Botha, mall walkers and sushi

Somebody once mumbled something about how Johan Botha always used to bowl in the ‘comfort zone’. Never in the power-plays, never at the death, and very rarely with more than the obligatory four men in the fielding circle.

The mumbler’s name could probably be recalled with intensive thought and a strong cup of coffee, but who cares? Not me.

Sports opinion is built on such comments all the time – just one aside at a bar can condemn a cricketer to being an ‘arsehole’ amongst a certain group of people for the rest of his career.

Fortunately I am in a position to observe first-hand whether something might be true or not. Just because Arbitrary Bill says Protea Brad failed to call his (Bill's) sister the morning after making out with her at a party doesn’t mean to say he’s an arsehole.

But accusations of ‘protecting’ yourself as a bowler and being reluctant to tackle the pressure moments are a different thing.

An analysis of Botha’s career would suggest that he has, indeed, bowled the vast majority of his overs in the middle of the innings when things are quiet – and he can make them even quieter. If that was his job, and he perfected it, it’s only natural that he might have misgivings about being able to do a different job.

Botha was conscious that he had been criticised for only bowling eight overs – and none at the death – when the Proteas lost embarrassingly to Abdul Razzaq’s onslaught in Abu Dhabi and one might have expected a surly response when he was questioned about his decision-making on Tuesday night following the thrilling two-run victory in Dubai. Quite the opposite.

The vice-captain was thoughtful, honest and respectful, even appreciative of the question.

“I thought a lot about whether I should have bowled, AB told me I should have bowled. But I did what I thought was best for the team and I will learn from it. It might be different next time,” he replied, with a genuine smile. Confident, assured but humble.

It was a hot, hot morning. Running the dusty back-streets of Dubai was not seen as normal or healthy. I was lost – again.

Mostly it has been in my hire-car. I have done 3 123 kilometres so far and I am certain the distance I should have travelled would be closer to 2 000.

Leave the main streets of the city and the desert disorientates you like a smoke-bomb. Even in the city the skyscrapers all look alike. Signposts mean nothing. “Al Ain” and “Al Barsha” are everywhere. How big can these districts be? There are signs for them 50 kilometres apart.

You cannot simply exit a road and turn around. If you are lucky you may exit 15 kilometres later should you miss a turn but there is no guarantee that you will be able to u-turn. Four times now I have exited a highway with the hope of backtracking only to be funnelled onto a different highway and another 15 kilometres before the next exit.

Once, I exited a third highway and had to find my way back to the original one. It took an hour to get back to where I started.

Anyway, a French woman asked why I was running in the dust and heat. “You must join the Mall Walkers,” she said. Sound a bit like a ‘B’ grade horror movie? The ‘Mall Walkers’?

Malls in Dubai are routinely a couple of kilometres from end-to-end, left and right. Take the top floor into account and you double it. With small excursions left and right, you have an 8-10 kilometre route. Shops don’t open until 10am but the mall itself opens at 8am.

So, two hours of perfect, airconditioned luxury in which to exercise. Whereas South Africa has running clubs, Dubai has ‘Mall Walking’ clubs.

I had sushi for lunch today. At a little place in the mall. Six pieces. Delicious. Japanese guy, didn’t speak any English. At all.

“He just arrived,” explained the other half of the two-man team when he appeared. “We need replacement. Owner only want Japanese, so we got him very quick…”

That’s Dubai. You want a Japanese sushi chef, you get him. You want a ski-slope in your mall, you build it. You want to turn left on the highway, you don’t bother.