They’ve been charging towards the wicket ever since overarm bowling was standardised in 1864. Well, not exactly charging. They amble. They shuffle. They waddle. They gather at the crease and unfurl dibbly-dobblers. The peaches they send down are not quite ripe. The jaffas they deliver are gluten free.
These are the unblessed athletes, bereft of twitching fibres and whiplash limbs. Still, they never shy away from the requisite hard graft, leaning once more into the breeze and up the hill with devoted zeal. They’re as rare as pangolins in Test cricket and are all but extinct in white-ball formats on the international circuit. They are the medium-paced seamers.
