervour, and more a simple expression of community: here were thousands of people becoming aware that something was happening, something extraordinary, and that they were able to share and be a part of it.
This is the special thing that sport can achieve, and the cause of it had no idea it was happening. The English and the Australian fans alike willed him on. The stands hummed for him. The watchers and listeners around the world hung on each stroke, and feared, and hoped.
For a brief and fragile moment, one hitherto unknown young man existed at the centre of a vast network of goodwill, tens of thousands of people relating to each other through him, he the solitary nexus of their shared experience.
And then it was over: the heart-in-mouth moment, the sink of realisation, the almost inaudible shattering sound as that moment passed from human experience to be accessible only through the imperfect lens of recollection.
I’ve written before of my frustrated despair when Shane Warne shanked his chance for a Test century with a similarly skied catch. But this time something was different. As he turned to walk off, Agar shrugged ruefully, shook his head, then smiled the most brilliant, beaming smile.
He wasn’t upset. He wasn’t frustrated. He’d just made the highest ever No. 11 score, and so close to the first No. 11 century, on debut. The phrase sounds ridiculous even to say. He’d also taken his team from a substantial deficit to a decent lead.
There’s a great power to being young. The tenor of Agar’s innings had been one of calmness. He was unruffled throughout, playing with the composed and carefree nature of those yet to discover the fear of losing.
Sports writers always speak of experience as though it is the most valuable commodity. But sometimes, surely, experience can be a weight. Those experienced at losing must fear it more. For Chris Rogers, at 35, missing a century would have been a serrated wound. For Agar, rolling in to Test cricket at 19, it must seem that life holds many more opportunities.
Agar’s press conference only confirmed that he hadn’t yet grasped the significance of what happened today, and what it means for him. As far as he was concerned, he’d had a good day on the pitch, had enjoyed himself immensely, and knew his side was back in the match.
What may be sinking in tonight, as news and communications filter through, is the effect his day’s work has had on people all across his home country. But it’s doubtful it will yet. Often the people at the centre of the magic find it hardest to see.
Perhaps sometime, 15 or 20 years in the future, Agar will be able to look back at himself on this day and truly see it. Perhaps he’ll see the teenager we all saw today, someone he barely recognises. Perhaps, like us, he’ll shake his head and say, “Would you look at that kid? Look at him go.”
Watch Geoff’s Ashes Diary video, including interview questions with Ashton Agar