Quiet Australians lose their voice as India’s star is born in first Test

Australia has been on mute against India. Instead, the vocal, attacking and entertaining tourists, bowling like the wind, batting themselves into an unbeatable position and strutting around like peacocks in the field, are doing an Australia on Australia.

The strangest thing happened on the weekend. An Australian cricket team barely made a peep, quieter than church mice, those timid little creatures, while in the throes of a cutthroat Test. Such an unusual sight and sound. The quiet Australians.

Traditionally, the national XI is better when its up for a chat. Call it sledging, call it Steve Waugh-style mental disintegration, call it cockiness, the chirpiness has always represented competitiveness, enthusiasm and intensity. Getting in a batsman’s heads is part and parcel of the grand old game. If you think it’s gentlemanly, you’ve never played. The days of personal insults are long gone, thankfully, but you’re cruisin’ for a bruisin’ if you don’t indulge in the psychological battle.

As Merv Hughes said to England’s Graham Gooch, “I’ll get you a piano – see if you can play that!” As Bill Woodfull said to his Australian team after England skipper Douglas Jardine complained of being abused, “Which one of you bastards called this bastard a bastard?“ As a rival fan yelled at Matthew Hayden, who had just released a cookbook, ”You’re rubbish, Hayden! And so is your chicken casserole!” Banter is brilliant and beneficial … but one of Perth’s cats has stolen the Australians’ tongues.

India celebrates after Jasprit Bumrah claimed the wicket of Australia's Marnus Labuschagne in the final over of day three in Perth. Picture: AFP

The predicament for the quiet Australians is loud and clear. They’re being thrashed by India in the first Test in Perth. Perhaps they’re missing more than Dave Warner’s batting. He was the most vocal of fielders, the attack dog of the side, but now he the does his talking as a commentator. Marnus Labuschange is the most chipper of the current players but it’s a little difficult to thump your chest when your own batting is going south.

When the going got tough on the weekend, the Australians went missing, standing there with hands on hips, biting their fingernails, which wasn’t particularly useful. The intimidation factor has vanished.

It was after tea on Saturday when the curiously silent mood was most mind-boggling and disappointing. India was 0-84 in its second knock, 130 runs ahead, and the Australians still had a chance, they just needed to come out with all guns blazing. They needed to throw the kitchen sink, the fridge and all the utensils. Instead, they strolled out as if they were only mildly interested.

Curiously silent Australian players walk off the field at Perth Stadium. They were playing as if they were only mildly interested. Picture: Robert Cianflone/Getty Images

Virat Kohli celebrates reaching his century before Inida declared to set Australia a huge run-chase. Picture: AFP

Haven’t they heard the John Farnham song? You’re not meant to play Test cricket in silence. You’re not meant to play in fear. They were more up and at ’em on Sunday and yet it was too late. The Indians had bolted, declaring at 6-487 late on day three, leading Australia by a whopping 524 runs, inflicting hour upon hour of deep, dark, seemingly irreversible bruisin’.

A star was born for India. The meteoric rise of the boyish, wondrously gifted, loose-wristed, light-footed, patient, pulverising, freewheeling, somewhat artistic and almost angelic 22-year-old batsman YB Jaiswal is one for the dreamers.

Aged 10, he moved from Suriyawan to Mumbai to pursue his favourite sport. (You can barely walk to the corner shop in Mumbai without a game of cricket breaking out). He lived in a tent next to a ground for three years, as a young teen, in abject poverty, going days without food, because he suspected he had something as a player. Well, the young fellow was right.

Yashasvi Jaiswal acknowledges the crowd while walking back after his dismissal for 161. Picture: Saeed Khan/AFP

When Jaiswal scored a scintillating 161 on Sunday, hungry for runs, reaching three figures with a bodacious six, an uppercut that cleared the boundary rope and hit Australia right on the solar plexis, raising his hands like it was a miracle – perhaps it was, given his background. My first thought? Onya, mate. He probably makes a decent casserole.

A joy of Test cricket? We were able to watch Jaiswal for an extended time. In T20, all innings are short because matches are brief. Jaiswal provided seven hours of entertainment because the traditional format allowed it. Long live Test cricket.

The quiet Australians have been outplayed and out-enthused. The hosts are normally all over visiting sides like a rash, like the cheapest suit in any given op shop, honking like geese, overwhelming them with energy and an earbashing. India’s playing us like a piano. The vocal, attacking and entertaining tourists, bowling like the wind, batting themselves into an unbeatable position and strutting around like peacocks in the field, are doing an Australia on Australia. The meek may inherit the earth, for all we really know, but they don’t win many Tests.