What is it? Swann'll take it

"It was a genuine oversight on the part of the committee as Graeme fully deserved to be nominated in this category." Thus did Clive Lloyd strive to explicate the inexplicable, namely the omission of Graeme Swann from the original list of contenders for the Sir Garfield Sobers Trophy, aka the ICC Cricketer of Year award, the chief bauble on offer at next week's awards bash in Bangalore. Perhaps Duncan Fletcher has a blind spot about one of his few failures and his fellow judges had been so rushed off their feet for the previous 12 months that they'd clean forgotten to read a paper or turn on a TV or - perish the thought - log on to Cricinfo?

That is the generous explanation for the crassest selectorial oversight to befall an Englishman since email began challenging the telephone as our prime means of communication. The last grievous victim was David Gower, who was ditched for the 1992-93 tour of India, a decision that hastened his premature retirement and prompted questions in Parliament, a telegram from Harold Pinter to Gower expressing his disgust at such "disgraceful" myopia, an MCC vote of no-confidence in the selectors, and the draining of many an appetite for the game. Fortunately in Swann's case restitution was swift, sparing us the possibility of Giles Clarke refusing to shake Ravi Shastri's hand during the pre-awards cocktails.

And now, quite properly, the most internationally renowned son of Northampton (though Matt Smith, the latest Dr Who, might contest that) is in the running for an honour he richly deserves. (Mind you, quite why he was passed over for the Test shortlist, having been so intrinsic to his team's victories in that form, beggars almost as much belief as that initial cock-up.) Can Messrs Amla, Sehwag, Steyn and Tendulkar look back on the past year and honestly claim to have single-handedly revived their art, let alone made it sexy?

I'm not quite sure what I cherish most about Swann. Is it the mere fact that, for the first time since Derek Underwood ruled the roost in my teens, the best spinner on the planet is a Pom (and "Deadly" relied more on cut and changes of pace than actual turn)? Or that he recently became the fastest English spinner to 100 Test wickets since Colin Blythe more than a century ago? Or the way he bounced back from youthful excess and early rejection, a walking, talking, tweeting life-lesson to all who surrender at the first hint of reversal? Or the turbo-charged revs he puts on the ball, testimony to an enterprising, indomitable spirit and one in the eye for the conservative strain that has paralysed 99% of English twirlers since time began? Or that burning desire to boldly go, as befits a self-confessed Trekkie, where no orthodox offspinner has ever gone, or would ever conceive of going? Or is it simply because he has the courage to be himself, to risk looking exceedingly foolish as well as extraordinarily good? I fancy it's the last.

Asked in a recent Wisden Cricketer poll which past player he'd have liked to have played against, Kevin Pietersen chose Curtly Ambrose ("to test myself"), Matt Prior picked Brian Lara ("best batsman ever'), and James Anderson went bare-fanged for Geoff Boycott ("I would have peppered him"). Swann doubled the challenge, plumping for Don Bradman and Harold Larwood - the most successful batsman and the most frightening bowler. Typical. As was his response when asked what he might have been had he not made it as a cricketer: "Fighter pilot or rock star". The quiet life, one strongly suspects, will never be his thing.

What with becoming the heartbeat of the England dressing room, maintaining that astonishing penchant for commencing spells with a wicket, sending down the best delivery he's ever stamped and addressed (thus replacing Ricky Ponting with the somewhat less deserving Imran Farhat), and luxuriating in the knowledge that Bob Willis rates him both the best English spinner since Derek Underwood and the best offie since Jim Laker, Swann will probably look back on the summer of 2010 as his most memorable yet. As Kramer described the delights of going commando on Seinfeld, he's been out there and loving it, albeit not, he has freely confessed, the latter part of Pakistan's tour.

