Exhilarating, compelling and, most of all, disturbing - the story of Jofra Archer versus Steve Smith

SAM MORSHEAD AT LORD'S: Suddenly, everything is quiet. In the middle of the arena, Smith lies prostrate. Sport stops in moments like this, and prayers begin

Scorecard | Talking Points

What must it feel like to be in such control? What must it feel like to always be a step ahead of your opponent, never panicked, never flustered, seeing the world in slow motion and high definition?

Steve Smith knows. 

He steps inside the line again, and whips Jofra Archer to fine leg - an acutely difficult skill accomplished as if he was tying his laces and setting off for a morning jog.

He is in control. Again. Just as he has been this entire series; this baffling, brilliant batsman seizing the moment once more. This is his seventh successive score of fifty or more in Ashes cricket, no one else has done that. Of course they haven’t, it is a ludicrous record. 

Archer turns at the end of his run and Smith sets himself, that curious backlift poking out sideways like a broken oar. Thirty runs required for another century.

“No problem”.

He steps back and across, opening up leg stump, toying with Archer. Eyes widen, bat readies, body straightens.

And...

Crack. 

Smith contorts in pain, dropping his bat and wandering off towards cover. It is not always easy to pick Archer’s shorter delivery - his action does not change markedly from its natural, rhythmic flow - and a 65-over-old ball has stuck a little in the pitch. 

Smith’s unprotected left arm swells and aches. He winces. He grimaces. He is human. 

^{Steve Smith receives treatment on his arm}

***

Jofra Archer spent his brief visit to the crease on Thursday ducking and diving out the way of Australia’s short-ball barrage. Now it is his turn.

Smith’s armour has parted, just for a second, and it will take a deadeye to find the chink.

Archer rolls in with increasing purpose, somehow getting faster and faster with every ball bowled, feeding off the rising fervour within Lord’s. 

Short again, and quick. Really quick. Smith swings, control gone, and his top edge balloons over Jonny Bairstow and into the hovercover. 

Archer cranks back his head and appeals to the skies. Something tells him to go again.

Short. Rapid. Smith flops a pitching wedge over Ben Stokes at long leg for a single. 

This time Archer raises a smile, a knowing smile. He realises something is afoot, and so does Lord’s, which only moments earlier had been allowing itself to drift off to sleep, the evidence of a hearty lunch strewn beneath its feet. 

There is anticipation now.

After all, if Archer is into his 25th over of the innings and showing no sign of fatigue, what right do you and I have to be defeated by one too many pork pies?

The final ball of his 25th clocks 96.1mph and hits a trampet short of a length. Ninety-six miles per hour - furious speed, the likes of which English cricket has been deprived for so long. 

Smith does remarkably well not to get caught at short leg, his gloves cushioning the blow just enough to see the ball land in front of Jos Buttler.

Lord’s roars for the first time in four days, for the first time since the World Cup final. There is a realisation that a battle royale has appeared out of thin air and we all have front-row seats. 

Archer collects his hat and jumper from Aleem Dar, breathes deeply, and strides towards mid-on. He is not done yet.

^{Jofra Archer and Smith were engaged in a battle royale}

***

Suddenly, everything is quiet. 

In the middle of the arena, Smith lies prostrate. 

Sport stops in moments like this, and prayers begin.

There is quiet in the media centre, too; the tappety-tap of keyboards suspended indefinitely as we wait for movement in the middle. 

The story of Phillip Hughes is still only five years old, and the travelling press know the tale all too well.

Smith has been struck in much the same place that Hughes was on that November day in 2014, and his helmet is not equipped with the stem guards developed in the wake of the tragedy. He tried them once in the nets a couple of years ago, but found them to be uncomfortable - and there is no ICC rule which stipulates they must be worn.

Archer’s bouncer has caught Smith in a strange shape, even by his eccentric standards, and the ball has struck him on the back of the neck below the left ear. 

Everything is quiet.

^{Smith is floored by a bouncer which struck him on the back of the neck}

***

Eventually, after what seems like hours but cannot really be more than a handful of minutes, Smith sits up. Then he stands. He does not want to leave the crease.

Team doctor Richard Saw takes Smith through a series of Maddocks questions, specifically designed to establish a sportsperson’s mental state after a blow to the head - “where are you playing”, “who bowled the last over”, “where did the ball hit you” and so on.

Smith is adamant he is not leaving the field - “I feel fine and I’d like to continue”, he tells Saw. Thankfully, Australia’s medics have the power to overrule him.

But he is only off the field for a matter of 46 minutes and, when Peter Siddle nicks off to Chris Woakes, there is a gasp from the crowd when they see the tourists’ former captain fidgeting his way back to the wicket.

There are some cretinous boos, too, from red-faced moral arbiters. These people are not worth much more than a sentence.

Instead, the focus should be on the process which results in Smith’s quick return. Australia’s medical team put Smith through 20 more minutes of testing in the confines of the dressing room - a standard Scat 5 test, which involves a series of visual assessments, and Cricket Australia’s own Cogsport test - a computerised version which compares players’ scores against a pre-season baseline.

He passes but when he returns he does not look secure. He hurries about his business, plays and misses to deliveries he might ordinarily leave well alone, and then shoulders arms to a ball destined for middle and leg, and is lock-stock-lbw.

It ends an extraordinary passage of play.

Exhilarating, compelling, intriguing but, perhaps most pertinently, disturbing.

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