Apart from this deviation, however, Mallett is almost catholic in his adherence to the traditional biographical form. Chappell’s rise from gritty and gifted schoolboy cricketer to fearless and committed Australian captain is related chronologically, interspersed with asides from the man and with testimony from those who witnessed the tumultuous journey. Of course, there is no shortage of figures and stats throughout, for better or for worse.

Despite the relative orthodoxy of the telling, Chappell is revealed as an engaging, courageous and brash iconoclast, full of vim and vigour that is desperately lacking in the purveyors of modern cricket. Mallett is obviously fond of his former captain, and relates instances of Chappell’s bravery, in the face of opposition both on and off the field (within and outside Australia), with passion.

In fact, it is in letting Chappell’s life do the talking that Mallett’s easy style is most effective. The chapters titled ‘Duelling with Bradman and Botham’ and ‘World Series Cricket’, generously laced with Chappell’s own reflections, are particularly good. It can be a case of BYO glorious memories in his recounting of some of Chappell’s epic on-field encounters, however; these aren’t always brought to life with sufficient drama.

Though the book would have benefited from a deeper investigation of the private life and mind of Ian Chappell, one chapter, ‘Tampa and the 1868 Australians’, confirms him as a champion in every sense of the word; a man very much worth getting to know better.