There was a Caribbean fast bowler at Lord's, he was tall, small of waist and broad of shoulder, feet so fluid they barely kissed the ground beneath them and an action so smooth, you almost did not see it happen. Batsmen were cut down and beaten for pace, they were struck down and hurt; one of them, the champion, was almost knocked out of the game. The batsmen were not English but Australian, and this Caribbean fire brand wore three lions on his breast. For all the talk of Holding and Marshall, of Babylon fire, this was an English bowler, in English conditions, at the most English of grounds, against that old, familiar foe. There are already bards composing sonnets in his honour, Headingly is already buzzing in excitement and I think I hear the Barmy Army chanting his name...Jofra Chioke Archer.
This is what great fast bowling does, it turns out the boy in us all, it brings back memories of summers long past, of days wishing we were Lillee, Thompson, Imran or Wasim. It makes poets of fools and writers of illiterates. For all the swishing blades cricket has seen in the last decade, for every Kohli and de Villiers, for every Pietersen and Williamson, nothing quite captures the imagination like a 97 mph bouncer. "Pace to pace hai yaar," said a Pakistani fast bowler, once, long ago, in the age of seriously fast men. Jofra Archer is cut from their cloth, as brilliant as Anderson and Broad have been, we always longed for Flintoff having had a few more years, or for Jones not to have ended so prematurely or for Finn to have fulfilled his promise. This young man is cut from the cloth of Akhtar and Lee, he bowls fast and he enjoys blood.
Archer bowled 264 deliveries in his first ever test match, in only his 29th first class outing. Root turned to him when Australia's rock, Steven Smith, was looking immovable yet again. Here came England's cannon and yet no one expected this. What was this? It built slowly, 88 mph, then 90 mph, then 92...Archer moved through the gears and we all realised what this was. Pace like Akhtar, all fire, all menace, or rage. It was not always accurate and some may complain that he wasted a few deliveries but who cares when you are that damn fast? Finally, he did what no one has done in Smith's tremendous career, he had the immovable moving. Smith was uncomfortable for the first time in what seems like 5 years. He has played them all, he could not play Archer. Remember those sonnets? I think the quills hit the parchment, much the same way as Archerh it Smith. The great champion was rattled.
That passage of play we saw, is what made cricket in particular test cricket, such a remarkable, visceral experience in the age of Patterson, Roberts, Waqar and Donald. The ball would hiss from their hands, spit from the pitch and shatter stumps and confidence. As pitches flattened, as balls softened, as the art of reverse was oppressed bowlers no longer wanted to bowl fast. Who would when batting was the easier option? Or bowling within a negative line just simpler? Take nothing away from those bowlers that have graced our sport over the last ten years, but none of them have rarely been "Faaaast" (best spoken in a West Indian drawl). Johnson huffed and puffed for a couple season, but he was impotent far too often. Steyn was skilled but he was not a killer. There were false dawns with Kemar Roach and a few others, but in Archer poets have found their voices again.
Test cricket needs the 95 mph club, it needs batsmen crumbling to the ground, shaking in their boots and wincing with uncertainty. It needs the wild man and the rock star, it needs Caribbean fire under English skies.
This is why we need fast bowlers, so little boys can dream and old men can write soppy old nonsense like this...oh and so fans can actually enjoy a contest of bat v ball, not just a bit of swing or seam, but a genuine, gladiatorial contest. Let us hope that the likes of Shaheen Afridi and Muhammad Husnain come good, that the competition from Archer psurs n Rabada to ever greater heights. Let us hope again for life in the fast lane.
