Cricket is largely a game of subtleties. For instance, to a neophyte, you – as an ardent follower of the game – cannot explain why a perfectly played straight drive, seemingly done with minimum exertion, deserves so much sporting appreciation. The shot itself looks unremarkable.

It’s just a gentle push, what’s the big deal?

But what misses the eye is the batsman’s steadfast concentration on the ball in the speeding bowler’s hand till its release, his precise assessment of where it lands, how it lands, at what pace it’s travelling, what trajectory it’ll take after hitting the ground. The gentle push masks all of these things. It’s this seeming simplicity that lends beauty to this stroke.

And, the straight drive is just one example. There are so many things in cricket, which, a first-time watcher might find it tough to appreciate. Which is why cricket is very much of an acquired taste.

So, to initiate someone into cricket, you don’t show them a straight drive. You show them Abraham Benjamin de Villiers. He’s announced his retirement from all forms of international cricket. But while he played the game, he redefined it.

Play

When he played, you didn’t need to analyse and appreciate, you just got amazed. On the field, especially with the bat, he evoked in you a sense of adventure. He did things that are, well, not normal.

For instance, when a spherical projectile made of cork and hard leather is hurled at you at 90 miles per hour, you try and get away from it, for you are in mortal danger. With a bat and some protective gear and skill, the situation might be better for an international batsman. But the risk persists. This risk is the reason why the contest between the batsman and a fast bowler is one of the most fascinating events to watch in cricket.

The bowler is always the one who creates risk, for he’s the one who can potentially harm.

But there are men, special men, spanning different eras, who have transposed this equation. De Villiers belongs to this breed of men. When de Villiers bats, he is the danger.

Ask his own countryman, Dale Steyn, one of the best-ever fast bowlers, about how he was outwitted, outclassed and constantly hit out of the ground in a match in the 2014 IPL. That was when AB was at the peak of his prowess.

Royal Challengers Bangalore had needed 28 from the last two overs. And Steyn bowled the penultimate one. He bowled slow, full, straight and a 90 mph yorker, but got smashed to the boundary once and over it thrice.

Superhuman!

When AB’s in the peak of his abilities, he can stop time, defy gravity and gain the power of prescience. For, how else would you explain slog-sweeping Steyn’s near-90 mph deliveries into the second tier of a stadium?

Well, at least about the power of prescience, he half-admitted to it after shattering the records for the fastest ODI fifty, fastest ODI hundred along with the morale of West Indies at Johannesburg, three years ago.

“I played my knock even before I came out to bat, I really wanted to go today,” he’d said after smashing 149 off 44 balls with 16 sixes and nine fours.

And, about the defiance of gravity and stoppage of time, we have proof that’s only a few days old. Against the Sunrisers in the IPL, at deep-midwicket, he leapt to catch a mighty hit from Alex Hales, then realised the ball was going away, so, whilst airborne, he extended his right hand to pull off a one-handed stunner.

There are no shots he can’t play, no boundaries he can’t clear, no catches he can’t hold on to. For AB, everything was within the realm of possibility. But being the good-natured, humble man, he might retort in jest: “Well, I don’t bowl very well”. (For which you can ask him about the two Test and seven ODI wickets he’s got).

A great in all formats

Fastest fifty. Fastest hundred. Monstrous sixes. Reverse-scooped fours. The megastar of IPL. The god of T20. The master of the limited-overs cricket. All of these make AB seem like he’s always in a rush for runs and when they drain, he’d go off. But AB can go slow, too. He’s a rockstar, who’s well versed in classical music.

Evidence: the 220-ball 33 he scored against Australia in Adelaide in 2012 to earn a draw for South Africa. The proof of talent had already been seen and admired. But that innings showed he had the second ingredient to greatness: temperament.

De Villiers, whenever the situation arose, turned from a tormentor to a protector. In 2014, he played a similar innings 43 off 228 in Cape Town to try and save another match. In 2015, he made a 297-ball 43 to almost deny India a win.

De Villiers was an unstoppable force and an immovable object.

‘Everything comes to an end’

The only regret for him and his fans over the world would be the missing World Cup winners’ medal from his otherwise glittering career.

There were hints of him hanging his boots from the longest format in 2017, when he’d ruled himself out of most of South Africa’s Tests that year. The limited-overs appearances were perceived to be his preparation for the 2019 World Cup.

But last month, he clarified that the World Cup was not one of his primary desires. “I’m taking it one game at a time. My ultimate dream is not to win a World Cup. I’ve changed my mindset. I feel it will be nice to win it, it’ll be a bonus, but if I don’t, it’s not going to define my career.”

Despite this, the retirement just a year before the World Cup in the United Kingdom, comes as a surprise. But after 114 Tests, 228 ODIs and 78 T20Is, he said he was tired.

“It’s not about earning more somewhere else, it’s about running out of gas and feeling that it is the right time to move on,” he said in his retirement statement. “Everything comes to an end.”

But many will wish de Villiers went on forever.