He was an artist who disdained flourish, a scientist who went beyond calculation. The game in its most effective form flowed through him. Others might struggle, with themselves, with the conditions, with the bowling. Bradman saw only the ball and the inviting gap. He moved along in a bird-like way, almost skipping between the wickets, delighting as he carved through cover or pulled past the bowler.
Some batsmen can keep their wickets intact for hours upon end.
Others can cart the bowling around. Perhaps the finest tributes to Bradman's powers were those who suffered most at his hands, the turners of sods and hewers of wood as that fiery Catholic and contemporary Bill O'Reilly called the members of the bowling fraternity. After the war Bradman reappeared and for a time faltered. Against England he edged into the slips and, in the Australian way, stood his ground. Astonishingly the appeal was rejected.