HOW much can batsmen adapt? How much should they adapt? That has been the underlying theme prompted by the frequent batting collapses we have witnessed throughout this Ashes series. “If only they’d adapt” has been a familiar lament. Sometimes, however, it is trying to adapt too much that knocks cricketers off their stride.
Tactical and technical flexibility is undoubtedly a precious gift. In a celebrated example, Sachin Tendulkar reversed a run of abject form by abandoning the cover drive. Having shelved the malfunctioning shot, he proceeded to make 241 not out at Sydney.
On pitches of variable bounce in the West Indies, Alec Stewart stood outside leg stump to avoid playing around his front pad.
Kumar Sangakkara — a master of savvy, awareness and adaptability — used different sets of preliminary movements to counter particular pitches and bowlers. Not many players are good enough to do that and still score runs.
For most batsmen, rhythm and momentum stems from familiar and consistent pre-ball movements. While I admire adaptability, I think its influence can be exaggerated. Further, it is possible to adapt too much as well as too little.
Advertisement
As an emerging Test player, Glenn McGrath was persuaded that he needed to “adapt” at Test level and produce classical out-swingers rather than aggressive seam bowling. Worn down by the advice, he tried to bowl textbook outswingers and took 0-101 against England at Brisbane in 1994. He was promptly dropped.
Only then did McGrath go back to being primarily a seam rather than swing bowler, an approach that yielded 563 Test wickets.
McGrath perceived echoes of his early error in the performances of Josh Hazlewood this summer. Was Hazlewood preoccupied with “English” style bowling and trying to swing the ball more than he should? And what about Adam Lyth, whose England future is in the balance? Has he failed to adapt to Test cricket?
He has certainly struggled to find a confident solution to the ever-present challenge of balls in the channel.
As the series has progressed and Lyth’s snicks have totted up, he has become more inclined to leave the ball as much as possible. Still not enough, some critics say.
Advertisement
There is a rival analysis. Given that Lyth is predominantly an attacking batsman who favours the off-side, he may have been too easily knocked off his stride.
As the scrutiny of his technique and shot selection mounted, Lyth’s scoring rate has slowed. In his best game (at Cardiff), Lyth made 43 runs at a strike-rate of 72. Since then, his strike rate has settled in the high 30s and the runs have dried up. Lyth, whose instincts are positive, hasn’t settled into a natural tempo. Yesterday he was caught at second slip.
For every Sangakarra who could change, there have been many good players who enjoyed distinguished careers without noticeably adapting their methods. They had a splendid “Plan A” and stuck with it.
Marcus Trescothick trusted his eye and hands rather than a pronounced movement with his front foot. The quirk left him vulnerable to some deliveries but he refused to be knocked off his game. Over the long run, Trescothick’s faith in his method was vindicated.
Advertisement
Virender Sehwag didn’t willingly adapt. He was brilliant on some pitches, but vulnerable against seam and swing. All taken together, however, it was worth the trade-off. Had Sehwag been opening the batting in this series, it is likely that he would have failed on the greener pitches at Trent Bridge and Edgbaston and cashed in at Lord’s and The Oval.
That is exactly what Steven Smith has done. One theory holds that he “adapted” here at The Oval. I’m not so sure that is the case. The first few balls of Smith’s innings were familiar in their audacity — a hook first ball, quickly followed up with a forcing back-foot drive. He did not eschew early risks and, on another day, Smith could have perished playing an attacking shot just as he did at Trent Bridge (to widespread criticism). That Smith began so assertively is not a criticism but a tribute to his mental strength. The conventional definition of mental toughness is too narrow. Toughness is not only about guts, sacrifice and determination. It also rests on a player holding his nerve and reaching an accommodation with his own flaws.
Smith got through the opening joust and built a fine hundred. Afterwards, he said he had “tinkered” with his game. But the crucial variable — the difference between his successes at Lord’s and Oval compared with Edgbaston and Trent Bridge — was not technique but the nature of the playing surface and, as always, the role of fortune.
That is often the way with cricket. Yet we tend to explain performances by referencing the virtues we are looking for. The concept of adaptability — or the lack of it — was in the air. So success has been described as evidence of adaptability.
Advertisement
In baseball, there is a famous quip about the best cure for a batting slump: “Two pieces of cotton wool, one for each ear.”
I don’t quite subscribe to that view. But change and adaptation is always a question of balance. For every career damaged by a reluctance to listen, another has suffered from over-eagerness to change.