When the moment finally came the visuals were perfect: clean lines, neat angles, figures picked out in crisp afternoon sun against the almost satirical splendour of Adelaide Oval.
Scott Boland took the final wicket to seal Australia’s unassailable 3-0 Ashes series lead, the 74th time this moment has been played out down the centuries, and immediately the white shapes converged to form a bobbing huddle. England’s batters stood in an attitude of formal deflation. The umpires began their priestly last‑things walk, framed against that huge, empty, lime‑green field.
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Related: Stokes vows to remain England captain as McCullum admits regret over Ashes preparations
Before long the players dispersed into handshakes and stump-distribution, a final divvying-up before this private space is transformed into a public stage, invaded already by a cavalry of TV plinths, dignitaries, microphone wanglers, transports and trucks.
And finally, drawing up the rear, a lone man in shorts with a broom. Because this is cricket and there is always a man with a broom waiting for everyone to go away. Here he comes again, the reaper with his scythe, a reminder, perhaps, that there is a man with a broom who waits for us all. As there is now surely for senior parts of the current England regime.
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It has taken 11 days of active Test cricket for this powerfully resourced England and Wales Cricket Board machine to collapse like a castle of dust, vibes and blue-sky wiffle, and to do so before the southern summer has reached its midpoint. So this is Christmas. And what have we done? The Ashes is over. With two Tests still to come.
There was at least some fight on the final day as England compiled the fourth highest fourth-innings score at this ground. But only the kind of fight that points to an absence of fight when fight really mattered. Talent expressed too late. And a rearguard whose only function was to ensure the final moment was delivered in front of an echoey day-five crowd, empty green seats under the distant stands, men with brooms at the fringes.
There is no disgrace at all in losing to these opponents. The maths are obvious. There is only one authentically A-list component in either team. Australia’s bowling attack is an all-time entity, backed by elite wicketkeeping and catching behind the wicket. The default option, barring some black swan event, is this lone outstanding element decides the series.
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England’s failure lies in the nature of that defeat, in losing not just quickly but sloppily, losing in a way that speaks to a basic lack of tension and discipline, a refusal not just to do your homework, but to recognise that homework exists at all.
It was illuminating to see Ben Stokes and Brendon McCullum close up minutes apart in the moment of defeat. Whatever mistakes might be made along the way, Stokes is an excellent, cricket-smart, emotionally curious England captain. Teams lose, captains lose. This is a person who is very clearly in the right job.
At which point, cut to McCullum, out there on the grass doing his best to filibuster, talking about transcendent mental spaces, admitting that he basically just didn’t know how to prepare his team, offering thought-blurts, guidelines, abstract ideas.
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McCullum was hand-picked for the role by Rob Key, who is also smart and interesting, but remains a managing director of a huge sporting enterprise who has never had any kind of administration job before, a non-details man who hired another non-details man to look after the details of high performance.
Squinting past England’s head coach at the sunlit victory podium, surrounded by the slick and functional machinery of Australian cricket, it was hard to avoid the sense of a category mistake in train. Somehow Shaggy is driving the Mystery Machine. Chewbacca has been appointed supreme commander of the rebel fleet, has fired R2D2, locked C3PO in a cupboard and has his feet up on the dashboard while the fighters go down in flames.
And yes, nobody should be judged by their press conferences. Although, at moments such as this it is hard not to look for a little insight and honest consolation. Not for the wall of craning dictaphones, but for the people beyond who love and ultimately pay for this sport, who get up in the darkness looking for a little midwinter light. They said there’d be snow at Christmas. They said buckle up for the ride. Hallelujah. Noel. Be where your feet are as well. Time for another comprehensive root-and-branch review. The failings of this tour will settle in time. For now the irony of this England team is that they have been revealed to be just that, another England team, just some guys, underprepared and outmatched in Australia.
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For all the guru speak, the vibes, this has been little more than an act of branding, a gloss that, to be fair, worked pretty well when it had seasoned, ready-made talent to be liberated. With a team to be rebuilt and not simply rebadged, England have been less save-the-game buccaneers, more the cricketing equivalent of a middle-aged man with a tattoo and a pair of Converse finding the music slightly too loud at a Coldplay concert. Some of this is very simple. There is a reason England have improved as this series has gone on. This is because they were arrogant or careless enough to think they could get away with not preparing properly.
Bazball in its pure form defined Test cricket as a game of batting intent. As Australia have demonstrated, it is above all a bowling game. The entire series here has basically come down to bowling lengths. And it is a first principle that bowlers need rhythm and miles in the legs.
Instead England turned up in Perth looking raw and frazzled, bowling like they were still on a wild-eyed stop-off at Singapore airport. This is not a coincidence. Their five seamers in the first two Tests had played two red-ball first-class games since July. Meanwhile, all of Australia’s bowlers played three or four Shield games in October and November, apart from the cotton wool-encased Mitch Starc, who played two.
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England’s bowlers looked underdone and unfit. Australia looked relentless. Failing to insist on some kind of red-ball warm-up was a mistake that will surely be rectified next time.
The other element is a lack of analysis and data, of basic intellectual curiosity, the stats-are-for-prats culture. England have run through a random list of skills coaches. They fired some of their analysts, one of whom is said to have annoyed his fellow coaches by sending around bowling pitch-maps on the WhatsApp group. How does that look now? How are the groupings down under?
While Stuart Broad and Jimmy Anderson were there, this lack of fine detail didn’t matter. These were senior cricketers who could coach themselves. Broad’s departure coincided with Baz era results heading through the floor.
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The lack of detail has been there in the batting approach, most notably in the collapses, driving witlessly in Perth and Brisbane. Harry Brook has talked about learning on the hoof mid-series that he needs to judge the situation and conditions. In his press conference in Adelaide, Zak Crawley still seemed to be digesting the fact Scott Boland never misses his length. Players can be blamed for not being curious. England have deliberately taken away the outside noise, lessened the cognitive load. But something needs to come into that space.
Chuck in the closed circle of selection, an overly settled squad for this tour, and a disdain for county cricket that helps nobody, that becomes self-fulfilling, and that seems a bit odd in a setup that really could do with some of those traditional virtues of patience and accuracy right now.
At the end of which, the age of McCullum feels like trick of the light, life-hack cricket, the sporting equivalent of influencer Ashton Hall doing a five-hour morning routine to look good for a busy day doing nothing. This one book can change your life. Eat this super food, lose 10 stone and become a crypto millionaire.
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In a way it is still a shame England didn’t just see this through, stick with the vibe, keep on dancing at the Pink Pony Club all the way to Sydney. Because in the end the nature of their defeat here is a pretty accurate reflection of the sport, its elitism, the sense of a private cocktail party, a minority sport fed by private schools up against a majority sport in a country where everyone plays.
It isn’t a mystery why England fail, even if in the current regime they seem to have found a novel way to do it. Can the ECB even afford to fire McCullum, let alone Key, should the current run of results run to its natural end, the 5-0 immolation? We may well find out before long.
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