Yea, verily, let it be known that very little has changed, because those who have pledged their souls to the creed of bat were at it again yesterday on all roads leading the MCG."For this, Lord, we give thanks," was what Graham Fogarty was muttering in his thick Manchester accent while ambling through Birrarung Marr, not long before Ricky Ponting won the toss.

A Pom praying for Australia? That couldn't be right. And it wasn't. The lines the tourist was practising are the ones he will be reciting today at a friend's wedding. As for Australia's prospects of redeeming its first Test loss to South Africa, you could almost see a pair of horns sprouting from Fogarty's scalp as he wished Ponting's men to the devil.

"I'm praying that Australia loses the series three-nil," he said. "You need to pay for the arrogance when your blokes were on top."If he was about to mention that pride goeth before the fall, as the Good Book states, he didn't get the chance, because the Melbourne mate playing tour guide silenced him with a dismissive wave and a not-on-your-life smile.

It was a brave attempt at bravado, but the nagging fear that another defeat might be in the offing made his beaming display of dental work less than convincing.And who could blame him? The same dreadful thought was weighing on the minds of many in the 63,263-strong crowd.

Not that the start of Boxing Day Test was a glum affair - far from it. Caped crusaders draped in the Australian flag were strutting, as they always do. Likewise the faction that favours green-and-gold face paint and fright wigs.But if you scratched that surface confidence, it was blind faith, not the moral certainty of only a year or two ago, that sustained a stadium of anxious hearts.

Take 48-year-old Sydney transplant Barry Hogan, who was still singing soprano when he saw his first Test in 1969. That was against England at the SCG, and if history can be mined for omens, the loss he witnessed didn't bode well.

"They should go to Shane Warne on bended knee and make him captain," said Hogan, who might have been wishing for the Second Coming as he hailed the spinmeister as "the best captain we never had". At the creeping queue to extract cash from the ATM in the wall of the Olympic Stand, Perth's lacklustre bowling drew plenty of vitriol.

At the end of the line, Betty Cuthbert's statue gaped open-mouthed at some of the things being said. "Our bowlers were fertiliser," said George Postolides, who didn't actually use the word fertiliser. "Warnie could have saved us."

See, that salvation thing again - and the first ball had yet to be bowled. When it was - and just minutes later, when the woebegone Matthew Hayden was caught for eight measly runs - that longing for a saviour circled the stands faster than a Mexican wave.

But not where Jo Roads was standing. She was too busy preaching the Boxing Day gospel to nephew Jasper, a 17-year-old from Brisbane attending his very first match. "His family just isn't into cricket, so the poor kid has never been exposed to this great game," said Ms Roads, who might be every male devotee's idea of the perfect grandstand soulmate.

Blonde and vivacious, she cited stats and famous victories as if she had written cricket's catechism. By day's end, with Australia holding its own and Ponting out for a much-needed 101, Aunty Jo's preaching had won a recruit to the faith of wicket and stumps.

"It was a lot better than trying to follow it on the TV, especially when Ponting made his century -- that was awesome," said Jasper. "So, yeah, I guess you could say I'm a convert." High above the MCG, the cricket gods were smiling.