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I don’t know. I just don’t know. What do I feel after the Fourth Test? The devastation of the game is keener, more painful than any of the previous ones.
It’s not the despair that comes from having no hope – if anything it’s an excess of hope that made the defeat so crushing.
The first Test loss was practically a badge of honour for the Australian team: plucky underdogs, outmatched and outgunned yet somehow coming desperately close.
The second Test was an annihilation. It was depressing, but what could one think in the face of such a wipeout but that the team was plain not good enough?
And if the team’s not good enough, that’s it, isn’t it – nothing to do.
And of course the third Test was almost as good as a victory – we knew it was just the rain that saved England, and we could rejoice in a team that had finally hit its straps.
But this…this is worse because it’s none of those feelings.
There’s no plucky underdog story here – Australia dominated and threw it away.
And it wasn’t hopelessly outmatched – the team pretty much proved its ability to beat England, and then, at the last minute, suddenly didn’t. At 1-147 they were cruising.
Even allowing for a few quick wickets as England struck back, Australia’s batsmen should have toddled along to a target that seemed imposing at the start but had been shrunk to a trifle by Warner and Rogers.
Certainly they shouldn’t have been shot out before the end of Day Four; certainly they shouldn’t have fallen in a screaming heap like a jet shot out of the sky, not even getting close to the total they’d seemed within touching distance of two hours earlier.
Certainly Australians shouldn’t have bounced out of bed full of joie de vivre in the morning, anticipating triumph and being met by catastrophe.
So now what? Certainly the feeling seems more despondent than after Lord’s: logically a sound thrashing should be more discouraging than defeat snatched from the jaws of victory, but it never quite seems to work out like that, does it?
The agony of a grand final lost by a kick after the siren kills the soul more efficiently than a ten-goal flogging.
It’s the sense of opportunity lost, of having wasted your chance, of what might have been.
In the last Ashes series, there was no what might have been: apart from a freak Mitch Johnson miracle in Perth, England ground Australia into the dust with terrifying remorselessness time after time. The 2010-11 Australians never had a chance.
But here in 2013, we’ve had four Tests, and three of them Australia stared victory in the face, and yet England leads 3-0. How is it even possible?
And more pertinently, how can Australia ever win, if even when they outplay their opposition, they crumble at the crucial moment?
If when, just when form and fortune appear to have turned around, they spin once more on a penny and whiplash back in the tourists’ faces?
Oh sure, back in Australia it might be different, but…what if it’s not?
What if even on home turf, the Australians strain muscle and sinew to their utmost to climb on top, and just keep getting cut down, by one brilliant spell by Broad or Swann, or one sizzling innings by Pietersen or Bell?
What if this is a pattern doomed to keep on repeating?
What can be done to prevent this?
Well, nothing.
Right now it’s hard to believe that the team itself is in control of its own destiny; we probably have even less influence, no matter how many times we decide that if we stay on the couch a wicket won’t fall, or that if we go to bed wickets will fall, or that if we turn the radio off for five minutes the situation will improve by the time we turn it back on.
All we can do is hope. And all the Australian team can do is remember this:
Perception is not reality. Losing when you should’ve won may hurt more than losing when you should’ve lost, but with a clear mind and an objective eye, it can be seen that it’s actually far preferable.
Being a team that can win games isn’t the same as being a team that does win games, but it’s a rung above being one that can’t.
Hold on to that boys!
(I am well aware that you all never miss my column)
Remember that you were about to win, you’d beaten those bastards, they were down. It’s just one more little step from having them down, to having them out, from putting them on the canvas, to keeping them there.
Just a little step, guys. You can do it. I know you can.
I hope you can.
You can, right?