‘I never think about what I can’t do’

County cricket aficionados will recognise the name Lewis Hatchett as a locally produced Sussex left-arm swing-bowler who took five for 58 against Derbyshire earlier this season. But less well known will be his path into the sport and why he is unique among the 400 or so professionals who are toiling away on the domestic circuit this summer.

Hatchett, a tall, athletic and engaging 26-year-old with cropped hair and piercing blue-green eyes, was, by his own admission, not built to play cricket, let alone to ply his trade as a seam bowler. It is, after all, the discipline of the sport that punishes the body more than any other, with constant twisting and pounding that makes aches, pains, injury and ibuprofen a way of life for the foolhardy souls who choose to make a career of it.

This is because he was born with Poland Syndrome, a rare condition that appears in around one in 100,000 births, for reasons still unknown, and manifests itself in a number of possible problems down one side of the body. In many cases it results in an underdeveloped arm or hand – the television personality Jeremy Beadle was one such example – but Hatchett is missing his right pectoral muscle and the two ribs that would have sat behind it.

For someone whose job is to hurl a five-and-a-half-ounce ball of leather 22 yards at over 80mph, this is problematic. The leading arm is key in delivery but Hatchett’s is extremely weak and needs considerable extra grunt from the rest of his upper body to get it up high enough. This compensation means his right shoulder sits much higher than his left and parts of it are now twice the normal size. An x-ray of his body shows this startling asymmetry, with a gap on the right side of his ribcage and a curved spine.

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He gets sharp pain down the back of his neck after a day’s play, severe headaches and is prone to all manner of injuries as a result. At the time of writing, he is waiting to learn the extent of a worrying lower back problem that he fears may see his season ended early.

When batting, Hatchett wears a specially designed Kevlar chest guard – were a ball to strike him in the area lacking muscle or bone for protection, the result could be anything from mild winding to a possibly fatal punctured lung – and it is only now, six years into his professional career, that he feels confident talking about it all.

His story is one of both overcoming these physical difficulties and perseverance. Growing up in Upper Beeding, West Sussex, Hatchett was told that his condition meant contact sports were not an option, cricket included. Undeterred by the risk, and spurred on by a sibling rivalry with his younger brother, Bradley, he ploughed on, playing any sport going as a child with an excess of energy.

At 10 the dream of one day becoming a professional cricketer crystalised in Hatchett’s mind, when he happened across the touring Australia team on a beach in Barbados during a family holiday; he was in awe of these elite sportsmen strutting along the seafront during their downtime on tour: “Seeing guys like Jason Gillespie out in the Caribbean playing for their country, I knew from that moment it was what I wanted to do.”

The snag, however, beyond his impairment, was that he was a novice, having been taught in the back garden by his maternal grandfather, Les. Cricket was not played at his school and it meant joining a club, St James’s Montefiore in Ditchling, to learn the basics over the following summers. If his natural talent was limited – and the physical challenge far greater than most – he had enthusiasm in abundance. To get ahead, he hatched a plan with his father, Trevor, to contact the first-team coaches at Sussex and beg them for some time training with the pros.

He recalls: “I knew my condition meant I was different to everyone else and just to get level, I felt I had to work three times as hard as the next guy. I wasn’t the best bowler and nowhere near a batter, so my dad had the idea to call up the club. If I could just get in front of them, even if I was rubbish, I might pick up a tip or two. They said no at first but I kept asking and they eventually relented. I just kept turning up and pestering them for more and more time training, and it started to get me the odd under-15s game.”

A setback came the following summer, however, when a two-hour net session bowling to the touring Sri Lankans in 2006 resulted in a stress fracture to the back that would take six months to diagnose and put Hatchett out of the game for two years. He stayed in touch with the club throughout and, after getting fit, spent the following two winters in Adelaide, first at the Darren Lehmann Academy – a trip paid for by his paternal grandfather, John, with spare money from a house move – and playing grade cricket for Southern Districts.

