Steve Waugh’s Australians travelled to Gallipoli to get them in the right mindset for the 2001 Ashes. We must assume that Ireland made a similarly inspirational visit to St John’s Wood high street on Saturday morning.
The usually chi-chi thoroughfare is closed for roadworks, where a hive of workers occupied in major excavations are manning JCBs and laying pipe. If Ireland were planning to make it past lunch on day three, they were going to have to dig even deeper than that.
An hour before play, Harry Tector and Lorcan Tucker finished their practice on the outfield and walked past the cordon at the Nursery End. A couple of men in green shirts called “good luck” but the rest of the fans, in their England caps, paid them little attention. A sugary waft of baked goods drifted over their heads from the churros stand. It still could not smell as sweet as what was to come.
Tector and Tucker – their names alone are worth a Netflix commission – are emblematic of their nation’s cricketing development. They play their first-class cricket for Leinster Lightning rather than an English county, with contracts in global T20 franchise leagues. After two dark days in the field, it was these pioneers who ignited Ireland’s greatest efforts in this game.
Tucker’s classical strokeplay had brought up the pair’s 50 partnership before he gloved a Jack Leach drifter on to his stumps with equal elegance. Tector gained revenge with a lofted four off the same bowler. It was all a bit Homeric, even if Tector’s part was closer to Achilles than that of his rhyming namesake.
Ireland had finally mustered their reserves and what followed was the first true battle of the Test. Matthew Potts stood down for Josh Tongue at the pavilion end and England tested out their new big gun.
Tongue is a howitzer of a man. Watching him run in, elbows pumping sideways, his physiognomy seems that of a bowler far more experienced than his 47 first-class appearances. When Curtis Campher smacked him through cover for four, Tongue turned on his heel like an angry Fred Trueman tossing his mane. When the next ball was spanked to the long-on boundary, he barely finished his delivery stride before turning his back.
There were more men on the balcony to celebrate Tector’s 50 than there were for Ben Duckett’s 150. But Homer’s tales always have a sting in them somewhere and hubris and nemesis arrived together, Tector driving the very next ball from Tongue straight into gully’s hands. Walking through the long room, he gave a portrait of Kapil Dev an anguished stare, and bopped himself on the helmet with his bat.
At 162 for six – seven, when you counted James McCollum’s moon boot – the end should have been nigh. But Ireland’s fuse was lit and so was Mark Adair. First, he swung Joe Root over midwicket for six, and swept his next delivery for four. Then he invited a catch in the middle tier of the grandstand, taken, rather stylishly, by a hospitality guest in an MCC box.
Stuart Broad fared even worse: Adair raced past his 50 with three consecutive boundaries off him, tipping the ball over Jonny Bairstow, tickling it to fine leg, then angling it to third man.
Perhaps England were distracted. It was, after all, a big day. The Ashes squad was announced at 1pm and in the countdown to lunch an assortment of tracksuited hopefuls could be seen walking meaningfully around the boundary.
There was a mid-afternoon FA Cup final to be watched, just as soon as this game was done. But half an hour from kick-off, Andy McBrine was still slog-sweeping Leach and England’s field was spreading like clotted cream left out in the sun. In the commentary box, Colin Croft fidgeted nervously with his Manchester United cap.
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The home side felt like a team in denial, of what wasn’t clear. Was it the fact that Ben Stokes had jarred his knee taking a catch off Campher, and winced in pain? The fact he still wasn’t bowling? Or was it just that Ireland were going to make them bat again?
Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t the afternoon anyone had planned. Graham Hume, Ireland’s last man, survived 11 balls without scoring before pasting Root through point to bring the deficit down to three. They say in ballroom dancing that if a move’s worth doing once, it’s worth doing twice. Hume immediately repeated the shot and Ireland had a one-run lead.
There was a standing ovation from the crowd: Ireland’s batters had given them a day of drama and entertainment none of them had dared to imagine on their way to the ground.
England won the game with three swings of Zak Crawley’s bat, but Ireland’s triumph was just as real. And there was still 15 minutes to go until full time.
