There is little about which to shout in the bowling figures of 18.5-4-59-3: one wicket early on and a couple with the second new ball to finish the innings. In most instances, they would have slid well beneath the radar.
But these came at the Gabba in Brisbane, on the second and third days of Queensland’s current Sheffield Shield match against New South Wales, and they belong to Ryan Harris. Read that, England batsmen, and tremble. They may have thought they had seen the last of the old warrior, and indeed pretty much everyone did when he went under the knife to try and sort out the knee problem that has had him hobbling through the last couple of years of his career.
In Cape Town at the start of March he took seven wickets in the final Test to help win the series for Australia: until this week he has not sent down a ball in a first-class match since. Yet here he is, 35 years old, barrelling his way in to bowl, and desperate to get back into Test cricket and have one last crack at the Poms he has personally tormented through three Ashes series.
It is actually quite heartwarming. The rumour is that Vladimir Putin left the G20 summit early just to go and watch the phenomenon return.
In watching any sport, I always think there is a masochistic element. There is the loyalty involved in supporting a team or an individual, but beyond that comes the sheer pleasure of watching excellence, even if it hurts to do so. In the last Ashes series, it became excruciating watching England systematically sliced and diced by a vengeful Australian team. Yet look beyond that and which true cricket aficionado could not marvel at the complete bowling performance put together by the Australian trio of Mitchell Johnson, Peter Siddle and Harris? And what a contrast they provided: Johnson, invigorated and resurgent, offering searing pace; Siddle unflaggingly industrious and utterly indefatigable. I admired them both.
But it was Harris who caught my eye, for this was a master craftsman, at an absolute peak, and heights of excellence to which he may never climb again. Johnson was the spectacular showstopper, not least when blowing the England lower order to smithereens, the biggest essential difference between the sides. But ask any England top-order batsman which bowler challenged them the most, not physically, but mentally, which offered the most demanding challenge to techniques, and they would unhesitatingly nominate Harris.
Forty-six wickets in nine successive Tests against England, at a shade over 19 runs apiece, tell this story, and it is not being fanciful to suggest that had the Australians not omitted him from the first Test of the 2013 series in England – concerned, probably erroneously with the benefit of hindsight, that he might not get through back-to-back matches at Trent Bridge and Lord’s – things might have been different. Careful management got him through not just nine Ashes matches but the South Africa series as well.
But what is it about Harris that is so compelling? He is not a glamorous cricketer in build or manner. Indeed he cuts what we might call a four-square figure, baggy-green jammed on his head, chin invariably covered in what look like Desperate Dan iron filings. There is nothing fancy about his run-up, none of the leaning measured mechanical menace of Johnson, the athleticism of Jimmy Anderson, the urgency of Dale Steyn, or the madcap dash that characterises Siddle (I once likened him to someone rushing to shoulder-charge a door only for it to be opened in the last split second). Instead it is rhythmical, purposeful and economical: it does all it needs to do to get him to the crease. His action is burly and more muscular than loose-limbed, and his follow-through is long so that he might crack his knuckles on the ground after delivery. Again, it gets the job done efficiently.
None of these things though elevate him to the top of the tree. Indeed the secret is largely undetectable to spectators so that only when things are broken down by slow motion can we see the sublime wrist action of a kind that, of this generation of cricketers, has only been matched by Anderson and the infamous Mohammad Asif. These are the manipulators, the fingertip caressers who treat a cricket ball gently and with respect. Watch closely and you see the same action that a child might put on a yo-yo. From this comes the guidance on the direction of the ball, and, crucially, the backspin that holds the seam upright gyroscopically, a skill so many ball-throttling bowlers miss.
Whether reality outweighs ambition remains to be seen. The cricket world has a habit of rushing by, and Harris will be pushing 36 by the time the next Ashes series begins, which is a ripe age for an opening bowler. The pace can drop off but so too can that indefinable element known as nip, that bowlers recognise and others find incomprehensible. He will know when the time comes, and perhaps it has already, but it would be good to see him again. Just for old times’ sake.
