Eight years into David Warner’s international career, it may be concluded that he prefers drinking Australian water, driving on Australian roads, watching Australian TV, breathing Australian air. The breadth of the Australian sky, the collective caw of the Australian accent as it floats across Australian cricket grounds, the sniff of Australian turf: these are David Warner’s element.
In Brisbane, Pakistan had been criticised for not bowling the proven Stuart Broad around-the-wicket angle at Warner.
In Adelaide, they compensated, spearing the new ball in at him rather than across him. Perhaps they were onto something in Brisbane: it has nothing to do with bowling tactics and everything to do with batting atmospherics.
There hasn’t been much visible difference between Warner the serial failure in England and Warner the untouchable force in Australia, except that in everything he does, he seems happier. (Batting for longer periods also tends to increase visibility). Sharper in his movements, livelier in his body, he is, both externally and internally, at home. I would venture to say that even if Stuart Broad opened the bowling at Adelaide with a Dukes ball, Warner would be 100 not out at lunch. A lunch of Australian food.