LOSING is a fine art, and after Australia’s latest Test capitulation it’s high time we explored the correct way to lose in the game we love (and hate).

Unlike every other social protocol in cricket, where feigning indifference is everything, losing compels cricketers to feign that they care.

The greatest losers among us will have mastered that most classic of dressing room poses – head bowed, eyes fixed on the floor – a picture of complete dejection. Internally though they will be elated; cricket is over, drinking is near, and the opportunity to spend time with people you actually like beckons.

Losing officially begins with the final wicket or run. Here, it’s customary for both teams to form a single-file line and shake hands after the game. The eleven victors will stride towards you confidently, presenting a firm handshake paired with a warm, left-handed backslap, before delivering those crushing words, “well played, champ.”

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It doesn’t matter if you dropped four catches and scored a first-ball duck; if you are part of a winning team, you’ve therefore earned your ticket to ‘champ’ anyone in sight before embarking on a hedonistic post-match circuit.

But as the loser, your only option is to offer a series of limp-wristed handshakes to your victorious opponents. This is perhaps the only time in cricket when a display of alphadom is not the answer.

And avoid eye contact at all costs.

The very last thing you want to do is look into the eyes of the bloke who gave you a send-off from gully after your terrible 13 off 63 balls, who’s now praising your “gutsy” innings with an ironic smirk smeared across his stupid face.

‘Well played, champ’. Source: AP

The dressing room is where truly masterful losers show their wares. The mood should be always exaggeratedly sombre, verging on funereal.

Of course, the proactive cricketer will have already packed his or her kit in order to facilitate a quick getaway, having sensed earlier that a loss was on the cards.

You should always have an excuse prepared for your premature departure. A ‘family dinner’ is a safe option (although obviously a lie) and unlikely to attract too much scrutiny. And under no circumstances should you announce that you have booked dinner with your girlfriend at an exclusive Sydney restaurant.

Some will even dispense with the obligatory post-match shower after a loss, but those cricketers will be treated with silent contempt – and rightly so, for the post-match shower is a ritual.

But scrub as hard as you want, you’ll never get that scent of failure and self-loathing out. All the Lynx Africa in the world can’t rid you of that mediocre fourth grade stench.

I’m sure many of you are wondering why a fully-grown adult would voluntarily opt for an awkward display of public nudity in front of 10 teammates and a couple of questionable ‘club officials’ (who always seem to hover around in the dressing room for a little too long; their eager eyes darting around the room like pinballs) when the alternative is a relaxed shower at home, with liberal access to Aesop products and soft bath mats – not to mention privacy.

Well, if you don’t get naked in front of your teammates, they will assume that you are hiding something. It’s like Hillary’s emails, or Trump’s tax return. Just show us what you’ve got.

There are few moments in cricket where a loss comes as a surprise. In fact, losing is generally on the cards long before the winning run is scored or wicket is taken. It’s apparent for hours, sometimes days.

If you get sent in on a green seamer and they’ve got four quicks over 6 foot 3, for instance, you can pretty much pencil in a notch in the ‘loss’ column before a ball is bowled. What happens in between the start of play and post-match beers is immaterial.

Cricketers pretend like the result is still up for grabs, even when it’s not. It’s like when my sister – knowing my fascination in astrology – bought me a star for my 30th birthday.

There’s literally a star in the Triangulum Galaxy (M33, NGC 598) with my name on it. But of course the reality is that the star is dead, much like my hopes and dreams; and most certainly like the chance of us turning around a result on the performance of three divorcees and six borderline alcoholics with exclusion visas.

Losing is usually worst when defending a meagre total, or chasing an enormous sum. It’s always a slow march towards death. Each step is painful.

A maiden over, a dot ball, a leg-bye, a no-ball – they’re all speed bumps in the process of your executioner dropping the guillotine. Except you’re kind of looking forward to it because it means that all of this is over.

You can leave this decrepit suburban hell, stop off at 7/11 for a slurpee; pull into McDonalds for a McFlurry or just drive straight home for a Netflix marathon, all while avoiding your Mum who will inevitably ask you “how did you go?”

It’s weird that she asks that every week. Either that or “who’s winning?”

None of us are, mum. None of us are.

But losing in cricket isn’t the end of the world. Napoleon, for example, had his fair share of losses and he remains an iconic leader.

Saying that, he wouldn’t cut it in today’s world. He was a bloke with small-man syndrome, no rig, no levers and a terrible record away from home. Good bloke though.