THE First Ashes Test, which ended on Sunday in Cardiff, was what a game of cricket should be: physical, mental and moral warfare; a mixture of tragedy and farce.

As usual, the monstrous egoist Kevin Pietersen provided the farce by, in the first innings, getting himself out trying to hit a ball so far from his body that the only way to guarantee reaching it was to catch a bus, and, in the second innings, missing one as straight as a line from Euclid’s geometry.

The tragedy – and I am using the word in its proper sense to mean the downfall of a person or group owing to an inherent flaw in its character – was the shallow pretentiousness of most of the England team.

These Aussies have just lost to retirement at least four of the greatest cricketers the game has ever seen: Warne, McGrath, Gilchrist and Hayden. Yet they are still a steely band, cussed, obdurate, defiant and determined to apply themselves with relentless patience for hours and days on end.

Our boys, by contrast, behave more like celebs, or like flashy part-timers. In our first innings, all but one of them got in to double figures and then gave their wickets away. By contrast, in the Aussies’ first innings, no fewer than four of them got their heads down and went on to make centuries.

You might say that, compared to the Aussies, our boys lack seriousness. They fancy themselves too much and are, like Narcissus, in love with their own image. It’s all sponsorship deals and courting the world of celebrity and fashion.

Monty Panesar, to name just one, is already a millionaire out of personal sponsorship deals – and, as spin bowlers go, he is mediocre.

He bowls every ball alike, on the same length and at 55mph. Perhaps his deep strategy is to bore the batsman out?

It doesn’t work: he has taken only nine first class wickets all season and only one in the Cardiff Test.

As the great Shane Warne said of him: “Panesar has not played 35 Test matches. He’s played the same Test 35 times.” In other words, he has learnt nothing.

The single glorious exception to this homegrown mediocrity and lack of application was, as so often, Paul Collingwood. He played with tenacity and monumental patience, and it was his innings of six hours on Sunday which saved the match for us.

Why does the sporting press generally have such a down on Colly?

In three newspapers before the Test, I read: “There is one man in this team playing for his place – Paul Collingwood.”

So far from having to play for his place, Colly’s ought to be the first name on the teamsheet – before the selectors proceed to try to find ten other men fit to play alongside him.

Forget Twenty20 – that silly pyjama game.

The Cardiff match was the real thing: aggression, attrition, courage, a sporting plot that lasted five days, down to the last possible second.

In other words it was a TEST.

Only one incident left a dirty mark on the wonderful spectacle and that was when, late on Sunday, England sent the physio and twelfth man on to waste time.

That is bad form. And unfair play always rebounds against its perpetrators.

As I said at the start, cricket is a game involving physical, mental and moral courage.

To play unfairly is to forfeit the high moral ground. To do this hands the advantage to the opponents.

Tell ’em to stop it, Straussy, or we’ll lose the rest of the series.

■ Peter Mullen is Rector of St Michael’s, Cornhill, in the City of London, and Chaplain to the Stock Exchange.