The Squad has settled in at Adelaide ready for the Second Test on Thursday. With The Captain limping around on an ever-so-slightly-but-not-really-it’s-perfectly-fine ankle, The Prof and I were thrown into some real practice to sharpen us up just in case one of us is needed as a last minute replacement. My first thought was that it was a relief not to be facing RocketMan in the nets – he hurt me real bad in England – but then Tatts let fly with a few that I didn’t even see. Not sure why I’m not facing a 130 kmh trundler to practice for the English attack, ’cause I sure won’t be facing up toa anything like Tatts with a full head of steam in the unlikely event that I get a run.
The Prof and I gathered by the pool back at the hotel to recuperate, and took the chance to review the form after the weekend’s round of Shield matches. Our old friend Lucky got knocked over just past his 100 [Ed. As against just before it as is more often the case] by the forgotten man of Ashes campaigns past, would-be saviour Citizen Kane. Lucky’s next innings in an attempt to force his way back into the test team? Looks like a duck, smells like a duck, quacks like a duck, must be a duck. Mr X made some quiet runs, and one of the supposed white ball specialists got over 200 not out in a run fest at the WACA. The bowlers can do what they like, we’ve got plenty of them to choose from.
By all reports our erstwhile opponents had a bit of time off today, and slipped off to the Barossa Valley for a look see. They were all sworn off the wine tasting, and had to stick to sampling jams and quince pastes after the publication of those photos of them out on the town in a merry state earlier in the week. [Ed. Those photos must have been faked. There isn’t anywhere in Adelaide that’s open after 9 pm on a Monday night, let alone continuing on until 2 am.]
With the Barmy Army contingent swelling by the day, there were plenty of them wandering around in the Valley, and none of them showing the laudable restraint of the Test players. What was supposed to be a day off for the England players turned into a whistle stop autograph session everytime they pulled into a winery, craft shop, restaurant or public toilet. There wasn’t a german sausage to be had in the whole Valley by 4pm. Dennis was exhausted when he joined us by the pool later on, and said that he lost count of how many times someone thought it was good fun to attempt to say “Nurioopta” after three dozen “tastes” of the Barossa’s finest during the bus trip back to Adelaide.
One more day and the battle is on again.