Ponting left to rue what could have been

Ricky Ponting took a ball square in the mouth on Saturday, but his dismissal in Australia's second innings on Sunday will have caused the fiercely proud Tasmanian a good deal more pain.

With Australia on the ropes at 90-2 the stage was set for their battle-hardened captain to perform one last act of defiance, in what in all likelihood would be his last Ashes appearance on these shores.

But as Ponting and Mike Hussey settled in, thoughts turned to the unthinkable. If these two stayed put, Australia could win this match, rip up the record books and break Pommy hearts. Aussie heaven.

The hundred partnership arrived and both reached their half-centuries in confident fashion - neither looking troubled by the relatively benign seam bowling of England's frontline attack. Was this the world's first self-healing wicket?

Only the spin of Graeme Swann was asking questions, but the longer Australia's premier batsman occupied the crease, the better equipped they appeared to deal with it.

England's captain Andrew Strauss might never admit it, but he was surely starting to wonder if his team were about to be on the receiving end of the greatest batting performance in history.

But where there's an Andrew Flintoff, there's a way. And England's departing talisman was never going to be denied one last iconic act in his final Test match.

That he swooped down like a 21-year-old to pick up and throw down Ponting from mid-on was completely at odds with Flintoff's otherwise lumbering appearance in the field, but he'd probably have you believe that was all part of the act. Ponting was certainly taken in.

No batsman likes being run out. But when you're set on 66, carrying the hopes of a nation you've dedicated your sporting life to, in the deciding Test of an Ashes series, it has to hurt like hell. Far more than a lump of leather in the chops could.

We'll never know what could have been had Ponting turned down that single to Flintoff, but the Australian captain will likely spend a good deal of his winter wondering. It says something of the man that most of us considered a heroic double century a real possibility.

As for Freddie, let's just hope his scriptwriter takes a job with an Englishman.

2010 - Year of the Tiger

Did that really happen? Tiger Woods the invincible, the man who leads majors and always wins, out-duelled by a 37-year-old farmer's son who is usually gone by the weekend.

"YE Yang," said one of my colleagues last week. "There's a name I didn't know existed until I looked at the US PGA leaderboard on Sunday morning."

Yang landed in Minnesota having missed five cuts from seven at the majors, and with his best result a tie for 30th at Augusta in 2007. This was not the man we expected to de-mystify 'Majors Tiger'.

But the South Korean refused to wilt in the presence of golf's greatest player. And when Tiger began by misreading a handful of putts the red-shirted Tiger usually rolls home for fun, Yang sensed his opportunity.

Watching on, everything you knew said Tiger would still bring it home; that the agonies of Kenny Perry at Augusta, Phil Mickelson at Bethpage and Tom Watson at Turnberry were surely in the script for a journeyman on the brink of history.

And then Yang chipped in for eagle at the 14th to take the lead. And then, following his first mistake of the day at 17 and with a just a one-shot cushion over a sporting superman, he produced a majestic approach at the last and rolled home a birdie putt to put a dagger in the Tiger's heart. It was a swift and brutal end. It was emphatic.

Never again will the world number one begin a final day at the majors cloaked in the aura of invincibility. And never again we will make the mistake of underestimating the 2009 US PGA champion YE Yang - Asia's first male major champion

Of course the doom mongering has already begun for Tiger. "He won't win 18 majors now," they're saying, "he’s just not the player he was". It's as if defeat to Yang was his golfing kryptonite.

But they're wildly wrong. Returning from injury Tiger has won five times on Tour and finished inside the top six at three of the four majors - hardly the form of man in the last throws of a glorious career. And he's lost none of his power, none of his guile, none of his fight. Sometimes you just have to come second - ask Jack, he did it 19 times.

And don't forget Tiger’s suffered baron patches at the big ones before. After winning the US Open in 2002, he came up short at 10 majors on the spin before donning the green jacket three years later. And I seem to remember him doing ok after that.

What's more, one look at the majors calendar for 2010 should tell you everything you need to know. After starting at Augusta, we head to Pebble Beach for the US Open and then to St Andrews - two courses that Tiger rather enjoys playing if I remember correctly.

As the big cat retreats to nurse his wounds, now could be the perfect time to back him for the Grand Slam. I'm predicting 2010 will be the Year of the Tiger

Why golf needs a fairytale

Let's be honest, the 2009 majors have delivered three wildly unsatisfying conclusions thus far.

That's not to begrudge Angel Cabrera, Lucas Glover or Stewart Cink the defining moments of their careers; just to admit theirs were not the victories most of us wanted to see.

At Augusta we pulled for Kenny Perry. And so we should have. He didn't have a major in his locker and he looked like a lovable teddy bear with a weakness for cake and beer. You gotta love an everyman.

Immortality beckoned furiously. But Cabrera played dream-wrecker and predictably won a play-off to bag major number two and presumably the future presidency of Argentina. And he didn't even look that excited about it.

Next up was the filthy mud of Bethpage and the US Open EVERYBODY BUT TIGER wanted Phil Mickelson to win.

For a moment it looked like it might happen, but the golfing gods were not in giving mood and Lefty fell away to collect his fifth runners-up finish at the US Open.

