The slow, creeping realisation that you're just not very good
Being unemployed, a lone session spent down at the local nets sending down solo leg breaks against an imaginary foe is a common pastime of mine. For me it's relaxation, although every ball is critiqued and there's always the surge of annoyance when you know you've lost your length. I've been doing this a few times a week, couple hours each time, for the past few years.
Next thing you know, you're in a net session with your mates and somehow the wrist goes limp, the shoulder drops and you spray it under pressure. And the good balls? The line, length and flight is perfect. They just don't turn. That's right, I'm a leggie who struggles with lateral spin. They bounce wickedly sometimes but I get found out early enough. All you need to do is charge.
Having a bat, I'm castled half a dozen times, twice by this bloke bowling textbook outswingers. A few good off-drives against the part-timers starkly juxtaposes against the sweaty toil you went through bowling at the same bloke to get a borderline stumpng after he started slogging you out of boredom.
The swing bowler tries a leggie as the session ends. He gets it to drift in and jag away - viciously - without the least effort or warm-up. I would give my firstborn to bowl with such turn, bite, but most of all - nonchalance. I've spent years rationalising to myself that my balls would surely turn more on a turf deck. This bloke doesn't need that reassurance as he rips it at right angles.
At the end of the day, I've been working my craft for years, and the solitude blinds me to the fact that blokes who wouldn't qualify for grade cricket can and will still whomp you off the park.
I'll still go down, find an empty net, and bowl my leggies.
But from what I've seen, not many teams would have a use for them. And that's depressing.