Memories of the Adelaide 'miracle'

After the claustrophobic confines of the Gabba, the Adelaide Oval feels like the land of the free in every sense. The region, after all, was colonised by free settlers, as opposed to the vagabonds and bread thieves so beloved of the Barmy Army’s chants, and this is a ground that reflects such grandiose heritage. The Lord’s of the Southern Hemisphere is a grand sweeping venue on the banks of the River Torrens which prides itself on its architectural merits and makes a virtue of the nooks and crannies between and behind its individually designed stands.

That’s not to say, however, that the Oval is immune to the curse of the stadium that is sweeping across Australia – and the rest of the cricket-playing world for that matter. Since England were last in town, phase one of an ambitious redevelopment project has been completed, with the imposing Western Grandstand now curving around the boundary from the red-roofed Bradman Stand to the Cathedral End hill, where the ground’s iconic scoreboard stands in defiance of the march of time.

The Aus$116million renovation has been tastefully done in the circumstances, but that’s not the same thing as it being to everyone’s taste. In the 21st Century, the economic necessity of all such venues, no matter how historic or beautiful, is to make themselves available to a multitude of sports, and the lure of the 2022 World Cup – for which Australia's bid today fell victim to the oil-rich dollars of Qatar – has driven the agenda without question. One day the hill too will surely fall victim to the whims of filthy lucre, and then the cricket world will be one step closer to uniformity in its viewing experiences. It will be a sad day when that happens. But the fans this week are sure to enjoy the grass while it lasts.

But despite its air of gentility, Adelaide is a bear-trap like all the other venues in Australia. With its mercilessly flat wicket and bakingly hot sun (although not, it has to be said in this peculiarly cool summer), it’s the sort of place where visiting sides are lured to their doom rather than shot down in flames – never more famously than in December 2006, when Shane Warne pulled off the greatest hustle of his career to fleece England on the final day of the match.

I was reminded, in no uncertain terms, of the web that Warne spun that day when I was invited to Adelaide’s Test match dinner on Wednesday night. It was a black tie do, the black tie do of the year, no less, with 1200 of the city’s great and good on show, as well as a host of dignitaries including that famous cricket tragic and non-president of the ICC, John Howard.

The splendour of the event demanded unusual standards from the habitually down-at-heel members of the press corps, with a convoy of journalists seen making for Ferrari Suit Hire on Grenfell Street throughout the day, most of them arriving within ten minutes of closing time having dealt with Pietersen’s spat with the curator and Mitchell Johnson’s impending omission – an omission that looked all the likelier when Doug Bollinger turned up as one of six representatives of the Australian team.

The evening itself was very convivial, with Nasser Hussain and Justin Langer brought up onto the stage to trade mock insults and revisit great sledges of yesteryear, including Hussain telling Langer to get back to driving the bus during his Edgbaston double-hundred in 1997. Nothing that was said was quite as cutting or newsworthy as “the three boos for England” that Ian Healy came up with at Brisbane, however.

But then, as the main course arrived, it was time to serve up a few Poms on a platter. Up on the big screen came highlights, for want of a better word, of that unspeakable game in 2006. It was the first time I’d revisited the full gory horror from first day to last – the 310-run stand, the early wickets, the agony of Ashley Giles’s dropped catch off Ricky Ponting, and of course, the final-day freak-show that everyone in the room knew was coming.

But, before we got to that bit, up popped these prophetic words. “Barring miracles, this match is destined to be the highest scoring draw in 42 years of Ashes history – Andrew Miller, Cricinfo.” Ahem. Cue a round of pointing and laughing from the many Aussies on my table (although after I’d recovered from my shock, I still maintained that that crucial ‘miracles’ qualification got me off the hook ...)

Then, seconds later: “Andrew Flintoff has admitted that a single hour of madness on the final morning at Adelaide cost his side a share of the second Test – Andrew Miller, Cricinfo.” By now, I was expecting every other grab to be a reference to my lack of soothsaying abilities, but fortunately the film moved onto other views:

“Like medieval royals with syphilis, they went suddenly mad – Greg Baum, The Age”. “As ignominious English defeats go, Adelaide 06 is right up there with the rout at Isandlwhana, the ill-fated charge of the Light Brigade in 1854, and the fall of Singapore in 1942 - Duleep Allirajah, Spiked.”

By the end of it all, the cold comfort of the dessert course could not come quickly enough for the Poms in the audience. It was certainly little wonder that England’s cricketers opted not to attend such functions. Being reminded of past failings is no way to go into such a big match.