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October 30, 2009

The genesis of a cricket nut

Posted by Cricinfo - 3 weeks, 1 day ago in Fans

From Gopal Rangachary, India

	The late 70s was a good time in India to become a cricket fan © Getty Images

Are you born a cricket nut or do you become one? At least in my case, that is the one thing I can’t blame my genes for (I have successfully blamed them for a variety of character flaws from being disorganised to having ghastly handwriting). My father was apparently anti-cricket - thought it was a waste of time – and if he had lived long enough to see me through my teenage, the world of cricket nuttiness’ would have lost me.

I have impeccable pedigree though for a cricket nut. I was born near the home of cricket (no, not in the Lord’s pavilion. It would have been impossible to have done so, as women weren’t allowed in at the time). Actually I was probably born closer to Edgbaston than to Lord’s, but at least in the country that invented cricket – and when I was seven moved to the new spiritual home of cricket, India. My primary school was at Bramall Lane in Sheffield, which is the only inactive Test venue in England today. I understand there was a turgid Test played out there about 100 years ago, where England lost to Australia.

My early recollections of sport in England are patchy. I vaguely remember kicking (or given my motor skills, missing) a football a few times, and playing one game of cricket in the street. My duties were vaguely described to me as “fielding”, and I remember being positioned at what would be a very deep long-on at the Adelaide Oval, and probably at the back of the bar on most Test grounds nowadays. Needless to say, it didn’t capture the imagination too much.

The first cricket moment I can recall was in early 1978, a few months after we came back to India. Watching a few games of backyard cricket had given me some rudimentary knowledge of the game. You needed to hit the ball as far as you could, and run back and forth as many times as possible, is as far as I had got.

Armed with this deep insight, I sat in front of a television to watch what I later realised was the first-ever series telecast live on Indian TV( India vs Pakistan in Pakistan). Indian TV, in those days, and for about 15 years thereafter meant those who were affluent enough to afford a television could watch a few hours of sanitised fare offered by the state broadcaster, Doordarshan.

The match was apparently headed for a tight finish. Pakistan needed about 150 runs in an hour and a half, and one of my cousins bet a sum of 10 paisa (the equivalent of a one quarter of one US cent), that India would lose the match. Doing some shrewd calculation, I figured that it would be impossible to run back and forth a 150 times in an hour and a half, and therefore challenged him. Unfortunately, I hadn’t been told about the existence of fours and sixes (and of some distinctly unchallenging India bowling), and India promptly went on to lose. I don’t actually recall paying up though.

The loss was followed by the inevitable soul searching and recrimination, a process which was to create a lifelong impression on me. The conversation went like this:

Me: Who is our captain?
Cousin: A chap called Bedi.
Me: How many runs did he score?
Cousin: Zero.
Me: Our captain himself scored zero. Are we such a bad team?
Cousin: No. We have one great player called Gavaskar.
Me: How much did Gavaskar score?
Cousin: He scored 97, and would have scored more if the umpire didn’t give him out wrongly.

At the end of that conversation, I was a Gavaskar fan, a Bedi detractor and a lifelong believer in the injustice of Pakistani umpiring. Rarely can impressions formed on such rickety foundations prove so long lasting. Gavaskar is still the greatest opening batsman of all time, and the greatest Indian batsman I have seen.In the late 70s being a Gavaskar fan, obviously meant being anti-Viswanath, the cricketing equivalent of George W Bush’s “If you ain’t with us, you are against us” philosophy. So I must admit that I found Vishy’s double-hundred against England at Madras excruciating, and silently revelled in his misery in Pakistan. Now I scour YouTube in vain for the occasional clip of that famed square cut!

Nor did I enjoy Gavaskar’s batting too much. Most of the time I spent biting my nails, and indulging in various superstitions, of sitting in particular positions while watching him, petrified that he’d make a mistake and I would have to face the taunts of the Viswanath camp.

