An arrogance that can't countenance failure

Maimonides once wrote that people should strive to adopt the intermediate characteristic of each human temperament, between the two extremes; it's wrong to be angry all of the time, for example, but it's also wrong to be a person who doesn't feel. But there's an exception to the rule, which concerns humility and arrogance; it's wrong to be arrogant at any given time. Maimonides obviously didn't like sport.

This Saturday last year, Kevin Pietersen played one of the most arrogant innings of all time. With his team on the cusp of trouble, he walked down to the fastest bowler in the world and slammed the ball straight back over his head, going on to abuse the best attack in the world to the tune of 149 runs.

No other batsman in the world could have played that innings, could even have contemplated contemplating that innings. Very few sportsmen in the world are concerned not just with winning, but with devastating their opponent. No one can devastate anyone without a colossal, monumental, definitive arrogance, and everything about Pietersen says colossal, monumental, definitive arrogance.

Consider the body language. It starts with a stretching, shoulder-walk to the crease, is followed by a derisive look around, and a flexing, come-on-then knee-bend. When he's out, his bat is flicked immediately into an armpit while he turns immediately on his heel and stomps, too revolted to linger a moment longer. Affronted with himself for getting out, furious at the concept of outness itself.

The only batsman remotely comparable in demeanour or deed was Viv Richards, but he was driven by a cause. Yet, so too is Pietersen: that of wringing every last aspect from his talent. And if he's of the opinion that conducting himself in a particular way is the best way of doing that, who's to tell him that he's wrong? Even from our selfish perspectives, if his art is dependent on his attitude, then very clearly, one is worth the other. "It's just the way he bats," is a Pietersen-related cliche. Well, why isn't "It's the way he has to be"?

During their peak years, a lot of people disliked Muhammad Ali, John McEnroe and Martina Navratilova - and an entire generation of Australian cricketers. As they neared the end of their competitive lives, increasingly seen free of competition and in less confrontational roles, they began to realise that actually, perhaps, they hadn't ever really known them at all. Or put another way, being the best, being in the public eye, and being a sportsperson can be difficult, intrusive, stressful and unforgiving.

Today, Pietersen showcased a different side to his arrogance; an arrogance that prevailed because his ego could not countenance failure. The majority of his best innings - The Oval in 2005, Colombo, Headingley and Mumbai in 2012 - could have ended early but didn't, a reflection of how well he played. But the one at Old Trafford in 2013 could not have ended until he had a score of some sort, a reflection of how much he wanted it. And no one but him has any idea of the mental toil involved, not just in the particular achievement, but in what it took to get there: a lifetime's work so far.

Pietersen's job is to play cricket, and only his friends and family really know anything of him beyond how he plays cricket. For the rest of us, that should be plenty.