Rory Burns- England's Ashes hero par excellence.

Rory Burns - England's Ashes hero par excellence.

Rory Burns, English cricket's hero par excellence must have prayed for days like this. Edgbaston was still, slightly humid, naturally expectant and for a moment or two it thought of its sparkling predecessors. It thought of its towering giants, men such as Ian Botham, Len Hutton, Basil D'Oliveira, Ted Dexter, Cyril Washbrook, Alan Lamb, WG Grace, Dennis Amiss, Geoff Boycott and John Edrich, players of immense character and stature, players who were hungry for runs and never afraid to express the full range of their undoubted talents.

Yesterday though it was the turn of the young Surrey slogger  Rory Burns to make the most emphatic of statements, underlining his signature at the right time and in the right place. For this was the second day of the Ashes Test, rather like a royal coronation in as much as it may be the one occasion when trumpets are blown and the heaving crowds roar for all their worth. |It is, quite possibly, one of the oldest sporting conflicts between two nations who can barely stand each other.

For as long as we can remember there has been lively banter at its most insulting, mutual hatred and disapproval of each other, loathing, intolerance but at the end of the day a reluctant handshake if they're feeling up to it. Cricket seems to gain a genuine pleasure from an England-Australia  dust up because both teams seem to get a sadistic thrill out of each other's misfortune. This may not be the spirit in which sport should be played but this is the Ashes where two sets of gladiators clash shields and remain fixed on the one idea of striking each other to the ground.

As the gates at Edgbaston opened, thousands of loud, vociferous, feverish, pumped up, jovial England supporters surged onto the terraces, breathing fire and brimstone. Throughout the day they would keep up the most insistent racket, a noisy cacophony of good, old fashioned English songs, salty ditties designed not only to unsettle the Aussies but also ensure that they were the home team with home advantage. They were there to see England snatch back the Ashes again from Australia and nothing would stop them now.

Small children with ice creams, teenagers with vigorous chants and adults with masculine cheers, sat patiently waiting in enormous anticipation of the full blossom and finery of an England batting attack. The great cricketing commentators Neville Cardus and John Arlott would have waxed endlessly lyrical about an Ashes confrontation convinced that an English cricketing landscape was the loveliest and most picturesque of them all.

The Ashes though is still haunted and traumatised by the Body Line series over 80 years ago when the gentleman who was Douglas Jardine, the skipper, was accompanied by Harold Larwood and company. Now they terrorised the Australians with what seemed at the time some of the most damaging and destructive bowling ever seen. Forever more it will always be considered to be some of the most illegal cricket anybody has witnessed but then none of us could have known it at the time.

And so it was that we find ourselves back in the current day. World Champions England came into this match still shaking ever so slightly after a victory against Ireland which was never really comfortable. However, after brushing the Australian batting side all out for a seemingly meagre 284, England came bounding out of the Edgbaston pavilion like men with grenades in their hands. They were upright, upstanding, civilised and dignified men, men on a mission, men intent on wreaking havoc, mayhem and pandemonium, men with shrewd and perceptive eyes, men of the finest stock and breeding.

So it was that the main focus was on one Rory Burns, helmet fixed properly to his head, gloved hands clutching his bat rather like one of those City of London gents with a bowler hat on their head, the Financial Times firmly tucked under their arms and an umbrella over their heads to prevent rain. Burns looked very neat, well organised, methodical and desperate to impress. Burns had been selected for the England side because those in the know think this kid will go far. Of course the doubters may have thought otherwise but then what did they know about cricket? This was Burns time to establish himself in the England side, to build an innings of immense maturity and class.

After Jason Roy had carelessly lost his wicket to a catch at second slip for 10, Burns took complete command. He dug his bat purposefully and dogmatically into the ground like one of those construction workers all over London building houses for the next generation. Burns though is more of the pavement artist, mixing his watercolours and dabbing his impressionistic colours onto the paper. For the entire day Burns was all deep thought, intense concentration and youthful zest. He did everything English cricket hoped he would.

Burns was England's ultimate risk assessor, judging, measuring, analysing, forever vigilant, oozing both composure and an admirable doggedness of character that had to be admired. Soon he would be revealing a huge and varied array of violent driving through the covers, mid on and off, gorgeous shots that were swept off the back foot sweetly and contemptuously while always taking the time to watch the pigeons thoughtfully if he had a spare moment or two. Burns flicked, snicked, swung, clobbered and hammered for four at anything that might have dropped loose or was there to be hit.

In no time at all Burns reached his century with all the effortlessness of a gardener pruning their roses. By stumps at the end of the day Burns was on 125 not out. Some of the more bright eyed dreamers and optimists once again thought of Len Hutton 80 years ago when Hutton decided to take out all of his pent up frustration on Australia with that mammoth score of 364 in an England total of just over 900. Oh if only Burns could do the same to the present day crop of Baggy Green Caps.

Then England wobbled and collapsed ever so slightly. England captain Joe Root, who had begun his innings nudging the ball cleverly to all sides of the ground and cutting the ball powerfully when necessary, was cheaply caught and bowled by Peter Siddell. Root was followed hopefully by Joss Buttler, World Cup winning man of the hour, spent a brief occupation at the crease before falling for only five and then Jon Denly was unfortunately out for 18, lbw.

Rory Burns though stood tall and commanding while others were losing their heads. He slashed wildly at times but there was a controlled ease about Burns batting that never really looked like letting up. His footwork had all the nimbleness of a ballroom dancer and his shot selection reminded you of a poker player carefully weighing up their cards.

When stumps were drawn at the end of the day, Burns took off his helmet, ran his hands through his hair and then acknowledged the Edgbaston crowd with a flourish of the bat. Cricket let out a satisfied sigh, realising at once that they may have seen the next Ian Botham but tempering their appreciation with a mild concern about the game's commercial development.

For the first time in Ashes history both England and Australia wore numbers on their shirts, a concession to modern times of course but hard to accept for the many traditionalists. At this rate English cricket may have to get used to rock bands and silly gimmickry. What on earth would Sir Donald Bradman have thought of it all? The mind boggles.