England surrender to their sense of inferiority

England have been losing cricket matches at the MCG for almost 138 years, so the fact that their World Cup opening match ended in complete defeat was little surprise to the 84,000 people in attendance. The home crowd responded to a powerful all-round performance with growing enthusiasm and volume. The England contingent responded to a concerningly inept all-round performance with growing enthusiasm and volume.

Australia were close to ODI perfection for the 75 overs in which the game was conclusively decided, before easing slightly towards the end, and their supporters responded to the sense that they were watching likely champions.

England did not appear likely champions. They did not appear unlikely champions. They made most types of cricketing error you can make in the course of a single game. However, the final is six weeks away. There is nothing more dangerous than peaking too early. Apart from being patently inferior to one of your main rivals. But you can only control the controllables, as the wise people say. And England avoided peaking too early with arguably too much aplomb.

It was a grand occasion, with some magnificent cricket, almost all of which was garbed in bright yellow. It would still have been a grand occasion without the blasts of flame that greeted every moderately significant event, just in case the 84,000 were unaware that boundaries and wickets were good.

The magic stumps that light up when struck however - that is technology used as it should be, for the betterment of all humanity, to expand our understanding of what is possible when we come together as a species and strive beyond what were once our limits. First the moon landings. Then the internet. Now stumps that light up when struck.

When a jetpack is developed that blasts a fielder 50 feet into the air when he takes a catch, then cricket will be a truly entertaining game. Until then, the stumps will have to do. Now crowds cheer when stumps are hit, which they never used to do.

A palpable sense of injustice drenched the Melbourne skies as the game reached its baffling conclusion. England had been robbed. Absolutely, incontrovertibly robbed. Not of victory. Probably. The 111 runs required off 49 balls with one wicket in hand may well have proved beyond Taylor and Anderson. We will never know. Such are the regrets of destiny.

But they were robbed of a consolation century by James Taylor. His undefeated 98 was sawn off by an umpiring decision of almost surreal weirdness. It was an innings of no impact on the outcome of the game, but its growing brilliance added a fig-leaf of dignity to what had previously been an embarrassingly and unignorably nude man of a collective performance.

England were still utterly thrashed, but at least they were not utterly thrashed quite as utterly as they might have been. Taylor enabled them to escape total humiliation, and move on in the tournament with at least one positive to build on. Alongside the catalogue of negatives.

Amidst the minor England lowlights was a brilliant piece of anti-fielding by Gary Ballance. Stationed at point, the Yorkshire left-hander sensed Aaron Finch plotting a reverse thwack. Ballance stealthily stole a few yards to his left, preternaturally anticipating the stroke, ready to intercept what the batsman must have thought would be a resounding four. Such is the honed intuition of the modern cricketer. Finch hit the ball exactly where Ballance had been standing. Precisely, within one or two blades of grass of the exact mid-point between the original position of Ballance's feet. A resounding four.

The 84-thousand-strong crowd included a healthy battalion of the Barmy Army. The Army faces a punishing schedule over the next 12 months, with England playing 17 Tests and a smattering of limited-over matches by this time next year. They may well need to call up the reservists at some point, but their performance in defeat at the MCG was characteristically and loudly defiant.

Ensconced in an acoustically superb position at the back of the bottom tier of the MCG, beneath a concrete roof which provided perfect sonic conditions that any of the world's other leading choirs would also have relished, England's devoted followers unleashed a partially-melodic eight-hour din of persistent volume and unremitting enthusiasm.

Even when England were being cauterised on the pitch, the unstoppable Barm-harmonies continued to reverberate around the MCG. You can generally tell how a team is faring by the tone and volume of their support. The Barmy Army protect such information with a fervour that many leading secret services would admire. England are always winning. Convincingly.