Or, presumably, the early stages, when he was hardly getting a bowl. After all, if there's one thing we've learned about him apart from his passion for action, spotlight and Noel Gallagher, it is that he loves bowling. Adores it. Luffs it. Lurves it. That's why he favours a four-man attack, feeding as it does that thirst for responsibility and limelight, even though England may well regret such a strategy in Australia. That the Dishonourable Mr Butt's match-fixing allegations cut so deep was only to be expected of someone to whom not trying is next to dying.

Not that we're talking flawless here. We cannot be 100% sure that Swann's cat wasn't trapped under those floorboards that night he was stopped for drink-driving, but it did look a bit dodgy, not to mention a bit, y'know, Swanny. Creativity comes easy to the natural performer. And when Pietersen skittishly twittered his scepticism, Swann sharply reminded him of his non-Anglo origins, his outsiderhood. Having only recently attained insiderhood himself, a decade after his first full England tour, Swann could have been more sensitive. Having endured all those years on the outside himself, most notably as the latest punchline to that timeless cautionary tale about the cocky uppity wannabe who had to be slapped into shape, he is presumably more than a little familiar with the pain of being Not One Of Us. Then again, maybe the short-cutters offend his sense of justice.

Swann's 2010 accomplishments include "editing" the August issue of that effervescent and imaginative monthly magazine All Out Cricket, whose actual editor, Andy Afford, the Nottinghamshire spin coach and former England A slow left-armer, plays alongside Swann in the deliciously named rock band Dr Comfort and the Lurid Revelations. The guest editor proffered Brad Pitt as the man to play the lead in Swanny's World: The Movie, hailed Colin Milburn as his boyhood hero, declared Mushtaq Ahmed to be the spinner he most admires, and nominated as his ideal England spin twin, not Underwood or Wilfred Rhodes or Tony Lock or Ashley Giles, but Philip Clive Roderick Tufnell. Mavericks of the world unite! What a sight that would have been.

Swann also contributed a characteristically amusing diary, one a million miles from the stilted likes of those composed by his peers' trusty ghostwriters. "Enforcing the follow-on is overrated," began the entry for June 7. "And I repeat as such to our captain, who has clearly decided to stick Bangladesh back in just to show me up as some sort of clown. I continue to make my strong disgust clear throughout the entire 28 overs it takes for us to bowl the tourists out before we all head back to the changing room, where I am afforded plenty of time to consider my position as unofficial vice-captain…"

Helpfully, at 31, he seems to have the whole fame thing in proportion, or so the entry for June 14 suggests: "Signing a few autographs I am overjoyed when a little lad says, 'I think you're the best England player ever!' The only dampener for me was that Stuart Broad was two metres behind me. The same rascal ran straight up to him, thrusting his bat and pen in Stu's face before happily exclaiming, 'I think you're the best England player ever.' Bugger."

AS FOR HIS NEXT MISSION, Swann certainly has his work cut out. At the very least, one imagines, he will have to take 25 wickets, maybe 30, with a Kookaburra at that, if England are to end that sequence of five consecutive empty-handed Ashes jaunts (if for no other reason than it confirms the extent of the sea change, they really ought to be emboldened by the fact that the Brisbane XIs will almost certainly contain six touring survivors from the last Ashes Test in Australia, compared with only three for the home team). And who was the last visiting spinner, of any origin, to take 20 wickets in a victorious series Down Under? Geoff Miller, the current national selector, who harvested 23 in the non-contest of 1978-79. Before that you have to go back to Jack White on Percy Chapman's 1928-29 romping expedition, before that Rhodes in 1903-04. Knowing Swann, the prospect of adding Miller to his list of conquests will tap into that keen sense of humour as well as that boundless ambition.

Like Shane Warne, Ian Botham and Keith Miller, he reminds me of Pete Townshend's line from Quadrophenia: "What is it? I'll take it/Got a bet there/I'll meet it/Getting high? You can't beat it." Unlike those proudly un-grey eminences, an extended stint as national captain is not wholly beyond the realms of plausibility.