The late 70s was a good time in India to become a cricket fan. Even by today’s breakneck pace of international scheduling, it was a busy time for Indian cricket. In the space of a couple of years, India had home series against West Indies, Australia and Pakistan and sandwiched between that was a tour of England and the World Cup (Maybe I can now expect a stern letter from the ICC for not calling it the 1979 ICC Cricket World Cup, or an equally ridiculous name that they have retroactively come up with).

Looking back at this period, I am amazed at how I progressed from a very sketchy knowledge of the game at the start of that West Indies series in 1978, to a frenzied spectator at Madras’ Chepauk stadium towards the end of the India-Pakistan series in Jan 1980.

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October 26, 2009

Mystery and Magic: Iverson, Ramadhin, Gleeson and Mendis

Posted by Cricinfo - 3 weeks, 5 days ago in Bowling

From S.Giridhar and V.J. Raghunath, India

	Australian bowler John Gleeson demonstrates his grip © Cricinfo Ltd

A prison cell during World War II: An Australian prisoner of war is spinning a ping-pong ball to pass time. Iverson is trying out different grips to flick and turn the ping-pong ball against the wall. He finds he can turn the ball both ways by flicking the bent middle finger on either side of the ball and keeps practicing. When the war is over, Iverson unleashes this in Sheffield Shield. Called to play against Freddie Brown’s English team in 50-51, he takes 6 for 27 in the second innings of the third Test in Sydney…..

Iverson is the pioneer, the “first man ever” in this story about right-arm mystery spinners. If Bosanquet introduced the googly to add magic to leg spin and if Saqlain discovered the doosra to spice up offspin, then Iverson it was who first showed the world the magic of imparting spin either way with fingers in a manner difficult for batsmen to fathom.

How rare is the mystery finger spinner? The title of our article itself contains the names of all the well-known exponents of this art form. There are over 150 spinners in Test history but Iverson, Ramadhin, Gleeson and Mendis occupy the table of mystique – the Harry Potters of cricket.

Today’s torch bearer: Just a few matches into his international career, a lethal delivery of his that turns less than the width of a bat has already been christened the “carrom ball”. The buzz around the ground when Ajantha Mendis is called on to bowl is very different – the air of great expectancy is such that the excitement simply boils over. Uncannily, there is a military connection here too, for Mendis comes from the Sri Lankan Army.

There is a truly wonderful close-up photograph of Iverson’s grip in the Wisden Almanack. And we who have watched Mendis’ grip in great detail over TV would be completely forgiven if we thought the hand holding the ball in that photograph was that of Iverson. The grip is all about how using the thumb and middle finger the ball will be flicked or propelled. It will be the middle finger that will decide whether the ball will go one way or the other. Not much turn but that lethal amount enough for an edge, LBW or bowled. Bowlers who know what is involved in delivering the ball, will be the first to acknowledge that to propel a cricket ball over 20 yards with the middle finger imparting spin calls for extraordinarily strong fingers. It is probably many times harder than the flipper which is squeezed out between thumb and finger.

The Magician’s Demeanor: Sonny Ramadhin brought a mystique to his bowling. Sleeves buttoned up always, wearing a cap when bowling, fast whirring action, Ramadhin created a Houdini-like atmosphere when he bowled.

Iverson of Australia played just one Test series in 1950-51 in which he took 21 wickets. An injury and he was gone for ever. Yet twenty years later when an unknown bowler called Gleeson was spotted in New South Wales, they said, “look at Gleeson, he is bowling Iversons!” The lure of mystery is something irresistible. Perhaps that was the reason Gideon Haigh the cricket historian wrote his painstakingly researched biography of Iverson - a biography not of a cricketer who played just five Tests or who took his own life many years later but of a pioneer who gave cricket something new.

