This was a gripping day of Test cricket. The visuals were perfect. Adelaide Oval was a dreamy place, with its bleached greens, soft surfaces, the scroll of blue above the stands, the sense of some chino-shorted Eden, ultimate expression of the leisured triumphalism of the southern summer.
In the middle of this there were long periods where three games seemed to be happening all at once. England versus Australia. Jofra Archer versus Australia. And Jofra Archer versus the open pressure-valve of every England bowler at the other end.
England fought, finagled, burgled and caught well enough to take eight wickets on what had seemed likely to be a day of immolation under the sun. Mainly, though, this was an important day for Archer, who produced two high-class spells of fast bowling, at the start of the morning and the afternoon sessions.
This was all the more impressive given what was happening at the other end. Brydon Carse did at least follow his captain’s pre-match instructions, bowling like a dog with the new ball. In practice this was less inner mongrel, more giddy cocker spaniel puppy knocking over your reading lamp, eating the TV remote, falling in the bath.
In the middle of which Archer had arguably his best day in Test cricket since his debut series six injury-bodged years ago. And yes, it was an important performance in other ways too. Not, repeat not, because Archer needed to show backbone. Not because he needed to prove himself something other than a jewel-jangling fancy boy, a state of affairs that exists only in the minds of confused middle-aged Australian cricket men who think a cultural trope is a brand of yoghurt.
There is no doubt some parts of the Australian cricket mind have struggled to understand England’s best bowler. “This is where Archer NEEDS TO STEP UP for his team,” the interchangeable Channel 7 punditry voice rasped just after lunch. At that exact moment Archer had two for seven, everyone else 87 for one. Reality: everyone else needs to step up and support the only person currently doing it.
Tell me, what was it that first convinced you the only black player on either team was somehow not be trusted? But then the idea is always out there that Archer somehow isn’t trying, has the incorrect body language, or is uniquely guilty of not bowling his absolute fastest all the time.
It takes a degree of willed ignorance to maintain that a man who has worked his way back from serious injury, who came up as a self-made cricketer, no pathways, no academy, just hard work, is flighty and weak. And yes, it comes back to the chain, which Australia has been a little bit obsessed with on this tour in an oh-no-dad’s-making-an-unforunate-remark kind of way.
“If he takes it off, he might be able to bowl quicker. We all know you’ve got a bit of money, mate – take it off, will you?” This was Ryan Harris on TV at the end of the Brisbane Test.
And let’s have it right. This is a familiarly stereotyped way of talking about black sports people. Flashy. Casual. Naturally talented. It happened a few years back to Raheem Sterling, who was transformative in calling out the way buying his mother a house was reported in parts of the English media (flashy … blinging … a gold leaf bidet … a decadently fancy sink).
It happened early on to Archer as an England cricketer. Asked if he was feeling the cold before his debut. Accused of lacking backbone by his own coaches while bowling himself to death in Mount Maunganui (through a stress fracture).
There is an entire treatise to be written, in parallel, on the subject of chains, black athletes and the iconography of black culture. Harris doesn’t know he’s being culturally weird when he orders a black Caribbean man to take his chain off. He doesn’t know what chains represent in, say, hip-hop culture (we will take the chains you gave us, and turn them into gold), that the chain, for some people, is a nuanced thing, a sign of empowerment, of carrying scars, of happiness and heritage. He should, however, know that it doesn’t have much to do with bowling effectively in Australia.
But Harris was also right. Archer didn’t wear the chain here until after tea, at which point he stopped taking wickets. But early on he was relentless, finding his line in his third over, hitting 147kph, and drawing Jake Weatherald into a cramped pull that floated to Jamie Smith.
Archer went to lunch with figures of 6-7-1, then took two wickets in his first over after it, both catches flicked carelessly to mid-on. By the end of the day here there was a little less snap in his action. But he has generally bowled too many overs in this series, staying on because he offers control, losing his best role of bowling high-impact, short spells.
A word too on his wider stats. Archer averages 30-odd in Test cricket. He seems to play against only the stronger teams, but is also at his best against the best, with 47 wickets at 26 against Australia, India and South Africa, and 10 at loads more against everyone else. Again, it doesn’t really fit the narrative of flashy, jewelled, streaky. But that’s the thing with narratives, even when you don’t really know you’re peddling them.
Meanwhile, at the other end other stuff kept happening. Carse had the Australia batters in two minds all day, unsure whether to drive his half-volleys straight or flick his half-trackers square. Will Jacks kept wheeling in to bowl in that upright way, hands held high, like a butler with a tray of martinis. Josh Tongue was slippery and agreeably hangdog, a strange mix of height, shoulders, elite speed, and the look of a melancholy barman in a roadside carvery inn.
Australia closed at 326 for eight, which felt like more than it might have been. Jacks was expensive. Harry Brook dropped Usman Khawaja off Tongue at second slip, going at the ball with all hands and no feet, like his batting. Everyone, Carse included, bowled better towards the end. Whatever happens from here, this was a day of Jofra gold.
