Dream Cricket - at Lords with Sunil Gavaskar, Bob Willis and Alan Knott

I am playing cricket. It's not in a stadium or in a lane. It's actually being played on a small playground, next to some slums, a decrepit and unused railway line, an untidy building housing several families, and a tiny building with some rich families. The match is between a good cricket club, belonging to a large industry and with several well-known players. And my team, of course, is a rag-tag bunch, with local players, and with absolutely no playing experience. The entire audience comprises all neighbours from the two buildings and people from the slums. The slum dwellers are perched all along the railway fence, while the well-to-do neighbours are lined up along the buildings.

I do not belong to the place. I am not from the buildings or the slums. I have come from some other nearby spot, to meet my school and college classmate. I have come to meet my best friend and have a good lunch. My mother cooks differently, and my friend's aunt cooks differently. He loves to eat at my place, while I love to eat at his place. We are about to start eating, when the neighbour comes in and asks me and my friend to help out with the team. The neighbour was also known to us from our school and college, and his father was the coach of our hockey and sports teams at our school. So we cannot say no to our friend from school and college, and son of our school sports coach, and my best friend's neighbour.

Ok, we said. We will play for the local ragtag team. Our friend consoled us, and cheered us. Do not worry, you will not be playing these big boys at their game, but they will play at our game. They will not play with the regulation red-cherry leather cricket ball, but will be playing on our uneven pitch with lawn tennis balls. We started smiling, me and my best friend. We were good at that version of the game. We could play tennis ball cricket on mud pitches with the best in the business. Our friend cheered us up further, by saying that the club team players were actually grumbling and did not want to play on the mud pitch.

It had been raining, and the pitch was smooth as the bonnet of an ambassador car. A fast bowler, local bred, with lawn tennis balls, could be very dangerous to the professional cricket players. They could get whiplashed, or they could get badly injured. We were not worried. This was how we played our cricket, in the rain, on smooth smooth smooooth mud pitches, with lawn tennis balls and without our footwear. The club cricket team was wearing heavy shoes for grass playgrounds. And our tiny playground was pure slush. The mud pools were beginning to form, and we knew it would be a terrible time for the bowling team.

Let me tell you a bit about the club cricket team. They were the best. They had won the Bombay Times Shield in 1978. A year later, they were leading the league. The players had also spread out to the top four teams and competed against each other in the Kanga League in Bombay. These guys were the best. Some of them were actually our heroes, since they were playing for the Bombay, West Zone and India teams. But, they played good cricket. They were way out of their league on our tiny playground. Not "our" playground. It was my friend's neighbourhood playground. I usually did not play there, but knew my way around such a slushy cricket field. I had been playing with various other local teams in the other neighbourhood cricket fields and in most of the neighbourhood lanes.

It was drizzling steadily. The entire neighbourhood and the slum dwellers were waiting it out in the rain. They wanted to see the fun. They knew that we could give a torrid time to the club team. The neighbours did not care if we won or lost. They wanted some achievements from each one of us and they wanted us to harass the club team. And, if we won the match along the way, it would of course be a big big big story to tell everyone and their neighbours and their neighbours, for years to come.

We won the toss. And we decided to bat. We discussed our strategy. It was quite simple. Since we felt it would rain heavily later, and we may escape bowling at the club team, it was decided that I would open the innings. I could get back to my house, across the railway lines, if it rained heavily. It was sensible strategy, I thought, for it would take at least four to six overs for the club team bowlers to get their grip on the outfield and run up to the pitch in a proper manner. I could swing my bat around in the early overs and get up some runs. I would then be a hero to all the neighbours of my best friend.

I took the bat and went up to the stumps and took guard. I was actually very scientific about it. I walked up to the crease, examined the crease line, and saw a black and white pebble, half buried in it. I decided that the pebble would be my marker, and marked my guard. Who needed the umpire, I thought. Actually, the umpire had not come up to his spot as yet. He was chatting with the Bengali family from the ground floor. He had brought his big carry bag and was requesting them to allow him to hide it inside the Bengali family's living room.

