36.1 Anderson to Ponting, no run, A JAFFA! Full, swings late, Ponting lurches like an inebriated pensioner on a skateboard, somehow the ball evades bat, gloves, stumps and everything.
After 45 balls, Ponting's still not off the mark. And he's not likely to be any time soon if Anderson keeps bowling these cluster-bombs of high jaffery.
36.2 Anderson to Ponting, no run, A SNORTER!!! Straight out of Snortsville, Carolina, Ponting is left fumbling around for his reading glasses by a short ball that reared up like a gay ostrich and pecked at his grill. Anderson follows through with a few choice words. Lip readers among you might have made out "hermaphrodite".
36.3 Anderson to Ponting, no run, THE McGARNAGLE!!!! Oooh, Jimmy's delving deep into his box of tricks today! Ponting wrongly plays for the away swing and is left looking a real casserole of nonsense by the McGarnagle, which cuts him in half and then quarters and then just keeps on chopping until his mutilated corpse is nothing more than a squinty pulp. England appeal for something, but the umpire is too traumatised by what he's witnessed to react.
36.4 Anderson to Ponting, no run, AN ABSOLUTE CLINTON!!!!!! What is happening out there? Curves in awkwardly, almost at right angles, and Ponting wears it on the chest. Clinton residue all over his shirt. That'll never wash out. England still banging at the door, but so far, no cigar.
What an over this is from Anderson. Four balls. Four brutes. Four Weddings is on TV tonight, I noticed while reading the paper over breakfast. Slice of melon and gram of coke, in case you were wondering.
36.5 Anderson to Ponting, no run, A SCENTED PANDA HAMMER!!!!!!! WHOAHZERS!!!!! That seemed to swing in at least three directions. Is that even possible?! Ricky can't lay a bat on it and - oh, he's down! And up again! Staggering! And down again! And up! Completely bamboozled, he seems to not know where he is. OH MY GOD!! Ponting has taken off his shirt and one of his shoes and is just shambling around the field. Is he crying? Some of the England boys are trying to help him but he's thrashing his bat at them and growling. Hello, what's this? Ever the opportunist, Kevin Pietersen tries to take advantage of Ponting's walkabout by shying at the stumps but misses by three yards. And that's gone for four. But the umpires are signalling dead ball. It's chaos. The Aussie team doctor is on the pitch now, along with the physio and the mascot, Steve Smith. They seem to be calming Ponting down, showing him pictures of his family. Yes, there's some recognition there. His marbles are on the way back. WHOAHNNO, there they go again!! A picture of his kids has thrown him back over the edge like some kind of demented lifebelt. He's spinning on the spot (a nice homage to the Tasmanian Devil) furiously, screaming "little Ricky people!!!" from what I can make out on the stump mic. This is awkward. The team fertility consultant's on the field now. I guess he's about to explain where babies come from. This is going to get worse before it gets better...
The umpires call drinks.
And we're back. Apparently the website went down for the duration of what will surely be referred to in all the papers tomorrow as "The Incident", for which we apologise, but with Ian Bell having been taken into protective custody, the sacrificed lamb's blood mopped up from the square, the affected part of the Joe Mangle Stand quarantined and Dr. Susan something Greek-sounding now acting as Ponting's runner and/or life coach, James Anderson's at his mark ready to complete what has thus far been a very interesting over.
36.6 Anderson to Ponting, FOUR, BUM GRAVY. After all that, Jimmy loses his line and spaffs one miles down the leg side. Prior makes a valiant dive, but unfortunately in the wrong direction. Four byes, and a slightly anticlimaxtic end to the over.
