Listening to the comments about Ricky Ponting before the Ashes, you would be forgiven for thinking that Australia are being captained by a latter-day J.W.H.T. Douglas, the man who led England to an Ashes whitewash in 1920-21 and whose idea of motivation was to tell one of his players: “There's no man in England I'd rather bowl to, and none I'd rather bat against.”

So what does that make Andrew Strauss, so comprehensively outmanoeuvred by Ponting over five days at the SWALEC Stadium?

Like complaints of too much noise in a war zone, much of the focus since Cardiff has been on the wrong thing. Yes, there was some gamesmanship - although, in truth, it was remarkable how little time was wasted on the last day; yes, it was done clumsily; but, no, Ponting did not go overboard with his post-match criticisms, simply answering a straight question in straightforward fashion - although the next time he harasses an umpire after a decision has gone against his team, you might reflect that there is no need to be lectured by Australia on the “spirit of the game”.

If Ponting lost the post-match mutterings, there is no doubt who won where it mattered. Other than during the death throes of the match, when the Australia captain's bowling changes could be questioned - why no Michael Clarke and why so little of Ben Hilfenhaus? - there is no doubt that he had the best of the opening rounds. He landed a couple of punches on the England captain, who, throughout, appeared more interested in taking the bout to the finish than looking at any stage for the knockout blow.

This may come as news to those who listened to Jeff Thomson's comments about Ponting before the series - “he's a crap captain and has always been a crap captain”. Thommo's verbal assaults are usually delivered with about as much consideration as his bowling, which, he admitted, was simply the result of shuffling up and going “whang”. He is also a member of the gang who protect the reputation of Ian Chappell as the finest captain Australia has had and who, like a father who thinks no man is good enough for his daughter, have difficulty in recognising the charms of those who have followed him.

There was, though, another view expressed about Ponting's captaincy, by a man who knows a thing or two. A couple of Australian summers ago, when Ponting's captaincy was questioned again after the row between Harbhajan Singh and Andrew Symonds, Richie Benaud was asked to throw his hat into the ring with those suggesting Ponting should be sacked. Benaud not only refused to do so, he offered a strong endorsement of the Australia captain. “I think he's done an outstanding job,” he said. “He's made them hungry to win again.”

Ponting's team certainly looked hungry in Cardiff, testament to the enduring competitive instinct of the captain, who said, before the game, that he is as passionate about this series as any he has been involved in. What happens in the dressing room is as important as anything on the field, which makes a captain difficult to evaluate, but it appears from a distance that Ponting has greater empathy with this team than any other he has captained.

Perhaps more than before, he sees this as his team, the young players as his young players, so that he is close to the ideal of “father confessor as well as an object of fear and inspiration” that Alan Ross, the cricket writer, described. When South Africa were beaten last winter, Ponting described the victory as his greatest as captain, quite an endorsement when you think that previously he was a part of one of the greatest teams of all time.

He had a particularly good match in Cardiff: got his selections spot on, scored big runs at a decent lick, encouraged his players to up the tempo on the fourth day and then made a brilliant declaration. On recent form, England would have dithered and meandered, as they did twice in the winter in the Caribbean. He played his part in undermining some of England's batsmen, setting excellent fields for Ravi Bopara and Kevin Pietersen, forever buzzing around, adjusting fields and refusing to let batsmen settle.

And Strauss? There were no runs to speak of; there was confusion at the start of Australia's innings when Andrew Flintoff, the team's battering ram, was ignored in favour of Stuart Broad - in whom Strauss had too much faith throughout the match - even though it was clear that the plan was to bombard Phillip Hughes, and there was a palpable sense of drift throughout the Australia innings.

This was especially apparent during Saturday's play, as England began the day within touching distance of their opponents and finished with them out of sight. A number of things betrayed the captain's innermost thoughts: the furtive looks to the heavens for the hoped-for rain, the deep-set fields with the second new ball that encouraged a slow death by singles and the inertia when Monty Panesar was bowling. It might be said that a captain not busy winning is one who is busy losing.

Over the past few months, Strauss's equanimity, his grace under pressure and his phlegmatic nature have been seen to be an important part of the reason why England have recovered so quickly from the

Kevin Pietersen/Peter Moores fiasco. Outward serenity is a good thing, providing that it camouflages a mind that is constantly open to the possibilities of the moment rather than one that is blank or fearful of the ultimate outcome.

England's pre-Ashes trip to Ypres was designed to inspire, but as a friend commented to me recently, it was an odd choice, there being no better example in history of lions being led by lambs. Let us hope it was a history lesson that Strauss did not take to heart.

Bumble’s buddy system bears fruit – albeit a decade late for me

Forget Paul Collingwood, Monty Panesar or James Anderson, it was David “Bumble” Lloyd wot drew it. Before his reincarnation as a madcap commentator, primus inter pares, he was England coach and it was in that guise on the tour to the West Indies in 1998 that he introduced the “buddy system” as a way of improving the batting of England’s tailenders.

The concept is as simple as it is brilliant. Batsmen have expertise in batting; bowlers do not. The batting coach has enough problems on his hands trying to prevent the top six giving away their wickets, or

trying to sweep balls six feet outside off stump on to their heads, to devote his time and energies to the tail.

So why not pair up batsmen and bowlers? It improves the coaching skills of the batsmen, so broadening their post-career options, and the batting skills of the bowlers, so shortening the time they must spend in the field doing what they are paid to do. It also improves that intangible thing called team spirit. My own “buddy” on that tour was Angus Fraser, whose weakness I quickly realised, with just a smidgin of anticipation, was the short ball.

I detected a streak of yellow and an iffy technique and set to work bombarding him with great pleasure from about 12 yards, revenge for all those nets where I had been on the receiving end. My advice to him was to stand a little taller and pick his bat up higher, so that he wouldn’t overbalance at the crease.

The next time he walked out to bat, he did so as Tony Greig reincarnate: standing upright, bat off the ground, high pick-up. He was yorked first ball. I gave up.