Some folk are swingers: that they go both ways is their thing, and, quite rightly, each to their own.
Take Jimmy Anderson, for example. He is the sort that has an infectious zest for life. A firm believer in variety being the spice of life, swinging is where it is at for him.
One moment he’ll go one way, the next he is off on a tangent to a totally different but no less appealing location. It is nothing kinky of course, just a gifted bowler using the talents, and the conditions, available to him to operate to the best of his rather substantial ability.
That the thirty year old Lancashire raised player has achieved this goes without saying.
Sure, he may have been gifted with unnatural levels of talent, but he is the one that persevered year in, year out. No one made him go through untold amounts of blood, sweat and tears. It was all him. Not only is he the better for it, but cricket has had the privilege of witnessing the rise and rise of one the noughties pre-eminent swing bowlers.
And swing he sure does, as often as any. What is more, this artisan of worldly talents swings at quite the pace, too.
Regularly over eighty miles per hour, the lurid coatings of winter's disdain launch one discontented storm after another, seeking out the nectar of desire with its icy demeanour and sending chills of apprehension through the troubled minds of defenceless batsmen.
Like Michael Clarke, on the first day of the first test of this 2013 Ashes series. A fine batsman, with an average to die for, he was outdone by the most imperious of Anderson's deliveries. There was nothing the Australian Captain could do as winter's wrath - in this most summer of sports - summoned itself upon the cloudy uncertainty of a mind bogged down in resentment.
Well, other than stand idly by and witness a delivery induce the sweet smell of nervous sweat as the winds of the willow were woefully exposed by the naked intimacy of a cherry cannoning into a shaken foe.
It's not like the Englishman is only an occasional harasser of fretful foes, either. Indeed, he has gleefully sent 307 victims packing thus far in this increasingly fabled career. Debuting in the 2002/03 season, many an enemy must be thoroughly fed up with the sight of a batsman's biggest tormentor.
He is a star for sure, but don't mistake him for a show pony. For this goliath of the bowling underground can and will toil with the best. Just because he isn't always in the vista of England's stunning swing bowling conditions doesn't mean he'll pack a sad or feign an injury. Land him in India, where the elements mock speed merchants, and he will willingly hit the soil, slogging away all day for the betterment of his team.
There is always an upside though. With India often producing a spinners paradise, there is the opportunity for him at one end to create havoc and his great mate, the Mad Hatter of English cricket, Graeme Swann, at the other to do justice to mayhem.
It is anywhere really. That is talent for you. It may take time in unfriendly conditions, but perseverance becomes them. At other times, with a snap of the fingers, they conjure up instant success. As always, the best find a way to slay a batsman away.
Like on yesterday's second day of play. Only early in the first session, Anderson's form was a mesmerising fountain of prosperity salivating continuous outpourings of majestic reverence for the artistry he brings to his hallowed occupation. A perfectionist to the last, preparation came and excellence was regularly dispensed. Within a blink of an eye he had removed an Australian middle to lower order that had no answer to his genius. Fifty-four for four and floundering, he did what any self-respecting champion would do: go in for the kill.
Like anyone, though, he is not invincible. Such are the vagaries of an elite sportsperson’s confidence levels, one minute they will be painting the town red, the next, hiding in a corner brooding over a cherished abilities inability to seize the moment.
But not for long.
After all, his is an arm of deceit, tentacles far reaching into the heat of the devious, striking a blow to many a mind reeling from the cold-hearted blackness of defeat.
Because Anderson much prefers to fraternise with success. Of which he is well acquainted to.