Perhaps, too, he wanted to hear the roar of the crowd again and knew that bumpers, the most populist of deliveries, would raise a cheer. Doubtless he also yearned to feel the electricity of his previous appearances when, in a short time, he had become an almost major figure. Also he had been sitting in the pavilion an awfully long time.

Still, these were disturbing deliveries. After all, it had been a dank dirty-windowed morning in which swing bowlers ought to flourish: sawdust patches, clouds as grey as Merlin's beard, moisture hanging in the air, a dubious pitch and slips and gullys all over the place. Moreover the batsmen had been sitting around too, pondering their fate. It was crying out for an away-swinger.

The choice of delivery was defiant and said much about Cork's notion of himself. He sees himself as hostile, competitive, a cricketer of the spirit, not so much a craftsman as a force of nature. Much happened in his early career to confirm this view, not least a lustful collection of wickets and sixes, and even a hat-trick at Old Trafford in the first over of the day, and Brian Lara and Carl Hooper among his victims. These were experiences calculated to nurture the idea that he was unique, or at any rate beyond the ordinary with its line and length. Events combined to convince him that belief was enough. He tried to succeed on adrenalin. For a time it was his undoing. The bumpers were an announcement that the conviction had not entirely been stilled.

But those bouncers were also a throwback to a character living for the excess of the hour and refusing to hear the insistent words of life's instruction. Cork forgot that he had also become a capable bowler whose armoury included the deadliest of deliveries, the late out-swinger. Particularly in England he was a handful, working from stump to stump, mixing swingers with a cleverly disguised off-cutter and always a bustling, irritating opponent. In his excitement he forgot about the fundamentals.

In short he neglected his out-swinger. To watch him in the nets hereabouts was to notice a demented collection of bumpers and slower balls and curlers of every variety as Cork tried to be dramatic and challenging. His unpredictability became a routine. He lost control of his game.

Apart from anything else he was asking too much of his mind and body. Bouncers demand a dropping of the shoulder and all those special deliveries require subtle changes in hand positions. Also he wanted to bowl faster and faster, convinced he could scare batsmen, or anyhow upset them, confident that he had a sixth sense for taking wickets.

A spell in the wilderness came like a bucket of cold water upon these delusions of grandeur. Cork's return has been much a matter of brain as wonky knee. He has searched for his out-swinger again, realising its importance. He knew he needed to score runs and take wickets, needed to attend to the nuts and bolts or he could not recapture yesterday's immortality.

In some respects those bumpers were typical, in some respects they were misleading. They were the emphatic opening remarks of a bowler more willing to work within his manifest limitations. After those deliveries, Cork bowled respectably, which he had previously dismissed as a form of civility. He was accurate and pretty soon took the first wicket as Gerry Liebenberg, a notoriously nervous starter, pushed forward and was held at short leg.

Significantly, though, the ball wasn't swinging. Liebenberg had fallen to an off-cutter, the delivery upon which Cork was to rely for the rest of the afternoon. It wasn't a bad ball but ought not to have troubled an opening batsman, unless it was hidden among a bunch of out-swingers.

After six overs Cork was given a rest. His figures were one for 12. It wasn't long before Cork returned, this time from the pavilion end. Nor was it long before he struck again as another apparently unthreatening delivery provoked a mistake from Gary Kirsten and a sharp catch was taken at third slip.

Throughout his second spell Cork kept a probing length and gave the batsmen little respite. Hardly bothering with bouncers, and still finding little swing, he harried the batsmen and occasionally went on his knees to implore umpire Shepherd to raise his finger.

Cork's spell after tea was the most significant, particularly the delivery which ended Jacques Kallis's determined innings, an out-swinger at last and beyond the batsman's powers of resistance. This was Cork at his sharpest. Almost immediately he tore at the throat of the visiting captain, welcoming him with a bumper, as bowlers usually do, and following with an off-cutter that was pushed to short-leg. By now Cork was threatening to run amok. He had about him a menace that recalled his happiest days as he gave England a great chance of winning a match played upon a deteriorating surface.

It had been a performance, but it hadn't been self-indulgent. Cork is working hard again. Perhaps he has stopped trying to be a hero, the better to become a contributor. Gradually Cork is finding a balance between swing and confrontation, a balance that reflects his personality and also serves his team.