Childhood games made AB

The South African’s sporting skills were developed at an early age by playing with his older brothers, writes Scyld Berry from Pietermaritzburg

AS if England’s cricketers needed any reminder of who is the most brilliant batsman in the world today, they were given it a few days ago as they boarded their flight for Pietermaritzburg. Airport shuttle buses normally advertise duty-free shops, or perhaps a brand of car, but whizzing around OR Tambo airport in Johannesburg were some that proclaimed on their sides: “149 from only 44 balls.” That was it. No name supplied. It was unnecessary because, in a country still obsessed with rugby, Abraham Benjamin de Villiers is as famous as any Springbok. Universally, however – and not least in India, where he has become another god because of his feats in the IPL – he is known as AB. To be known by your initials is a rare accolade in cricket, given to few since WG Grace. Australia’s former captain, Allan Border, was known as AB, but he was renowned for his nuggety defiance. The current AB is famed for being the best, the most skilful, striker of a cricket ball there has ever been. Those airport buses are referring to the fastest century yet made in one-day internationals, earlier this year, against the West Indies in Johannesburg. De Villiers reached his century off only 31 balls, before accelerating. He raised the bar by such a distance that he beat the record for the fastest ODI hundred by five balls. For England, by comparison, the fastest hundred was scored by Jos Buttler in Dubai against Pakistan last month off 46 balls. In the World Cup, a couple of months later, De Villiers demonstrated that he did not depend on the thin air of the Wanderers ground to hit sixes. Against the same hapless opposition, at sea level in Sydney, De Villiers hit the fastest 150 in ODI history, off 64 balls, and finished with an unbeaten 162 off 66. In both cases the West Indian bowlers were scooped, shovelled and ramped to all angles in an exhibition of unprecedented dexterity. We can be sure that neither Sir Donald Bradman nor WG even tried such shots: it is only in the last generation, since the helmet, that batsmen have been able to overcome their survival instinct and place their heads and eyes directly in the firing line. This virtuosity of De Villiers, 31, was developed from a very early age – and in circumstances so remarkably similar to those in which Buttler developed his manual dexterity that it can be no coincidence. Indeed, any aspiring parents who want their children to be aces at white-ball batting had better follow their template. De Villiers was by far the youngest of three brothers born to AB de Villiers senior, a medical doctor who played rugby, and his wife Millie, who played tennis very competitively. Left to his own devices in Warmbad, the infant hit tennis balls against a wall by himself – exactly as Buttler was to do when his mother went to Wedmore tennis club in Somerset and left him to amuse himself aged three. “I always felt, when I was growing up, like I was going to perform in front of a crowd,” De Villiers recalled. “I didn’t know what I was going to be, but I always had those voices in my head. Knocking balls on the wall with my tennis racket, I could always imagine a crowd around me and cheering me on,” he added, in an interview with Cricinfo, on the eve of his 100th Test in India last month. Buttler went on to play cricket against his elder brother in the garden.

De Villiers had one brother six years older and another nine – and when he joined in, they did not spare him one jot. A batsman has to be stretched by playing as a boy against men; here was a toddler playing against boys. “They would try to intimidate me,” De Villiers remembered. “The bat was actually too heavy for me, and I would rest it on the dustbin while they were walking back to their mark. “They battled to get me out and they would get so frustrated that they’d bowl a couple of beamers at me to see what I would do. “My brothers were merciless. They were monsters. There were always a lot of tears – usually mine,” he laughed. In their inaugural test in 1889-90, South Africa had one Afrikaner in their side, and thereafter the number declined. Kepler Wessels began the popularisation when he avoided the ban on South Africa during apartheid by representing Australia, before returning. By the time De Villiers attended Afrikaanse Hoër Seunskool in Pretoria, cricket had become almost as popular as rugby. The school’s first graduate to represent South Africa was Jacobus Rudolph, now a pillar of Glamorgan. In the same year as De Villiers was Faf du Plessis, who now bats alongside him in South Africa’s middle order. Affies has also produced two emigrants who have represented New Zealand, Neil Wagner and Kruger van Wyk. De Villiers was not only outstanding at cricket. He learnt to play golf off a handicap of two. As a flyhalf he was offered a contract by the Blue Bulls. In the national tennis squad, he gave up the sport at 13 when he did not want to train in Florida – the same reason that Buttler gave up tennis. Millie de Villiers said her son did not like individual sports because he was “very much a team guy“. Perhaps it is ego, and the lack of it. You cannot have too much ego if you are keeping wicket – as De Villiers will in the first two tests against England – and forever scrabbling on the ground. De Villiers captains South Africa in one-day internationals – they won 3-2 on their recent tour of India, an amazing result, thanks to him scoring three centuries – but humbly stands down in favour of Hashim Amla in tests and Du Plessis in T20 internationals. His Afrikaner background shows up in the immense self-discipline that De Villiers can bring to his cricket. He is the most brilliant hitter in the world, yet he can also be the most patient blocker, if his team so require – whereas most English batsmen opt to “play their natural game” when the objective is a draw, an easy escape route. In Adelaide, he saved a test for South Africa by scoring 33 runs off 220 balls. In India last month, he came close to doing so when scoring 43 off 297 balls – and the pitches in that series were so designed for the home side’s spinners that no regular South African player averaged 20 with the bat, except De Villiers (36). If he is twice as good again in this forthcoming series, England’s chances are minimal. It is as simple as ABC – or just AB.