Ramadhin appeared on the world stage around this time but played for a full decade. In 43 Tests, Ramadhin took 158 wickets. Bowling in tandem with the left-arm spinner Alf Valentine, Ramadhin caused havoc in England. His match figures of 11 for 182 in the famous series win against England in 1950 and his partnership with Valentine immortalized him in calypso. Ramadhin bowled his off break with his middle finger down the seam (a conventional off spinner would have this across the seam) and surprised batsmen with the odd ball from the leg with no apparent change of action. The hype over his disguised leggie mesmerised the English batsmen who were even more tied to the crease than usual – doubt and demon freezing their minds. However Down Under, the Australians decided to play him with better footwork and go down the wicket to play him off the pitch, a ploy that made him much less of a problem. In his second tour of England in 1957, Ramadhin started sensationally by spinning England out in the first innings of the first Test in Edgbaston. But in the second innings, May and Cowdrey made a then record third-wicket partnership of 411. They played a lot with their pads stretched forward, playing outside the line and treating him as an off spinner, ending his ascendancy forever. An amazing facet of Ramadhin’s bowling is that he got a whopping 61.5 % of his dismissals entirely by himself —that is he got them bowled or LBW or C&B. In this aspect he is No. 1 among all bowlers – fast and slow - with 150 or more wickets.

Johnny Gleeson started late – and was in late twenties when he made his debut in Sheffield Shield cricket. Catching the eye of Benaud and Bradman, Gleeson was pitchforked into the Australian team. Off a long run, Gleeson spun the ball both ways but used as a stock bowler by Lawry he lost his nip soon. Gleeson played 29 Tests for 93 wickets and on only three occasions did he take a five-for in an innings. Uncharitable though it may seem, Gleeson among the four mystery spinners appears the most prosaic. Perhaps we are biased by the fact that we saw him bowl against India in 1969 along with Mallet and found Mallet to be the more dangerous. He seemed accurate enough but not dangerous and the Indians seemed to pick him. Borde the stalwart Indian batsman said that was because Indians read the bowler’s hand rather than off the pitch.

And after Gleeson, for a long time - 36 years to be precise – there was not a whiff of the mystery spinner till Mendis burst on the scene. In nine matches he has 42 wickets; he already has a ten-wicket haul in a Test match. The picture of Dravid completely bamboozled by the carrom ball that knocked his off stump is fresh in everyone’s mind. But the TV is an inexorable enemy. Every bit of his action is being minutely examined. His googly anyway was easier to pick as it came of a clearly loopier trajectory. Pakistan played him so well recently that he was dropped. The pressure is only going to increase. The problem with these mystery spinners is that the minute they are sorted by batsmen they seem to wither away.

We can do no better than conclude with these words of Gideon Haigh: “….when mystery wears off there must be a residue of skill and resilience. Indeed, many international cricket careers now unfold like whodunits solved in the first 30 pages; after that, the player is a quarry on the run, trying to stay a step ahead of his opponents…..The acid test of Ajantha Mendis, then, is not what he is doing now, but how his game is standing up in two years' time.”

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October 24, 2009

Mystery of the missing wrist-spinners

Posted by Cricinfo - 4 weeks ago in Bowling

From R .Giridharan, India

	England has had plenty of quality finger spinners like Derek Underwood, but where are the wrist-spinners? © Getty Images

An arrogant cricketing official once dismissed a young Kapil Dev, “There are no fast bowlers in India”. One wonders whether aspiring wrist-spinners in England, New Zealand and South Africa were rebuffed in similar ways. This article is a humble attempt to identify the factors that conspired against the emergence of any worthwhile wrist spinner from these countries.

Nature, of course, is the first stumbling block. The wickets in England and New Zealand are soft and green and the outfields moist, breaking the heart of any wrist spinner. Overcast skies encouraged captains to prefer gentle wobblers over the tweaker. In South Africa, wickets are harder, but loaded with juice that the quicks can exploit. Currie Cup, the premier domestic competition was played for long with two balls, thereby keeping the ball newer for longer periods. The quicks therefore remain in the hunt throughout.

The three teams believe in keeping things tight, drying up easy runs and throttling the opposition, especially when spinners are bowling. Spinners are expected to play second fiddle and perform effective hold-ups while the quicks rest, refresh and recharge. Finger spinners fit the bill admirably. Indeed, Lohmann, Verity, Lock, Laker, Underwood, Giles, Panesar (Eng), Tayfield, Symcox, Boje (SA), Dipak Patel, Bracewell, Vettori (NZ) all made their way into the playing eleven as personifications of accuracy, before carving their own niche. The aggressive, predatory worldview of the wrist-spinner would probably be discarded in such a milieu.

