by Tanya Aldred
3rd Test, Trent Bridge
Friday, August 3, 2001

Brett Lee to Michael Atherton - it was almost enough to make Duncan Fletcher smile. Just before rain forced the players off the field in the late-afternoon gloom, Lee discovered some peppery aggression. He charged in and delivered two balls of such fury that the crowd winced in their seats. The first, a 91.8mph exocet, singed Atherton's stubble, rising like a firecracker and following his barred jaw as he jerked it back in a desperate effort to get out of the way. The follow-up, another bouncer, had the same devilish intent.

Lee smiled to himself as he walked back to his mark. Atherton took his helmet off, marched down the pitch and muttered. But there was fire in his eyes. This is the sort of fight he relishes - just rip the gloves off and go for the jugular.

Jump back three years, to another vital Test at Trent Bridge, and another battle between Atherton and a blond quick. Atherton v Donald, the duel which hypnotised a nation. Speed, injustice, tears and fury brought Atherton 98 runs and England victory.

The old boy likes a challenge - just check out the cut of his jaw. If you gave him the choice of a stroll in a park or a marine assault course, the park wouldn't have a chance, however nice the roses. Here he upper-cut Lee, over the slips, and drove him out of his mind. He was uncowed by Gillespie, driving and square-cutting with panache, dropping his hands with nonchalance. And he saw off two spells from his metronomic nemesis.

It was his game in the field too. Every time he brought on Tudor, a wicket, or two, fell. His field placings had the Australians in two minds - which they found a little confusing.

And gone were the doily hands of Lord's. Atherton caught Gilchrist, as he had caught the Waughs yesterday: eyes on the ball, mitts as soft as a baby's, just like the good Mark Waugh taught him. He set the example - as so often, where the slips lead the rest follow. England didn't drop a catch in the first innings, Australia dropped two.

This is one of those matches that Atherton's England were drawn to when he was first-choice captain. Low-scoring, on an uneven wicket, when the opposition were on top and perhaps just taking the time to reflect on their own greatness. It is the time for the underdog, when he fancies a bite of glory. And Atherton will be sitting in the dressing-room, cursing umpire Venkat, and polishing his fangs tonight.

Tanya Aldred is assistant editor of Wisden Online

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