An England win on day five against India would probably nudge his 111 as the greatest at the Oval in the modern age
OK. Who angered the gods? Cricket gods. Weather gods. Sport gods. All the gods. Because quite clearly, the gods, well, the gods are clearly deeply annoyed. As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods of fifth-day stewarding costs. They lead us on, whiz us into a frenzy, and drag us back the next day for their sport.
It felt fitting in the end that England and India will get to face one another on the 25th of 25 days in this brain-manglingly fine Test series, played out now by two teams operating on fumes, caffeine, ship’s biscuits and blood‑sodden socks.
Everyone was winning this game and simultaneously losing it by the time England and India were called from the field at 5.29pm, first by bad light and then a squall of rain. England need 35 runs, India four wickets, one of those the single swishing arm of the injured Chris Woakes.
Runs had ebbed away like smoke wafting up into the vast flat open sky above the Oval stands as Harry Brook and Joe Root played like princes in the afternoon session. By the end those same runs had become the most grudgingly hoarded substance on earth as India fought back with great heart, took wickets, and jammed a pick handle in the revolving door.
