Hes like a robot, Thomas Daley said of Chinese diver Qiu Bo?less than a week before the start of the 2012 London Olympics. Or he has been known to be like a robot. But pressure sometimes gets to him. You have to be able to dive as well as him to put pressure on him. Because if you dont put pressure on him, hes not going to buckle.The British divers comment mightve seemed superfluous at the time, but it turned out to be almost prophetic. After all, Qiu Bo was slated as the favorite 10-meter platform diver coming into the 2012 Olympics. In the months leading up to the London Games, Qiu bested American David Boudia by more than 40 points at the FINA Diving World Cup, a big margin in a sport in which scores usually whittle down to the tenths and hundredths.However, those small margins can have a big impact, though, as Qiu learned the hard way in the final round of the mens 10-meter in London.Every four years, China is expected to sweep the diving competition at the Olympics. Every four years, the team fails in spectacular fashion. In 2008, it was Zhou Luxin who choked on his final dive and handed the gold medal to Matthew Mitcham. In 2012, it was Qiu Bo who gifted his gold to Boudia.But unlike Zhou, Qiu didnt choke. He was leading the competition. He was ahead of the game. Ahead of his competitors.He was just outshined because David Boudia was putting pressure on him. Will it happen again in Rio?The X factorNever mind naysayers calling the judges scores into question (yes, the crowd in London mightve been on Boudias side, but Qiu Bo had every opportunity to win). Against the precise divers of China, no one couldve predicted Boudias excellence. It was almost momentous, as he invoked Greg Louganis in his final dive with a perfect take-off, kiting the apex of his spin and ripping through the water.Ripping it means exactly what it sounds like. Its when a diver rips through the water, opening a vacuum and entering the blue without so much of a splash. Its the prestige or the finale; in a sport in which you have only seconds to make an impression, ripping it is the kind of thing that can turn sevens into eights and nines on the scoreboard.Boudia and Qiu performed the same dive: a back two-and-a-half somersault with two-and-a-half twists. Its a dive with a high degree of difficulty, but something Qiu didnt normally miss. Boudias dive just turned out better -- much better -- and it reflected on the scoreboard.After London, Boudia failed to reach the top again, always falling short of gold at international competitions. On the FINA world stage, he seemed to take a backseat. If Qiu was the picture consistency and first-place wins, Boudia mirrored that in second and third.But at the most recent Olympic trials last month, he invoked?a part of his performance from London in his final dive: a back two-and-a-half somersault with two-and-a-half twists. It was the same dive that secured him the gold medal in 2012 and the dive that sent him to the 2016 Olympics in Rio.Maybe it was a taste of whats to come. Boudia might not hold a candle to Qius consistency, but he brings something new to the table: an elusive X factor.Rehearsal and redemptionTheres a mechanical balance to Qius step. Hes technically gifted, the king of fundamentals and consistency, a diver who didnt simply master his technique but constantly innovated. Although he might not always be the first to bring a new dive to the platform (hello, Mark Lenzi), hes the first to hone it to perfection.One more flip. One more twist. Piking instead of tucking. Always upping the ante and degree of difficulty when it comes to filling in the 2.5-second free-fall window down from the platform.Its easy to find a diver with work ethic or a diver with talent. But Qiu Bo has been a once-in-a-generation kind of diver. He was tumbling?before other kids learned how to crawl. He was the favorite to take the competition that had eluded China since the 2004 Olympics in Athens.Although his performance almost exemplified consistent and mechanical diving, it wasnt enough. The silver medal from London was a blemish on Qius otherwise perfect record. While Boudia took a victory lap around the Aquatics Center, while Daley celebrated by diving into the water with his teammates, Qiu stood quietly at the poolside.Morbid. Calculating. Contemplating. Waiting for the next one.This year, yet again, China is slated to sweep the diving competition. Based off the most recent results from the FINA World Cup, its likely to happen.No, Boudia isnt the favorite, but he wasnt the favorite coming into the 2012 Olympics, either. Dont be surprised if Boudia brings something new to the table again.Qiu might not have the X factor, but because of his consistency, he might not need it. Maybe theres some validity to Daleys robot claims. 