DARREN GOUGH was back to his best in Birmingham, the old, irrepressible, surging Gough, doffing his cap to supporters at long leg and returning to bowl out-swingers as bouncy and laughing as their purveyor.
Nor was it merely a matter of one ball or one spell or one day or one innings. Gough was a handful throughout and played an immense part in a famous victory. None of the confusions evident in the seasons between his Antipodean triumphs were seen at Edgbaston, none of the striving for effect, none of the damaging self-parody, faults that come hot on the back of success and attempt to lay a man low. It was quite a performance by a cricketer part Pied Piper and part pork pie.
Gough was too much for the Australians. Every time he was thrown the ball wickets seemed likely to fall as away-swingers were hurled down with occasional variations upon a restored theme, including changes of pace, angle and swing, all of them disguised and calculated to unsettle opponents without giving them opportunities to score. This was Gough the intrepid spirit rather than Gough the gambler. As was the case when these teams last met, though not always in between, no-one was the gregarious Yorkshireman's master except himself.
Gough was formidable on the muggy first morning after the visitors had won the dubious toss. He was dangerous with the new ball and the old one, with which he can bowl deadly in-swingers. Most of all he went untamed throughout a long weekend as Australia fought back on a dormant pitch as locals began to wonder whether something awful might occur.
It was Gough's resourcefulness that most impressed. He took wickets with out-swingers, cutters and bumpers. He mixed and matched. No-one else was remotely as versatile. He had the skill and sense to put England's plans into effect. Weaknesses had been detected in the opposing batsmen and Gough preyed upon them, beating Matthew Elliott's flat-footed drive with a tempting, curling delivery and routing Michael Bevan with a bumper that this gifted, flawed player could not stifle.
Otherwise he created wickets on his own, confounding batsmen with out-swingers followed by off-cutters, or the other way around, a combination that accounted for Mark Waugh and Greg Blewett. He even managed to draw Steve Waugh from his position, bringing about his downfall by luring a usually meticulous opponent far across his crease.
Patently Gough's bowling demands the closest attention. Batsmen find it difficult to assess his length because his trajectory is unusually flat, so the ball goes further than expected, like a pebble skimming across a pond, and yet wristy so that upon landing it leaps into life. Moreover, he breaks his opponents' patterns, doesn't allow them to settle, imposes himself on them, shows he won't tire, give in or go away. He invites them into open conflict, drags them from their castles, denies them the luxury of comfortable continuity.
Gough did not, though, merely lift his comrades in Birmingham. He seemed to lift the entire crowd and they, in their turn, gave him rousing support. As he stood at the top of his mark it was as if all England was preparing to hurl itself at the green-capped brigade, as if Australia meant something again and to hell with Neighbours, Rolf Harris and all other attempts to weaken our resolve. Gough touches hearts by being himself. His true self, and not the self-caricature seen during the years of enfeeblement.
And as Gough sipped from the flying bottle of victory so Dominic Cork, once a hero himself, sat mournfully watching the game from afar, amidst the turmoil at Derbyshire and the wreckage of his own body.
The contrast between them is stark. A fine line exists between imagination and indulgence. Gough has crossed it and returned. Cork has crossed and remains on the wrong side. Perhaps Cork has convinced himself he owes his wickets to an indomitable will, whereas, of course, he beat batsmen because he could swing the ball from leg stump and nagged away until they made a mistake.
Different forces hold sway within these lively cricketers. Cork is trying to prove himself to the world and his approach to life is anguished and angular. There is a brittleness about him that goes beyond his bones. Gough is a rounder figure, has a broader sense of humour and seems a more settled man, easier with himself, happier with a game of darts, a kick of football and a laugh with the lads. He may eat pasta and drink mineral water but at heart he remains a beer and chips man.
Gough has realised spirit alone is not enough. He has been bowling with pace, movement and heart, and in Birmingham he was rewarded. If he is given the support he deserves and needs, he will continue to rattle the Australians.