Tuesday, August 13, 2002 Who's the best Australian batsman since Bradman? The first thing to do is round up the probables and possibles, most of whom squeeze into two categories: the graceful and the grizzly. The graceful few are headed by Greg Chappell, Neil Harvey, Mark Waugh and Bobby Simpson; the grizzly by Allan Border, Steve Waugh, David Boon and Bill Lawry. Throw in the crowd favourites – Norm O'Neill, Douggie Walters, Kim Hughes and Adam Gilchrist – and you have a dozen realistic contenders.

Now comes the tricky part: narrowing 12 down to one. If technical perfection is your thing, look no further than Greg Chappell. If you want someone who can win you a Test, then Gilchrist – who averages 70 when Australia win and 18 when they lose – is your man. If heroic resistance in a lost cause counts, then you cannot go past Border.

There is another way, however, and that is to study who has performed best in Bradman's own position: No. 3. It is the pivotal slot in the batting order, invariably setting the pattern for the whole innings. It is also the toughest. The ball is usually newish, the bowlers fresh and the situation tense. An opening batsman knows that if he gets out for a duck his team is merely one wicket down; a No. 3 batsman knows that if he falters too, then disaster is imminent.

Since Bradman's retirement, 41 batsmen, excluding nightwatchmen, have been selected at No. 3 for Australia. Most have flunked the challenge. O'Neill averaged 32 in 12 Tests at No. 3, Hughes 24 in 11 and Simpson 25 in three. Chappell and Border, who averaged 43 and 47 respectively, were more domineering down the order. So was Steve Waugh. Mark Waugh, incidentally, has batted there only once, hitting 66 against India, and it is possible the selectors missed a trick here. Maybe, just maybe, the extra steel required at No. 3 might have turned a very good batsman into a great one.

Of the elite dozen, only Boon (4412 runs at 45.48) and Harvey (3454 at 46.67) enhanced their reputations in the position. Lindsay Hassett, Rick McCosker and the often forgotten Graham Yallop, who cobbled together 1101 runs at 52.42 in 14 Tests at No. 3, all prospered fleetingly.

But one man stands out. He was a right-hander. He relished a scrap. He had bravado by the bucket-load. He possessed a technique praised by Ray Robinson as "a fully-furnished batting style with wall-to-wall footwork". He is Ian Chappell, and he is best known to many as the bloke on telly who interviews the two captains after the toss.

Ian Chappell's record at No. 3 reads: 54 Tests, 4279 runs, average 50.94. Nobody else, over so long a period, comes close. He hit 13 hundreds – as many as Boon. He hit 22 fifties – more than anyone. And only twice in those 54 Tests was his arrival at the crease cushioned by a century opening stand.

Yet it is Chappell's lot in life to be remembered as either a captain or commentator. As a captain he is famed for his aggression and initiative, for turning a browbeaten side into world-beaters. As a commentator he is renowned for his insightfulness, deadpan delivery and occasional weakness for dropping the f-word. More recently, as a prominent critic of Australia's refugee policy, he has dipped a toe into political waters.

But as a batsman, in a game where numbers often speak louder than deeds, his career average – 42.42 – simply does not cut the mustard. As a batsman he seems destined to be eclipsed by his younger brother's shadow.

Partly this is due to the fact that Greg was so good. Mostly it is because of reasons that have little do with cricket. The self-appointed moral guardians could never stand Ian. They despised his clownish dress sense. His team's extravagant sideburns. His liking for calling a bat an f#@%ing hunk of wood. His sledging. His ringleading role in World Series Cricket. His habit of fiddling with his box. Members' pavilions worldwide heaved a sigh of relief when he finally retired in 1980.

But watch the old TV footage of Ian batting and you cannot help but marvel at the speed with which his right foot moves across the crease, putting him into a frighteningly early position to hook. The stroke was a remnant of his days rehearsing on a half-length backyard pitch, when his father would fire balls directly at a bump on the wicket. "The idea that I should never duck or weave away from the ball," Ian once explained, "was instilled into me." He looks painfully vulnerable to a Joel Garner sandshoe crusher or a Waqar Younis inswinging yorker. But it worked – and as a statement of belligerent intent it could hardly be bettered.

And he was not simply a crusher of fast bowlers' spirits. As Ted Dexter observed: "He was an exceptional player of slow bowling, mainly because he accorded it little or no respect." Then there was his cockiness, his indomitability, his sense that no game was ever lost. Said Robinson: "His confidence was more than skin deep – he had onion-layers of it, enough to bring tears to bowlers' eyes."

Ian was probably not so complete a batsman as Greg, nor so enchanting. But Greg was not the perfect creation the modern media makes him out to be. He struggled against the 1981-82 West Indians and, as pointed out previously in this corner of cyberspace, his retirement on the eve of 10 straight Tests against Clive Lloyd's men hurt Australian cricket for years. When Garry Sobers compared the two brothers in Twenty Years At The Top he concluded: "Greg was to finish with a better record … but I always felt Ian was more the man for a crisis. Greg made a pile of runs, yet never convinced me he relished playing the fast bowlers."

Forty-two, the sci-fi author Douglas Adams famously declared, is the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe and everything. However, 42 – even 42.42 – tells you precious little of any worth about Ian Chappell.

Click here for a list of Australia post-Bradman No. 3s

Chris Ryan is a former managing editor of Wisden Cricket Monthly and a former Darwin correspondent of the Melbourne Age.

More Chris Ryan
Give the Don a breather
Barbaric blasphemy

© Wisden CricInfo Ltd