His first spell away saw three of the scheduled five months out with bulging discs in his back, picked up within days of arriving. Before the second, he sat down with the Sussex coach Mark Robinson, now in charge of the England women’s team, to discuss his future. Hatchett had been a popular face around the club but his development was, understandably, lagging behind his peers. His chances of making it, he was told, were slim.

The response was to ask for a list of where he needed to improve and while the one handed back to him was considerable, he returned in 2010 from a more rewarding second stint in Australia with the majority ticked off. Hatchett still sat far down the pecking order of academy hopefuls, however, but when the club got wind of his plans to seek trials elsewhere, a deal was struck whereby he would have a month with the new ball in the second team to prove his worth.

The result was 21 wickets in three games, a first summer contract and a chance to be 12th man for the first team in their Championship fixture with Middlesex at Uxbridge.

An injury to the seamer Yasir Arafat on the first morning would hand him an unlikely debut and, after holding his own in a match that featured 12 internationals across the two sides, his follow-up appearance away to Leicestershire saw him claim a maiden five-wicket haul. Robinson, impressed by the performance, offered a full-time professional deal and Hatchett’s dream, after years of slogging away to make himself the fittest player on the Sussex books, had been realised.

Six years on, having now taken 102 wickets in 53 first-team appearances for the club, he reflects: “Getting told I was getting a full-time contract was like my ultimate goal being achieved – I don’t think I have ever been happier than that day. There were times when I had doubts as to whether I was doing the right thing and injuries did, and still do, take a lot to come back from. But if my career ends tomorrow I will be happy with what I have achieved. I have made myself into a professional cricketer.”

Such determination, one which Hatchett says demonstrates that hard work trumps talent, would be commendable for any young sportsman told he would struggle to make it, but when his physical disability is factored in, it is quite remarkable. A number of Paralympians competing in Rio this summer will have been born with Poland Syndrome – among Team GB is the table tennis player Kim Daybell – and, in theory at least, he could be assessed for his own eligibility should he consider a change of sport down the line.

That his condition has gone largely unreported is because Hatchett himself has never sought any sympathy or fanfare. It is only obvious when his shirt is off – the right side of his chest is noticeably sunken, compared to the left – and he does admit to having suffered from body consciousness. While the dressing-room environment has rarely been a problem, going topless in public places still represents a challenge.

“There has always been banter from team-mates about it and new ones tend to ask how it happened pretty early on – I tell them it was a shark attack – but I don’t take offence unless it gets personal,” he explains. “Going to the beach is different though. People stare. They look away when you clock them, but you can always tell. I tend to cover it with a towel, just by habit.”

Hatchett is seen no differently to others at his club, however, even if his bowling coach, the former England seamer Jon Lewis, admits to immense pride in working with a likeable young man who, despite an obvious disadvantage, competes in an able-bodied sport. “Lewis has had to work incredibly hard on his physicality – he’s an extremely fit man who blitzes all our fitness tests,” he says. “The other lads get a little embarrassed by him, to be honest.

“He fights hard to be consistent but he’s technically very correct. He struggles catching above his head, because it is very hard to get his both hands up high. But the fact no one notices is testament to him and what he’s achieved. When I first heard about his condition and the kevlar chest guard, I couldn’t believe it. But his bravery when he bats is greater than other guys I have seen, especially tailenders who often stay leg side of the ball. He doesn’t though, he gets in line and fights his corner.

“Lewis was told he wasn’t good enough at a young age but he has proved people wrong and of all the guys you coach, he’s the one you want to succeed because he just keeps coming.”

While Hatchett hopes to continue his career as a professional cricketer, a growing realisation that his achievements are significant, as well as an increased confidence talking about them publicly, sees him at the start of a sideline in motivational speaking. The theme of his presentation, unsurprisingly, is one of working hard towards goals, whatever the challenge, and hopes his experience can inspire others.

“I believe my perceived weakness has given me great strength and my big thing is finding a way,” he says. “Every time I have hit a physical barrier, I have found a way around it. I never think about what I can’t do and I have never felt inferior.”

• This is an extract taken from the Spin, the Guardian’s weekly cricket email. To subscribe just visit this page, find ‘The Spin’ and follow the instructions.