Perth the scene of Bodyline redux

New Zealand's Neil Wagner, left, and Australia's David Warner face off after a short ball barrage in Perth

Cultural phenomena can take a while to get to Perth, so distant, so independently minded. But at last, 87 years after passing it by the first time, Western Australians are said to have been afforded a glimpse of Bodyline.

This on the authority of Tim Paine, who chucklingly deployed the most emotive word in the Australian cricket vernacular at his post-match press conference on Sunday, after a Test match at Perth Stadium where a bulk of the bowling pitched in the batsmen’s half, and was responsible for more than half the wickets.

Times have changed, of course. In 1932-33, Paine’s predecessor Bill Woodfull refused to retaliate against the short-pitched bowling mandated by England’s captain Douglas Jardine. This time the Australians were pounding away as cheerfully as their New Zealand guests, and promising more.

“It was great theatre, wasn’t it?” said Paine with lipsmacking relish. “We were just having a laugh before when we were bowling at their tail, we think it’s going to be a bit of Bodyline for a lot of the series.”

The other key difference lay in that, 87 years ago, the pace of Harold Larwood and Bill Voce came as a shock to Australian batsmen, accustomed to piling up huge scores on doped pitches, as well as local sensibilities.

Donald Bradman, Bill Ponsford, Stan McCabe et al had none of the protection afforded today by headgear and body armour, and were beset by fields where the number of personnel behind square leg was unrestricted.

Australia's Matthew Wade was targeted with short balls in Perth

This time round, the tactics on each side were hardly a surprise. Temperamentally and technically suited, New Zealand’s happy warrior Neil Wagner has been bowling in this vein for years, threat enhanced by his left-armer’s angle.

The fissuring and variations in bounce at Perth Stadium were an invitation to more of the same; so was the comparatively brief radioactive half-life of the pink ball, whose potential for sideways movement is exhausted in 30-40 overs.

This time last year on the same surface, too, the Australians were bombing the hell out of a poor-quality Indian tail. Fast bowlers are looking forward to coming west with a glee not seen since the 1980s, when the WACA Ground was a Mecca of speed.

Brett Sipthorpe is setting a standard for drop-in surfaces that other groundsmen would do well to follow, with something for everyone: Nathan Lyon has 14 wickets at 15.5 in two outings here.

There is, nonetheless, a key similarity between the approaches of the captains in their respective eras: the objective is the timeless one of forcing batsmen to play in a fashion other than they would ­naturally.

Turns out that the resemblance between Steve Smith and Donald Bradman has a further dimension: their natural vein is dictating the terms of engagement.

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In Perth, Smith fell twice to overhasty, heedless pull shots, picking out expertly located catchers, looking somewhat perplexed in doing so. Off he walked each time carrying the bat by the blade, as though he had momentarily misplaced the instructions.

The mindset of the modern batsman is to seize the initiative — to harness the power that their new tools of trade make available, disrupt the field and force the issue. Merely to endure is anathema to them. Their patiences were tested in Perth, and their egos: it was informative to see who came through best. Again, Marnus ­Labuschagne looked perfectly unfazed.

What’s most notable about Paine’s comments arises from this context. He took a cricketers’ satisfaction in a strategy shrewdly designed and executed, which he paid the tribute of emulation.

“There’s been a lot of talk about it,” said Australia’s captain. “But regardless of the pace of the two teams, they are very, very skilled at executing that (short) ball.

“They set great fields for it. It’s a completely different challenge from what you get from other teams. They’re very good at it. They’re very clever.

“There were times when we handled it really well and times when we just made some poor decisions, but we’re aware of that and we’ll continue to keep working on it heading into Melbourne.”

This was not, of course, the prevailing attitude in 1932-33, when the Australian Board of Control summed up local indignation in a series of sulfurous cables to the Marylebone Cricket Club.

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“Bodyline bowling assumed such proportions as to menace best interests of game, making protection of body by batsmen the main consideration,” complained the Board. “Causing intensely bitter feeling between players, as well as injury. In our opinion is unsportsmanlike.”

Eighty-seven years on, taking Paine’s comments at face value, Bodyline has perhaps been stripped of such unsavoury connotations: from our vantage, Jardine appears as a captain with a plan to neutralise a formidable opponent, executed clinically and uncompromisingly. It is a plan that speaks to all captains and all cricketers, tinged with modernity and now even merriment.

Was it always? No, attitudes change, and go on changing, and where Bodyline is concerned they have been evolving since it happened.

When Jardine visited Australia in the 1950s, he was somewhat surprised by the cordiality of his welcome. Appearing on a radio program called Guest of Honour, he said: “Though they may not hail me as Uncle Doug, I am no longer the bogeyman. Just an old so-and-so who got away with it.” If he overheard Paine’s press conference in Perth, Jardine would now be giving an avuncular chuckle.