Eating my words, with relish

In my defence I could claim that I was being ironic, or that I was flagging the possibility of being very wrong by channelling the famous Alan Hansen gaffe. I could play the new baby card and declare that I have a three-week-old and I am suffering the fog of sleep deprivation. And I could argue that by not playing Boult and Diamanti the Black Caps who swaggered out of the Perth dressing room were hardly "kids".

But I’m going to take it on the body, and rub the bruise later. Last week I gave an opinion, and it was wrong. Very wrong. We did win something with kids, and I couldn’t be happier about it.

The enormity of what happened last night hasn’t hit me yet. Nor, considering the last ball was bowled in the wee smalls, has the tiredness. But even at a first glance this was a significant victory. We beat Australia on their turf. And this was no diluted Australian Second XI – it may be missing Symonds and Lee, but it contained Hussey, Clarke, Ponting, Johnson, Bracken and Tait. This has got to bolster confidence in our camp – it is the cricketing equivalent of a double espresso, with three spoonfuls of sugar. Those callow youths who wear the Silver Fern now know they can beat Australia on their red earth.

A more detailed autopsy reveals some interesting things. The runouts of Ponting and Clarke came from moments of balletic fielding, the type of accuracy Australians are better known for. The openers were both dismissed at silly mid off. This was a field placing of enormous chutzpah by Dan Vettori, and the fact that it was the giant Peter Fulton who was standing there, like a surly bouncer at a nightclub, shows intellectual finesse. I remember years ago the All Black lock Murray Pierce standing as close as he was allowed to an Irishman about to kick a penalty. The elongated Pierce raised his arms, challenging the man in green to successfully kick over an eight foot human barrier, let alone the goalposts beyond. The placing of Peter Fulton, as massive as Pierce, was similarly disruptive.

And let’s also look at the figures. New Zealand – all tightly controlled medium pace – bowled two wides in their innings. Australia, with the white ball flung 20 kilometres faster – conceded 23 sundries.

Finally look at two shocking decisions. McCullum’s was a poor LBW decision from an umpire who is on the decline. It is one of those capricious judgments that feels like a lightning strike – a random event. But the fact that we had lost an international "superstar" did not seem to affect the rest of the top order.

Much more serious was the end of Neil Broom’s working day. Brad Haddin, in taking a ball from Michael Clarke, knocked a bail from its groove, and Broom walked off presuming he was bowled. Haddin must have known something was wrong, maybe not in specifics but in general terms. There was doubt, and Neil Broom, batting with satin smoothness at the time, should have been recalled to the crease.

That Haddin chose not to say anything shows a mental desperation. Australia had lost three in a row before last night. They need a win like Melbourne needs a cool southerly. That the keeper was willing to "take" such a dismissal suggests that the Ocker confidence is terribly fragile.

Last night’s result was enormous, and I am happy to eat my words.

I appreciate I am not the first Stuff blogger to be contrite (search for a copy of Cooking with Political Opinions by Colin Espiner in all good book stores), but here is what I propose.

Ingredients

One large onion, chopped

Two tomatoes, peeled and chopped

Chicken livers, fried

Artichoke heart, chopped

A fistful of olives, pitted

Words (to taste)

Half a teaspoon of soy sauce (not traditional but surprisingly good)

Oregano

Cracked pepper

Serve with pasta, and crusty bread.

Picture: Photosport