After this, New Zealand came to England and were duly blown away, and England’s false sense of security began to grow.
It was a false sense of security that led to the dropping of Nick Compton who, after nine Tests as Andrew Strauss’ replacement at the top of the order, had two centuries to his name but endured four horrible innings in the home series against the Kiwis. The nail in the Compton coffin came in the second test at Headingley, where his painful 7 was in stark contrast to the breezy century stand shared by the youthful Yorkshiremen Joe Root and Jonny Bairstow the day before. This, combined with an overly intense manner and a reported “dressing room incident”, saw Compton dropped, Root prematurely shunted up to open and Bairstow retain his place at number six upon the return from injury of the now-vanquished Kevin Pietersen. Across ten Ashes tests, Bairstow failed to convince, Root was broken by a huge workload and shifted up, down, up and then out of the order, while Compton went back to Somerset and scored 1,000 first class runs.
It was this false sense of security that saw England write off the narrow margin of their victory in the first Test at Trent Bridge as down to Australia’s last wicket heroics in both innings. They thumped Australia at Lord’s but were, in all probability, saved by rain at Old Trafford. At Durham, Broad collided spectacularly with Australia’s fragile batting line-up to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. In their minds, not to mention the minds of their fans, they were winning and little else, including the manner of those victories, mattered. Which brings us to the Oval.
Yes, the Oval. The height of this criminal “false sense of security” and, arguably, the beginning of the end. It was the self-satisfaction of a 3-0 lead that saw England experiment in the final Test, calling up Chris Woakes and Simon Kerrigan. The former was uninspiring, the latter destroyed. These selections had greater ramifications, though. The management’s faith (or lack thereof) in Bairstow was revealed and his confidence hit. They also squandered the opportunity to check whether Boyd Rankin or Chris Tremlett, after a string of injuries, were ready for Test match cricket. Both would eventually become disastrous Ashes tourists.
So on England went, seemingly completely oblivious to the extent to which they were flattered by a 3-
zip scoreline. They had a piss on the pitch, just to prove how untouchable they were. In truth, only Bell had exceeded pre-series expectations; Anderson hadn’t consistently threatened since Trent Bridge, Prior didn’t pass 50 all summer, Jonathan Trott managed to do so once (despite looking in fine nick) and Alastair Cook, the Aussie slayer of 2010-11, looked scratchy. In September, on the back of the “invincibility” they’d built, the centrally contracted lot were given hefty pay rises.
There was plenty of rain in the season-ending ODIs, but Mitchell Johnson was back, he was bowling fast and Australia’s batsmen were making hay. Australia’s 2-1 win saw the momentum begin to shift.
At the end of September, the touring party was named. From the outset, it looked peculiar and unbalanced. In was Michael Carberry, who’d looked destined to be consigned to the scrapheap of “one-cap wonders”, and Gary Ballance, on the back of a prolific season for Yorkshire, in the batting department. Bairstow had been relegated to reserve wicket-keeping duties, a strange move in light of Prior’s poor form. Monty Panesar, after a poor season on the field and a worse one off it (the nadir involved THE urination story of a summer of urination stories as he relieved himself on a nightclub bouncer in Brighton), was to deputize for Swann after the Kerrigan debacle. Ben Stokes was the tour party’s bolt from the blue and, eventually, it’s only genuine
success story.
Most criminal was the selection in the fast bowling department. Finn, Rankin and Tremlett, all standing taller than 6”7, were to board the plane with just 80 Championship wickets between them all summer. Graham Onions had 70 of his own but was to stay behind. Remembering Tremlett’s success in 2010/11, England wanted to bombard Australia with bouncing behemoths. Sadly, had the selectors bothered to follow the County Championship, they’d have known they were taking the wrong men.
It was a squad that failed to cover for the creaking that the English summer had so obviously exposed. The cover for Swann, nursing a chronically painful elbow and believing his powers were on the wane, was inadequate. The back-up for Prior, who’d had a quietly terrible summer, was insufficient. With Tim Bresnan carrying an injury (and not necessarily being the answer away from home anyway), there was no third seamer.
All too hubristically, and completely in keeping with the team’s image of itself, the ECB hosted a self-congratulatory media event at Lord’s to see the squad off before they boarded the plane. This was a team that believed it was off to Australia to win a fourth straight Ashes series. We’re England, we’ve won three on the bounce. On we go.
