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VOL. XXII NO. 4, June 1-15, 2012
The day the Don had us nearly run out
By G. Gururaj
Former Station Director, All India Radio

Donald Bradman

My initiation into cricket began in 1949 – a year after Don Bradman had bid farewell to cricket. I was a student of St. Joseph's College, Trichy, and a resident of the once famous Clive's Hostel (alas, this edifice, which should have been preserved as a National Monument, has been turned into a vulgar commercial complex). Coming as I did from a predominantly rural area, I soon realised that in order to earn even a modicum of respect from my peers it was necessary to know all about cricket, if not as an active player, at least as an armchair one. And so I, along with other neophytes like me, went through a crash course of cricket catechism and at the same time lapped up all that was written on the game by Fingleton, Swanton, Cardus and others.

Very soon we had picked up all the cricket jargon and could easily tell the difference between Silly Mid-on and Deep Third Man; a Beamer and a Bouncer; a Flipper and a Top-spinner; and a Googly and a Chinaman! We had also read all about the life and deeds of Grace, Ranji and Trumper; Hobbes, Hammond and Headley; Larwood and Verity; Lindwall and Miller; Grimmet and O'Reilly and, of course, Donald George Bradman. The more we read about the amazing record of Bradman, the more we began to pine for at least a glimpse of the Don in action.

Our chance came when a local theatre arranged an exclusive show consisting of half-a-dozen short films on sport. One of them was How to play Cricket by Don Bradman, based on Bradman's own book with the same title, but one that was later changed to The Art of Cricket. What was of special interest to us was that the film included rare clips from some of the innings played by the Don. There was, however, a snag. Our hostel rules were very strict and all inmates were required to return to the hostel premises before eight p.m. If by chance we were late we could be in serious trouble, ranging from a heavy fine to expulsion from the hostel. So, hoping against hope that we would be able to watch the Bradman film and reach the hostel in time, we booked our tickets for the evening show.

Our luck held. It was the third item of the evening. The opening shot which showed a still of Bradman in the act of executing a square cut was greeted with thunderous cheers by the audience. For the next half hour or so we were in the seventh heaven. What impressed us most was Bradman's footwork. There was a rhythm about his movements that reminded us of Fred Astaire doing one of his tap-dance routines.

We saw him returning to the pavilion amidst a standing ovation at the end of his monumental feat of scoring a triple century in a day! We watched him on the field arranging his men much like an army general marshalling his forces on the battleground. We shared the anguish of the Oval crowd when he was clean-bowled by Hollies for a duck in his last ever test played on English soil (just four runs would have given him a test average of 100!). Of that enchanted half-hour replete with moments of sheer thrill and joy, one shot in particular stands out. It was a hook played to perfection. The ease with which Bradman placed himself in position, the spilt-second timing with which he executed the shot, and the flourish of the final follow-through – all these combined to draw an involuntary gasp of admiration from the entire audience. Little wonder then that Neville Cardus described Bradman's hook as the most dramatic shot seen in cricket since Jessop!

Like all good things in life the film came to a close with a sickening suddenness that left us greatly disappointed. We did not stay to watch the remaining films. Our sole aim was to reach the hostel in time. And, so, on a cloudless night we ran through the streets of Trichy as if our lives depended on it and even as the massive wooden gates of the hostel were slowly closing for the night, we managed to streak past a startled door-keeper and reached the safety of the hostel quadrangle. We had just made it. (Courtesy: Straight Bat.)

Tamil Nadu's Iyengars of Cricket

(Author's Note: As an Iyengar I am proud to write about Iyengar cricketers who have made a mark in this prince of games. This brief article is in no way intended to downsize others who have represented Madras/Tamil Nadu and India with distinction.)

The first name that comes to mind is of M.J. Gopalan. In his early days, this medium-fast swing bowler of distinction sported a tuft – kudumi, as it's called. Often, this tuft would get untied and when Gopalan tied it up again into a neat bundle and went on to bowl, some of his ardent fans predicted that it was a signal that a wicket would fall! Gopalan was a popular figure, especially in the Presidency cricket matches in which the Indians were pitted against the Europeans, The matches were played during Pongal and were played in a festive atmosphere. Gopalan was included in the team that toured England in 1936. He was also a skilled hockey player – a double International.

You can't talk of Gopalan without mentioning another name – C.R. Rangachari both of them being from Triplicane Cricket Club. A jolly person, this speed merchant represented India on its first Australian tour and had bowled against the great Donald Bradman and other worthies. I remember reading a sports report (by A.L. Hassett, if my memory serves me right) that Rangachari missed Bradman's off-stump by the 'proverbial varnish' – a metaphor that had stuck to my mind. He played for Madras State in the Ranji Trophy and the Delhi cricket authorities still have on display a stump broken into two with a Rangachari whizzer in an international match.

Then there is Venkataraghavan, the great off-spinner. His jaw-breaking name was too much of a mouthful for an English commentator who called him 'Ventacaravan'! He captained the Indian team and was a part of the famous Indian spin quartet (the others were Prasanna, Chandrasekhar and Bedi). He went on to become a highly regarded cricket umpire. Another spin bowler of merit was A.K. Sarangapani.

The jaunty cricketer of Madras, K. Srikkanth was a dashing batsman who saw the 'red' ball as a red rag, meant to be 'attacked' mercilessly. He has played a notable part in Indian cricket and was made Captain of the team that went to Pakistan. His dashing forays and devil-may-care attitude were greatly admired. He is now a cricket administrator, being the Chairman of the Selection Committee.

Then there is Sadagopan Ramesh who showed much promise, but was sidelined because of injuries. (Courtesy: Straight Bat.)

– Vengrai Parthasarathy

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In this issue

A good act, but could be better!
Integrating the City's transport
It's time to manage transport in the City
Elephants over the centuries
Vivekananda's Chicago visit
The day the Don had us nearly run out
Our cars, 1962-2011
Sounds you do not hear

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Short 'N' Snappy
a-Musing
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Quizzin' with Ram'nan

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