On the decider

So this is it, then. After 71 holes it all comes down to this. There's no time to be added on, so this kick could seal it either way. Only one more attempt at this height. The drama of the final moment in sport. There's a deathly hush in the close tonight and all that.

Tomorrow commences the final Ashes test - winner takes all, except that for Australia a draw is victory, in that they retain the Ashes.

The English selectors have resisted all call for change, failing to add Ramps, Tresco, Beefy Botham and other popular choices to the squad. Instead they have called up Trott, a South African. If he, and Cook, and Collingwood, and of course Bell fail, then expect calls for changes amongst the selectors. Especially Ashley Giles.

The drama continues. Freddie Flintoff strides onto the test stage for one final throw of the dice, a cricketing Gielgud about his swansong at Stratford. (http://www.telegraph.co.uk/sport/cricket/international/theashes/6030103/The-Ashes-Andrew-Flintoffs-roller-coaster-Test-career-comes-to-an-end.html) Of course Freddie could singlehandedly sort out the global recession, win world war three on his own, and satisfy all the girls of the playboy mansion in a brisk 30 minute shagathon, but can he on his own win the Oval test and the Ashes for England? For Harry and St George?

It should be compelling stuff, enthralling right up the moment that Ponting brings up his ton before lunch on the first day, or when England shrink off the field 77-4 to munch on their cucumber sarnies. There’s a certain inevitability about it.

In many ways an Australian victory will better serve the English public – we can point to the non selection of ageing failures as the reason for defeat, and Ashley Giles will be burnt in effigy in clubs, coal mines and county grounds the length and breadth of Britain. We will unite in adversity.

There, that feels better, doesn’t it.