The umpire came to his spot, happy that his bag was secure now. He started chatting with the other batsman from our team. They were family friends, and he wanted to know if he could have lunch with their family after the match. The club team bowler was marking his run up. I stood my guard, waiting for the first ball. It was drizzling and a slight wind came up, rustling the dust further. Something went into my eye, and I panicked. Hey, stop the bowler, stop the bowler, I shouted. I wanted to remove the dust from my eye. But, the umpire did not listen. He was still talking to the other batsman at the bowlers' end.

The bowler kept coming. I rubbed my eye hastily, and 'ping'… the dust went away. I opened my eyes to watch the bowler. Hey, what was this going on? I was no longer at the tiny playground. I was at Lords, batting for India. And who was that at the other end? None other than Sunil Gavaskar. Wow! Double Wow! I was playing with Sunil Gavaskar, the greatest, the legend, the best of the best? And I was opening the innings? Wow! But, who was that coming at me? Who was the bowler? At Lords? It had to be from England, and yes, this guy was tall, tallll, talllllll and looked mean and mean and mean. It was Bob Willis. And I could hear HIS heart pounding.

This was no longer lawn tennis ball cricket in the neighbourhood cricket ground. It was the big thing. At Lords. Where did the neighbourhood cricket ground disappear? How did I come to be at Lords, with Sunil Gavaskar on the other side? Did he not always open the innings for India? How come I was opening the innings? The umpire had just now announced "Play"! I raised my hand, hastily, to stop Bob Willis in his run-up. I gestured to the umpire, to request permission to approach Sunil Gavaskar. I wanted to check with him, the legend, my hero, my cricket god, and ask him about what the heck was I doing at Lords, and opening the innings at a Test Match. The umpire nodded irritatedly. Sunil Gavaskar, the greatest, the little master, came walking down the pitch, in his trademark languid style, with his splendid smile.

I asked, "Sir, what's happening? What am I doing at Lords? How come I was opening the innings? Is it true? Is it all happening?"

Gavaskar smiled, patted my shoulders, and said, "Relax. You are our saviour. Half our team fell sick. They had gone to eat dinner at John Lever's house, expecting to enjoy the traditional English food. What can you say? This English food is not like our Indian food at all. They have all gone down with terribly bad stomachs. We were trying to get Ramnath Parkar from Bombay, but he was playing some timepass match at some neighbourhood cricket ground. And our tantric, who was given the job to instantly tele-transport Ramnath Parkar, made an error in reading the mantras in this winter chill cold in London. He was asked to get the opener, from the match, expecting that Parkar would be opening, and he got you."

I was stunned. I kept pinching myself to see if it was a dream. And of course, if you are already dreaming, then dreaming about pinching yourself within a dream is merely that… a dream. Here I was, the result of a tantric mistake, tele-transported from Bombay to London, instead of Ramnath Parkar, and now, I would have to open the innings for India. And there was Bob Willis, one of the fastest, glaring at our discussion on the pitch. I turned to Sunil Gavaskar, but he was gone, back to the other end of the pitch. I walked back to my popping crease, and took stance. Bob Willis walked back to the top of his run up.

I looked around the stadium. It was packed. Absolutely. I could also see several TV cameras recording the match for instant telecast back to India. Wow. I was also on TV. And all my friends, relatives, neighbours, and all Bombaywallahs, especially, would see me, living my dream, opening the innings for India, with SUNIL GAVASKAR, the living god, at Lords, of all the places. What could I do? I examined the logic and the ill-logic, in the brief span of one minute, i.e., 60 seconds. Here I was. A Bombaywallah, actually. What else could I do well? Better than most Indians and the rest of the World? I could play cricket, of course. Well, I would play cricket. So what if I got out at the first ball? So what if I probably fell down with a skull fracture from Bob Willis' first ball? or broken ribs? I would have done the impossible. I would have achieved the feat of opening the innings for India, at Lords, with Sunil Gavaskar. That was better than going to heaven, actually.

In came Bob Willis. I could actually hear his feet go THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP. I could see the red cricket ball in his hand, clasped tightly. I hoped and prayed, that Bob Willis would probably forget to let go the ball. He would complete his run, and forget to let go the ball. And I could probably let go a pretend shot, as though I had sighted the ball clearly, and everybody would be fooled. Hey, what was that? Suddenly, Bob Willis had moved sideways from his frontal run, and he was somewhere up in mid-air, about five feet above, actually. His hair was flying all around, and his eyes seemed to be totally red, and on fire. Where was the ball?

