Jimmy Anderson- cricket's Burnley Express breaks more records.

Jimmy Anderson- cricket's Burnley Express breaks more records.

English cricket fans love to celebrate their fast bowlers. Throughout the years England have produced a conveyor belt of terrifying, electrifying quickies who stampede their way to the wickets rather like bulls in the proverbial china shop before flattening wickets or simply humiliating the poor, besieged batsmen who can do nothing but cower, duck, hide, tremble or just pretend they didn't see the ball.

In England's last hurrah against India in a classic series and victory, Jimmy Anderson gave us chaos, carnage, destruction and a whole load of record breaking wickets for England.  It was another display of relentless brutality that sent a shiver down the spines of the Indian batting attack and confirmed the supreme consistency and pure virtuosity of this remarkable bowler.

For Lancashire Anderson is known as the 'Burnley Express' but for those who have followed his progress for England is just a bulldozer with the ruthless air of a demolition expert. During 143 Tests Anderson has now accumulated 564 wickets which sounds like one of the greatest achievements of all cricketing time. That's because it is and none can ever take that away from him as he looks down from that princely plateau where only the greats congregate.

From Harold Larwood to Freddie Trueman, John Snow to Chris Old, Ian Botham to Mike Hendrick and Bob Willis to Graham Dilley English cricket should be heartily congratulated on its speed merchants, its seaming, swinging quickies who have arrowed in over after of fast, yet deceitful strong arm bowling where a red cricket ball has gone on the most extraordinary journey but ultimately ended up nipping back with a vicious sharpness, leaving the batsman at the other end standing there in an advanced state of confusion.

Anderson has been one of the latest batch of deadliest and devilish bowlers, steaming in aggressively and savagely with ball after ball of meaty menace and barbaric pace. The ball would swing almost immediately before veering deep into a petrified batsman. Yesterday's incredible haul of 5-73 against India was just the latest chapter of a career of staggering accuracy matched only perhaps by the inimitable Ian Botham.

The 'Burnley Express' has been the quiet assassin before exploding forward and planting powerful feet onto the crease, firing the lethal missile into the batsmen's hapless pads and sending a flurry of bails into the air. Once again yesterday Anderson surged his way smoothly onto the bowler's favourite position, unwinding his body, carefully judging and measuring his delivery while all the time intent on causing utter mayhem and then destruction in equal measure. Then the ball flies like the lethal catapult, the ball assuming all kinds of trajectories and then whipping over the wickets as if it was fated to happen.

Throughout his career and particularly our mischievous rivals Australia for whom he once notched up five for five wickets, Anderson has gloried in his well honed craft, a player of style, spine tingling professionalism and a player completely comfortable in the face of any opposition. By the end of the day against India he looked as fresh as a daisy, shirt undoubtedly drenched with sweat and whole hearted toil but flapping dangerously on an early autumn day at the Oval.

Yes the Oval, that hallowed, sacred piece of Surrey turf with those famous, brooding gas holders and a once huge outfield. Now of course those cash counting sponsors with pounds in their eyes have renamed the Oval the Kia Oval and now cricketers play in helmets and play day and night cricket, lights blazing away at roughly 10pm in the  evening. What on earth has happened to English cricket?

Now of course cricketers play in the T20 blast a biff and bash, clobber and clout competition where big hitting batsmen launch swashbuckling hooks onto the roof of a Surrey village hall or, quite possibly, Kent. Then they execute the very fashionable reverse sweep, the neatly clipped shot off the back foot or that lofty drive into a small market town in Worcestershire which would never be greeted warmly because that would disturb the peace of the locals and that just isn't cricket.

And so it was that English cricket said its goodbyes to the cricket season. Beneath the concluding Test match against India at the Oval the citizens of Surrey drifted away to their evening meal, easily satisfied with the day's entertainment. The whole England team, as you would have expected, saluted Jimmy Anderson because once again one of their own had created havoc with international opposition.

Anderson for his part, gazed around the Oval rather like a Roman emperor surveying his admirers, holding onto the ball tenaciously as if  privately wary of some nasty incident that would spoil his perfect day. He was rapidly swallowed up by his victorious team mates, the all conquering hero being hugged and slapped on the back as if the football World Cup had been won. Then the 'Burnley Express' gently puffed his way from his very own cricketing platform and out into the welcoming suburban fields of rich Middle England contentment. What a day this had been for Jimmy Anderson. English cricket could rest easily, grinning very smugly at the Lancashire hot pot.