Forget the muscle-bound moustachioed pace triumvirate, it was the slight balding man who was behind England’s downfall in Brisbane
Often as not you can pick a cricketer from their build and bearing. Mitchell Starc, gangly, wiry, spry, could only be a fast bowler, just as David Warner, bullish, stocky and thickset, looks a natural batsman, and Tim Paine, slight and impish, has the cut of a wicketkeeper. But then there’s Nathan Lyon, who has the kind of everyday physique that gives hope to those of us who don’t get paid to play sport, and the unassuming appearance of someone you might bump into down the pub. Your mate’s mate. If you were trying to guess exactly what business Lyon has at a cricket ground, you’d likely run through a lot of options before you stopped on the job he’s actually got. Barman? Steward? Groundstaff?
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