On the stroke of midday at the Emirates Old Trafford, James Anderson took guard at the James Anderson End of the cricket ground that has been his second home since he emerged out of school and club cricket in Burnley fifteen years ago. A brief and frankly underwhelming ceremony before the match began yesterday included the presentation of piece of photographic artwork, nicely framed, a handshake from the chairman of Lancashire, David Hodgkiss, and some smiles. The public announcer told us that the Pavilion End of the ground would now forever belong to Jimmy. He added that with 480 Test match wickets at 28 each, along with another 290 for the Red Rose at 23, he well deserved the honour bestowed upon him.
It has been quite a story. Anderson was just 17 when he figured he could bowl quick; 19 when he made his debut for Lancashire and 20 when he first played one-day cricket for his country in Melbourne. Early in the summer of 2003, he took a hat-trick in a County Championship against Essex and a week later he was playing for England at Lord's. Channel 4 missed his first Test wicket, having taken the cricket off air at six o'clock to show The Simpsons, but rejoiced in the four he claimed the next morning for a sparkling debut tally of 5 for 73. Good looks, a slightly skunk, and certainly tinted, hairdo set alongside a wardrobe of cutting edge gear all added to the impression that a star was born. There was a whisper he might be the David Beckham of cricket though this was a style thing more than his ability to bend it like Becks.
Not before long, however, he hit the rocks. The know-alls tried to change his action, or more accurately, the position of his head at the release of the ball. This was a confusion and caused both heartache and a loss of confidence. Then the pursuit of reverse swing overtook the more orthodox version of the art and so it was that a period of reflection and regeneration was required to locate the boy who had lit up Lord's on debut.
A stress fracture kept him out for the most part of 2006 but across the following couple of years he returned to lead the attack with skill and distinction. Named a Wisden Cricketer of the Year in 2008 there was an ever-increasing sense of purpose and self-belief in both the man and the cricketer. His special ability to swing the ball delighted purists who had feared for a lost art. The fingers and wrist worked as one to make the outswinger go late and allow the inswinger its place in the mind of groping batsmen. The Anderson annus mirabilis was 2010, a year that included conquering Australia in a memorable summer-down-under of Ashes cricket that brought him 24 wickets at 26 a'piece. Not much has gone wrong since.
Thus, the Pavilion End in his name at Old Trafford. Four truly great fast bowlers have represented Lancashire - Michael Holding, briefly, and Wasim Akram from abroad; Brian Statham and Anderson from the heartland. Statham, much revered for both accuracy and pace, has 252 wickets in 70 Tests on his ledger. Anderson, who is playing his 126th test is not so far from doubling that. Enough said. Back to the narrative.
At ten minutes to midday Anderson had taken guard at the Statham End - yup, "Stat" got there before Jimmy - with Jonny Bairstow unbeaten and England battling for substantially more than the 312 that was on the board at the fall of the ninth wicket. He played immaculately forward to Morne Morkel's first ball and drew an animated response from his home crowd. Then he played back and missed, to which people laughed nervously. Then Morkel hit his thigh, a blow that must have hurt though he showed no sign. After which Bairstow protected him for ten minutes, as if he were a child in a den of wolves.
At midday, the man of the moment took guard at his own end and played nicely back to block a fast delivery from Kasigo Rabada. Bairstow, concerned that Anderson has limits, decided to go to Disneyland. First he dropped to one knee and flick-swept a pacey delivery from Duanne Olivier to the long-leg fence. Then he pumped him straight down the ground and into the seats in front of the sightscreen. Jimmy loved that - the sheer fantasy of it all.
So much that he lost his own reference to reality, immediately missing an ordinary offering from Keshav Maharaj and then attempting an insane reverse sweep. Jimmy, for goodness sake!! South Africa reviewed the not out decision to no avail, as if they hadn't worked out it was Jimmy's day. Now he blocked like Boycott and cheers rose up into the Trafford sky. Then he cut a four: "Oh Jimmy, Jimmy.....Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy Anderson!"
All of this had Geoffrey Boycott himself in state of extreme nervocitement. Geoffrey is close to the Bairstow clan and has played his part in the development of the lad who lost his dad, David, so young. Each Anderson block is a thing of beauty so far as GB is concerned right now. On 98 Jonny B takes the single on offer. This leaves two balls in the over. A bouncer almost gloves Jimmy down the leg side and a length ball is squirted safely to leg-gully. Phew.
Bairstow is on 99. He defends two and drives another straight to extra-cover. Then he sweeps and misses. The ball ricochets of his pad but there is no run. South Africa appeal. OUT! Bairstow immediately reviews. It is tight call but, by no more than the lacquer on the ball, the replay confirms the umpire's original call. Out. Oh Jonny! They have put on 60 together of which Anderson made 4. A thrilling partnership that illustrated cricket's many layers. Jimmy consoles Jonny and they leave, centerstage, with the crowd on its feet in adoration.
12.40pm. Anderson marks out his run at HIS end. Has anyone ever done that before? Marcus Trescothick hits sixes into his own stand at Taunton, but a bowler running in from the definitive recognition of his own history?
Like the crowd at the Colliseum, Manchester roars as Anderson turns to face his enemy. The volume increases with each skip and reaches a deafening crescendo as Dean Elgar plays at a full ball that whistles past the edge of his bat and the stumps too. Two ball later he is not so lucky. Anderson is possessed.
Responding to the cacophony and recognising the moment, he tears in to deliver a perfectly cruel inswinger that smashes into Elgar's front pad. 20,000 people scream their blood-thirsty pleasure to the umpire, one of whom is Anderson himself. The impassive Aleem Dar is moved to respond. Like the Emperors of Rome, he slowly unveils the hand of judgement. This is not a thumb that points to the sky but the finger that signals the death of all batsmen, however good, at one time or another. Elgar does not bother to review. Anderson has number 481 pinned to his wall.
The celebration is as electric as the reaction of the crowd. He arches back, fists clenched by his side, face tight with effort, emotion and joy, vessels expanding from his neck and cheeks. He is a warrior. The circle of life presently favours him. By the close he has three more victims, each crushed by desire and excellence. It might have been Jonny's day. It was Jimmy's.