Rarely has a moderate run-chase been buried in the third over with the fall of the first wicket © Getty Images

The summary of Cricinfo’s ball-by-ball match commentary from the MCG tonight reads:

34.2 Hauritz to Rampaul, OUT, Australia go 1-0 up, Rampaul sweeps without too much power behind the shot, the ball loops to Shaun Marsh at deep midwicket, simple catch and West Indies go down by 113 runs, Gayle's 4-1 prediction looks implausible now, Australia picked up their sixth straight ODI win this summer.

Au contraire, Chris Gayle has now ensured that he is on track to keep his bold prediction. While we’re in the mood for making ridiculous statements, we may as well pretend this is all part of the Gayle Masterplan. He’s got the hard bit out of the way – the only loss. Now it’s simply a matter of four consecutive wins against the feeble Aussies and he’s a genius!

It was inevitable that Alastair Cook would be an England captain © Getty Images

England's forthcoming tour of Bangladesh is going to offer several players an opportunity to make an impression. The Tigers' fans will be hoping for the big upset, but the interest for English fans should really lie in what is revealed about the bench strength.

The main window is the one opened by the absence of Andrew Strauss, or rather the two, since he has one job as captain and another as opening batsman. There has been some adverse comment on his absence but it seems misplaced to me. No one bats an eyelid at Jimmy Anderson missing the tour because of the knee strain which was affecting his bowling, yet Strauss is not supposed to recover from the brain strain which was causing his batting to get flabby towards the end of the tour [of South Africa].

And he's entitled to a brain strain: he started 2009 by being hastily installed as captain, then had to form a relationship with a new head coach, win the Ashes from the underdog position and lead the team through a creditable series in South Africa, and in the meantime succeeded in transforming the ramshackle nonsense of the ODI side into a moderately competitive international 50-over team. After a year like that, any captain could do with a breather.

Sigmund Freud famously wrote of the impossibility of autobiography and biography. Part of the reason the good doctor thought thus was because that wonderful human facility, memory, which is often thought to be constitutive of our personalities, is also an amazingly flaky thing. To put it mildly, if you know what I mean.

As cricket fans, we are all subject to the vagaries of the art of recall. Players grow in stature; we are mysteriously present at games we never attended; statistics grow and multiply.

And in the modern internet era, we no longer need to rely on the photographic memories once needed to commit all those Wisdens and Frindalls to the insides of our craniums. And the internet can also serve to remind us of the things we get wrong.

For years, one of my favorite cricketing stories was told to me by my father. It concerned two greats of years gone by: CK Nayudu (the Colonel) and Keith Miller. Their encounter, during the Australian Services team tour of India in 1945-46, had for my father, the status of legend. In 1998, I posted an account of this story on the cricket newsgroup rec.sport.cricket. Some folks enjoyed it, and I certainly enjoyed telling the tale. Recently, I posted the story again on my blog, Eye-on-Cricket. There is a twist to the story that needs some tackling.

You have to ask, what is happening in Australian society to produce such agitation? © Getty Images

Imagine for a moment if the shoe were on the other foot. Pakistan has become so demonised, the spectacle is not hard to picture. During an ODI in Lahore or Karachi, an Australian fielder is standing at square leg. All of a sudden, a Pakistani spectator jumps the fence and sprints on to the field, tackling the Australian from behind and pinning him to the ground. What happens next?

Yes, security will run after the invader and subdue him, as happened in Perth. But after that? Do you imagine the Australian player picking himself up without fuss and walking up to his captain to describe the event with a wink and a smile? Do you imagine the Australian team shrugging the whole thing off and getting on with the rest of the game?

Probably not.

Far more likely, if a spectator jumped the fence like that in Pakistan – and despite the barbed wire they can still do it, trust me – Ricky Ponting would call his team into an exaggerated huddle, announce to the umpires that his team has had enough, and walk off the ground in a huff. The tour would be abandoned forthwith and the international media would start blaring nonstop what a rotten place Pakistan really is.