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You wont see that in any coaching manual is one of those obliquely slippery phrases that manages to deliver its core message of admiration wrapped up in a cloth of mild distaste, and is rarely heard other than on TMS or one of its many simpering fan progs. Visit a village green on an April Sunday, however, when the long shadows cast by the pavilion can preserve the frost until tea (or in this wettest of Junes, visit a field so cut up by a winters worth of football boots and a months worth of spikes, it would be flatter if freshly ploughed), and you may witness res and verba in perfect metaphorical alignment. That is to say, batsman and commentator conspire to give the term agricultural a bad name.In village cricket, of course, the commentator is a collective comprising the occupants of the office, namely the close fielders arranged around the wicketkeeper. It is traditional for manager and staff to keep up a running commentary on the batsmans efforts to send the ball hither and thither in order to hasten his own journey back to the warmth of the pavilion, and to start each idiosyncratic snippet of song that subsequently travels around the outfield in a sort of Mexican karaoke.What the f*** was that shot meant to be? is perhaps the village equivalent of the professional commentators coaching manual barb. Invariably the response runs something along the lines of four runs. After all, theres unorthodox and unorthodox, and in cricket, a shots value is ultimately considered in direct proportion to its outcome. Even by Sir Geoffrey. While the professional may deal in reverse lap cuts in between proper cricket shots, these are merely those shots that do not yet feature in the manual, but for every effort to execute an elegant cover drive effected by your typical Sunday batsman, five portmanteau shots will be fashioned from the leftovers of other sports they may have played, watched or perhaps simply heard tell. Ive seen forearm smashes, topspin lobs, 9 irons, heaves, hoicks, flails and mows, airy wafts (or elegant leaves), flat-bat smacks, and dozens of others as yet nameless. Just as there are shots not yet in the manual, there are shots that never will be, and it is these shots, these Sunday inventions, these unidentifiable mongrels, these teechniques practised in the Dark Net, that place where intention is never undone by lack of talent, it is these shots that feature in a sort of anti-manual.ddddddddddddIt is in this tome, this as-yet unwritten work of cricket lore (Wisntden, perhaps) carried in the hearts and minds of Sunday cricketers everywhere, that we gain access to the truths of this great game. And the truth is that cricket, real cricket, is not the game played by the professionals but the one played by us lot. In the professional game, orthodoxy is challenged by finely honed athletes seeking that extra fraction of a percentage of performance, as it is in these infinitesimal advantages that games are won and lost. In real cricket, in my cricket, our cricket, orthodoxy is simply challenged.We know what were meant to be doing, and while aiming to hit the top of off stump or bowling down the corridor of uncertainty is the theory, practice tells us that one of the most dangerous deliveries is the full toss. Its not simply the power of the unexpected so much as the raft of opportunities it offers the batsman. Confronted with an embarrassment of sure-fire scoring options the most common reaction is to gently lob it to the nearest fielder for catching practice. Filthy, is the word youll hear: perfect, is the truth.As batsmen, we know we ought to play straight, through the line, foot to the pitch, elbow high, and all that gallimaufry, but more often than not we simply stand and deliver. See ball, hit ball. Or in my case, see ball, leave ball, discover the bowler has one that cuts back sharply.Not a good leave, opined the office manager. Au contraire, it was an excellent leave - confident, considered, comprehensive. If only Id played my natural game, namely no foot movement, play very late, watch bowler begin celebrations, before, out of nowhere, jamming my bat down to meet the ball in desperation, then I would have lived to face the next ball. But no, I played properly. Textbook, one might say. Unfortunately the bowler had been reading the same textbook, and he was a few pages ahead of me. If only Id trusted the occult knowledge of the Dark Net. ' ' '