'Abandon hope, all ye who enter here'.
That, if I remember right, is supposed to be the inscription at the entrance to hell. Or, if you are an Indian batsman, at the entrance to any ground that contains a pitch with the merest hint of grass.
This Hamilton pitch is not Perth. Frankly, it is not even Wellington. The two wickets that have fallen have little to do with the pitch, a lot to do with the mind.
Take Bangar -- last time round, he couldn't quite figure out what to do with the ball seaming in. This time, at least for Tuffey, it was not -- seaming in, I mean. The ball was in fact outside off, going away the merest fraction -- but the batsman played for it to come in, that is, inside the line.
Sehwag batted like someone had told him they would take away his match fees if he tried to play a shot. In the over previous to the one he got out in, there was a ball that was short, wide, and came on slow after pitching -- the way he covered up and let it go, you would have thought he was Sunil Gavaskar; this, to a ball that asked to be spanked. And how does he get out? To a ball just a touch short, he anticipates it is going to kick head high, and turns his back. As it happened, the ball climbed just about waist-level -- the bounce was all in his mind.
Sachin Tendulkar, when he got out to a ball of good length on middle and off, was standing square on top of the crease -- and we thought cricket was a side on game?
There is one common thread running through the batting thus far -- and it also extends to Dravid, the man with the best technique of the lot. The batsmen are looking at neither length, nor line -- the initial movement is quick, and far back -- then, when the realise the ball is fuller than they thought, they try to come forward, and end up exactly where they were before the started the dance.
And to think that we were advocating an aggressive mindset!