Cricket in these countries is seen more as a craft and a science. A finger spinner who wears down the batsman by constantly hammering at his weakness is a natural choice. The greater reliability and predictability of the finger spinner allied with his greater destructive potential on a wearing wicket offers a package that is customised and therefore immediately embraced.

Wrist-spinners ride the chariots of rebellion. Their mental aggression belies their small frames and gentle image of a spinner. Their desire to make things happen, at times makes them profligate, an anathema to risk-averse captains. They are their own men and a coach’s nightmare, unless the coach is a patient and wise soul.

The game’s biggest oddities are wrist-spinners, Chandra (with a deformed hand), Paul Adams (frog-in-a-blender action), Ajantha Mendis (carrom-ball grip) to name a few. Formal coaching structures in conservative establishments prevalent in these countries are likely to frown upon such mavericks. Wristwork is often associated with oriental magic, a view accentuated by the plethora of wrist spinners emerging from the subcontinent as well as the artful hockey players.

Wrist-spinners are generally smaller in build, sloppier in the outfield and more likely to be genuine rabbits with the bat. There are notable exceptions like Kumble and Warne, but MacGill, Chandra, Hirwani, Qadir, Mendis, Bob Holland, Danish Kaneria do reinforce the stereotype. Thus the overall utility of a wrist-spinner when benchmarked against conventional yardsticks would be lower.

Cricket, like any other discipline, thrives on role models. The home-grown models like Denis Compton, Ken Barrington and Mike Atherton were peerless batsmen and used wrist spin as a pleasurable past time. Even Johnny Wardle, the most seasoned English purveyor of this art, bowled finger spin at home. The leading overseas practitioners were two Pakistani allrounders, Mushtaq Mohammad and Intikhab Alam apart from the peerless Garry Sobers. Thus a role model for a specialist wrist spinner did not exist in England.

Parallels can be drawn with the Indian experience where, till the emergence of Javagal Srinath, India’s new-ball bowlers were allrounders of varying genuineness. New Zealand and South Africa are profoundly impacted by the old art. Anil Kumble, Mushtaq Ahmed and Shane Warne have played county cricket in recent times and may be a revolution is taking place silently.

Many facets of wrist spin are counter-intuitive and are, unsurprisingly, shunned by orthodoxy. Wrist spin requires a mix of art and adventure sport. Zimbabwe could unearth a Paul Strang, grassroots cricket in India and Kapil Dev could help the country shed its aversion to pace. A venture capitalist is required in England, South Africa and New Zealand.

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October 20, 2009

Finetuning D/L method for Twenty20s

Posted by Cricinfo - on 10/20/2009 in Twenty20

From Tim Parsons, United Kingdom

	How many Powerplay overs should West Indies have got in the rain-interrupted Twenty20 game against England? © Getty Images

I think the Duckworth-Lewis system for Twenty20 games needs reviewing. This occurred to me after England's World Twenty20 match against West Indies in June. To recap: England scored 161 in their 20 overs and, following a rain-delay, West Indies were set a revised target of 80 from nine overs. The number of Powerplay overs was reduced from six to three.

This was all mathematically logical, but the revised target presented West Indies with an easier target. To understand why, think about it this way. It is as if West Indies were told: you have already batted for eleven overs, the score is 81 for 0, and you have a further 80 runs to make to win. Not only that, but three of the remaining nine overs are Powerplay overs. Which team wouldn't accept that with open arms?

The reason why this target was too soft boils down to two things that make Twenty20 different from the 50-over game 1. Powerplay overs are much more valuable in most Twenty20 games than most 50-over games. 2. High scoring-rates can be more easily maintained for the lower number of overs you get in a reduced Twenty20 game. So, in the England-West Indies match, a fairer target would have been possibly nearer 85 or even 90 with no Powerplay overs left.

