C Robertson-Glasgow, cricket writer nonpareil, once famously asked: “Who ever hoped like a cricketer?” As England’s chosen 30 prepare to pack their bags for the monastic retreat that is now the Hilton hotel at the Ageas Bowl, they will be full of hope after a prolonged absence from the game. Both Jimmy Anderson with his 151 caps and the eight players yet to make their debut will be bubbling with enthusiasm as they start to hone their skills again. But they will also wonder whether the magic is still there after their lay-off. In their quieter moments they will be all too aware that the runs and wickets do not come automatically. In their nightmares they might not come at all. So a gloomy corollary to Robertson-Glasgow’s question occurs to me: “Who ever failed like a cricketer?” The simple fact is that cricketers fail all the time, even the good ones. For the professionals there is the ruthless evidence in black and white for all to see on the scorecard: J Root b Cummins 0 (Old Trafford, 2019), B Stokes b Boult 0 (Auckland, 2018). It happens to the very best, even to Bradman. As EJ Thribb would have it: “Bowled Hollies 0. So farewell then, Sir Don.” However, Bradman endured the agonies of failure less frequently than any batsman that has ever taken guard. Apparently he was once asked by an aspiring young cricketer how best to come out of a rough trot and replied: “Sorry, son. Can’t help you there. It never really happened to me.” I decided to check this out; in his 52 Tests Bradman never went more than five innings without scoring a half-century. This glimpse of failure took place at the start of the 1934 tour of England, whereupon he compensated in the final two Tests with innings of 304 and 244. Point proven? I thought so. Then I had a look at Joe Root’s record after 92 Test appearances; he has never gone more than seven innings without reaching 50. The difference seemed surprisingly small. However, the thesis stands. Great batsmen fail; moderate batsmen fail quite a lot; poor batsmen fail frequently yet they still come back for more. It is no wonder that the game can be such a source of torment. A cheap dismissal is like dying a little death – though not in the French sense. All is well with the world; you are in charge, dismissing the ball from your presence, dictating the course of the match and then one mistake, one brilliant delivery, one moment of ill fortune and it’s all over – barring a successful review in an international match. I’m not sure any sport recreates such distress so frequently. We might remember Devon Loch losing his footing in the 1956 Grand National, Doug Sanders missing that putt to win the Open at St Andrews in 1970, the famous penalty shootout misses of Stuart Pearce, Chris Waddle and Gareth Southgate. For those with shorter memories I suppose there is also David Luiz’s nightmare on Wednesday night. But these are freakish events (the last one so recent that no cheap jokes at the Brazilian’s expense are appropriate). Every cricketer has to be prepared to cope with the pain of sudden failure on just about every day of his professional life. No wonder dressing rooms suddenly become noisier, more relaxed places when the rain starts pouring down. It means that the chances of failing on that particular day are fast receding. No one fails so obviously or so publicly as a batsman dismissed within moments of arriving at the crease, which helps to explain why cricket can be such an agonising game to play and a mesmerising one to witness. In my experience the great players often cope with bleak failure by deciding that it wasn’t really their fault. In my early days I would revel in the explanations of Ian Botham (“Should have tried to hit it harder and I would have cleared him”), Viv Richards (“missing leg, man”) and Brian Close (“wrong-flavoured chewing gum delivered by 12th man”). The great players cannot allow their self-belief to be dented by any suggestion of their own frailty. Which makes sense; if they did, they wouldn’t be so great. Of course that impression of infallibility can be just that: an impression. Just once I remember Botham going out to bat after saying: “There’s no way I’ll get a run here.” That was on a dank day at Old Trafford in May 1981 just after his tour of the Caribbean as captain of England. Michael Holding was bowling fast for Lancashire against Somerset and Ian had not yet exorcised his memories of that tour. He was indeed out for a duck (mind you, he then bowled Somerset to victory along with Joel Garner). By the same token I once earwigged a mid-pitch conversation between the Warwickshire openers of that era, Dennis Amiss, by then a veteran and one of England’s most prolific and dependable batsmen, and KD Smith, a relative novice. To my surprise it was Amiss who was anxiously seeking reassurance: “Is my bat coming down straight, KD? Are my feet moving properly?” Nothing can be guaranteed. At the start of one season, my Somerset colleague, Peter Roebuck, an established county batsman at the time, queried how he was ever going to score another run. I tried to reassure him by saying that he would score 1,200 runs in the season at an average close to 40 – as usual. This did not seem to help much. But come September that is what he did. It is so much easier looking on. So it is clear to me that Root will probably top England’s batting averages this summer because he is our best batsman and Anderson, provided he stays fit, will add substantially to his 584 wickets because he is our best bowler. But neither of them are certain about that and this is what drives them on.