On Monday 12 April 2004, an off-spinner is struggling badly for rhythm, much like he has over the past two days. And over the four Test matches he has played until now.
His run up is simple, so is his action. No visible flaws, technical or mental. He's landing the ball decently as well, to go with a bit of turn. But he's still getting carted all over the place. Like he has over his entire Test career.
Maybe, this is all he has. A limited skill set propelled to the big stage by an extraordinary amount of discipline, patience and determination. Maybe, this is not his stage, his actors or his audience. Maybe, just maybe, he is not meant for this, the daunting, harsh world of Test cricket.
He's good, most definitely. But just not quite enough.
It's early afternoon and the sun is shining bright on the Antigua Recreation Ground. He's trudging in for the second ball of his 52nd over. It seems no different from the 307 he has bowled before this. But it is. Unlike them, this ball goes down in history. As the one which led to the first quadruple century in Test cricket.
The batsman, as anyone even remotely interested in cricket will know, was Brian Lara.
The bowler, hardly a few know.
But as life would have it, even after 625 first class wickets spread over 19 years, that's the closest Gareth Batty has ever gotten to being recognised, to the thing they call limelight.
And until yesterday, it seemed that's how it would end.
Batty isn’t a regular cricketer
Batty doesn't strike you as a cricketer. He's short and chubby. His walk is what a normal person's walk is, not the swagger that players of today carry. So regular, it's hard to explain. He talks like we do, not as someone who has a PR agency teaching him the tricks of the trade.
If you bumped into him on the street one day, your jaw wouldn't drop and you wouldn't stare at him in awe, as you would with someone like Freddie Flintoff. You'll, in fact, do well not to confuse him with someone whose face you vaguely remember. The owner of the grocery store down the road, the manager at your bank, or your kids' history teacher. He looks like anyone of them. He may be you. He may be me. And that's what probably makes him special.
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This simplicity which characterises him is evident in the way he gets his wickets as well. There are no great balls, no big turn and no unexpected bounce. They're just regular deliveries pitching in line with the stumps, sometimes skidding on, sometimes spinning a touch, and mostly doing nothing.
He doesn't defeat batsmen with a particular delivery, but over dozens of them, in this battle of patience. It's as if he almost bores batsmen into giving their wickets to him, plugging away until they break. It's not how a modern day offie or any other bowler for that matter, gets his wickets. And even the older ones had something else.
Batty doesn't. And it just makes him more of a marvel.
A surprising recall
Yesterday, England named their Test squad to face Bangladesh in October. Amongst others, they had named Batty in the team, almost 39 and a decade after his last Test appearance. It was a strange decision, for there were others who had bowled better, taken more wickets than him.
There were younger bowlers too, ones who could have substantial futures with the English team. But they picked the old war horse, possibly due to his experience which would also allow him to mentor the three other young spinners in the team. Possibly, because of his handy lower order batting. Most definitely, due to the fact that they know he'll never stop trying.
For Batty, this must have felt like one of his wickets. Like in a match, he kept toiling away, giving his heart and soul each step of the way, and finally got a reward for his perseverance and determination. A reward for overcoming limitations and defeating everything that came his way. A reward for daring to dream big.
At his age, Batty will know that the end is not too far. And he has this one chance to prove that the world of Test match cricket can be conquered by an ordinary bowler with extraordinary spirit, courage, grit and fight in him.
This is his opportunity, at the fag end of an illustrious career, to make his mark on the big stage. To make sure his most famous moment is not Lara's 400th run off his bowling.
This is Batty's opportunity to fight for us, to tell the world that you don't need to be a freak to succeed at international cricket.
A victory of human spirit over cricketing skills
On the face of it, Batty was not meant for professional cricket. He really didn't have anything going for him. He didn't have any of the skills we associate with a spinner. He couldn't run through opposition teams in a jiffy, nor could he carry his own team on his shoulders. He wasn't Warne, nor was he Murali. He was never a threat, never the man who could create magic.
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That he still played professional cricket, forget the fact that he became a county cricket legend and an England international, despite the obvious limitations should be seen as a victory in itself. A victory of human spirit over cricketing skill, a victory of the underdog who no one ever gave a chance. A victory which shows that ordinariness can triumph over the genius we associate with elite sportspersons.
We have a lot riding on Batty, and so does he. But we'll know that even if he warms the benches, he'd have made us proud.
By being selected, by being a county great, just by playing.
This should be seen as Batty's victory. And in it, that of the kid next door who wants to become a cricketer.
Gareth Batty is an ordinary bowler. But he's always thought otherwise. And it's this refusal to be ordinary that has made all the difference.
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