The hero

For 20 years a nation had dined out on Headingley `81, and the nostalgia was starting to wear thin. England fans had to face facts: they were stuck in the past, because the present was too awful to contemplate. Australia had just wrapped up a seventh successive series win over England, and now, with one day of the latest Leeds saga to go, were looking good for the first Ashes whitewash since 1920-21.

Set 315, England lost Mike Atherton to the third ball of the final day. They needed a miracle. What they got was a modest man who played the innings of a lifetime and admitted afterwards that he had done it on a diet of coffee and cigarettes. Mark Butcher came to the crease with a penny-pinching Test average of 26, and left it feeling a million dollars. He had just belted an attack of Glenn McGrath, Jason Gillespie, Brett Lee and Shane Warne for 173*. No wonder Adam Gilchrist, whose declaration had given Butcher the chance to shine, thrust a congratulatory stump into his hands as he ran starry-eyed from the field. The Aussies had been hit by a freak whirlwind, and they knew it. It was all so improbable. When Butcher was recalled for the start of the series after 18 months in the county wilderness, no one expected much. But a winter in the nets had reignited his passion, and he pre-empted the critics by starting the Ashes with scores of 38, 41, 21, 83, 13 and 1. Now he just needed to turn one of them into a big hundred.

Butcher's task that day was made even trickier when Marcus Trescothick departed at 33 for 2. The ball was darting around as if under remote control, and Butcher was tentative at first. Then, a stroke of luck: Nasser Hussain hooked Gillespie out of the ground, and a new ball was summoned. To Australia's horror, it behaved much better than its predecessor. Butcher never looked back.

But this was an innings in which luck played merely an incidental part. Above all, Butcher had what Dostoevsky called the "courage to dare". For a start he took on - and took apart - McGrath. Only once in the series, when Dominic Cork briefly riled him at Lord's, had McGrath looked flustered. Now Butcher gave a masterclass in how to disturb the undisturbable. McGrath's line and length went from metronomic to catastrophic. First Butcher punched him down the ground twice for four. So McGrath dragged back his length, but this simply allowed Butcher to rock back and hit through the line. The result was two resounding square-cuts in two balls. At 167 for 2, McGrath was forced out of the attack, and he didn't return until it was too late. The courage was coursing through Butcher's veins now. He unleashed a series of scorching back-foot cover-drives off Lee and Gillespie and some Caribbean upper-cuts which ended with Butcher brandishing his bat above his head like a cowboy with a lasso. For once, he played Warne with soft hands and sweet timing.

By the end he was toying with the bowlers, and he disdainfully took 14 off three Gillespie deliveries, each shot more outrageous than the last: an on-drive for four, another searing cut through deep point's legs, and - the coup de grace - a six over third man. Shortly after, Butcher cut Warne for three and England had done it.

The crowd went delirious, the Australians graciously applauded, and Butcher pinched himself. In the post-match interview, he revealed that at tea he had sat in the shower with a "coffee and a fag". But the health warning was of a different sort. If you're Australian and you want to avoid a heart attack, stay clear of Headingley.