The art of watching Temba Bavuma bat

There’s an art to watching Temba Bavuma bat. Mastering it requires fine tuning the balance between expectation and satisfaction‚ and knowing — or at least questioning — why something happens when it happens.

Bavuma himself is a master of a complementary art: of batting as if time does not exist‚ which of course it doesn’t in the hours‚ minutes and seconds that are nothing more than constructs of the over-ordered mind.

Time does exist as a measure of change‚ and Bavuma knows this. There is rigour in the way he constructs an innings‚ an honesty of intent and spirit that demands close examination to be properly appreciated.

That level of attention isn’t often paid in a world where time is counted in commercial breaks and progress in a steady uptick of numbers on a screen.

So when Bavuma ignored both those imperatives at the Wanderers on Saturday‚ people who weren’t watching closely enough couldn’t see he was doing what needed to be done when it needed to be done.

They couldn’t see‚ apparently‚ that the second delivery of a muggy morning‚ bowled by Pat Cummins‚ did everything except earn a wicket.

The ball zigged towards Bavuma through the air‚ zagged away after pitching‚ spat sharply upward‚ and took his rapidly retreating gloves on its way to that nice man‚ Tim Paine.

Happily for Bavuma and South Africa‚ it bounced before Paine snagged it.

That Cummins‚ then Josh Hazlewood‚ then Nathan Lyon‚ continued to ask tough questions — and that Chadd Sayers hindered the finding of the answers — also seemed to pass unnoticed.

All some people could see was that Bavuma wasn’t scoring runs‚ that he was spending too many minutes and seconds and commercial breaks on 26.

The only number ticking upward was that of the balls he faced on 26‚ which had reached 35 when he moved to 27 by accident: Hazlewood to Bavuma to mid-on‚ where Cummins gathered and threw past the stumps and beyond‚ where Usman Khawaja couldn’t quite get himself to where he needed to be to prevent the overthrow.

But when the bowlers tired and the ball aged and the thrust of the match changed — not least by dint of Bavuma’s discipline in refusing to hurry that change — he scored faster and won the approval he wasn’t seeking.

Several of those runs were speared through the covers by means of a fabulously fluid stroke that is equal parts physics and geometry.

It is a thing of confidence on the hoof‚ and it makes you want to indulge in the deep and powerful joy that is to be gained from taking Bavuma out of his context.

Watch‚ really watch‚ him bat for batting’s sake and you will see not the best batsman in the game — who can say who that is‚ anyway? — but one who has as firm a grip on what he is trying to do as he has on his bat itself.

Of course‚ trying to take Bavuma out of his context is foolish. For a start‚ which context do we take him out of: the match situation‚ the reality that South Africa don’t need to win the Wanderers test to claim the series‚ the fact that Australia are running on empty because of the ball-tampering scandal‚ or the truth that everything Bavuma does will first be filtered through his blackness‚ then his Africaness‚ and only then through his quality as a cricketer?

Better we simply watch him bat.