“I’m not tired. I’m not tired. I’m not tired.” Really, Ben? Really? Well, you’re pretty much on your own in that case old boy, after a day where simply watching Ben Stokes being Ben Stokes felt like a full contact sport, psychodrama, soap opera, and in its stickiest moments like a man engaged in an act of public self-medication by Test cricket.
This fifth day at Lord’s was entirely dominated by Stokes, who loomed over it like the angel of the north, arms outspread, another note in in his own extraordinary sporting life. It was shortly after midday that Stokes came running through at the end of his eighth straight over from the Nursery End to talk to the batter Nitish Kumar Reddy, to tell him, specially, that he wasn’t tired, hyped and pumped, eyes boggled, drawing boos from the largely Indian crowd.
India were 101 for seven at that point and losing the game at a steady stagger. As Stokes wheeled in, drop-in tresses flowing behind him (colour range: Nordic God), it seemed likely the defining image of the day would be that beautifully desiccated fifth day pitch in midday sunlight, scratched, marked, bruised, as weathered and handsome as Stokes himself.
Except of course Test cricket will only ever move at its own pace. By the time the final wicket fell almost five hours later, with the lights now dimming a little, Stokes could only stare up at the skies from his position at long on as the entire England team ran to deep point behind Shoaib Bashir, a perfect tableau of joy, relief and exhaustion.
India had clung on in the hours in between with wonderful skill and courage, scoring at one an over, patting out the dots, as the day settled into a kind of fever dream, a march through the desert. There were moments where it was hard to remember a time before this, a time when Stokes wasn’t bowling from both ends simultaneously. This is just life now. Ben Stokes is bowling at Lord’s. Ben Stokes will always be bowling at Lord’s.
In between he kept on doing all the other things, captaining, cheerleading, talking endlessly, walking back all the way to the end of his mark with Jofra Archer. Some people have main character energy. Stokes has all the other energies too, supporting actor, romantic lead, good guy, villain, extra, best boy, executive producer.
It is extraordinary to watch him in this environment now, coming towards the necessary end of a vivid personal era. For all the occasional comic oddities of Bazball, this has always come from a place of love, passion and cinematic personal obsession. England captains of the past have often been a little mardy and pinched, doggedly seeing this out. Stokes just loves it. He’s a destiny man. He lives this thing, and does it generously too, inviting you in to spectate. Even the line about not being tired is a peek into the mantras of the Bazball dressing room (never say you’re tired, low, hurt: bad voodoo spreads bad voodoo).
It is a level of commitment that can teeter close to mania, and did so here as India clung on. Stokes bowled 24 overs in this second innings, twice as many as Chris Woakes, a feat of endurance that will put a huge strain on his body. At the afternoon drinks break he called the team together and delivered an inspirational speech. Presumably that speech ran: I’m going to bowl for ever now. That’s the plan: me.
There was logic here. Stokes was the senior bowler in many ways. He has played more Tests than the entire attack put together. He bowled brilliantly too. It was Stokes who finally induced Jasprit Bumrah to spoon a slog to mid-on to take India to 147 for eight and push the 2-1 series lead into sight.
This is a point of high jeopardy for Stokes, for the Project, for his own era. Win this series, then win the Ashes. It is far from impossible. At which point Stokes gets to ride off into his own maniacally febrile retirement as a genuinely great England captain.
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This Test was proof of something else too. Stokes may be 34 and held together with brown string, but he still has the moments in him.
He is perhaps a better bowler now than at any stage. Here he was touching 89mph in his seventh over. He got the key wicket of KL Rahul early on with a ball that zinged up the slope (there is no slope: I, Ben Stokes, am the slope) and was given lbw on review after an appeal that seemed to be based on the poster for the movie Platoon: full starfish, on his knees, roaring into the hail of machine gun fire.
It even felt right that the final wicket should fall to Bashir, a Stokes project, injured and a little underdone, but wheeled back out here at just the right moment for some personal redemption. This is the best part of Stokes, his emotional connection to the team and to English cricket; the ability to talk about things like depression and mental health, the struggles of life, even in the middle of his own very alpha sporting success, a genuinely rare kind of public candour.
This series can still head either way from here just as Stokes himself must now see what exactly the rigours of those five days have done to his joints. But this was another one of his special days, another note in that examination of the far extremes of character and will that only Test cricket can really give.