Things didn’t start well in Australia. Cook and Prior had injuries and the squad was followed by rain. The fact that they’d arrived with just
two seamers of sufficient quality became apparent quickly, their ludicrous menu demands were leaked and the press bayed for blood. This was all a far cry from 2010.
Ahead of the First Test, Australia provided a typically mouthy build-up that masked a ruthlessly efficient preparation that had begun months earlier in England. The mega-Ashes were unique; Australia, with Darren Lehmann and Michael Clarke at the helm, had understood this far better than Cook or Andy Flower. Lehmann used the English leg as a reconnaissance mission, gathering information on his team’s strengths and his opponents’ weaknesses, all whilst recognising that the second series was the defining one of the mega-Ashes. Lehmann took responsibility, fostered a strong team ethic in a divided dressing room and let Clarke deal with the on-field business. He backed Shane Watson, he freed David Warner and gave Johnson a hug. This was a masterclass in man-management. Furthermore, by bagging Stuart Broad, he galvanized the cricketing public.
In short, Lehmann recognised that this was two five-test Ashes series, whereas England viewed it as one ten-Test series that had an 85-day break half way through. They assumed they were too powerful, that they’d face the same flimsy batting line-up and failed to account for the extraordinary re-birth of Johnson. These were to be
fatal misjudgments.
Brisbane caught England off guard but provided a picture of the series to come. Asked to bowl first, they got Australia half out, before Brad Haddin led a fightback. When they came to bat, Johnson’s raw pace and new-found accuracy blew them away. Bowling again sooner than they should, they were unable to stem Australia’s top order, who piled on the pain at pace. Eventually, they had to bat again but the task was inevitably beyond a shaken order and, once more buoyed by a viciously baying crowd, Mitch blew them away. At the tempestuous Test’s end, nothing seemed to have gone to plan for the tourists.
As notoriously slow starters on tour, defeat wasn’t a shock. The manner, as emphatic and thorough as one could imagine, was. Things weren’t about to get any better, either. On what should have been Day 5, it was announced that Jonathan Trott, the rock at first drop, had already left the tour with a “stress-related illness”.
So much was going on here: Trott had endured a horrible match, twice falling to short balls from Johnson, had been criticised by David Warner and had reportedly endured some form of dressing-room meltdown in front of his unsuspecting team-mates. This was a moment that not only hindered England on the field - the loss of one of their most dependable performers had obvious implications - but shook them off it too. It was the revelation that a seemingly tight-knit group was carrying significant secrets and that they were now shorn of a popular figure. It also revealed the power of Australia’s performance. Johnson’s bowling was not the reason for the departure but it was surely a catalyst - it’s hard to imagine Trott leaving had he scored a century.
In hindsight it’s clear that England headed to Adelaide with the wheels perilously close to falling off the wagon. Three days later, in another unrelenting wave of Pup, Brad, Mitch and Davey, they were gone. All four were brilliant but England were the architects of their own downfall. The bowling was ordinary, the catching pitiful and the batting, in the face of rare pace, was completely hapless. There was second innings resistance from Root that took them past 300 at the fourth attempt, but it was inevitably in vain. The whitewash was a genuine possibility.
A week later in Perth, England were put out of their misery. Once more, they had their chances. Anderson and Broad worked hard to reduce Australia to 5-143, before Steve Smith and Brad Haddin intervened to carry Australia to respectability. Another collapse and another Warner century meant that the game, for the third time, was all but lost by the third lunch break. Watson and George Bailey violently kicked them while they lay motionless, flaying Swann and Anderson to all parts, breaking records and careers as they went. In the sweltering heat, England were cooked. As they went down, a star was born and a positive finally emerged. Ben Stokes put his more esteemed colleagues to shame, plundering a brilliant maiden century in just his second Test. That whitewash had moved from the “possible” pile right into the “probable” category.
Some light relief was provided by the arrival of Christmas and, with it, the players’ families. Swann sprung the latest surprise by ending a fine and under-appreciated international career. It was a decision that divided opinion; for every one who labelled him a deserter there was another who appreciated his reasoning. This was a decision made with the best of intentions by a man with a dicky elbow who genuinely believed he had nothing left to give and that it was time to step aside and allow a successor to develop. Some will never forgive him for the treachery of quitting midway through such a disastrous series. Stick it out from the sidelines, they said.
''Finn, Rankin and Tremlett, all standing taller than 6”7, were to board the plane with just 80 Championship wickets between them all summer.''
The Tour from Hell