From the shameful margin of defeat to losing two days of Ricky Ponting’s commentary, everything that could go wrong for Australia in the first Test did go wrong.

It started with our top order exhibiting a woeful lack of intent which was only matched for inertia by a fielding performance some described as under-primed, and others as possibly sedated.

Then we played Virat Kohli back in to form while gently acclimatising the babyfaced Yashasvi Jaiswal, all while slow-roasting our precious fast bowling cartel to a crisp in the 35 degree sun.

Add the quicks turning on the batsmen in retaliation, the forgettable debut of Nathan McSweeney and the low point of Marnus Labuschagne’s cafeteria bouncers, and you could be forgiven for thinking India’s first innings was a software glitch.

By the close of day three we were left praying for a miracle, with many pleading our boys could return the next morning at 3/12 chasing 534 and bravely forfeit so the last two days could be used for public mourning and another Argus Review.

The fallout has been immense, with Australia’s vibeless defeat seeing everyone including India, an incensed Australian public and even Father Time bearing down on Pat Cummins’ side.

And with just over a week until another bowler-friendly nightmare under lights in Adelaide, Australia has 99 problems and the pitch ain’t one.

The side is legless against Jasprit Bumrah, the only genuine 40-plus average in the batting unit is its median age, and our beleaguered selectors are sandwiched between accountability and a bare cupboard.

On the other hand, India are burning $100 bills with cigars as they luxuriate in depth, with headliners in Rohit Sharma, Shubman Gill, Mohammad Shami, Ravi Ashwin and Ravindra Jadeja all frothing for their turn to blow the toupees off their stagnating opponents.

And worst part of this whole calamity?

It wasn’t that Cummins’ men crashed to a star-studded Indian team, nor how easily the tourists have left our plans as ramshackle as the inside of an Airbnb after a bucks party.

It wasn’t even the sight of the players laughing with their tormentors in the immediate aftermath while the rest of us scratched our eyes out with forks.

Nope, it was the whimperish nature of the surrender that shocked the public and sheared through the very heart of Aussie cricket’s hairy chest.

In simple terms, Australia’s gusto at Optus Stadium was weaker than servo coffee.

There were teapot stances for days, the bowlers were continually spoken down to by Jaiswal – a kid who looks like he shouldn’t have his red Ps, let alone a Test cap – all while Cummins led like a skipper who desperately needs to grow some hemorrhoids.

But the most grim aspect?

Not only did India sensationally mug our boys like the tired pensioners they are, they have also held an uncomfortable mirror up to us – the public.

Only weeks ago, this nation sneered at Dave Warner’s offer to come out of retirement to help Australia through their chronic opener shortage.

Prior to this, he was continually mocked for an extended farewell tour last summer even though it celebrated one of the most decorated batsmen in history, and better yet, left Marcus Harris out of the side for another series.

While Warner’s presence alone wouldn’t have breached the 200-odd run gap, imagine having a spark plug on hand like the 112-gamer amid the funeral at Perth?

Australia would’ve loved someone like the Matraville boy to get under India’s bonnet and remind them they weren’t playing a team of holograms.

Warner leaves the SCG for the final time in January 2024. (Photo by Darrian Traynor/Getty Images)

Warner’s ways as an uncharitable warhead who’d reflect stress back through bristling strokeplay or session-upon-session of interminable white noise in the field was a far cry from the low-vibrational offerings of the mannequins at Optus Stadium.

Put simply, Warner would’ve awoken Australia from its wallpaper fielding and provided a scoring threat that – respectfully to Usman Khawaja and McSweeney – would’ve been like an autobahn alongside a school zone.

Of course, the NSW boy was long in the tooth when he retired and nobody is suggesting he should be recalled, even though beggars can’t be choosers and we should be pleading for any shot of prune juice available for this constipated line-up.

And yes, his unexplained role in Sandpapergate continues to leave a sour taste, with many Australians even remarking that Donald Trump’s recall to the White House was certainly abominable, but at least they weren’t reversing Warner’s captaincy ban.

But it’s okay to feel an appreciation for the former opener while also acknowledging he was a woodpecker too.

In a team that is simply too nice with its genteel persona, clean disciplinary record and healthy relationship with its opponents, maybe Warner’s long farewell tour wasn’t long enough.

And while nobody is calling for a repeat of Cape Town, nor a competition of who can be fined the highest percentage of their match fee, just a smidge of mongrel in his honour would be nice.

Here’s hoping our boys tip the cap to our junkyard dog in Adelaide by exhibiting a modicum of pluck, lest risk an even more painful lap of honour this summer from India.