In fact, what happened with Pakistani fielder Khalid Latif in Perth is a timely reminder that it is Australia where such incidents of uncivil behavior are being seen more and more. Even a casual Internet search reveals several reports of crowd trouble in Australian sports. Australian football, it turns out, is no stranger to crowd disturbances, but over the last few years, a number of visiting cricket teams have also suffered and been forced to lodge complaints. This year even the Australian Open tennis tournament was marred by the need to eject unruly fans.

Still, I could not find any mention of a spectator assaulting a fielder in the middle of a cricket international. In over three decades of watching cricket obsessively, I certainly have never seen anything like it.

Shahid Afridi’s actions today rank right up there with Dumb & Dumber © Getty Images

This weekend, I’ve seen some things on cricket fields which redefine stupidity. First cab off the rank - without even knowing what will become of the inevitable interview with the match referee, Shahid Afridi’s actions today rank right up there with Dumb & Dumber.

I write this post, barely ten minutes after the finish of a tense game in Perth, so I don’t even know if Afridi has been summoned to a “please explain” with Ranjan Madugalle or not, but I’d be hugely surprised if we see him at the MCG on Friday night. Goodness knows what he was thinking or what his excuse will be for seemingly gnawing away at the cricket ball, but as captain it really begs the question of whether he is true leadership material. He has always been accused of playing stupid shots while batting but that is also his charm and excitement. This latest incident has no up side.

I daresay there will be the usual protestations of wide-eyed innocence but I’m not sure if it will wash this time around. Umar Gul’s earnest conversation with him during a subsequent break in play seemed to be about anything but the next bowling change. Of course, that is only my guess but I reckon the dressing room would have been sending urgent messages to the captain, trying to find ways to put out fires that will burn long into the night. Actually, leading up to that incident, his leadership seemed pretty inspiring, in stark contrast to what Mohammad Yousuf's charisma looks like from afar, watching on TV. However, the TV coverage of the 'bitegate' was not pretty – as much as I love watching Afridi play, I just can’t imagine what excuse will save his skin this time.

Some of Australia's Under-19 players have already been blooded in the Sheffield Shield © Getty Images

Having spent a lot of time watching and coaching kids in England and Australia, it is clear that in general terms (not looking at elite squads), there is a significant difference in technique, patience and passion for the game between those countries and India, Pakistan or Sri Lanka for that matter. An average 13 to 15-year-old kid playing school or club cricket in Brisbane is not even close to the ability level of a random kid playing on a maidan in Mumbai, a laneway in Colombo or on a cobbled street in a Karachi bazaar. The Asian lads seem to have infinitely more sophisticated techniques, more patience and an appreciation of the finer arts of the game.

I recall walking through the park that borders the Bombay Gymkhana and watching in amazement at the numerous cricket matches being played in perfect synchronicity with each other, each game independent of another but still played in perfect harmony, rarely getting in the way of the adjoining match, despite sharing common ground. Young boys waited patiently to bat for hours on end, scoring, clapping, cheering and being totally absorbed in every single ball that was bowled.

One young chap, clearly no more than 12, was bowling offspin with an uncanny Saqlain Mushtaq action and as I walked by, he produced a beautiful doosra that clipped off stump. It was obviously no accident because the wicketkeeper moved to cover that very delivery. Hardly believing my eyes, I went up to him and quizzed him about that ball and he showed me how he delivered the killer blow. Still incredulous, I asked him to repeat the same delivery next ball. Lo and behold; another perfectly pitched doosra, a little nick to first slip and ‘Little Saqlain’s’ on a hat trick! No longer prepared to doubt my own eyes, I stayed for two hours in the stifling heat on an April morning and watched more marvels unfold in front of my eyes. I was with some other Australian cricketers at the time, including James Hopes, and we all agreed that this sort of skill level was unparalleled among boys of similar age back home.

