Brendon McCullum’s regime may be unravelling but there is rarely any suggestion of what to do next and how the team can be improved
Overprepared. Overconfident. Overblown. Over there. And now just over. We know how this goes from here, don’t we? We know this cycle.
The days since England’s defeat in Brisbane have boiled down to a real-time competition to become the hate-click boss, to describe in the most sensual, eviscerating detail the depth of England’s badness – not just at cricket, but at the molecular, existential level.
Right now everything is turned up to 11. Bring on the flamethrowers. Scour this filth from the earth. It’s time to burn this Baz-house down. So we have pitch maps of shame, fifth-stump drive montages, deconstructions of the basic energy at the Gabba, when even the players’ faces seemed to collapse, from handsome, alpha dogs romping out in mid‑afternoon, to weak-chinned lost souls under the evening lights, eyes hollow, hair straggly, like acid casualties at Woodstock.
We have a race to capture the exact styling of the end times. What will its epitaph be? The current favourite is Brendon McCullum’s post-match TV interview, an experience that felt, in the moment, like having burning hot kebab skewers made entirely from vibes and golf driven into both eyeballs.