Here are two ways the ICC could tweak the D/L system for Twenty20 games. 1. Reduce the number of Powerplay overs in a linear rather than a proportionate way. By that I mean that if the number of overs remaining is halved, the number of Powerplay overs should not be halved but reduced by the number of total overs reduced. For example, if the number of overs is reduced by one, from 20 to 19, the number of Powerplay overs should be reduced by one, from six to five. This seems to me to be logical and mathematically justifiable 2. Consider recalibrating the maths slightly for the shortened version of the game to require proportionately higher scoring-rates as the number of overs remaining is reduced. I accept that the second suggestion is, for a layman like me, less easy to justify mathematically, but the first seems to me to be logical, mathematically understandable, and obvious. The D/L system has worked well in ODIs even though it is incomprehensible to the average person. I can live with that as long as it is logical. But if it comes to the point where the system is both incomprehensible and illogical then that is surely the time for it to be changed.

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October 12, 2009

The chinaman bowler - odd man in

Posted by Cricinfo - on 10/12/2009 in Bowling

From S.Giridhar and V.J. Raghunath, India

	South Africa's Paul Adams is one of the most successful chinaman bowlers © Cricinfo Ltd

We set off to do a story on offspinners and left-arm spinners – similar to what we had done some months back on legspinners. We had hoped that our favourite mystery and left-arm chinaman bowlers will find adequate space. To our dismay we found that many of the names that rolled deliciously off our tongues just did not have enough wickets to qualify under stodgy criteria such as minimum number of wickets, etc. So we said, to hell with all that – let us just enjoy ourselves writing about our favourite chinaman and mystery bowlers – the non-conformists, conjurors and sleight-of-hand purveyors.

The left-arm chinaman is a mirror image of the right-arm leg break – bowled by turning the wrist so that the ball turns the opposite way to left-arm finger spin. When bowled back of the hand, it becomes the googly, it turns the other way. We identified 10 chinaman bowlers as we trawled through the history of the game. Even if you were to add up all the wickets taken by the chinaman bowlers it would be less than a combined tally of Bedi and Underwood. There are 45 left-arm spinners who have more than 40 wickets each but just four chinaman bowlers who meet this criterion. The strike-rate of the chinaman bowler is superior (a wicket every 70 balls as compared to 79 for the orthodox left-arm); the bowling average is similar, 31.6 as compared to 31.2. The difference is that while the 45 left-arm spinners have taken over 4800 wickets in 1605 matches, the 10 chinaman bowlers have played only 184 matches to take 427 wickets.

Old timers had the great fortune to see the peerless Garry Sobers bowl a lot of this stuff. In fact they were so fortunate that they saw that genius bowl left-arm fast, slow orthodox and chinaman all on the same afternoon. His 235 test wickets are a wonderful mix of all three. In the fifties, Johnny Wardle played for England. A maverick – and that sat badly in England – he bowled orthodox finger spin in England, but served up chinaman and googlies abroad. He bowled the way his heart dictated and he bowled really well - 28 Tests, 102 wickets at a strike rate of 65 balls per wicket. His average of 20.39 is the best for any post-war spinner who has over 100 wickets. In our statistical analysis, he is second-best among left-arm spinners since 1900 (min. 50 wickets) which is awesome. But he rubbed the administrators and his captain Peter May the wrong way. He would have played a lot more games for England but for May’s preference for his Surrey team-mate Tony Lock.

Time for a lovely story: Johnny Martin who played for Australia in the sixties bowled his chinaman very slowly through the air. In a Sheffield Shield match, Martin beat a batsmen all ends up and struck him on the back foot in front of the stumps. To his utter disgust, the Umpire turned down his appeal. Martin asks the umpire: “What’s wrong, ump, isn’t he in front?” Umpire: “Yes son, he is”. Martin: “Then why isn’t he out?” Umpire: “Because the ball wouldn’t have reached the stumps, Johnny!”

Why is it that most of the chinaman bowlers are from Australia? Is there something in the Australian air that makes spinners bowl back-of-the-hand wrist spin rather than finger spin? Just as they have given cricket so many famous legspinners from Mailey to Warne and MacGill, so too have they provided us a line of chinaman bowlers, from Fleetwood-Smith to Hogg. Strangely, Australia hardly has a worthy presence among orthodox left-arm spinners.

