There is a gruesome fascination in watching batsmen struggle to cope with extreme pace.

For anyone who has played the game at amateur level, there is usually one genuine ‘quick’ who parades the league and is well known by reputation in advance of the game.

These ‘quicks’, (usually accompanied by suitably intimidating nicknames and heaps of sledging), stand out in the amateur game like tall poppies and hurl the ball down the track at petrified batsmen who stand leaden footed at the crease, wafting their pieces of willow a safe distance from their body.

Wickets tumble from fear. A fear of getting hurt. A fear of taking that step forward, to present a straight bat to a fast ball, ensuring safety at the crease, but endangering body parts in the necessary process.

But that’s amateur cricket, and we expect a genuinely quick bowler to have that kind of impact on batsmen. By doing so, the bowler is giving himself every opportunity of climbing the ranks of amateur cricket to the professional leagues where quick, accurate bowlers inevitably end up.

But on arrival into the professional arena do we have a right to expect that batsmen will be less intimated by express pace?

I sat in Eden Park, Auckland last Saturday last and watched one Kiwi after another, stand rooted to a spot mesmerised by the sight of a blisteringly quick Brett Lee.

And I was disappointed. I expect more from men that are paid to play the game. I expect them to combat their innate fear of injury and do their job. Their jobs as batsmen when facing pace, is to get behind the line of the ball and risk injury to protect their wicket. That is a minimum performance indicator. Scoring runs comes next.

Lee’s wickets came, by and large, not from swing, seam or guile but from pace alone. Sheer, unadulterated, frightening pace.

If I were facing him, I would be clad like a middle aged knight, bound in chain metal with padding for every ounce of my flesh and bone, and even then I would be saying “Hail Marys” and “Our Fathers” for added protection (Dear Allah’s if I were facing Shoaib). But I am not a professional cricketer. I’m not good enough. I would barely see the 100 mph ball let alone have the time or inclination to align my shaking boots to its pitch.

But the Black Caps batsmen are not me. They are deemed good enough to represent their provinces and their country with bat in hand. And they shook at the sight of a riled up man in full flight.

They shook mentally.

And it is this, that coach John Bracewell has alluded to when he speaks of mental technique. He has insinuated that the New Zealand batsmen were scared of Brett Lee to the point where it reduced them to amateur cricketers. Where fear diluted their talents and turned them into quivering jelly.

Express pace is not pleasant or easy to face early on in an innings. A new ball hurts more and travels quicker.

And that is why, the likes of Lee and Akhtar, can run rampant through sides that are not mentally tough on any given day. They have the power to hurt, and that is their single biggest weapon against teams lacking mental courage.

The consequences of mental weakness should be a spell on the sidelines and by all accounts this is a very real prospect for a number of the New Zealand line up. There is more to international cricket than talent.