Ollie Robinson: The Spotlight Swivels From Sussex's Seamer to Australian Glory

When Ollie Robinson first arrived on the international scene two things stood out: firstly, why has it taken this chap so long to don those creamy whites and how is he so metronomically efficient? A gargantuan man standing at 6ft 5in, he not so much dashes, rather drifts in a methodical yet mechanical fashion. A thumping sail to the crease and a seamless release of the ball from great height with those long, slender fingers sends the leather slamming brutally onto the pitch. Stitching wobbly, oscillating a touch; an air of movement off the seam deceives a foredoomed Tom Latham, and brushes his bat before thundering violently into the stumps behind. England’s - and Robinson’s - Summer had begun.

That is until out came the swift, shameful stop sign. Oh, Ollie. Perhaps it would have been worth spending ten minutes of your time to efface, confront even, any offensive Tweets but, of course, he didn't think to do any of that and in return the world’s wrath engulfed him in a cloud of immoral smoke. Fair dos, he had that one coming to him. But in light of recent allegations made against Michael Vaughan by Azeem Rafiq, placing his sometimes sapless broadcasting career behind a curtain of deep uncertainty, Robinson might just be a tad fortuitous to be soaking in the Australian sunshi…oh, it’s raining, never mind.

So take this opportunity. An indelible Summer passed amassing one single Test triumph — albeit one of lustre and ever-priceless Indian humiliation — this bowling allrounder was one of few fragments of positivity that surfaced through the myriad of underlying cracks of an otherwise unsettled England cohort. Naturally Joe Root’s reign on the batting throne was prolonged as the suspicious spike of overuse syndrome in England’s scoreboard operators seems less suspect by the Test. But for an ageing bowling attack that have relied immensely on the arms of James Anderson and Stuart Broad for a generation, Robinson’s early audition has brought a glimmer of life into the hearts of the grumbling purists.

Not since Fred Trueman in 1952 has an English bowler claimed more Test scalps in a maiden Summer, although this will only resonate with a small majority of the sparse Lord’s crowd that observed Robinson’s debut seven-wicket haul. 28 poles from his five Tests arrived at an average of 19.60, outshining Neil Wagner, Jasprit Bumrah and Anderson. Not bad. Laudable too was the on-field response following his retrograde fall from the cricket cliff. New Zealand’s and India’s batting lineups are scary — that’ll probably cater for their respective #1 and #2 Test rankings — but Robinson adopted for the cool-as-a-cucumber approach. Unflappable as those around him toiled tirelessly in the rare British heat; as if a master of their trade was finally able to humbly flaunt his knowledge to the world.

Domestically the 27 year old has serenely sparkled as a Sussex employee. Things may have deteriorated for him at Kent, Leicestershire, Yorkshire (yep, that one was bad) and Hampshire (just the 22% of the major counties) before finding fruition on the south coast. An extensive difference with the Martlets embroidered truly onto his breast, he’s mopped up a touch over 200 first-class wickets since the start of the 2017 season at an average marginally below 18. Those are some fine numbers for a cricketer who not so long ago appeared irretrievable, beyond the boundaries of promise and belief. Yet consistency, persistence and self-confidence have resurrected a fading career.

So off he pops to an alternate hemisphere. Where shrimps sizzle and snakes skitter in the orange Aussie sun. Flatter, harder pitches greet a pale travelling party as they prepare for the unusual climates and the hazardous trio of Mitchell Starc, Josh Hazlewood and Pat Cummins. Fun stuff, but in Robinson England have a secret sabre up their formal blazer sleeves. Conditions ideal for a bowler who slings it hard from such an elevation, with that faint bit of movement off the seam to flummox the odd bloke or two. Bereft of wisdom down under, it may be the one rather large obstacle in his path to Ashes immortality but, with Jofra Archer sitting glumly in the comforts of his own living room, a vast void needs filling; urgently.

And could this very altitudinous Margate-born late-bloomer be England’s saviour from total desolation? Time will reveal, but his approaching battles with David Warner are likely to make up for the oncoming and inevitable deprivation of slumber. Some things will remain embedded in time for an existence, but on the gloriously preserved turfs of Australia’s cricket colosseums, Robinson has the opportunity to engrave his own name amongst the esteemed list of cricket’s deities.