Some choices feel obvious in hindsight, but are anything but that at the time of making. It wasn't that long ago, for instance, that Kuldeep Yadav vs Washington Sundar felt like a legitimate debate. India were 1-0 down, having lost an un-loseable Test in Hyderabad, and were going into the second Test in Visakhapatnam with Ravindra Jadeja and KL Rahul ruled out, with 119 Test caps snatched away from an already depleted line-up.
India were bringing in a debutant in Rahul's place, but how would they replace the irreplaceable Jadeja? He wasn't just one of their two main spinners but also their regular No. 6 and top-scorer in the first innings in Hyderabad. Would they bring in Kuldeep, a brilliant, wicket-taking wristspinner who wasn't yet a proven quantity in Test cricket, or would they hedge their bets with Washington, an allrounder who could slot in at No. 6 but was a considerable downgrade on Jadeja as a bowler?
When Jadeja returned for the third Test in Rajkot, it still felt legitimate to ask who would go out to accommodate him. Would it be Kuldeep, or would it be Axar Patel? At roughly the same time in 2023, when Australia were touring India, the same question had done the rounds, and Axar had won out thanks to his batting and style of fast, into-the-wicket fingerspin.
Axar's bowling returns had waned since then, but he was averaging over 50 with the bat in the same period. Kuldeep had outbowled Axar in Visakhapatnam, but it was only one Test and only his first Test since December 2022.
India backed Kuldeep this time around, and left out Axar.
India still had a way of shoehorning Washington or Axar into their line-up if they wished. They had two opportunities to play the extra spin-bowling allrounder at the expense of an inexperienced second fast bowler, but they ignored or resisted that option both times, picking Mukesh Kumar in Visakhapatnam and Akash Deep in Ranchi.
In hindsight, it feels that India made the obvious choice each time. They weren't anything like obvious when India made them.
The choices did, however, follow a logic that was easy to discern if you've followed India for any length of time. Home or away, India tend to pick the attack that's likeliest to take 20 wickets, even if it's at the expense of their batting - even the exceptions to this rule, Axar and Shardul Thakur, lost their places when their wicket-taking returns declined. India followed this broad philosophy during the Virat Kohli-Ravi Shastri regime, and they have stuck with it under Rohit Sharma and Rahul Dravid.
Sometimes, the best decisions are the obvious ones, the ones that every reasonably informed viewer expects you to make.
Those kinds of decisions, however, don't make for a great story, or hours of commentary-box dissection.
Which brings us, belatedly, to the thrust of this piece, which is that, for all the attention lavished on Bazball over the last month or so, Hitball, or Jammyball, or whatever else you may want to call it, has quietly gone about the business of winning Test matches.
Last year, Pat Cummins found himself in the unusual position of having his tactical calls pilloried when he was in the process of retaining the Ashes. At various points during this series, particularly until India's rousing show of strength on day three in Rajkot, Rohit has been subject to something similar.
It can happen to any captain when they're pitted against Ben Stokes, a man who seems unusually becalmed if he changes his field every second ball rather than every ball. That hyperactive style of on-field captaincy is always easier to observe, because its effects can't help but be immediate. It's much likelier for a wicket to look like a tactical masterstroke if the fielder catching the ball has only just been moved there, rather than if he's stood there for an hour.
And there's a self-fuelling cycle of discourse at play. England's players talk endlessly about playing under Stokes and Brendon McCullum, in large part because they're endlessly asked about it in interviews and press conferences.
None of this is to say Stokes isn't an excellent, inventive captain, and that England haven't built a culture where players feel cared for, and empowered to express themselves and enjoy the blessed fact that they play sport for a living. Win or lose, these are good things.
It's the fate of Bazball's opposition captains, however, to be judged harshly unless they win.
Take this example from Rajkot. On day two, Rohit brought Kuldeep on before R Ashwin, with a ball that was only six overs old, and Kuldeep took a hammering from Ben Duckett. When it happened, it was the easiest thing for any viewer to point to Ashwin's brilliant record with the new ball, against left-handers, and against Duckett in particular, and wonder how Rohit made such an obvious blunder as delaying his introduction.
It took until Kuldeep's match-defining 12-over spell on the third morning for a simpler truth to dawn on the viewer, that Rohit, in bowling Kuldeep ahead of Ashwin, had merely brought on one brilliant bowler before bringing on another. He had made a perfectly sound choice, and sound choices come with no guarantee of working.
And if it seemed that Kuldeep bowled better on day three than he did on day two, it was also the result of switching from one reasonable plan - attack the stumps against a batter happy to sweep - to another - force the batter to sweep from wide of off stump. Either plan could have worked; in that instance, one did and one did not.
That Kuldeep's change of line was so effective also had something to do with the field Rohit set. He stationed both a deep-backward square leg and a deep midwicket, asking Duckett either to take even more of a risk than he had already been taking to play the slog sweep, or to put away the shot.
You could call it a brilliant plan, because it worked. You could also call it defensive captaincy, and it wouldn't be an incorrect definition. It's always been difficult to use the word defensive in a non-pejorative way, though, and it's only become harder in the time of Bazball.
Rohit has also given us examples of aggressive captaincy through this series. Take Kuldeep's dismissal of Zak Crawley in the second innings in Ranchi. Crawley was batting on 60 and going at a 65-plus strike rate, but Kuldeep bowled to him with no one in the covers. Crawley looked to punch through that gap, off the back foot, and was bowled, beaten by one that turned sharply into him.
Was it really aggressive, though, or just a routine field setting on a pitch where the odd ball was turning sharply and liable to keep low as well? Ashwin and Shoaib Bashir, who turn the ball into the right-hander like Kuldeep, also bowled with 6-3 leg-side fields for much of this Test match, and having only three fielders on the off side generally means you leave either cover or backward point open. Neither Ashwin nor Bashir happened to pick up a wicket that seemed like a direct outcome of their field, but it was just as sound an option for them as it was for Kuldeep when he got Crawley out.
This, in essence, is the issue with the bulk of captaincy discourse. Captaincy looks good when it works, and looks even better when it works in obvious ways. And given how many heads get together to come up with a team's plans in this day and age, it's not even clear that we're praising or burying the right person when we praise or bury Rohit or Stokes.
What has been clear, though, is that India have played relentlessly good cricket through this series, and made relentlessly aggressive selections. They have always played five bowlers, and picked the better bowler over the hedge-the-bets allrounder when they've had the choice. England, in their reluctance to play a fifth bowler, and in entrusting Joe Root with as heavy a bowling workload as they have, have not demonstrated the same sort of aggression.
In that most basic way, then, Hitball, or Jammyball, or whatever else you may want to call it, has outdone Bazball by quite a margin.