Step forward Glover, whose victory - though wildly exciting for his family - felt rather flat for the rest of us.

Worse was to come at Turnberry, where 59-year-old Tom Watson arrived at the 72nd hole needing just a par to pull off the most remarkable, life-affirming triumph of them all.

But the old-timer couldn't quite finish the job. And after four days suspending our disbelief in the improbable we watched Watson’s dream crushed in the most clinical of fashions by Cink in a play-off. I don't know about you, but a piece of my sporting soul died that afternoon.

And so we head to Hazeltine National for the US PGA Championship searching out the fairytale to end the year on note of hope.

Perhaps Sergio Garcia can provide it? After all, who could begrudge the sparkling Spaniard a long-overdue victory at the majors? The emotion would be high; tears would flow, Seve would be thrilled.

Or how about one of golf's young guns? Rory McIlroy, Ryo Ishikawa and Anthony Kim are all capable, and what better what way to round off the year than with a future star on top of the thrown?

John Daly would also be quite a story, as would Colin Montgomerie. And can you imagine the impact on the world’s golfing wardrobe if Ian Poulter followed a decent showing at Firestone with a maiden major win?

And then there's the possibility of a Sunday duel between Lefty and Tiger, an iconic battle that ebbs and flows before coming down to the final hole. Can you imagine the reaction to Phil sinking a bunker shot to win it?

Hope is a beautiful thing. Don’t be too surprised if Jim Furyk grinds it out though. It’s been that kind of year at the majors.

What could have been

Golf's greatest victory was not to be for Tom Watson, but the story of his remarkable feats on the Turnberry links will be told forever and day, and long after the name Stewart Cink fades from memory.

Watson stopped the world on Sunday afternoon. For the fourth day his dream refused to die and with just one of 72 holes left to play at the 138th Open Championship, the 59-year-old American stood on the brink of achieving the fantastical.

He needed just a par. Just a par. And after finding the fairway with another of those fizzing, drawing drives, half a century in the making, the old-timer stepped up and duly struck one of the sweetest iron shots of his life. Perhaps too sweet.

The 18th green had barely held a shot all day, and Watson's eight-iron just kept on going past the flagstick, leaving his excitable ball in the semi-rough. It was in contemplating his next shot that Watson fell victim to the enormity of the occasion.

Not even eight major championships, five of them Opens, could prepare a man for this. This was immortality beckoning.

When it seemed right to chip, he putted. And he putted with the same excitement his ball had shown in running through the green. And what stood between him and the greatest single moment in golfing history was a putt you never felt he'd make.

Watson left it painfully, heart-breakingly short, and the man who had defied the passing of time for four long days suddenly looked every one of his 59 years.

The play-off was a formality. Watson's chance had gone, never to come again, and it was all Stewart Cink could do to finish the old-timer off with dignity. And that he did.

Watson, with shoulders to the floor and his weathered face fixed in a pained smile nobody believed, was left to rue what could have been. The unlikelihood of his victory did not soften the blow.

"It tears at the gut," he said. All we all knew what he meant. Because we felt it too.

And so the Claret Jug went not to Watson, but to Cink. And by matching the lowest score through 72 holes and winning the play-off he surely deserved it.

But sadly for the likeable American, his greatest triumph will always be remembered not for what was, but what could have been.

The 2009 Ashes are on fire

After a slow start, the 2009 Ashes series came to life on Sunday, delivering a dramatic finish to rank alongside the nerve-jangling conclusions to the Edgbaston and Old Trafford Tests of 2005.

Nobody expected England to hold on. Andrew Strauss's men had been so comprehensively outplayed in the first four days in Cardiff that you almost felt sorry for them.

And Australia don't do sympathy.

When Kevin Pietersen and Andrew Strauss resumed at 20-2, England still had a glimmer of hope, but you felt at least one of the partnership had to make a big century to keep it alive.

Both fell, committing opposite, but equally heinous crimes - Pietersen leaving a straight one and Strauss not leaving a wide one.

Even the brightest optimists felt doubt creep in.

Matt Prior and Andrew Flintoff came next. Both are fine stroke-players, but the question was whether either could summon the necessary discipline to see it home.

Prior failed. Like Strauss before him, he flailed at a ball he should have ignored and was well caught behind the wicket. Flintoff showed greater promise, adopting an unusually cautious approach with some success. But he too could not stay the distance.

England, surely, were doomed.

Enter Paul Collingwood, a man whose worth to England has been questioned time and again since he was awarded an MBE in 2005. A man who Shane Warne recently said was "more interested in driving his Aston Martin and flying helicopters" than playing Test cricket.

Thank you Shane. Is that what you call 'giving back to the game'? You should try motivational speaking, mate. You're very good at it.

Collingwood, a model of concentration and sound technique, stayed put for 245 balls and scored a superb 74 to keep England's slim hopes alive and frustrate the Australians.

Graeme Swann then added to his first-innings fifty with a timely knock of 31 - surviving a battering from Peter Siddle to emerge with his gutsy reputation further enhanced.

Stuart Broad also showed his mettle, standing up to the Australian pace attack with spiky resolve.

