Courage in a hard game

We are both incurable cricket romantics and will carry to the end of our lives the belief that much that is noble about the game will remain unsullied by passage of time. However much the external attributes of cricket may have changed, we believe the intrinsic quintessential qualities of courage and nobility remain forever entwined with the game. In this essay we will describe why courage is such a moving emotion and ennobling aspect of the game.

While this article mainly captures Indian heroics, we also showcase a few from other countries including perhaps the most moving story of courage that New Zealand will forever be proud of.

To regular readers who know our fondness for fielding, it will be no surprise that we begin with stories of fielding courage. Eknath Solkar without helmet at short leg is too well known. But forgotten is the saga of Sunil Gavaskar the fielder. Standing in a Test in New Zealand in 1976 at that same forward short leg, vacated by Solkar, he broke his cheek bone when Lance Cairns (a fiercer hitter than his son Chris) smashed a sweep into his face. A few years later, the summer of 1982, when Gavaskar was captain of a beleaguered Indian team, he stood at silly point and Ian Botham broke Gavaskar’s shin bone with a crack that sounded like a pistol shot. Remember, Gavaskar was captain and could have stationed himself anywhere but opted to be in the line of fire. The fractured shin bone episode became famous as Gavaskar was photographed in crutches with India’s PM and the US President Reagan, at a Washington function a month later. Love him or hate him, one of the world’s finest openers displayed guts while fielding too.

Courage while batting evokes much vivid imagery. Batsmen hit on the face, spitting out blood to take guard again and so on. No story of Indian batsmen grievously injured is more poignant than that of Charlie Griffith felling Nari Contractor in the West Indies 50 years ago. Grainy photographs, black and white in our newspapers, showed the West Indies captain Frank Worrell, distraught and first in the queue at the hospital to donate blood for the emergency operation. Contractor never played for India again but both of us saw him bat with undiminished commitment for West Zone after recovering from the near fatal injury.

At Chennai in 1964, chasing a moderate target set by Australia, India lost four wickets cheaply by the end of the fourth day. On the fifth day morning, Vijay Manjrekar, who had injured his thumb while fielding, now came out to bat with Hanumant Singh. Manjrekar had to cut off the thumb part of the glove since his swollen thumb could not go into any protective covering. Injured thumb exposed, wincing with pain every time he played the rampaging McKenzie, he gave company to Hanumant Singh (playing beautifully) for almost the entire morning session. Finally, at the stroke of lunch, Manjrekar was dismissed. The batsmen who followed failed to take India home and Manjrekar’s heroics went in vain.

Of the montages of courage from the 1980s, there is one story much told, the other rarely told. Mohinder Amarnath, hit by Malcolm Marshall, spat out teeth and blood and had to walk away to hospital. Returning to bat next day in the same blood splattered shirt he hit the first ball – a bouncer predictably greeted him – out of the ground. Never a backward step was his motto. Mohinder’s courage is folklore. But two years earlier, in Australia, India’s Sandip Patil was felled by a bouncer. Carried off, and groggy for the rest of the match, he had a captain who wanted Patil to bat again. Sick and wobbly, Patil came out, battled for a few balls and was duly dismissed. Gavaskar, his captain, applauded him all the way back. For what mattered was that by coming out to bat, Patil had exorcised fear and also communicated that he had done so.

Examples of raw guts and courage are many across the world of cricket over the years. The most moving and compelling story is that of an injured Bert Sutcliffe battling for New Zealand against South Africa in December 1953. Badly injured by a Neil Adcock bouncer, Sutcliffe returned from hospital with a heavily bandaged head and hit seven sixes in an unbelievable counterattack, making 80 out of 105. If Sutcliffe battled physical injury it was poignant that Bob Blair the man who partnered him in this effort had suffered even more grievously. News had just come that Blair’s fiancée had been killed in a train accident. How Blair found the courage to keep his mind in a heroic tenth-wicket stand with Sutcliffe will forever be one of the most amazing stories of fortitude. Finally Blair was dismissed and then he let the tears come. As the pair walked back, arms draped over each other, weeping and emotionally drained, there was not a dry eye that day in the crowd.

Mention of the infamous Bodyline series in 1932-33, is usually associated with the bravery of the Australian batsmen. But the series is also remembered for an Englishman who demonstrated remarkable strength of will. Eddie Paynter was hospitalised with tonsillitis and fever but with England’s batting wobbling in Brisbane, Douglas Jardine asked Paynter to report at the ground and bat. Sick and groggy with medication, Paynter batted for over four hours, spending the intervening night at hospital, to make a gallant 87. England won this Test.

Another great story that comes to mind is Colin Cowdrey coming to bat with his left arm in a plaster against West Indies at Lords in 1963 to ensure a draw for England. This, after Brian Close had played a great innings of courage taking Hall and Griffith repeatedly on his body and not flinching one bit. There is a photograph in Ian Wooldridge’s book “Cricket, Lovely Cricket” on this series showing Close with a towel round his waist displaying the bruises all over his upper body. When the fearsome West Indies fast bowlers visited England in 1976, the selectors asked Close who was 45 years old to open the innings. His reflexes had waned but his ability to take blows on his body and grit it out in the middle was undiminished. Close simply knew no fear. He stood at pickpocketing distance from batsmen at short leg and in that 1963 series caught Sobers off a hook at that position! Close was one of a kind.

There are many stirring stories of bowlers transcending injury and great pain to bowl unbelievable spells. Indians of course will never forget a lame Kapil Dev delivering them a victory at Melbourne in 1981.The most striking story in recent times is that of Anil Kumble on India’s tour of the Caribbean in 2002. Jaw fractured by Dillon, strapped up tight and scheduled to fly back for a surgery, Kumble came out to bowl as he always did – with fierce resolve and concentration; he got Lara with a gem and, arms raised, walked way. However often this vignette is played and replayed, the sheer power of the episode will never fade. To represent bowling heroes from other countries we pick Malcolm Marshall’s spell of 7 for 53 at Headingly in 1984 as an example of indomitable will and courage. Bowling with his left hand encased in pink plaster, Marshall created a unique piece of cricket history.

No essay on courage will be complete unless we salute Mansur Ali Khan Pataudi. Having lost one eye in a motoring accident in England in 1962, Pataudi played almost all his Test cricket with one eye. That in itself has no parallel in cricket history. But at Melbourne, in 1967– 68, Pataudi also had to bat on one leg because he had an injured hamstring. Pataudi was resplendent in a losing cause as he produced two of the most combative innings (75 and 85) in cricket history. Listening to Alan McGilvray over radio and reading Jack Fingleton in the Hindu next morning, it was clear Pataudi's efforts were something truly heroic. That is not all. In 1975, his powers and reflexes gone, Pataudi was smashed on the jaw by Andy Roberts at his fastest in Kolkata. Coming back to cheers from the crowd, after stitches on his chin, Pataudi turned the clock back and exploded with a cascade of boundaries. The blazing counterattack was brief, he made just 36 but as Pataudi walked off , the Kolkata crowd knowing that they will never see him in another Test, stood up to give him an unforgettable farewell.

We have only showcased a few heroes but there are so many more. Players of the unhelmeted era faced Trueman and Tyson, McKenzie, Lillee and Thomson, Gilchrist, Griffith, Roberts and Holding with no arm guards, chest guards or helmets as protection. They had a bat and they had their eyes and reflexes. We invite our readers to share other episodes of bravery and courage.

The next part of this essay will be about stories of great sportsmanship, for as we said before, gentility and nobility like courage have an umbilical relationship with cricket. Nothing can change that, ever.