Morning:
8°c
If ever a modern sporting event caught the spirit of Baron de Coubertin, this Test match is it. For England, for once, it really isn't the winning that matters but the taking part.
Simply by agreeing to return to India so soon after the horrors of Mumbai these cricketers deserve respect and gratitude.
That's what they deserve. What they receive from the Indian public, meanwhile, is studied indifference, and after all the grandiose talk about the moral duty on England to defy the terrorists and raise a traumatised nation's morale, there is something faintly shocking about the tininess of the audience in Chennai. We know Indians much prefer the instant gratification of Twenty20 to the languor of the five-day game.
Even so, there have been better attended meetings of the All Souls High Table branch of the Timmy Mallett Fan Club, and seeing the players framed by banks of empty, light blue seats for the second successive day had you feeling a little cheated on their behalf.
If the players don't share that sense, that's because this is a cakewalk for them compared to those of us watching Sky at home. Presumably some section of the human rights legislation that celebrated its 60th birthday yesterday covers exposure to the instrument of torture that is David Lloyd's voice at 4am, and I'll be ringing Shami Chakrabarti later today to find out which.
The law most relevant to the game itself, meanwhile, is our old favourite the English Batting Collapse (Suicidal Middle Order And Feckless Tail) Act of 1978, which mandates that a start as promising as the one our openers provided yesterday must be followed by a cascade of wickets.
Still, Andrew Strauss won't be too distressed about that, his colleagues' failures only highlighting the excellence of his century.
If this is how the opener plays after barely having a net in months, then he should be put in storage and brought out solely for next summer's Ashes. Or perhaps he should have the guarantee of selection that goes with the captaincy. Watching him and Kevin Pietersen share a brief partnership yesterday, before the latter's horribly mistimed pull, was to be reminded of the selectors's eccentricity in giving Pieto the job.
However murderous and majestic striker of a ball, the man's Narcissism makes him ill-suited to a post that requires continual fretting about the needs of others. Strauss has the brains and selflessness to do it properly, and one of these days I hope he will.
As if the incumbent's irresponsibility, the team's general rustiness, a marvellous spell of swing bowling from Zaheer Khan and the relentlessness of the Indian spinners on a pitch offering them immediate help wasn't enough to undermine England, they also suffered one of the worst umpiring decision ever witnessed.
The gap between Paul Collingwood's bat and the ball would have had the late Evel Knievel thinking twice about attempting to jump it, yet still Billy Bowden raised that sinister crooked finger.
Bowden is on record citing Jesus as "the third umpire in my life".
If he's right about that, the Son of Man will have watched the replay from on high and had a quick word with St Peter about locking the Pearly gates when the time comes. The only possible reason to lock the gates when play resumed this morning was to keep the smattering of spectators from escaping.
With England scoring at less than two runs an over, only Matt Prior offering serious resistance as the side headed inexorably towards the unanimously anticipated defeat, this was wretchedly soporific stuff.
And gratifying as it would be to see the ground in Chennai half full, or a quarter full, or an eighth full, or even a hundredth full, in a show of reciprocal support for an England team who covered themselves in glory by agreeing to play, ultimately you couldn't help feeling that the Indian people have suffered more than enough lately without being subjected to this.
