Tuesday, June 25, 2002 Wherever Steve Waugh is right now, one thing is certain: he will be working hard. Mentally, barely five minutes will go by without him plotting his comeback, dreaming up new ways of making himself indispensable. Physically, he will be testing his delicate calves, stretching those fragile hamstrings, anxious to avoid a repeat of last season when he missed the starter's gun and never really got going. His mission – to return to Australia's one-day XI – remains an outrageously implausible one. Yet it seems less remote than it did a week ago.

In the past seven days Waugh, 37, might have drawn inspiration from Martina Navratilova, 45, who after an eight-year breather from singles play on the professional tennis circuit brushed aside a highly-ranked Russian opponent 20 years her junior. More certainly, he will have taken heart from Australia's lacklustre surrender to Pakistan, which was not only unforeseen, but unseen too – for almost nobody turned up. It added flesh to the bones of suspicion that, after 17 years of Waugh, life for Ricky Ponting will be no picnic.

Not that Waugh will be hollering his credentials from the rooftops just yet. Nor should he be; of all the meaningless one-day tournaments, Super Challenge II was more meaningless than most. But as Ponting begins surgery on his left foot, resisting the lure of a honeymoon with new bride Rianna, he does so knowing that his other honeymoon – as captain – is also over, barely three months after it began.

When Mark Taylor succeeded Allan Border in 1994 the Sydney Morning Herald editorialised glowingly that: "Where Border's instinct as a captain under pressure was to reorganise the defence, Taylor's instinct is to attack his way out of trouble." The paper declared that this was the traditional, successful Australian way. It was certainly the way of Waugh, who not only retained Taylor's daredevil verve but turned it up a notch or two.

However, there has been a strange negativity about Australia's approach under Ponting. It began when he very publicly informed Brett Lee that he needed to tighten up and was unworthy of a place in Australia's best XI. The result was that Lee, previously deployed as a strike weapon under Waugh, bowled with the hesitancy of a man whose run-up was littered with drawing-pins. He was dropped for the final match in favour of Andy Bichel – good bloke, handy bowler but no strike weapon – who was promptly crashed for six an over as Pakistan's lower order ran amok. Then, as if to underline the error, Shoaib Akhtar showed there is a place for sizzling, untamed hostility, taking 5 for 25 in one of the fiercest one-day spells of recent times.

The negativity extended to Australia's overall performance. The one-day version of the game may be its more defensive incarnation, but the old cliché – the best form of defence is attack – is as true in cricket as it is in life. Pakistan remembered this and rejoiced; Australia forgot it and flopped.

It was all eerily reminiscent of the 1992 World Cup. Back then Australia, the hot favourites, looked tired, devoid of ideas and were eliminated early. Pakistan, the underdogs, looked brash, inventive and were the eventual champions.

The comparison is not perfect. In 1992 Australia looked to be carrying at least one long-in-the-tooth batsman too many. Last week the opposite was true. For the first time in a long time, an Australian XI contained not a single batsman with 3600 Test runs to his name. Although brimming with brilliance, there is an unproven air about Australia's one-day top order. Several observers are already daring to do what Basil Fawlty did and mention the Waughs.

Mark, the argument goes, would constitute a glorious luxury at No. 6 with his passable off breaks and brilliant catching. Steve's return is more problematic. Any new tricks would have to come from his batting – and how many new tricks can a bloke who has played 473 international matches learn? As for the unconfirmed reports of Steve pacing out his long run in the nets, they should not be taken too seriously. One of last summer's more painful images was that of Steve bringing himself on to bowl in a last, desperate attempt to rage against the dying light. The 20-year-old who had seemed impossibly boyish when he first wore the baggy green suddenly looked a stiff-limbed, battle-scarred old man.

Besides, Steve's return would represent an admission that the Ponting experiment was a mistake. And, statistically at least, such a verdict would be drastically premature. Border's first 25 Tests as skipper produced only three victories. Taylor kicked off his captaincy career with a pair and a series defeat. Even Waugh lost eight of his first 10 one-day internationals in charge. Ponting has lost only three out of 10.

All of which adds up to a Steve Waugh comeback being not only unlikely, but almost unthinkable. It would be more miraculous than the 41-year-old Bob Simpson's return in 1977. It would be the greatest comeback since a bloke called Bradman returned to the crease after World War II.

The Don was 38 at the time. He had not played a Test in eight years. He had been invalided out of the army because of poor health. He had spent time in hospital with fibrositis. He suffered from gastric problems. He looked thinner, balder. When he batted he was vulnerable early. His extraordinary hand-eye coordination had slowed. His unquenchable stamina had faded.

Yet he was cannier than ever. He had an impeccable understanding of pitches and bowlers. A radar-like knack for detecting gaps in the field. He took fewer risks. He was more patient. And his average rose from 97 before the war to 105 after, placing him on a pedestal unparalleled in Australian sport or society.

To be reminded of this in the year AD (After Don) 1, one had only to peruse last weekend's papers and a rather chunky advertisement flogging 200 limited-edition Bradman statuettes. Costing $995 a pop, the Wedgwood sculptures depict The Almighty One doffing his cap and raising his bat during his 334 at Leeds. The marketing puff went – apparently quite earnestly – like this: "You will observe for yourself the care and detail in which his features and expression, the folds of his clothing and every detail of his cricket equipment have been recreated. Skilled artists have captured the style and character of the man – calm, in control, graciously acknowledging the applause – a role model for the ages and a hero to millions."

A sicklier cesspool of sentimental sycophantic swill is hard to imagine. It's enough to make a bloke think twice about making a comeback.

Chris Ryan is a former managing editor of Wisden Cricket Monthly and a former Darwin correspondent of the Melbourne Age.

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