Clarke’s moment that bridged continents

You would believe, and with good reason, that, geographically and culturally, Australians and Indians are miles apart. And yet, for a while ...

You would believe, and with good reason, that, geographically and culturally, Australians and Indians are miles apart. And yet, for a while at the Chinnaswamy Stadium, you might only have been half correct with that assumption. Cricket displayed the universality of emotion and in so doing told us why Test cricket must be the greatest sport.

Having got to 90 without a care in the world, Michael Clarke suddenly realised he was on the threshold of something very special. He needn’t have worried, really, because by then he had already played a special innings. But all of a sudden he grew a bit jumpy, the walk to square leg after every ball seemed longer, time seemed to acquire a slightly more lethargic pace and the bat became a little thinner. History, or its imminence, can do that to you. It can cloud your judgement, create devils where none existed.

He did eventually get there, having prepared for the moment by replacing his helmet with his baggy green cap, and then rather delightfully, allowed his boyishness to overcome him. The cocky young man was now an emotional child as he waved to his parents and his grandparents who, in a great show of confidence, had chosen to make the trip from Sydney to Bangalore. He went down on his haunches, let the moisture appear around his eyes and, after seeming to compose himself, suddenly leapt and punched the air. It was a bit like celebrating a goal after the game had restarted!

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Meanwhile up in the pavilion, the Clarkes embraced and wept openly; the child whose hand they had held as he took his first tentative steps in life had taken a giant leap. Maybe there was an ambition fulfilled there, maybe a promise kept. Then the grandparents embraced and it all started to look like an Indian wedding. Gone was the Aussie machismo, the virility they exhibit, the masculinity they want the world to believe in. Three generations of men were crying. The facade had gone but the picture beneath was prettier.

And in the stands and on the ground, cricket was showing off its culture. Bangalore applauded as it must. Here and in Chennai you tend to get the most gracious crowds. The Indian team clapped as well, not hesitatingly or grudgingly but acknowledging the fact that a fine young man had been their equal and more. It is an act that separates cricket from other sports; football teams don’t line up to applaud a debutant scoring against them. And Rahul Dravid, himself out on 95 in his first test innings, walked across and shook the young man’s hand.

Then the moment passed and players became adversaries again; bowlers ran in to get the batsman out and fielders wished a catch would come their way. Teams showed you could compete and yet be gracious and on the field cricket won another battle against those outside that know so little of why we come to stadiums and sit in front of our television sets.

The men in blue and their counterparts under the baggy green had done the history of the game another little favour.

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