When he broke England’s opening partnership today, Mitchell Johnson obtained his 100th Test wicket, having needed just a year and 250 days to achieve the milestone. Only one man, Kapil Dev, has done it more expeditiously.
Cricket teams have made a mardi gras out of celebrations for less, but it wasn’t just the scoreline of 1 for 196 that made this look more like the result of a morale-boosting whiparound for flowers and a get-well card. It was also the protectiveness that a close-knit group extends to its most vulnerable member, the irony being that for the last year it has been batsmen who have needed protection from Johnson.
Johnson’s lack of penetration on this tour has been only part of the problem. Worse has been his sheer lack of control, the waste of the first new ball here following the waste of the second in Cardiff, where it might have cost Australia a series lead—something which then was merely aggravating, but which now might prove vital. A low, round-arm sling looks dramatic when it works, a state of arrested development when it doesn’t. The bat-and-bone-jarring speed and swing that Johnson achieved in South Africa a few months ago seem a distant memory.
Disappointed expectations arise also from Johnson’s heritage. The English prefer their Aussie fast bowlers hairy and/or hearty, rather than fit to audition for a boy band, and the shy, polite Johnson smiles a little too often and too genuinely to radiate the approved histrionic hostility. Nor does he exude confidence. In the early stages of his career, teammates commented that Johnson was inclined to bowl faster in the nets than in matches, apparently reluctant to let himself go. Even at his quickest now, Johnson’s simulations of menace, the regulation glares and glowerings, look like a fast bowling mime.
Above all, when Johnson is wayward, as he was today, his body language quickly becomes defensive. He talks to himself; he looks skywards; he pinches the bridge of his nose, like he’s trying to keep something in; he feels responsible. The slope posed difficulties, perhaps also the Duke ball. There was no doubt to whom Brad Haddin was referring tonight when he spoke of some Australians ‘putting too much pressure on ourselves’.
Ponting captained Johnson sympathetically, relieving him for an over after he had conceded four fours in six deliveries to Strauss, then bringing him back, rather than leave him brooding. They then stood side by side when Johnson returned at the Nursery End, Ponting with a solicitous hand in the small of his bowler’s back while setting the field.
At each ball landing on line, Ponting and Clarke in the slips applauded above their heads. But there weren’t anywhere near enough reasons to applaud, and Johnson fell into the trap of simply ‘putting the ball there’—well, thereabouts anyway, for he lost 8 to 10 miles on the speed gun with no real improvement in accuracy. ‘It just looked like he wasn’t getting in the areas he wanted to,’ said Strauss euphemistically. ‘The right areas’: that jargon du jour, where the individuals dematerialise and biography is reduced to geography. Here it showed its shortcomings: this was all about the man, not the place.
Under the circumstances, England should have done better. After Hauritz’s maiming, Ponting had only three bowlers at his disposal—Hilfenhaus, Siddle and a combination of Johnson, Clarke and North adding up to a third. He manipulated them resourcefully. Johnson, however, is becoming Ponting’s greatest potential headache, awkward to carry, but just as problematic to exclude. If Brett Lee were to recover in time for the Edgbaston Test, who would make way?
Johnson’s role could need revising, his promotion to bellwether of Australia’s attack having come so swiftly. Johnson might also be better off accepting that, with a slinging action such as his, there will be days he sprays the ball around. It was insouciance almost as much as speed that made Jeff Thomson so formidable: one never knew if an unplayable delivery was in the offing, because Thomson himself hardly knew.
Johnson seems to have come to need the validation of swing; having abruptly started bringing the ball back into right-handers in South Africa, he has grown discouraged by the absence of the effect here and in Cardiff. He should get over it. Consistent swing, of course, is a worthy aim, but better intermittent swing than predictable swing, especially at 90 miles per hour. The best advice would probably be the simplest: bowl fast, bowl full, and let the batsmen do the thinking.
For an attack with so little experience of English conditions—slopes, Duke balls and all—Australia’s has so far punched above its weight. But raw-boned Hilfenhaus and rubicund Siddle, however willing, won’t answer all Ponting’s needs. Even if Johnson does not recover his best form, he has a contribution to make in spreading the work and wear. It takes a full XI, moreover, to properly celebrate a cricket success.