There it was. He had clasped it close to his chest, and BANG, there it went behind his back, and came up nearly 12 feet above the ground, and SUDDENLY, in a very MICRO MICRO SECOND, it left his hand, and started coming at me. It hit the pitch, half-way, and seemed to gather speed. The time within the second suddenly seemed to be like a long long period of time. I could see the ball was suddenly rocketing towards me, and coming near my head. My dread of a broken skull, would probably come true immediately, I thought.

I moved my right foot back, towards first slip, while the ball was coming up at my left shoulder. I moved my left foot direction, from gully to cover, and shifted my body, moving from in front of the wicket keeper, through to first slip and second slip and third slip, while I raised my bat to block the ball from hitting my head. I was totally scared, and was panicking fast, super fast. I decided to use the bat like an extremely large fly swatter, and hit the ball. The rocket-like speed of the ball brought it to hit my bat like a sharp snap of a steel rod, and helped send the ball onwards to beyond backward short leg. It kept climbing, and climbing and climbing and climbing. The speed kept increasing.

I had barely brought my bat down back below my waist, when the ball had hit the first floor stands behind the boundary ropes. It was a SIX. The crowd went up in a humongous extremely loud roar, shouting "SIX". Suddenly, I saw Sunil Gavaskar standing next to me, for he had come running down the pitch, expecting me to start running. He was smiling broadly. Grinning happily. He said, "It’s a SIX. Your debut ball, and you hit a six! That too, off Bob Willis? WHO are you? What did that idiot Tantric do?"

I did not understand anything. I did not even realize that the ball had gone for a six. I was more busy, touching my head and shoulders, to examine if I had been hit. I wanted to check if I was bleeding. I checked my bat, to see if it had broken. That loud steel-bolt breaking sound that I had heard must have shattered the bat into many pieces. I looked at Bob Willis. He was smiling and he said "Good shot, mate." The wicket keeper for the England team was Alan Knott. I do not know or remember if Alan Knott and Bob Willis and Sunil Gavaskar ever figured in a test match together at Lords. But, I prefer Alan Knott as the wicket keeper for England, and would always do so. So, it was Alan Knott.

And there he was, standing up, far behind the wicket, collecting the ball from the deep throw, and sending it up to Mike Brearley, the Captain. Well, again, my captain for England is always Mike Brearley. There could be no other, better, to lead England, ever. Mike Brearley, ran up to Bob Willis with the ball. And here was Sunil Gavaskar, smiling at me, and patting my shoulders, and asking me, "Hey, are you ok? You hit a six. Your debut ball six. And you seem to be in total shock. Pull out of it. Bob Willis is going to come back at you now, and he will come back faster. He would not try to bounce you now. Pay attention. Bob Willis will now try to bowl an outswinger, and he will pitch it almost up to you. Take a more frontal stance or change your stance at the last moment. Take care."

Sunil Gavaskar walked back. I looked around. The crowd was roaring. It seemed like the way they used to roar for Sunil Durrani or Clive Lloyd. They were going "SIX SIX SIX". There was no letting down in the shouts. I tried to focus again. I had actually been able to create an hour of time, inside the half-second time that I had when Bob Willis released the ball. I may actually have a lot of reaction time inside that brief moment of time. Should I try it again? With more calm, and determination? There he was. Bob Willis. He turned back on his run-up, and glared at me. Well, that’s what it looked like. His two eyes, seemed to release two sharp bamboo-reed like arrows of heat, and they hit me on my shoulders. I could sense his determination now. He looked at David Gower at second slip, and then at Graham Gooch at first slip.

Of course, again, my England team always had Graham Gooch at first slip, David Gower at second slip, Ian Botham at third slip. There was also that smiling clownish player at Gully, but his name was fading out on me. He was a great player, probably greater than the slip players. But I could not remember his name, because Bob Willis was already more than half-way down his run up. When did he come down so fast? Oh, Yes... that must be Derek Randall... but, why am I remembering him... Bob Willis was almost halfway down the pitch, I thought.

