A Few Good Men and the Fortress That Wasn’t

The cricket ball has a hard cork core which is covered in leather and weighs 5.7 oz. As kids we called it a “hard” ball, because that’s what it is. When it strikes you on the body, it hurts. On the final day of the Brisbane test, Cummins and Hazelwood struck Pujara eleven times on his helmet, back, chest and once, crushingly, on his fingers, an incident that made him leap in the air in pain. On that day, Pujara was not The Wall. He was Rocky Balboa taking a battering from Clubber Lang and coming back for more. He wasn’t batting as much as absorbing deliveries, absorbing everything until they had nothing left to fling at the others... ———————————————— The Woolongabba cricket ground in Brisbane( Gabba for short) is Australian cricket’s safe place. Here’s where they come to flex their muscles, bully the opposition and take a lead in the series because it’s always the first test. This time, even better- it was the decider. The last time Australia lost there was in 1988 to a West Indian attack consisting of Ambrose, Walsh, Marshall and Patterson. A total of over 1,400 test wickets when they finished. This time it was Siraj, Thakur, Saini, Washington and Natarajan. A total of four test matches between them. The fortress was safer than safe. It was reinforced concrete up against toy pistols. And yet..... —————————————————— Washington isn’t Sundar. He is the son of Sundar. Sundar, a cricketer himself had a neighbour who sponsored his expenses and encouraged him to play at whatever level he could. When that neighbour passed due to illness, Sundar was determined to honour him and decided to name his first born after him. Hence, Washington- he of the languid grace and long limbs and that off drive that he played thrice against Cummins. All of 21 years of age, with the eyes of a child and the steel of a veteran. ——————————————————- Rishabh Pant has a problem. He has a belief in his own ability that is so steadfast that nothing can quite shake it. That’s a problem in India where we like our heroes to doubt themselves on a regular basis, once every morning and twice on weekends. Rishabh Pant is the king of the audacious shot- the loft against the turn, the falling down lap, the hook from above his eyeline. If he were Australian they would name him Adam Gilchrist and sing hosannas to him. In India, though, Pant has a problem. Fortunately for us, he doesn’t know it. —————————- Shubhman Gill reminds people of Dilip Vengsarkar. Some people say he is a right handed Saurav Ganguly. Shubhman Gill, however, would like people to remember him as Shubman Gill. And if he keeps playing that patented slap cut off the fastest bowler in world cricket, keeps stepping out to a quality off spinner to drive him against the turn and keeps smiling self deprecatingly when they sledge him- we will. Shubhman Gill doesn’t know it yet but he’s special. Very special. ———————————- Sachin Tendulkar once told Shardul Thakur to lose weight or he’d lose his chance of playing cricket at any level. He listened. Mohammed Siraj gets hit all over the park in the IPL. That’s because he always looks for wickets and his red ball stats are outstanding. This the selectors know and he is an inspired pick. Natarajan is a fairy tale that deserves an entire book. These three hold the key, a key one fears won’t fit the lock that must be opened. We shall see... ———————————- There are 328 to be made in the fourth innings to win. Thats because the unlikely quartet took all twenty Australian wickets. And yet that’s more than anybody’s ever made there to win. It’s almost a hundred more than the previous highest, it’s an insurmountable mountain, an uncrossable sea, a bridge too far and every other cliche in The Book of the Impossible. Also, it seems pertinent to mention that this Indian side just got rolled over for 36 by the exact same bowling attack, exactly a month ago. So, just to clarify- this task, boys and girls, is impossible. Everybody knows this, accepts this and waits for the inevitable. Everybody except this Indian team. They haven’t got the memo. ———————————— So onwards and forwards then, to the final day at the Gabba. Three previous tests and four days of jousting here have led to this. It has to end today, not least because there’s not much left in the tank for both teams. One final push.... There are several ways to skin a cat but only two ways to dismantle a fortress. You can charge at it with a battering ram and smash open the ramparts, or you can Trojan horse your way in, with stealth and finesse. As is becoming usual with this Indian team, they chose a third way- a combination of both. Shubhman Gill started off the morning with rapier thrusts of his bat of such precision that he found gaps where none existed. The attack was dismantled gently, almost apologetically and by the time Lyon got him to nick off to slip, he had made 91. At the other end, Pujara the human sponge was absorbing.... At tea we were 38 overs from safety with seven wickets in hand. I felt able to finally unclench my jaw, unlace my locked in prayer hands and sit down. We could draw this. We would draw this. Until Pant, with a violent paroxysm, launched Lyon over long on for six. The battering ram was here. Rahul, my lad and I exchanged glances. Were we... were we actually going for this? My heart, which had settled into something resembling a rhythm, began its staccato drumming again... —————————- It’s 7 30 in the evening and Rahul and I are taking our usual drive. Today, there’s pin drop silence in the car. “So,” he says” Are we going to address the elephant in the room or what”. I’m still silent. Driving. From the corner of my eye I see him nod. “ Can’t process it yet, can you, Annu”? Process this. No Kohli. The entire bowling attack, seven of them, rendered hors de combat. Somehow we’re level at Melbourne after having made 36 at Adelaide. Somehow we bat 130 overs on one hamstring and a prayer to draw at Sydney. And then we go and do the unthinkable- we dismantle Australia at Brisbane. Process this? Not today, perhaps never. But I know that the tears of joy flow as easily for me today as they did when I was a child in shorts. And I know that I need several drinks to live and relive every moment of this monumental triumph. Now that, I can process.....