The best part was probably the celebration, the ball clamped in the outer webbing of Jonny Bairstow’s right glove, legs splayed, arms wide. For a few moments England’s wicketkeeper just sat there like a very happy life-sized gingerbread man, emitting an extended roar of triumph.
It was perhaps the central moment of a day when England’s oldest ever five-man bowling attack – combined age: 180 years – just kept on refusing to die away, that liver-spotted hand clutching at Australia’s elbow every time they seemed to be easing clear.
The catch was a spectacular piece of gymnastic agility as the shadows began to lengthen, Bairstow dropping through a previously invisible trapdoor in the Old Trafford turf to scoop Mitchell Marsh’s low outside edge off Chris Woakes, who took four wickets and was once again a model of craft and persistence.
It meant more because Bairstow had spent the day to that point clanging away on his cymbals behind the stumps. The great Les Ames used to keep wicket with a piece of rump steak in each glove to soften the impact of ball on palm, wafting a notoriously cadaverous stench across the cordon during those long afternoons in the high summer sun. Bairstow looks like he’s got a packet of frozen chicken escalopes in there.
But this was a reminder of his wonderful base-level athleticism, and beyond that of the unbowed, surprisingly tenacious quality of England’s old and very old hands in the current paradigm-shifting era.
Bazball is new. Bazball is fresh and punkish. Bazball will debunk your ossified certainties. Bazball is also a lot of grizzled mid-30s blokes having a wonderfully cathartic time, shaking off the scars, chucking it all on the fire while this thing is still on. Welcome to the shock of the old.
Ben Stokes talks a lot about feelings, energy, the dream of constructing out of this Ashes the perfect stand-alone piece of sporting theatre. But this has also had the feel from the start of a late blaze of summer, the buildup to a bravura ending.
Stokes himself is 32 and essentially held together with nails, string and pieces of old deckchair. Bairstow is 33. Woakes is 34. Stuart Broad has turned 37 this summer and took his 600th Test wicket here, still bowling with fire, still from the boundary the same oddly compelling fast-medium beanpole of the earliest iteration. And, in the event, every member of England’s oldest attack played a part in restricting Australia to 299 for eight on another pivotal day in this ever‑pivotal summer.
Jimmy Anderson has an end here; but not quite an ending just yet. He bowled 17 tight wicketless overs with no dip in his energy levels, just a sense somehow of a Jimmy Anderson who isn’t quite Jimmy Anderson.
The same lines and angles are there, same coiled sense of twang, same easy action. But somehow the end result is missing that familiar malevolent snaking intelligence on the ball in flight, the sense of Anderson’s fingers still in place as it veers towards his latest victim, giving it a flick, some zip, a late swerve. Anderson still has another innings to bowl here. But he seems these days to be running through evening sunlight.
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Mark Wood was a thrilling spectacle across three spells, and as ever a tactically vital presence in this attack. He really is a marvel of will, conditioning and technique. Here is a bowler who has got quicker in his mid-30s, who is in likelihood, aged 33, the quickest England have ever had. His second ball here was 91mph. This is instant, pre-mixed pace, delivered from a run-up that carries a distinct sense of Terminator-ish menace before launching into the catapult moment, front leg planted, knee splayed back, angle twanging, whirling over that anchor point with a snap of the back and whip of the right arm, accelerating his bowling hand from hip height and ending down by his toes.
This is serious athletic talent combined with long-suffering technical refinement. When Wood swings the ball too there is a kind of ripple effect, every aspect of the game heightened, batters at both ends living on their nerves.
The final member of England’s Unforgiven, Moeen Ali, has gone one step further. Here is a Test cricketer who has already retired, who is quite openly looking forward to doing so again three weeks from now, but who still appears (aged 36) to be central to every part of England’s burn‑it‑all‑down planning.
Moeen bowled with serious revs in the mid-afternoon session, getting the ball to dip as well as turn, testing you on length as well as line. In between this he bowled a lot of absolute filth, keeping the batters in two minds by mixing his half-volleys with full bungers. Is this a new Bazball strand? First-day declaration bowling? But Moeen still ripped enough deliveries, beating the forward prod of a well-set Marnus Labuschagne at the vital moment.
And by the end England’s dad-squad attack, aided by that moment of defiant athleticism behind the stumps, had carried the opening day thanks to some late swing and nip from Woakes. Like late-stage Test cricket itself, they may be here for a good time not a long time. But this game is already cartwheeling along towards another decisive finish.
