When England last visited Australia, the selection of one particular player by the hosts was seen as indicative of how far their star had waned.
It was all too obvious that the force of previous years was long gone but what facade remained was well and truly torn down when Steve Smith was chosen.
Quite how he was getting a game was anyone’s guess and in a middle order quartet that was completed by Ricky Ponting, Michael Hussey and Michael Clarke, no prizes would have been forthcoming for spotting the odd one out.
Even as recently as the English summer just gone, despite a solid showing in India once he was back in the fray, the presence of Smith in the Australian line-up just didn’t ring true and I wouldn’t have been the only one thinking ‘was this really all you’ve got?’.
A cricketer of the modern age who could bat a bit, bowl sometimes and field well – any of a dozen English picks of the 1990s – has no place on a Test match field, and while this still, or should, apply, perhaps my judgement on the New South Welshman was a bit harsh.
Or maybe it was right all along but Smith has transformed himself into a Test standard batsman and in the process made such opinions redundant.
His effort in the first innings of this contest was certainly worthy of the stage in which it was acted out and unless those on the selection panel have another of their brain freezes – Glenn Maxwell – he should be a feature for a while to come.
Any runs at Test level are worthy, after all nobody calls you back when you get out, but Smith’s century, coming when it did and with three series’ worth of dismay tantalisingly within reach of being shoved to one side, was even more so.
He’ll never supply aesthetic perfection but it was quick of feet, sure of stroke – has anybody dealt more effectively with the short ball in this series? – it was clean, it was clinical and it looked an almost certainty once he was settled, which is saying something for someone with just one other three-figure score to his name.
It could be down to a feeling of security, of belonging in a side that encourages his method without providing a rapid route for demotion, ot ir could just be that he is a decent run of form.
One thing for sure is it is nothing to do with the technical side of things.
Smith’s cat on a hot tin roof appearance at the crease gives the impression of someone who is a moment away from a rush of blood and one who once in a rut would see it exaggerated by a very bottom-handed technique which rarely hints at permanence but always screams fast-forward.
This is no crime and there is room for eccentricity if it’s managed sympathetically and properly and Smith, if he is to flourish consistently, will certainly need this.
That is for another time, however, and for the time being those responsible should award themselves a pat on the back because Smith, and I never thought I’d type these words, is showing signs that he could be the real deal.
So while the decline once manifested itself in the most prevalent surname in the English language, maybe the recovery could be measured in identical terms.
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