Turns out Rishabh Pant is a dab hand at doing impressions. At Edgbaston he showed off his new one, of the batter his coaches would like him to be. Pant was, by the standards of his own scatterbrained batting, a model of self-control, and restricted himself to just one glorious four and a single crisp, delicious six in the 60 minutes or so he was at the crease. They were good ones, a roly-poly sweep off Shoaib Bashir and a skip down the pitch to punch another of his deliveries over long-on, but otherwise Pant restrained himself to showing off his range of ascetic leaves, blocks and defensive shots.
There was, it’s true, the odd moment or two when he nearly broke character. He couldn’t help himself but come running out to try to belt one of the first balls bowled by Chris Woakes after tea over the road into the botanical gardens. He seemed to change his mind midway through his swing, and ended up scuffing it away for a single, like a kid reaching his hand out to grab a cookie and then yanking it back again as they remember the promise they’d made to their parents.
