Chris Adams

© Getty Images Enlarge

The boundary against Leicestershire that finally made Sussex county champions was hit, on September 18, by the opening batsman, Murray Goodwin, a cricketer of great skill and accomplishment. When the innings was finally declared closed, Goodwin was unbeaten on 335, the highest-ever score by a Sussex player. But hardly anyone gave him a second glance. They were too busy embracing the captain, Chris Adams, who had delivered what in Sussex had always been regarded as the Holy Grail: domestic cricket's grandest prize, which had eluded all his predecessors since the club was formed in 1839.

For this reason alone, Adams stands ahead of all Sussex captains now. The princely Ranji and the autocratic C. B. Fry, the inspiring Arthur Gilligan and the elegant, sickly Duleepsinhji, the godly David Sheppard and the maverick Robin Marlar, the imperious, glorious Ted Dexter, the towering Tony Greig and the preposterously enthusiastic John Barclay - they all jostle in his shadow. Sussex, some argue, with forlorn voices and sad, defeated eyes, were champions in 1875. But unofficial pre-1890 championships are fool's gold; now there can be no argument.

CHRISTOPHER JOHN ADAMS was born on May 6, 1970 in the small mining village of Whitwell, close to the Yorkshire border in north Derbyshire. His first cricket was played with his elder brother, David, in their sloping back garden. The two of them played for Staveley CC, where Chris won the open single-wicket competition at the age of 13. The greatest influence on his fledgling career was Benita White, a woman who ran the Chesterfield Cricket Society. Adams first went to her when he was eight and she taught him the rocking-your-teddy-bear-to-sleep technique. "When you hold your bat you've got your arms in a round with your elbows stuck out," she explains. "You rock your bat back and forward as if you're rocking your teddy to sleep." When Adams was finally selected for England he gave her the credit. But by the time he was 16, even though he had played cricket for English Schools, Adams was more interested in rocking centre-forwards. As a tough centre-half he had decided to leave Chesterfield Grammar School and join a footballing training scheme.

Mike Stone, who ran the Derbyshire Cricket Association team, persuaded Adams to take a very different turn: not merely to continue his education but to join the sixth form at Repton, a public school with a long cricketing tradition. There he broke Richard Hutton's run-scoring record; the former Derbyshire captain Guy Willatt took careful note and Kim Barnett, the then captain, visited the school to make him an offer. Adams first played for Derbyshire in 1988 and started to build a reputation as a forceful, at times brutal, middle-order batsman and outstanding fielder. By the mid-1990s, though, he felt his ambitions were being frustrated: by the club, the bowlerfriendly pitches and maybe the people around him. His attempts to leave provoked resistance, and a bitter feud at Derby. The club eventually relented, he moved to Sussex, was offered the captaincy and pots of money, and achieved his ambition - selection for the millennium tour of South Africa. It was a disaster. Adams was picked in all five Tests but averaged only 13: "not up to the challenge of Test cricket," said Wisden dismissively. There could be no road back.

A bad summer followed. Sussex finished bottom of the second division and Adams got himself into trouble after confrontations with the umpire David Constant and Essex's Danny Law. "I had spent a very difficult winter," Adams recalls. "I came back wanting to fight the world." Thwarted in his main cricketing goal, he might easily have drifted out of the game. But he has a competitive and combative spirit - he is the son of a Yorkshireman, after all - and instead he channelled his aggression creatively and threw himself into the challenges of county cricket. Last season he led Sussex by bold example. "He's not the easiest to play against," grumbled one opposing captain. "He's very aggressive and in your face."

© Getty Images Enlarge

Yet, perversely, Adams was close to despair for much of 2003. "I couldn't have been in a worse state, mentally, in mid-July," he says. "I didn't know where to place my feet, head or hands. If I'm honest I have to say that I hadn't done enough work in pre-season or early season. It was my benefit season and we were also moving house. I had a lot of things on my mind." By July, his confidence destroyed, he decided to return to the nets and hit a thousand balls a day.

It seemed to work. He hit four centuries, three of them against Surrey and Lancashire, the main Championship rivals. Crucially, he scored runs when they were needed. When the batting faltered, as it frequently did between Tony Cottey's spring blossoming and Goodwin's late harvest, he often stood alone. He has matured, both as a player and a man and has found fulfilment. And for a county cricketer, days don't get more fulfilling than September 18.