That might still happen.

Although today was funner than seeing a borne film on a roller coaster, the series could still dribble out staid draws and the two teams could end up sitting on the pot and not shitting.

But today England shit a bit.

And so did the rest of the world, with laughter.

Before this England had shown to be a largely robotic team that could capitalise on flaws and had even learnt the hardest art in modern cricket, the un-collapse.

192 is a long way from 51, 47 or 43,  but it’s a cock up.

And England may end up winning this series, and travelling on their next couple of subbie adventures with their pith helmets held high.

Or they could shit themselves and prove to naysayers that they are grass merchants who who frown on brown.

I think both are ideal outcomes.

If England do fight back here, and then beat the Lankans and Indians, they’ll be a number 1 number one.  So cricket will have another great enemy that needs to be brought down.

If England don’t fight back, and they continue to play spin like it’s got herpes, world cricket will have another good ordinary side for the other teams to play awkward teenage sex Tests with.

Today’s English collapse was against a bowler with a career average and strike rate of 30/68.   He’s a bowler that when he has a good day, he has a real good day, when he has a bad day you might as well rent a truck and drive over him.

England aren’t going to come up against too many Ajmal’s in the world, but it’s comforting to know that when they do, their capacity to shit themselves still remains, even if this was a shart my modern Test standards.

So either they fight back and we all marvel at the professional nature of the new England.

Or they fall apart while we all point and laugh.

Cricket can’t lose. England can.

It wasn’t sordid, there was no sexiness, he was just an old dude who was once important to a few people, who is now no longer with us.

I’m not going to talk about how great Basil was, because I don’t know. Like what happened with Roebuck, those who do know will line up to tell us because other than boxing no other sport has the writers and love of nostalgia to properly handle an obituary.

Basil seemed pretty good, and an average of 40 with bat and ball at Test level is pretty handy when you consider he might have been 43 when he played.

In fact, it’s the whole bullshitting about his age to beat the system that I love the best about him. Like Satchel Paige before him and 2 out of 3 Pakistanis after him, he used his age to fuck with people.

Basil played in that golden cricket time, when cricket was cricket. Players walked, had beers with each other, were amateur, sledging was barely heard of and the gentleman that played the game loved a touch of racism in cricket.

It was Basil’s career that showed the hypocrisy from both sides. And he did all while being a top player regardless of his age.

When people talk about the glory days of cricket, that pure beautiful time, Basil pops into my head, a man who was born to play Test Cricket, yet who at one time or another was not allowed to play in two different countries.

Cricket has always been just a little bit fucked up, which is part of its charm.

But it also helps to have men like Basil who will do whatever they have to do to play cricket at the top level.

Cricket is better just because Mr D’Oliveira played it.

Sure, since India surged past lifeless corpse test nations to grab the spot, they’ve been a bit drawy, but they’ve been fighting draws.

We want a number one team that has champion players and who fights like a tough kid with Lesbian parents.

India were pretty much that, they started every series down and out, but then came back hard and united, fighting their way to well earned draws.

There was something about them, and while I needed them to beat England to really jump on the India superpower rocket ship, I liked the way the way they played.

Now we are back to square one, again.

When South Africa became the number 1 test team it was largely a statistical thing, and when they actually had the chance to go number one properly they bottled it against Australia. They didn’t feel like the awesome number one we were looking for.

India got there largely the same way, they seemed to have more fight than South Africa, and they got there in a slightly more charismatic way, but you know, they still hadn’t won in Australia or South Africa, and their team seemed really old. Ray Price old.

When both teams made it to number one I complained that neither team was really this amazing dominant force, just the best we had at that given time. No South African fans complained, hundreds of Indian fans complained.

Now England has gone one worse, but they are making us start the calculations all over again.

By beating India, but not beating South Africa or winning much at all in the Subbie, they’ve given us another number one is probably the best right now, but who hasn’t quite stormed the globe wreaking havoc and destruction on the world.

They might. They seem to find another fast bowler capable of averaging under 30 everytime David Saker looks in the fridge, their batsmen are boring batting gods, and Andy Flower could make the trains run on time in Italy.

But they still have a bit to go to being a dominant number one, rather than a statistical one that could be leapt over at any moment.

And what is worse is that if South Africa stomp on  the minnows Australia and the has been Sri Lankans, England lose their number one crown without even playing another test.

I mean, it’s hard to get too excited for Team England’s naked romp around the globe when there is a chance they won’t even be number one next time they play.

England also make themselves hard to love with their professionality, which may not be a word, but it should be.

But their also not easy to hate, Broad and KP notable exceptions.

The good news is they have started their reign as number one by poaching Young Frankenstein Boyd Rankin from Ireland. Meaning that yet again, Ireland have the bowling of George Dockerell and a few blokes from the pub.

There are some people who are very upset at this, but I am not.

England may take a couple of years to fly around to all the backyards and beat up the weak kids, but this act of unnecessary crowd baiting arrogance is the exact sort of thing you’d expect from the world’s kickass number 1.

It’s a no lose situation for cricket fans, we either get England failing, and the laughs that come from that, or we get our new evil empire.

Hate doesn’t lead you to the dark side, it leads you to number one.

Buy this you bastards.

OK the hunting and working class things are a bit odd, but I doubt he abuses small children or throws faeces at monkeys.

And I respect the fact that even though he has a fairly flawed technique he makes more runs than most whilst never sweating.

It’s just that I’ve seen it.

A lot.

I’ve dreamt of him, fantasized about him being a reptilian, and seen more hours of him batting that I’ve seen Robocop 2, the Matrix, Predator and the 1985 Perry Mason Godzilla combined.