	Chuck Fleetwood-Smith is sadly best remembered as the bowler who leaked the most runs in an innings © The Cricketer International

Fleetwood-Smith (10 Tests, 42 wickets) in spite of some sterling performances in the 1930s is unfortunately best remembered as the bowler who conceded the highest number of runs in an innings - one for 298 out of an England score of 903 for 7. This was The Oval test where Hutton made 364.

Much later, Lindsay Kline (13 Tests, 34 wickets) and Martin (eight Tests, 17 wickets) had their unforgettable moments too: Kline took a hat-trick against South Africa in 1957 but his moment of glory was as a No. 11 bat for Australia in the famous 1960-61 series against West Indies. Coming in as the last batsman he stayed for more than 100 minutes with Slasher Mackay to earn Australia a draw in Adelaide. More than the fact that he lasted against Hall, Sobers, Worrell and Gibbs for that long, what was amazing was that he was practicing at the nets in the afternoon against similar bowling for more than an hour as if anticipating what he would be called upon to do later that day! Immediately after, he was dropped for the final Test – typical of Australian cricket, no sentiment at all.

Martin’s moment came in the same series. After the famous Tie in Brisbane, Australia won the second Test comfortably in Melbourne, thanks to Davidson and Martin’s bowling. In a golden spell, Martin removed Kanhai, Sobers and Worrell in four balls. Had he done it in three, it would surely have ranked as the grandest hat-trick ever!

Time once more to pull the leg of the chinaman bowler: This story was told with great relish by Dileep Sardesai. In the fourth Test in Barbados of India’s landmark tour of West Indies in 1971 – the series belonged as much to Sardesai as it did to Gavaskar – India were 70 for 6 and Sardesai was left with Solkar to repair the damage. Sobers, the West Indies captain, had Inshan Ali their chinaman bowler on at one end. Now, for the Indians this slow bowler was a far happier proposition and not wanting Sobers to change him, Sardesai and Solkar decided that in every Inshan Ali over they would deliberately appear to be beaten by the odd delivery, as though they had failed to pick him. Sardesai chortled that the extended spell to Inshan Ali actually helped the Indian cause. Knowing Sardesai, this could well be a true story!

Not much need be said about the chinaman bowlers of the last 25 years. We have watched them in close detail on TV. None more so than Paul Adams of South Africa, perhaps the only bowler to have ever had his face towards the umpire while delivering! His action – called frog in the blender – caused great consternation to the English batsmen when he was first unleashed. But batsmen sorted him out in time, because although Adams bowled good length and line he became too predictable. Nevertheless, by the time he finished he had 134 wickets in 45 matches. More recently, we have seen Hogg – tongue hanging out – bowl for Australia. Katich bowls too but we think that he should be bowled a lot more by Ponting.

It is surprising that the sub continent that produced left-arm orthodox spinners (Vinoo Mankad, Bishan Bedi, Dilip Doshi and Iqbal Qasim come to mind), does not have a single chinaman bowler in its Test history. The one chinaman bowler who could have played for India was a wonderfully gifted bowler from Hyderabad – Mumtaz Hussain. A contemporary of Gavaskar, Mumtaz promised a lot when he made his name in university and Ranji Trophy cricket with a mesmerizing mix of orthodox left-arm, chinaman and the googly. He was so difficult to read that the keeper had to devise a set of hand signals to read him. Sadly within a couple of seasons Mumtaz had greatly reduced his chinaman and bowled mainly orthodox finger spin. Soon – for it was the time when Bedi ruled – Mumtaz faded away into the anonymity of first-class cricket. It is probably the closest that India came to having an international chinaman bowler.

