Dead rubbers do bounce: The games played once a series is settled can still produce meaningful stories

This is not what I’ve come to expect of the England cricket team. For the second time in six months, we’ve wrapped up a hard-fought but ultimately comfortable series victory against a top-ranked side, before losing the final match. [Capitulating, truth be told, but I don’t want to dwell on that. Or, indeed, the UAE result – I’m nothing if not consistently one-eyed.]

In the dark days of the ‘90s and early Noughties, the boot was very much on the other foot. We would often win these dead rubbers, having been comprehensively outclassed by the opposition, notably Australia. There was a feeling among some of our Australian cousins back then that they’d grown rather weary of pummelling the Poms in such one-sided contests – although I doubt the likes of Merv Hughes ever tired of rubbing our noses in the dirt – and that they might prefer a more competitive scrap. Perhaps these ‘meaningless’ Test victories were subconsciously gifted to us to encourage us to try harder next time, like a man teasing an exhausted dog with a stick.

Let’s have a look at a few dead rubbers from sporting history.

Butcher’s 173 not out – Headingley 2001

What better place to start than with one of those consolation wins against Australia?

As usual, Australia had raced into an unassailable lead and were 3-0 up by the time the teams fetched up in Leeds. In one sense, it wasn’t a surprise that we won the game. We’d been here before. In ’97, Phil Tufnell had taken eleven wickets at the Oval, adding a veneer of respectability to another chastening series defeat. Then in ’99, an inspired spell of 6-60 from Dean Headley had propelled us to another unlikely victory, this time in Melbourne, once again after Australia had already retained the urn.

However, the manner of the steamrollering that was the 2001 series would’ve left even the most optimistic England fan clutching at straws. They had McGrath and Warne, of course, ably supported by Gillespie in his pomp, and our batsmen had no answer. Ponting, Martyn and the Waughs all put us to the sword with the bat. And then there was Adam Gilchrist. I watched him go to a hundred at Edgbaston by standing tall and ramping Andy Caddick over the wicketkeeper’s head for four (a shot I don’t remember having witnessed in one-day cricket at the time, let alone Tests). It was the first time we’d seen Gilchrist in England and the mark he left was indelible. To paraphrase Will Carling when summing up the late Jonah Lomu’s impact on the Rugby World Cup semi-final in ’95, I remember thinking of Gilchrist, “He’s a freak…and the sooner he does one, the better.”

Yet it was Gilchrist who paved the way for England’s moment of glory at Headingley. Filling in for the injured Steve Waugh as captain, Gilly made a sporting declaration and set England 315 to win. In fairness, and for all the reasons above, you wouldn’t have given us a prayer, and the Aussies would justifiably have fancied their chances of polishing us off.

But they reckoned without Mark Butcher. No England batsman was assured his place in the side, such was the disarray we were in, and indeed Butcher may not even have been picked were it not for injuries. So there was much to play for, despite the moribund nature of the series. To me, that makes his innings all the more remarkable. A natural batsman with sound technique, Butcher that day managed to put into practice the words of Steve Davis: “Play like it means nothing when it means everything.” He freed himself of the shackles that weighed heavy on England cricket, trusted his game, and unleashed a series of punchy drives and flashing cuts. Bob Willis, in a rare moment of heady abandon, described the left-hander as a “cross between Graeme Pollock and Garry Sobers.”

In other circumstances (i.e. a live series) it might be considered one of the great innings of the modern era by an England batsman, second only, perhaps, to Graham Gooch’s unbeaten 154 out of 252 on a green seamer against Ambrose, Walsh, Patterson and Marshall. As it was, Butcher’s was still a magnificent knock, completed by hammering Warne through point for the winning runs. Asked how he’d composed himself at tea with the victory target still a little way off, he told his interviewer he’d “had a cup of coffee and a couple of cigarettes.” Attaboy, Butch.

British & Irish Lions 13 – 13 South Africa, 1974

Tell any of the participants that this fourth and final Test Match of a bloody series was a dead rubber and he’d stare back blankly…and/or take a swinging right hand at you, which was as fashionable back then as the mutton-chop sideburn.

The Lions side that toured South Africa in 1974 has passed into sporting legend. Quite right too. The talent, skill, fortitude, togetherness and bloody-mindedness of this group were all – well – legendary.

So imagine how history would have regarded them had their win record on that tour been perfect. As opposed to near-as-dammit perfect. Some maintain to this day that the 100% record was wrongly denied, as the South African referee claimed he couldn’t see Fergus Slattery’s grounding of the ball over the try line. He (the ref) then blew up four minutes early with the Lions camped on South Africa’s line.

The men in red had to settle for a 13-13 draw. They’d still won the Test series 3-0 and their overall ledger, including provincial games, read 21 victories, 1 draw, 0 defeats.

Southampton 2 – 0 Wimbledon, 2000

Some rubbers are only half-dead. This final-day Premier League clash was crucial for Wimbledon. If they won their match at comfortably-mid-tabled Southampton they’d virtually guarantee survival. In fact, all they had to do was match rivals Bradford City’s result against high-flying Liverpool and they’d maintain their top-flight status.

A predictable outcome, then, right? Wrong. As so often happens, the side that had to win didn’t (an interesting betting angle, this, as bookies frequently exaggerate the win imperative when pricing such games up – the reality is that teams find themselves towards the bottom of the league for a reason). Instead, it was Saints who played with greater freedom and fluency, while the Dons laboured and struggled to find any sort of cutting edge. Second-half goals from a young Wayne Bridge and Marian Pahars condemned Terry Burton’s men to defeat. Meanwhile, at Valley Parade, Paul Jewell’s Bradford had completed a famous 1-0 victory over Gerard Houllier’s Reds to engineer their own great escape.

This rubber may have been only partially dead, then, but it was the final nail in the coffin for the Crazy Gang. The club has never come close to scaling the heights of the ‘80s and ‘90s since relegation that day. Could the rise of AFC Wimbledon yet provide us with a similarly unlikely footballing fairy tale in the coming years? The fans can but dream.

What are your favourite dead rubbers?