The long minutes at fine-leg feel like hours. Kicking his heels, tugging at his sleeves, brushing his studs across the clipped grass. Behind him the stands are a riot of colour and song, of bouncing beach balls and idle chatter and the rustle and rumble of punters to and from the bar. Trent Boult sees none of this, hears none of this. He does not walk in with the bowler. The ball is not hit towards him. All he can do is patrol this little parcel of exile, playing the game in his mind, ticking down the seconds until he can bowl again.
There are days when it takes a few overs for Boult to discover his rhythm. Short-form cricket is easier in this regard. The first couple of overs with the white new ball: that’s the game, right there. It swings or it doesn’t, you get the breakthrough or you don’t, and everything else is simply varying degrees of defence. But in a Test match you need to probe and experiment. Find out what this ball is capable of. Locate the right length on this pitch. In these conditions. Against these batters.