Captaincy, while being an honour and a privilege, is also a rum business © Getty Images

A couple of weeks ago, on my return to play a game with my old Sydney team, I was generously invited to captain the team in the absence of our regular captain, who had been called away on family duty. And I learnt once again, that captaincy, while being an honour and a privilege, is also a rum business.

Many years ago, in my final undergraduate year, I had captained the Mathematics Department in the Interdepartmental competition. We lost narrowly to Chemistry by three runs as I failed in both tactical and performance dimensions as captain: I glibly assumed the one attacking plan I had would work, and later, I failed to stick around long enough to let our star batsman finish the job he had started. In the former, I assumed our star opening bowlers, both left-handed quicks, would simply run through the opposing line-up. The bowlers instead, lost their line and length and I was left floundering. When we chased, I came together with our best batsman and simply had to hold up one end while he blasted away. But I got too cute, and in trying to play a clever tickle, got myself bowled. The collapse of the tail was inevitable, and we were out of the competition.

Salman Butt was involved in two mindless run-outs in Hobart, instances which highlight Pakistan's poor out-cricket and how badly it lets them down © Getty Images

Forever, since cricket began, players from the Asian countries have been labelled wristy, mercurial, mystical, whippy and many other superlatives that attempt to describe their unique styles, as distinct from the non-Asian countries. These generalisations were probably easier to make some twenty years ago but many of them no longer apply. Players like Jayasuriya, Wasim Akram, Virender Sehwag, Tillakaratne Dilshan, Shoaib Akhtar and a host of others have shown off techniques, physiques and styles that defy those typical Asian sterotypes, positive and complimentary though such descriptions were meant to be.

On the flipside, Asian cricketers used to also suffer from the perception that they were a bit unathletic, had poor throwing arms and often did not do the basics as diligently as teams like Australia and South Africa were renowned to do, almost to the point of being boring. Right until the point when it paid dividends – often at the most unexpected instant.

Ricky Ponting’s instincts, footwork and eye make him a magnificent sight when taking on the short ball © Getty Images

Let’s get one thing straight up front. Ricky Ponting will forever be remembered as one of the greatest batsmen to have ever played the game. That much will never be questioned, regardless of what he achieves in the twilight of his career. He has also been one of the best attacking players of short bowling; not just competent at avoiding it like Steve Waugh, Allan Border, Rahul Dravid and others, who generally eschewed the hook and pull strokes, Ponting’s instincts, footwork and eye make him a magnificent sight when taking on the short ball.

What will be interesting to see is what old age will do to Ponting. Or put differently, what will Ponting do with old age?

I write this post just as Ponting was dropped on nought on the hook shot (again) and then promptly played an ambitious pull a few balls later. Clearly, ego, instinct or his own unwavering self-belief will not allow the older Ponting to put those shots away early in his innings, despite recent failures and much commentary on that very issue. A young man he is no longer but perhaps someone forgot to tell him. Or perhaps he just won’t listen.

As a sub-teenager, cricket players were, quite literally, giants © Cricinfo Ltd.

Cricket fans, like pitches, change with time. Where a devotee of the game might once have spent his youth waking up early for radio commentary from distant lands, he could move on to spending those morning hours playing with his little children; where an ardent lover of the numerical aspects of the game might have spent hours calculating the fluctuations in his hero's batting averages, the only number with decimal points he might care about in his thirties is likely to be the mortgage rate on his city apartment.

In my case, the most significant change was the realisation a few years ago that I was older than anyone who currently played Test cricket. That slowly developing shift in my perspectives on the game's players has been enlightening in more ways than one. This change has occurred at the same time that I have had increasing access to the players via the media: their spoken words, their writings, their antics in the many-splendoured television coverage that is now ubiquitous.

As a sub-teenager, cricket players were, quite literally, giants. They looked bigger, they did adult things. They looked like my uncles (and these were just the Indian players). When it came to cricket players from other countries, the distance was even greater. They looked different; they were names in books, faces in photographs, flickers on television screens. They weren't real, really.