When Broad departed, England's lingering hopes lay with numbers 10 and 11, James Anderson and Monty Panesar, the latter of which would struggle to score runs in village cricket. Australia, surely, were on the brink.

But this is the Ashes...magic happens here.

Anderson blocked and prodded, Panesar did the same, and after some of the most nail-biting cricket you can imagine, England salvaged the most unlikely of draws - courtesy of the most unlikely heroes.

Cue hysteria. Cue enormous relief. Cue a very disappointed team of Australians.

Lord's simply cannot come quickly enough.

Tourists set the tone in Cardiff

The faces of the England players in the field told the tale. Gone was the fresh-faced exuberance of Wednesday morning. Gone was the intensity. Gone was the hope.

In its place was a collective expression of bewilderment and fear. If you listened hard, you could almost hear Andrew Strauss and his men questioning their credentials.

Even the barmy army were quiet. There was nothing to cheer, nobody to champion and little to suggest the day would justify the expense and the heady anticipation. Only sing-alongs to the Home and Away and Neighbours theme songs got them going - and we all know the origins of those ditties.

In the space of two days, Australia's batsmen have brutally deflated this England team and set an ominous tone for the series.

It's been the type of demonstrative start Ricky Ponting has been dreaming of for four long years, and one that could well see his team take a 1-0 lead to Lord's - a ground that historically has not been kind to England fortunes.

Coming out on a damp and overcast Saturday morning in Cardiff, England's bowlers looked tired, lacked pace and were worryingly short on ideas. Andrew Flintoff, James Anderson and Stuart Broad might be world-class seamers, but they were made to look like gentle trundlers by Marcus North and Brad Haddin - Australia's number six and seven batsmen respectively.

It was 41 overs before Haddin finally holed out in the deep and Ponting declared to end England's suffering - in the field anyway.

Ten minutes later, England's openers were out in middle and suddenly Cardiff's benign track looked a very different proposition altogether. Mitchell Johnson and Ben Hilfenhaus attacked with real verve, got the ball swinging and within five overs England were two down and reeling.

Admittedly Ravi Bopara was unlucky to be triggered by a rising delivery destined to sail over the stumps, but momentum was on their side - and momentum can be a powerful thing in the mind of an umpire.

Fortunately for England, rain intervened. But it will take a lot more of it, or a perfomance of real character to save Strauss and his men from suffering a crushing one-innings defeat.

For England to earn a draw, they need at least two of their number to make a big score (four Australians made centuries for the first time in an Ashes Test). With Bopara and Alastair Cook gone, that responsibility falls primarily to Kevin Pietersen and Strauss.

Both are eminantly capable, but their decision-making and composure will be severely tested by the buoyant Australians when play resumes. There will be no hiding place if either concede their wicket cheaply - as Pietersen did in the first innings.

If England do fall tomorrow, confidence will be shattered and the Australians will smell blood. And Strauss's men will have less than a week to assess the wreckage and prepare for the second Test at Lord's.

If they lose again there, the series could be as good as over two matches in.

Thank the wife

Marriage seems to be working out exceptionally well for England's Paul Casey, who continued his hot streak with an assured victory at the BMW PGA Championship.

Having not won in two years, Casey has bagged three titles in five months after marrying his long-term girlfriend Jocelyn and earned enough prize money to keep her in just about anything she likes for the foreseeable future.

It all started at Tiger's Chevron World Challenge, just a week after the couple married, where Casey banked a cool $200,000 after coming home 11th.

Just three weeks later the 31-year-old ended a two-year Tour draught with victory at the Abu Dhabi Championship in the United Arab Emirates, the scene of his most recent triumph in 2007.

Top-10s at the Dubai Desert Classic and Johnnie Walker Classic followed, before Casey skipped across the pond to finish runner-up to Geoff Ogilvy at the WGC Match Play.

After a respectable 20th finish at the Masters he then won his maiden US Tour title at the Houston Open, walking away with over $1 million for one week's work.

Then came top-15 finishes at the Verizon Heritage and The Players, followed with a rather lucrative victory last week at Wentworth, which netted Mr and Mrs Casey a respectable 750,000 euros.

"She can pick out a new car," he said afterwards.

Overall, by my calculations, Casey has banked over £2.5m since he and Jocelyn walked up the aisle. He has also climbed to number three in the world rankings.

But perhaps most importantly, Casey has demonstrated a coolness in pressure situations that can only bode well for his chances of lifting a major before the year is out.

Sure, he wobbled slightly at the Abu Dhabi Championship, but it didn't cost him and therefore it doesn't matter.

At the Houston Open he beat JB Holmes in a sudden-death play-off and on Sunday he got up and down from a bunker to make a birdie at the 72nd hole and win by a shot from Ross Fisher.

As Tiger will testify, clutch victories breed a winning mentality, one that is sadly lacking in many of the European hopefuls regularly tipped as major contenders.

Right now, Casey is looking like Europe's best bet to win in New York at the US Open, especially when you consider the time he spends stateside on the US Tour.

If he does bring it home, it would complete a quite sublime six months of wedded bliss for the Englishman and you can be pretty sure Jocelyn will get more than a new car for her contribution.