Well Left, Sir

In these times when not playing a shot is almost criminal, Adam Bayfield romanticizes 'the leave' outside the off stump.

The first deliveries of the last two Ashes contests have provided telling insights into how the narrative of the series would unfold. In 2005, Steve Harmison brutally struck Justin Langer on the hand, demonstrating the aggression and self-belief that was pulsing through the England side. Eighteen months later, his first ball disappeared to Andrew Flintoff at second slip, indicating that those enviable attributes had disintegrated into timidity and quivering nervousness.

If this pattern is to continue, then the first ball of this series suggested that we are in for a much more mundane contest - though admittedly the eventual, thrilling denouement pointed to the opposite conclusion. Mitchell Johnson's first delivery was a decidedly low-key affair - pitched outside off-stump, Andrew Strauss left it comfortably to its own devices.

After a summer dominated up to now by Twenty20, the return to Test cricket provided a magnificent showcase for something that the shot-a-ball demands of the shortest format threaten to eradicate: the lost art of 'the leave'. The final day in particular, as England crept defiantly towards safety, seemed to herald the premature onset of autumn, with leaves absolutely everywhere. For those who revel solely in the giddy indulgences of T20, dissecting the various ways in which batsmen don't play the ball epitomises everything that is dull about Test cricket, but for those who appreciate the sport's intricacies and eccentricities there is much to appreciate in the subtle science of leaving the ball.

There are, in the broadest sense, four different kinds of leave, the choice of which says a surprising amount about the character of a batsman. The most aggressive of these styles, depending on how purposefully the batsman moves his body, is 'shouldering arms'. This is a boldly extravagant display of intent, declaring to the bowler that you are so confident of the location of your stumps, and that the ball won't crash into them, that you can afford to raise your arms above your head. Unfortunately this can get you into trouble, as Kevin Pietersen found to his cost in the second innings of the first Ashes Test, as if your confidence is misplaced then you end up looking like a right idiot. At school we coined a phrase for this hilarious mode of dismissal: if getting out first ball is a golden duck, and getting out to the first ball of the match is a diamond duck, then getting out in this humiliating fashion is a dumb duck. You might well blush, KP.

The second method of leaving the ball, whereby the batsman shapes to play a defensive stroke but at the last minute pulls his bat inside the line of the ball, is designed to tease the bowler. By creating the illusion that you have played-and-missed, you frustrate your opponent; he thinks he is getting the better of you, but really you have the upper hand. Alistair Cook is particularly fond of this high-risk but rewarding approach. The most compelling advantage of this method is that every time you genuinely do play-and-miss, you can pretend, to both yourself and the fielders, that you actually left the ball - don't be surprised if throughout this Ashes series you hear plenty of shouts of 'good leave, Cookie' from whoever is at the non-striker's end, as the England opener wafts airily outside off-stump.

Then there is the motion favoured by, among others, Andrew Flintoff, where the batsman moves his feet into position to play the ball, keeps his backlift high in preparation, and then just doesn't go through with the shot. This is clearly the approach with the lowest degree of risk, since you permit yourself the opportunity to play a late defensive stroke if the ball unexpectedly darts back in, but it is also, in its own inimical way, designed to send a message to the bowler, namely, 'yes, I could have played a shot there, I did everything necessary to play a shot there, but in the end I decided not to; that's how in control of the situation I am'.

The final leaving style is the most dismissive. In this case, the batsman simply turns away from a wide delivery without making any movement towards it at all. This is intended to communicate disgust at the bowler's pathetic offering, letting your opponent know that he needs to do a lot better than that before you're prepared even to engage with him. This method is not particularly in vogue with the England batsmen, who prefer instead to flail wildly at anything pitched hopelessly wide of the stumps in a refreshingly honest attempt to nick one to the keeper and get swiftly back to the changing room for first dibs on the sandwiches.

Whether others derive quite so much pleasure from watching international cricketers not try to hit the ball is questionable, but after watching so much T20 over the last few months we will all certainly have to get used to it again. Time now for me to make like a tree myself...and leave, that is.

Adam Bayfield is also the host of the World Cricket Show.

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Kunal Shah said:

	... very well written Adam! Cheers!
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July 16, 2009
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a guest said:

...
wonderful...

loved every bit of it.. really well covered..

I remember being the 'dumb duck' myself .. was in horrendous form right thru the season. doubts were being raised about my captaincy.. we were chasing a bit target , and i chose to shoulder arms to an innocuous little seam up delivery only to have the off stump rooted. Was so ashamed that I dint even bother to look back at the carnage and couldn't raise my eyes till I reached inside the pavilion.