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October 7, 2009

Chris Martin: A Rabbit's Tale

Posted by Cricinfo - on 10/07/2009 in Batting

From Imran Coomaraswamy, United Kingdom

	A familiar sight for Chris Martin © Getty Images

They just don’t make them like they used to. The genuine rabbit, a creature prone to prodding meekly at balls outside off stump and liable to leap out of the way of anything close to the body, is now an endangered species in international cricket. Everywhere we look, tailenders are working hard at their batting and scoring more runs. The members of the Australian fast bowlers' union are the worst tailenders of the lot. Glenn McGrath, surprisingly but fittingly, led the way in 2004 by reaching a half-century at the 115th time of asking. Since then, we’ve seen courageous final stands in the 2005 Ashes, fifties aplenty, Mitchell Johnson’s heroic hundred and Dizzy’s frankly ridiculous double.

Here in England, Duncan Fletcher orchestrated a ruthless rabbit cull. Dear old Monty managed to survive, but only because he is every bit as industrious as he is inept, in contrast to his undeniably indolent predecessors Phil Tufnell and Devon Malcolm. However, all is not lost for rabbit-lovers. In seamer Chris Martin, New Zealand, warren of some pedigree - Ewen Chatfield, Danny Morrison and Geoff Allott spring to mind - have produced a very fine specimen indeed. What's more, there is a strong case for anointing Martin as the worst batsman Test cricket has ever seen. Not many players have managed to chalk up fewer runs than wickets over their career. Martin, however, has in 50 tests scored only half as many runs (82) as he has taken wickets (165). He has an overall batting average of 2.34, but a closer look reveals that, like many others in recent times, he has feasted on minnows.

If we exclude his innings against Zimbabwe and Bangladesh (in which he has ruthlessly plundered 16 runs without being dismissed), his average plummets to 1.88. Among all those who have batted ten or more times in Tests, no one has fared worse. Roughly speaking, a third of his visits to the middle have resulted in ducks (25 of them), another third have seen him stranded on zero, and the final third have produced single digit scores. (The one exception, his magnum opus of 12 not out, was achieved against Bangladesh; his best against a major nation is merely a magnificent 7). If he continues at this rate, Courtney Walsh’s world record for the most ducks (43) won’t be intact for much longer. These figures are astonishing, but what of the things statistics cannot convey - technique, style, image, impact?

Well, in this regard too, Martin’s credentials are impeccable. His defence is unprecedentedly porous, his footwork all but nonexistent and his range of strokes limited to say the least. His incompetence with the bat is something of a running joke among team-mates, coaches and fans alike. Last March, he survived five balls to allow Jesse Ryder the chance to reach his maiden century and the latter’s overriding emotion was disbelief. Often overlooked for ODIs, Martin once revealed that John Bracewell had no misgivings about selecting him in Twenty20 matches because the “likelihood of me having to bat is quite minimal.” Such is his cult status among Black Caps fans that he made a cameo appearance on comedy TV show Pulp Sport, advertising a ‘Learn to bat like Chris Martin’ video. Indeed, he has no pretensions about his ability and no aspirations whatsoever. In his 301 matches in professional cricket (both domestic and international), every single time he has walked out to bat, it has been as his team’s very last able-bodied batsman. It doesn’t matter whether it’s Twenty20 or 20 minutes before tea on the fifth day, white clothes or white balls, Southampton or South Island, the sight of Chris Martin at the crease means that there is only one wicket left to fall. And fall it most surely and swiftly will.

Now, the Kiwis are certainly not the only cricket fans who love watching a genuine rabbit in action. In fact, one might go as far as saying that any true cricket fan, provided his or her team's fortunes aren't hanging in the balance, enjoys doing so. It is, after all, an experience unique to cricket. Think about it. Which other sport allows you to watch a top athlete do something he’s woeful at? Rugby fans don’t get to see Shane Williams jump in the lineout. Football supporters don’t get to see Shaun Wright-Phillips in goal during a penalty shoot-out. We cricket lovers do get to see Chris Martin bat. Sadly, if the rabbit-killers and manufacturers of multi-dimensional cricketers get their way, we’re likely to see less and less of his kind in future. So while we can, we should cherish Chris Martin, the latest and, quite possibly, greatest of Test cricket’s rabbits.

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