Aussies winning when they're swinging

Quick Single: Day three at a glance

So impenetrable is the mystery of getting a cricket ball to swing counter-intuitively that when – as if by magic – it begins to happen, the ball is treated like it’s some sort of semi-precious gem.

If they were allowed, the fielders who are pre-ordained to handle the ball when it enters its aerodynamically unpredictable ‘reversing’ period would don those protective cotton gloves that are required wear for commoners granted brief holding rights to the Melbourne Cup.

So when the Australians finally managed to get the ball to ‘go’ before the 30th over of South Africa’s innings on Monday, they were understandably insistent that nobody other than the bowlers and the specialist polishers be the ones to get their slightly-less-greasy mitts on it.

Certainly not South African batsman Faf du Plessis, who bent down to gather a ball from Mitchell Johnson that had hit his pad and rolled not far from his stumps, and then flicked it back to the bowler.

The Australians promptly saw red, and du Plessis just as quickly learned he’d broken some inviolable code.

Johnson as well as a couple of fielders – David Warner and wicketkeeper Brad Haddin, who has chirped the South Africans a few times during the series for handling a ball that isn’t theirs – converged on the batsman and told him in none-too-polite terms to keep his hands to himself.

Even if he was wearing batting gloves – which can become notorious sweat collectors – and had his hands on it for no longer than a second or two.

“I think a lot of the boys said it’s not time for him to be fielding,” said Johnson when asked at day’s end what advice had been offered du Plessis as he tossed the ball back at the bowler.

“That’s our job – we’re out there to field.

“I was actually going to let the ball hit me, but he didn’t throw it straight.”

The consternation might have stemmed from the fact that du Plessis has form in this sensitive area, having been stung 50 per cent of his match fee in a Test against Pakistan in Dubai last October for “changing the condition of the ball” after being filmed rubbing it vigorously near the zipper of his pants pocket.

Of course, it’s a little more blatant if you start doing that when you’re batting, and du Plessis maintains he was simply doing the fielding team a favour rather than attempting some sort of surreptitious sleight-of-sweaty-hand manoeuvre.

“For me, I always pick the ball up – it doesn’t mean anything but I see they don’t like it,” he said after the day’s play.

“They are pretty aggressive about that ball.

“They are like a pack of dogs around you when you get close to that ball.”

He also clarified that the ferocity of the spray he copped was not responsible for him having to dash from the field for several minutes during the following over.

That sudden withdrawal was to fix a fault that had arisen on one of his pads, not to take an unscheduled comfort break.

In fairness to the bowling team, the sudden confluence of all the variables that allow a ball to swing towards, rather than away from the shiny side as happens in conventional swing – where the polished half meets less air resistance and therefore tracks slightly faster – can be fleeting.

So therefore once it starts to swing reverse, you must do everything in your limited powers to preserve the ball’s mystical state lest the sorcery vanish as quickly and mysteriously as it arrived.

And it announced its arrival on day three with a scream, or at least a screamer from Ryan Harris.

A delivery in the 29th over that dipped in so decisively and so belatedly to Hashim Amla that even one of the world’s top three-ranked Test batsmen – and someone coming off a truly memorable century in his previous innings – was powerless to prevent it crashing into his stumps.

“That was a (Dale) Steyn ball,” Johnson noted, paying homage to the South African speedster’s spell of sustained ‘reverse’ that effectively decided the second Test last week.

The reason why it happens sometimes but not others is not quite so obvious as its arrival, which is often accompanied by a cry from some trained observer as if spotting from the crow’s nest of a whaling boat – ‘thar she goes’ .

Firstly, it requires an abrasive surface on which one side of the ball can become badly scuffed while the other side is lovingly preserved, shined and tended as if it were part of granny’s prized silverware.

As Jacques Kallis revealed in his recent cricket.com.au blog, the South Africans achieved that so notably in Port Elizabeth thanks to David Warner – the abrasive surface being the concrete he belted it into while batting rather than his comments when being subsequently interviewed.

Another key is ensuring the ball’s leather casing absorbs minimal moisture, hence the pecking order of fielders who are allowed to handle it when it is relayed from the wicketkeeper back to the bowler countless times throughout the day.

Warner is one of those who is a constant in that chain, as his hands are deemed to remain dry and is therefore entrusted with catching and throwing (if not media conferences).

Steve Smith is another, and Michael Clarke himself claims he’s not nearly as big a sweater when in the field as he is when he’s at the crease.

What you don’t want is to have the ball fall into the clammy, conspiratorial hands of the opposition.

As was supposedly the case during Australia’s 2005 Ashes loss in England, where the likes of Andrew Flintoff, Simon Jones and Steve Harmison could bend the old ball at will but the Australian bowlers were apparently being nobbled by England fans in the crowd.

There were, it was claimed, reported cases of the ball being returned from beyond the boundary reeking and sopping of beer after some bounder had apparently immersed it in a pint before tossing it back to the hapless Aussie bowlers.

Clearly, South African crowds place a higher value on their lager.

Or perhaps their batsmen are ill-advisedly lofting their fours and sixes into the temperate, family-friendly ‘dry’ areas.

But having not only unlocked the secret that had so notably eluded them at Port Elizabeth, the Australians were not going to brook anything that might break the spell, hence the vehemence of their reaction to du Plessis’ fielding.

And from where he was standing, which was out in the middle once Amla departed the scene, du Plessis could find no other rational explanation for the onset of the phenomenon.

“I must be honest, I was surprised to see the ball reverse from their side – I think it was 27 overs when it started reversing – especially after (Sunday’s) rain and with a wet outfield,” the batsman said with candour, before deciding it best not to enter Warner territory.

“Let’s leave it at that.

“But now the pitch is nice and scuffed up let’s hope it starts happening for us because reverse swing bowling is the trickiest thing to bat against when you come in, because with conventional swing the ball swings a little bit earlier.

“With reverse swing it swings late, so it’s a deadly weapon.”