Every individual act in cricket’s storied annals has begun with a deliveryman sending down a sphere towards a batter across a separation of 22 yards. Sending. In the same way as a courier brings a bill, or a waiter carries a tray of beverages. Of all the many verbs used to portray this core act, this particular one speaks to a deep-seated cultural inequity that has plagued the pastime from its beginning.
“If there was ever a term that demonstrates we live in a batsman's world, this is it,” states Steve Harmison, the formidable quick turned analyst who delivered more than 16,000 overs for his team. “Yet every single delivery is identical. Certain ones come as a gift as if a present at the holidays. Some can rear up and strike you directly in the face.”
A striker can hit the ball in whichever path they choose. As previously noted, they can lift over backward square leg, cut behind point, or smash it down the ground. However, a bowler must practically tread a razor's edge. Any delivery sent too wide will be penalised. Anything looped too overpitched or pulled down too back of a length will be punished. That's the reason bowlers strive for the ill-defined region called the zone of indecision.
“This is simply an spot where a hitter isn’t sure if he can stride forward or back, if he can let it go or defend it clear from his poles,” clarifies the former Proteas speedster, who claimed over 430 international wickets. “Imagine it as a blind spot in your rearview mirror, where you fail to spot a vehicle coming past you for a split second.”
Most deliveries that arrive in this channel – usually on a a “ideal” length, somewhere on a fourth-stump line – are awarded special monikers. They include nuts. Steve Harmison is particularly fond of the jaffa. And although these swinging, seaming and spinning balls might make a hitter look foolish, sometimes they are plainly too perfect.
“It feels chuffed when it happens, and it’s a type of personal triumph, but they’re futile,” Harmison states. “At times the most effective wicket-taking ball is in reality a pile of shit. The real jaffa appears fantastic, and it seems fantastic, but if it doesn't claim a wicket it can be incredibly frustrating.”
Furthermore this is where the language of the bowling craft begins to unveil its harsh unfairness. The margin between the perfect ball and a fruitless one can be no more than a handful of millimetres. Harmison remembers an example where Stuart Broad endured flak for an leaky period of bowling. After examining the footage, it was revealed to be virtually similar to a memorable eight-for display against the Aussies. The single variable was the outcome at the far end. “As a bowler, you need to accept that once you release of the ball you have little say,” he says. “One might feel helpless. It can be isolating.”
This is why, seam units must work as cohesive collectives, with the ruthlessness of a syndicate and the understanding of a hunting party. “There’s nothing more gratifying for me than when a partnership seems under pressure,” Dale Steyn observes. “That tells a complete story about the bowlers and not merely a single fortunate ball.”
The pair did the identical thing but in profoundly distinct styles. Steyn would sprint in his approach, gather in his delivery stride reminiscent of a panther tensing before a strike, then unleash thunderbolts that kissed the wicket. The Englishman's bigger physique would lope in, his long levers unravelling as he struck the surface with a so-called weighty offering. Sorry? A heavy ball?
“It comes down to the size of the seamer,” Steyn clarifies. “A heavy-delivery bowler has greater weight driving him. It isn't solely about speed. Guys such as Andrew Flintoff were prime examples. I would graze the wicket, similar to bouncing a tennis ball off a water surface. Those other bowlers weren't necessarily the most rapid, but they seemed as quick as the quickest when you confronted them.”
Seamers can often be pigeonholed into roles. The fighter. The lucky bowler. The player who bowls the difficult stints into the wind. These are the myths we believe in, the accounts bowlers narrate, and the narratives they convince themselves. A healthy edge
