Please make my next ball work. I’ll sacrifice the rest of my career. I’ll work for sick children, I’ll wash the feet of beggars.

Push the ball into the palm of my hand, but don’t change anything else. Same run-up, same action, same follow through, same intensity.

Thank you, whoever you are. Perfect slower ball. He drives too soon. A horrible smear. Looping up again towards Cal. He charges in. Oh hell. Too excited. Overruns  it. Has to backpedal. Offbalance. Grab. Drop.

“Throw it in, Cal!” Zoosh! Well gathered, Johnny. At least they did not get a run. Looks away. I think he is crying now.

“Very bad luck, young man, but I don’t think your big friend’s very happy.”

Is that your idea of cricket, Mr Right Honourable Sunhat? Messing the mind of a twelve-year-old? No more elation. “David, back to gully. Zeke, short fine leg. Luke, Marjorie, come in short where you feel comfortable. Edwin, back to short mid off. Cal, point. Yes, same level as David.” I don’t want him moping. I want him involved. Ready to attack the ball. And with a good view of what’s coming.

Same offer. Sacrifice the rest of my career, the children, the beggars, and I’ll rescue endangered species. Only this time I want a throat ball. One.

Same run up and delivery stride but this time something tells me to flick my wrist forward. Ball on a length. Batsman starts forward.

Yes! The ball explodes on him. Startled squawk. The ball would have crashed into his face, if he hadn’t jumped back – and fallen on his arse. “Steve!”

 “Great take, Johnny!”  Overhead again.  Saved four byes.

The batsman takes his time getting up. Next ball, still full length but from wide of the crease. Same flick of the wrist. Explodes again. He’s retreating but it follows him. On his arse again! Yes! Johnny can’t take it this time but Zeke fields and Sunhat isn’t going anywhere. “Over!”

Thank you. Whoever. Two throat balls. Who says I’m not Psycho?