Arise, Sir Freddie. Hail Lord Flintoff. Three cheers for the Duke of Flintoffshire. Freddie for King!
Encouraged by his ability to take wickets with no balls and be credited with catches that bounce at least twice before reaching the fielder, The Maharajah of Menace sprinted in unchanged for what seemed like 2 weeks, spitting fire and brimstone at the hapless Aussie tail. Here a bouncer, there a yorker, every ball a real corker.
Australia have no answer to this sort of imperial agression, underlining why they can never truly be considered a republic. Their tail folded like a children's origami book.
Even Swann, the sort of cheeky chappie who at school freely dispenses jam and digestive biscuit wedgies to younger lads, got amongst the wickets. His dismissal of Michael Clarke was a thing of beauty - so good you wonder if Clarke got the Ouija Board out last night to ask Hansie Cronje for some advice. It takes a real artist to make Swann look that unplayable.
A test, then, displaying the sort of drama normally reserved for 6 one hour episodes on the BBC. Austalia blew a 1-0 lead in '05, so I have every belief that England can do the same.
That is, unless Andrew Flintoff, the deliverer of destruction, the purveyor of purlers, the usher of unplayability can step up and once again remind us that Britons never never never shall be slaves!
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