Heartbreaks and red-letter days

The drama of the World Cup, its very weight and its scope, its highest joys and deepest sadnesses, have been found in the semi-finals. Look at the last four competitions. The most climactic finish in World Cup history, its greatest collapse, its most infamous riot, its greatest robbery, its most sensational arrival, its most famous walk, all in the semi-finals: the 'I was there' moments.

I was not there in 1992 but it was a splendid tournament which gets better with time. Thanks to Martin Crowe, his ballsy innovativeness and linear elegance that made him the most pleasurable captain and batsman of that tournament. He played his best innings in the semi-final against Pakistan, part of it on one leg after pulling a hamstring. Pakistan were set a high target in the context of the times, 262. Crowe could not lead in the field. His opposite number, the aged Imran Khan, promoted himself to No. 3. It was the diagonally opposite tactic to pinch-hitting. Records show Imran took a ridiculous 93 balls to get 44. It felt much slower.

As the overs ticked increasingly there was the feeling that here was the work of a senile man. When the fourth wicket fell Javed Miandad asked for Wasim Akram to come out to hit big shots. But Imran had handpicked a shy, chubby fella who had really wanted to be dropped for the match and had told the captain as much. And so came the memorable making of Inzamam-ul-Haq. Helmetless and full of boyish lofts and outrageous timing, Inzy stroked 60 off 37 balls (aptly it ended in a run-out) and the target that had seemed so impossible was no longer so. Moin Khan swept Chris Harris for six - over long-off. Miandad, as ever, remained unbeaten at the end. A great chase, as gloriously Pakistani in its way as the Akram-sparked defence in the final.

The next day South Africa's dream ended in tears. One moment they were hustling to make a remarkable entry into a World Cup final, a mere four months after the two-decade isolation, needing 22 from 13 balls. The next, according to the rain-rule devised by no less a person than Richie Benaud, they needed 22 from seven. The next a farcical 22 from one ball. It showed up, the cruel joke, on the giant screen and made a famous photo. By choosing to field despite knowing the weather forecast and the rain rule, and further, not completing their overs on time, argued Wisden, South Africa deserved what they got. Few others in cricket could share that sentiment. Here was a fresh, tough and vibrant team, at the most hopeful and poignant time in the history of their troubled land. To rationalise the injustice took a coldness of soul.

Seven years later came another great South African cricketing tragedy. I felt it deep because I was there. I was a teenager backpacking through England's World Cup and cricket meant so much more. I took a risk and got lucky. I had seen the previous Australia v South Africa match at Headingley, the Steve Waugh one. There was such a tangible frisson between those great teams - both really were great one-day teams, South Africa for its depth and sharpness, Australia for the sheer calibre of its best players - that another encounter between them was not to be missed. I had a ticket to the other semi-final, Pakistan v New Zealand. I sold it. I took an early morning train to Birmingham without a match ticket. I waited at the gates till close to the start till the touts dropped their rates. I got a very fine seat at par price.

What a most unforgettable and sad match but with so much to relive. The bowling of Shaun Pollock, his delivery to Mark Waugh, the defiance once more of Steve, the truly mesmeric performance of a bonafide champion that was Shane Warne, the podgy error of umpire David Shepherd against Hansie Cronje, the astonishing rally once more by Lance Klusener, those two extra-cover fours of his in the cathartic final over, Darren Lehmann's first underarm miss, and then the final and immortal cock-up - run, Allan, run! Afterwards South Africans in the tube station had tears in their eyes. They cussed Gary Kirsten for throwing it away; they rued their own miserable luck.

I was younger and more involved still when Vinod Kambli cried at Eden Gardens. Again on reflection, the moments of the match come flooding back. The noise in that crazed arena when first Sanath Jayasuriya then Romesh Kaluwitharana fell in the opening over, the ravishing counter-attacking strokes of Aravinda de Silva - so easily we forget him - Sachin Tendulkar's fatal attempted run to a tickle down leg, Azhar's folly at the toss emerging as the pitch broke and turned square, Jayasuriya's energetic wickets and catches and run outs in the absence of his runs ...

I was there with a generous family friend, who got me a ticket and let me stay with him at the team hotel. There will be a riot and we cannot stay, said Uncle when the sixth Indian wicket fell. I argued fervently and lost. By the time we reached the radio in the car another one was down. By the time we reached the television on the hotel it was raining shameful bottles on the field. Calcutta ought to have been banned for two years. There was applause from the Sri Lankans when they returned to the hotel. Some minutes later you could hear every pitter-patter of the Indians as they walked in, the silent guests in the corridors - you could see down into the foyer from every floor.

Next morning before leaving for the airport Australia were four down for 15 against West Indies. At the time of boarding it emerged that they had got up to 207. On touching down back home it appeared West Indies were cruising to the finals. By the time I was home Warne was unravelling the threads. Eight wickets fell for 37 runs. The last seven West Indians made: 2, 1, 2, 0, 3, 2, 0. Richie Richardson was not out on 49, then resigned from captaincy and retired from cricket. Two days, two melodramas.

In 2003, an Australian walked in the semi-final after being adjudged not out and perhaps here was the most wondrous event of them all. By contrast the last four Cup finals have been interesting to lop-sided affairs, in some cases flattish for no other reason but that they simply had too much to live up to.