Somerset319 for 3 (Compton 156, Abell 71*, Trescothick 66) lead Yorkshire 253 (Lees 83, Leaning 57*, Trego 4-69) by 66 runs
Scorecard
Barely 24 hours after Yorkshire's chairman Colin Graves announced his plans for world domination - perhaps that is paraphrasing a bit, but you get the general idea - the Championship celebrations are not going awfully well. Rather than do the decent thing and surrender before Yorkshire's might, Somerset have been stirred into one of their best displays of the season. They might even ensure the champions finish with a poke in the eye.
Dominate English cricket for the next ten years was actually the target that Graves has given his coaching staff - and why not, as recently the impression is that their production line of England cricketers is substantially more impressive than the attempts made in certain other counties who Shall Remain Nameless.
Nevertheless, Somerset played the role of party poopers with skill. With the Championship already secured, presumably Yorkshire intend to begin world domination next April. Over the first two days, their ambitions have faded and curled like the leaves that are already beginning to fall prematurely on the roads to Headingley.
Such was the clatter of wickets around the country as the final round of the Championship season began with autumn officially upon us that Yorkshire's below-par first innings went unremarked upon. Realisation dawned, however, as conditions eased further and, by the close of the second day, Somerset's lead was 66 with seven second-innings wickets remaining.
Yorkshire's coach, Jason Gillespie, had sought to maintain his side's focus ahead of this match by listing the statistical achievements that were still in their grasp, chief among them being the lure of a record points score in Division One if they made Somerset their ninth victims of an impressive season.
But the statistics that flashed on the scoreboard 19 balls from the close of the second day were those of Nick Compton: 156 from 232 balls with 23 fours and a six. Around 16 months ago, Compton's nine-Test career ended on this ground when he entered a strange, strokeless trance against New Zealand. England, fearing a disturbing effect on their captain Alastair Cook, and somewhat suspicious of his dressing room individuality, dropped him.
The irony of his latest replacement being Sam Robson, who had even fewer shots, was apparent to some. Compton seethed, protested, responded and became demoralised, as much as he tried not to be. Until today, by his standards, he has had a pretty ordinary season. His Test career is over. But as he shared successive century stands with first Marcus Trescothick, who passed 66 in making 1,000 Championship runs for the season, and then Tom Abell, Headingley saw his more expansive range. On days like this he plays with true stature.
Compton's previous best score of the campaign was exactly 100 against Durham and his composure at the crease was such that it left one wondering why he has not achieved much more. Against the quicks, he stood as guardsman erect as if he was one of the Duke of Wellington's ablest lieutenants. Yorkshire's attack was committed enough, but as the sun bathed down upon north Leeds, the Headingley crowd had to pretend that they were perfectly content with the way their celebrations were going.
Trescothick was assisted by a dropped chance at third slip by Joe Root when he was 28, and as his innings progressed he discovered, unusually, that Compton was bounding ahead of him. The shock eventually was too much and a gentle dab in Root's first over fell to Lyth at slip. Root immediately withdrew himself from the attack.
Root's experience as a Yorkshire captain has explored the extremes. Middlesex murdered a supposedly safe declaration at Lord's; Nottinghamshire capitulated as Root stood in for Andrew Gale at Trent Bridge for the victory that brought the title.
As Abell, a product of Taunton, only 20 and with a few weeks of first-class cricket behind him, joined Compton in a stand of serene domination - 154 in 43 overs - and Yorkshire felt the end of the season upon them, Root must have feared a repeat of the former.
They say Root will captain England, and they are probably right, but nobody can create miracles to order. Even when they said that about Mike Brearley, it was part miracle, part paper talk. Reclining patiently, beginning to twig that world domination was not going to plan, the cognoscenti faked that they were not overly concerned. If they thought "tek him off" as Yorkshire's bowlers flagged in the final session, they never shouted it. That a touch of reality had crept in, however, could not be denied.