During the Ashes I thought it was because he was taking down my team, but no, it’s not that, it’s just Cook, he burrows into my skin and gently nudges away at my life force for days on end.

It’s enough already with the fucken Alastair Cook.

Had I attacked a woman on the bus because I hated her hat, I’d probably get less hours of community service than one Cook innings.

They just go on and on, they never change, there is no difference, it’s just the subtle strangulation of accumulation and death.

If Cook was a dictator, he wouldn’t put his face on anything, or declare wednesday to be Alastairday, people would just start disappearing when they said anything that wasn’t polite or Pro Cook.

That is why right now I want an Asteroid to come down to earth and smash into Cook as he turns it on the legside for one.

I can take no more, and if the only way to stop Cook is with this fiery space rock from hell, and I have to go with it, then fuck it, kill me, kill him, but make this stop.

Oh please make this stop.

Sometimes the only option is a large crushing force from above.

Please space rock, save me, save us all.

Due to time constraints and not wanting to put you through that, it’s never quite happened.

Luckily, like test match sofa and the cricket couch podcasts, someone else has stepped into the void.

The blog Deep Backward Point is here to sing you a test in a song, it would be rude not to listen.

This may be one of the first songs ever written about Sehwagology.

One day this song will be referenced in a history show about how Sehwagology started.

You know the sort of magician I’m talking about, he looks less soap opera villain than the magicians of the past, dresses like a normal dude not a effeminate superhero and does his tricks at parties where the guest list is managed by a woman called paprika.

In one of these promos Stuart Broad is in the background looking like a rather striking androgynous model that has been placed there for the symmetry of the shot.

I didn’t think anything of it.

I mean, he’s an English celebrity, he’s at a wanky party drinking an over priced drink he didn’t pay for, and the camera has him in shot.

That’s all fine.

But now I get it.

We think we’ve just seen a test where Broad has taken 7 wickets and made 70 runs.

All of us who had written him off as a privileged lucky bastard with a rightfully earned test average of 36 who had convinced himself that he was in any way tough enough to be an enforcer as he went from test ground to test ground bowling terribly easy to play short of a length balls were shocked when he pitched the ball up and took wickets.

In a press conference afterwards he said that he knew his best length was pitching it up, he’d always known this. That everyone had always known this.

He didn’t, oddly, explain that if he knew that why had he spent 2 years ignoring it and being largely useless.

Then his batting, which even at the best of times looks just a bit too lucky to be real, came off.

When England needed someone to stay at the other end to Prior and tell him just how great his square drive was, there was Broad, cheering on like an office worker who is trying to show his bosses how good his partner’s PowerPoint display is and occasionally chiming in with, this is so 2.0, we’ve got to streamline our objectives hardcore, and this is purple sky and yellow ocean thinking.

It didn’t make much sense, as there was more than a chance that Broad was going to get dropped either before or after this series.

Now he’s not.

You could say that the pressure of Tim Bresnan’s form made him improve.

That Andy Flower beat him up until the only word he could mumble was “full”.

Or that he just realised that the good will of the media had finally rubbed off and that if he was dropped now he’d be known of as the guy who went for six sixes and over and was a stroppy little prick who never met an umpire he didn’t moan too.

I don’t believe any of that is true.

I think it was cool celebrity live magic.

Anderson has taken a disliking to the white ball.

Their captain is a plodding donkey.

Jonathan Trott only scores 5 runs more per hundred balls than Ian bell, and averages a shocking 11 less in ODIs than he does in tests.

KP is a left arm orthodox away from a melt down.

And they rotate their keeper like most rotate their underwear.

Yet their biggest problem seems to lie in the press box.

It’s in the press box that they look large and sluggish.  Never quite sure how to push on at the right time, and always held back by a general malaise that can’t even be blamed on a South African.

You could also argue that their press box has too many passengers, and not enough people shaping the game.

No matter how many times it tries to re-invent itself it struggles to maintain consistently exiting performances.

Perhaps it wants to attack, it certainly states this a lot, but it is held back by some sort of invisible constraint.

It all starts in their over worked openings.  The sort of sprawling intro that can go on for the whole piece while the better ideas never really get a chance to get going.  After a while you realise that while it’s well written structurally, it just hasn’t got you anywhere.

The writers are also missing some real dynamism, dare I say it “X factor”.  In the comfy confines of a five day match they can really stretch themselves and use their experience to wear you down, in ODI cricket they seem to lack any real imagination or the ability to think on their feet.

There’s a lack of penetration in the ODI writing as well.  Somehow this sharp tool turns blunt when thrust into the limited overs format.  Like the skills they need to make the big blows are limited when the game is shortened.

Some think that what is needed is an overhaul of the press box; bring in some flesh blood, writers who have been starring in the provincials.  When that happens these young upstarts don’t inspire, and are quickly replaced again by the same old names and nothing really changes.

It may be unfair to say, but in the world of ODI cricket, this press pack is rather plodding donkey like.  England needs their cricket writers in top form.

Only Andy Flower can save them.

There’s nothing that man can’t achieve with little more than a clipboard and a stern look.

Now I also like that he has come out as gay. He didn’t have to, some players have hid their sexuality their whole life, and there is no reason to think Steve Dave couldn’t have done the same. Instead he’s come out, and not at the end of his career, but at 24, when his career has barely started.

I respect that.

Everyone plays it safe, and Davies had more to lose than most, so I can’t help but think this decision takes some special testicular reinforcement.

Perhaps because of people like Steve Dave one day people won’t have to come out, they’ll just roam around the world fucking whoever they want, like it should be.

I hope more cricketers follow his lead to square drive rashly and be who they are.

This is a good day for cricket.

Well played, Steve Dave.