I kept my stance with the off-stump showing. Suddenly, I remembered Gavaskar telling me to change my stance and that Bob Willis may not bounce me this time. My mind was working overtime. I had seen Willis look at Gower and Gooch. It must have been a signal. This must be paradise, I thought. Opening the batting for India, at Lords, with Sunil God Gavaskar, on the other end, with Alan Knott, Graham Gooch, David Gower and Ian Botham behind me. Mike Brearley watching me intently. What could be better than this?

Actually, it should have been, what could be worse than this? For, there was Bob Willis, already at the crease. I thought of opening my stance, to pretend that I was ready to hook, and turned towards leg, opening up the middle stump. I could see Willis look at that change, and slow down by a fraction in his delivery stride. His delivery arm seemed to slacken, ever so slightly. I heard Ian Botham give a whistle, almost a sharp tweet, like a signal to Willis. I could guess what Willis would do now. He would probably bowl on middle, and try to tweak the ball to swing to 2^nd Slip.

I could see it now, the two fingers, the forefinger and middle finger, come up on the threads, and the ball lined up to come to middle and swing to 2^nd slip. I thought back to the street cricket at Mumbai, remembering the vegetable-market cricket team’s captain’s swagger and multiple changes of stances that he was good at. Avinash Chavan, his name was. He would keep moving his stance from the off-stump to leg and sometimes, he would walk back to one stump beyond leg to tempt the bowler to target the off-stump. All these thoughts were like a slow moving train inside a micro-second inside my brain, while Willis was bringing up his arm to bowl.

I thought back to Avinash, and decided to reverse his bluff. I began to turn to leg, and to open up my stance, and as Willis’ arm came up at the topmost point, I continued to turn legwards, but started walking towards the off-stump and beyond it by two stumps. Bob Willis had already made his decision. I could see it. He had aimed at the middle-stump, at half-way down the pitch, and was expecting the ball to swing to off. By the time the ball had hit half-way down the pitch, I was one complete stride away from off-stump, almost in line with first slip. The ball came up neatly to my knee height, but it was now a leg-side ball for me. My fright was still with me, and I thought this time around, the ball would hammer me on my left thigh.

I tried to desperately swat the ball at waist height, but it was lower down, just above my left knee. My bat made contact with the ball in a fashion that was more than a flick, and lesser than a hook, and more like a low-down leg-drive, if the bowler was coming at you from leg-cover. TWAAACCCCK, the contact was loud, and my elbows rang with shock, and I was almost thrown off the pitch, with the ricochet. My right leg had come down firmly at almost a very silly silly point, and steadied me. My eyes were jarred, and I could not see anything. I could only hear the roar of the crowd, and it became louder and louder.

Suddenly, Sunil Gavaskar was standing next to me, smiling and patting me on the shoulder. I could hear the crowd now, going SIIIIXXXXXX, SIIIIIXXXXXXXXX.... and Gavaskar saying, “Hey, pull together. Its your second six. What a shot. Did you invent it? Or, did you bring it all along from Dadar gully cricket? I had almost forgotten the leg-to-off stump shuffle from Dadar Hindu Colony. Well done.”

I could not even bring myself to smile. The actual physical contact of the ball on the bat, and being able to survive there, was awesome. Each ball seemed to be a lifetime. It was like one’s own personal island of solitude in life. Nobody to share it with, and nobody to talk to, untill the ball was bowled. Nobody to support you, or take up your burden. You could not recognise anyone from the stadium. The spectators looked like small dots in the distance. The white coat of the umpire, was just that. The white coat. I could not even see his face, or know if he was smiling or angry.

Alan Knott was almost halfway down the ground. First and second slip were just about recognisable. I could guess it was Ian Botham from the third slip, by his generous intent on occupying the ground with his body volume. There was Geoff Boycott, down at Third Man, standing still, wanting the innings to be over, so he could get out to open the England innings. That electric fielder was still moving around, and I could not recollect his name. Sunil Gavaskar was speaking again, “He is going to be angry now. Nobody has ever hit Bob for two sixes on his first two balls, and that too, at Lords. Just watch out. He will probably bounce you now, for sure, and it is going to be a low bouncer. Almost like a swing ball. Be careful. Be ready to hook at chest height.”