The Don of the ordinary

And then came Michael Hussey. As he was bound to, because in a game which lends itself to the number crunching of the calculator as much as the live telecast click of the TV remote, creating heroes is a flourishing industry in the cricketing world.
There being a story to every number, this Australian's current Test batting average as of Friday (87.19, second only to Don Bradman's 99.94 among batsmen to have played at least 10 Tests) lays claim to more than the pretentious.
The cynical among us — and the ones least likely to miss pointing out that Hussey has benefited from the inflation of having played only 18 Tests — might not entirely agree. But a case to tell his story presents itself nonetheless.
If not for anything else then because nobody can ever accuse Hussey of strutting his stuff, as he is always too busy gritting his teeth. Or making his urgency and focus stand out like his zinc-smeared lips.
This urgency and focus, as much the consequence of circumstance as his nature, is intrinsic to the 15,313 first-class runs and fractured rib of Justin Langer that earned Hussey his Baggy Green. As also to the mere 166 days it took him to score 1,000 Test runs and the 29 ODIs before which his average fell short of 100.
Hussey's has been a journey mired in stop-and-go traffic. The facts of his life exist in many variations, but none more intriguing than his ordinariness. So ordinary is he that the method of the man begs a study in print.
Modest of stature and extravagantly devoid of extravagance, his presence at the crease makes for anything but popular theatre. While his partner at the other end packages drama into his innings by alternating between hits and misses, arrogance and anxiety, Hussey just pushes and runs. And pushes and runs. And when he does find the boundary, it is because the ball finds it. He only finds the gaps.
Hussey is about nerveless batsmanship with compact stroke production, the use of soft hands to steal a run where none seemingly exists, about running hard. About trying hard.
Apparently, for Hussey, cricket is not an easy game. And he makes no attempt to pretend it is otherwise. And it is that which elevates his ordinariness into what is at once both a personal and universal statement.
Ordinary. But when the moment of crisis comes, the Clark Kent in Hussey leaps into an imaginary phone box, puts on his cape and external underpants and emerges as Super-Ordinary-Man; or Extra-Ordinary-Man, if you please.
Because come rough or smooth, Hussey, though unlikely to make your hair stand on end with heroics, will do the small things right. He will tighten up, toughen up and get his team through.
Here, surely, is proof that mastery over the art of batting in both Tests and ODIs is within the ambit of the ordinary. Consistency, that missing link between good and great, becomes just a detail then. And yet, the devil lies in the detail.
Without the aura of flair, those who live by numbers are ironically susceptible to die by them. And yet, while Hussey's consistency might not be expansive enough for the cynics, the present is a stage where his career, a work in progress, has something that no completed work can ever possess: infinite possibilities. Statistically, a slot just below the boy from Bowral, the Don, even.
Again, it is probably more difficult to be ordinary and still be a favourite with the scorecard and fan alike than it is to be a star. While stardom demands the gift of timing more in life than sport, it requires other attributes to represent the cult of the ordinary — a particular type of character, a particular type of talent, a particular type of background.
While others praise the more obvious talents of others, this person must be more the unsung hero than a headline-maker. One who allows the fan gratification enough from self-identification, which elevates his ordinariness to heroism beyond the stereotypical meaning of the word. Michael Hussey is such a man.
All hail the anti-hero.