First published in the inaugural issue of the Pinch Hitter, James Wallace lists his selection of the best and worst… pinch hitters.

The Best

Kris Srikkanth

Srikkanth was the original outlier at the top of the order. Anachronistically aggressive, dispatching the great and good of fast bowling in such an insouciant manner it’s a wonder that none of them plopped a fist through his open-grilled helmet. Look up either of his Test tons (don’t tell me you don’t have the time). In smiting 116 against the Aussies at the SCG in 1986 he makes opening partner Sunil Gavaskar look like just ‘some bloke’ at the other end.

You’d think Ian Botham would have been made for the role, with his swagger and indefatigable thirst… for biffing. Sadly, for Beefy and England fans, he never really came off when elevated up the order, averaging 26.60 as an opener with a strike rate that was actually lower than when he batted in the middle order.

Asked to fill the role for a final time at the 1992 World Cup when well past his pomp – the unforgiving pastel-blue kit clinging to his burgeoning flanks – Botham began with a 21-ball 9 against India, and overall averaged a slimline 21.

Neil Smith & Co

England have form, or rather they don’t, in this field. Warwickshire off-spinner Neil Smith was surprisingly hoicked up the order to open in the ’96 World Cup, the most memorable outcome of this experiment being his purge of the previous night’s pizza on the Peshawar outfield.

While most other teams realised that rather than gambling on an agricultural hitter it was more prudent to elevate a strokemaker with a proven international record, England refused to budge. Craig White, Phil DeFreitas, Phil Mustard and Mal Loye were just a few of the names given a whirl at some stage, all with little to show for it.

Jason Roy

Only last year, Jason Roy was deemed a suitable option to open the batting in the 2019 Ashes. If ever there was a simple way to showcase the complex differences between Test and limited-overs cricket, then it was witnessing Roy, barrel-chested hero of England’s World Cup Campaign, being reduced to a slumped husk by Messrs Hazlewood and Cummins.

And therein lies the paradox of pinch-hitting. There is no rhyme or reason to it. For some it works, even when it shouldn’t; and for others it doesn’t, even though it should. There’s no shame in it. Often the choice isn’t really in the hands of the player, but thrust upon them from on high.