South Africans who want to learn more about the New Zealand way of cricket should take a long look at the face of Scott Styris during the first Test at the Wanderers, which started on Thursday.
The unkind among us might say that Banquo’s ghost has nothing on Styris, whose pale credentials are brought into startling relief when he slaps on the sunblock.
That wouldn’t be enough for the really nasty, who might wonder whether Styris has a face that could sink a thousand ships.
It’s the eyes, you see. They’re lit by an uncommon gleam that could scare the scales off a black mamba at 200m. Those eyes are set below a forehead that belongs on Mount Rushmore and eyebrows as concentrated as a pair of angry skidmarks on a freeway. Add General George S Patton’s predatory jaw and you get the picture.
In that face New Zealand trusts, not least because there isn’t too much competition in the side when it comes to glares that could kill. Daniel Vettori, nice, intelligent chap that he is, can’t help looking like he’s just emerged from under a duvet somewhere.
Stephen Fleming hides his considerable mental sharpness behind the kindly eyes of a tannie selling melktert at a church fête, while Brendon McCullum’s curly blondness tends to tussle with his tattoos for attention. No, he hasn’t been near an inked needle in a while, he assured us the other week.
Chris Martin rattles nerves occasionally, particularly when he bounds in to bowl looking like Ichebod Crane after a long journey on a penny-farthing. But just as often he seems about to be bumped off course by a rampant butterfly. There’s a bracing coolth about Shane Bond’s stare. Then he smiles and turns into the 12-year-old clarinetist next door.
Lou Vincent has a decent, just-out-of-jail cut to his jib. But when he talks he tangles his tangents a touch too artfully to suggest a truly menacing presence. No, it’s to Scotty that Kiwis everywhere turn if they need reminding that they are among the flintiest people on Earth.
It’s a fair bet that some of them felt moved to do so during that rugby tournament in France that was attended by the Springboks. Perhaps Kiwi cricketers will think twice in future about prefacing every reference to that other game with, ”We understand that rugby is the premier sport in our country …”
Styris has been facing the nation since December 7 1994, when he made his first-class debut for Northern Districts against Wellington at the Basin Reserve.
Districts were 120 for five when Styris took guard and prepared to face his first ball. But a voice from the slips halted the bowler in his tracks.
”No! No! I’ve played this game for too long to see this happen,” Roger Twose twanged. ”Go back and start again.” So the bowler went back to his mark and Styris tried to find his composure. The bowler turned and steamed in, again. And, again, Twose cut him short: ”Sorry. No. Can’t have this, just can’t. I’ve got too much respect for Mother Cricket to allow this. It’s a disgrace.”
Several more such interruptions by Twose meant that Styris had stood at the crease for several minutes without facing a single ball. By that stage he was more than a little flustered, especially as, Twose excepted, the Wellington players were laughing their heads off. Was he wearing anything inside out? No. Had he somehow forgotten to put on his pants? No. Did he have his bat? Uh, yes.
Another interruption followed, and just as Styris was making sure someone hadn’t painted his pads purple he felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Twose. ”OK, mate,” said the veteran. ”I’ve had enough of your sick joke — take off the bloody mask.”
We have no way of knowing whether there is any truth in the above and we have no intention of finding out if there is, because it would spoil the story. But it serves to illustrate that New Zealand’s canny cricketers understand they often need something besides talent, skill and hard work to beat their more fancied opponents.
South Africa, who have never lost a Test series to New Zealand, are among the latter. Their chances of keeping that fact intact could depend on how they handle Bond’s express pace on pitches that will suit him.
But then they have Paul Harris, who, after his revelatory performance in Pakistan, is sure to become a crowd favourite.
Not only is he the most attacking spinner produced by South Africa since the days of Alan Kourie, he is also possessed of a visage that is well-endowed with the grungy edginess that his role demands. Masked crusader Styris versus grunge-ho Harris: on the face of it an epic battle.