Published: Feb 12, 2015, 04:57 AM (IST)
Edited: Feb 12, 2015, 04:57 AM (IST)
June 15, 1983. New Zealand were destined to be pushovers against a strong England outfit, especially when David Gower started to time the ball with ethereal brilliance. However, there was a surprise in store. Arunabha Sengupta recalls the day when Jeremy Coney won it for the underdogs.
They were a side of faceless contributors with one solitary giant in their midst.
Richard Hadlee on his day could win games single-handedly for the Kiwis. And those days came often enough in the late 1970s and through most of the 1980s. Yet it was as frequently a case of hard earnest battles ending in disappointment, close encounters concluded in graceful bows to teams of superior class and quality. Hadlee’s brilliance could sometimes change the equation, but ever too often resembled the brave efforts of the boy on the burning deck.
At Edgbaston on that June day it seemed destined to be another saga of heartbreak for the New Zealand team. They had been routed by England by a huge margin in the first group match, and had come back into the tournament with fine, facile victories over Pakistan and Sri Lanka. In the return match against the hosts, they looked increasingly likelyto succumb to the might of the home side yet again.
At least such was the case when David Gower started striking the ball with ethereal brilliance — even more so when the other left-hander, Graeme Fowler, occasionally transformed himself from the role of an accompanist to render a resounding duet.
Chris Tavare had taken his usual time over his 18 runs, but in return England had got off to a solid start of 63. Bob Willis had sent in Ian Botham at No. 3. The gallant all-rounder was not quite a pinch-hitter, but it was nevertheless an experiment way ahead of the times. Botham had slammed a four, a six and then hit one straight back to John Bracewell; but after that Gower and Fowler had taken the score fluently past hundred, with just two wickets in the debit, delightful timing likely harbinger of an overpowering onslaught.
And then the sterling stalwarts of New Zealand cricket had fought back. Hardworking Ewan Chatfield had got rid of Fowler, and Lance Cairns, that mercurial all-rounder, had made short work of Allan Lamb, Mike Gatting and wicketkeeper Ian Gould. The middle-order had been rocked and the vulnerability of the English line-up exposed.
Gower had waged a lone battle, timing the ball with customary élan, even as the unevenness of the wicket had come to the fore. There was little help from the other end, but 41 were added with Vic Marks and 30 more with Graham Dilley.
But then Hadlee struck. He got the vital breakthrough by bowling Marks and followed it up by knocking over a stump of Dilley and inducing a snick off Paul Allott off successive deliveries. In the next over, Chatfield took just a couple of balls to trap Willis leg before. The England innings ended at 234,with 4.4 of the 60 overs not utilised, the resplendent Gower stranded on 92 from just 96 balls.
Hadlee had produced another superb performance of three for 32 from 10 overs; Cairns had picked up three for 44; but all that had been brilliantly supported by the quietly efficient medium pace of Jeremy Coney bottling England up with one for 27 from his 12 accurate overs.
The see-saw battle
Yet, low score notwithstanding, it did not look likely that the New Zealanders would be able to win. Willis, mop of curly brown hair bouncing on his head, ran in to knock over openers Glenn Turner and Bruce Edgar in the first two overs. Batting on this wicket was more than difficult and the unheralded Kiwi line-up had their task cut out.
Captain Geoff Howarth steadied the innings with Jeff Crowe for company. England, however, had plenty of depth in their bowling department. Paul Allott, coming on as second change, rattled the elder Crowe’s stumps with the score on 47.
Martin Crowe, some seasons before he would emerge as a batting great, was a talented youngster of mere 20. Greatness throbbing in his veins, eager for an youthful outlet, he essayed a few fine strokes. But then he misread an off-break from Marks and followed his brother to the pavilion. It was 75 for four, and the target seemed far, far away.
Now entered Coney — quiet, unassuming, an academic and qualified teacher with excellent sense of music. And when chips were down, there was hardly a better player to have in the ranks. In ran Botham and Dilley as Willis rested for the final burst, and they were met with meticulous application and astute approach. Howarth was essaying one of the most important innings of his career, and Coney was determined to be there, adhesive to the core.
The pendulum swung, slowly and steadily. Runs were added, wickets remained intact, and the target grew more and more tangible. And at 146, with the match looking more and more secure, Howarth attempted a near-impossible run.
He walked back morose and distraught for 60 patient runs. New Zealand batted deep and with considerable ability. But, would they be able to pull it off?
Ian Smith struck a boundary, and then Botham rattled his sumps. It was 151 for six, and England were winning. There was the final burst of Willis to keep in mind.
And in the midst of all this upheaval, in walked the reassuring form of Richard Hadlee.
When England had batted, Botham had thrown it away trying to hit Bracewell into the streets of central Birmingham. Hadlee indulged in no such pursuit of heroism. Even when Marks bowled, runs were milked rather than amassed. At the other end Coney was steady as a rock. Singles and twos were taken with care and circumspection, and occasionally a firm hit rocked back from the fence.
The pair put on 70, runs of untold value, when Willis, in the final of his final bursts, got past the blade of left-handed Hadlee and struck timber. It was 221 for seven. A few hefty blows were all that were required for a victory.
The man who walked in was precisely crafted by divine hand to deal those blows. Lance Cairns, with his mighty Excalibur of a bat, could hit them furiously and far. Yet, today, he demurred and dithered. A few pushes brought forth some singles. And in the last over of the England captain, the penultimate of the innings, he played across the line and was trapped plumb.
In trotted John Bracewell, another fine wielder of the willow down the order, with just four runs to win. Chatfield sat in the pavilion, pleading to the unseen powers that be to be spared the ordeal of walking to the middle.
With plenty of prudence, Bracewell opted for discretion against valour. He played out the rest of the Willis over without adding a run. More importantly the wickets column did not change. And off the final over to be bowled by Allott, New Zealand required four to win.
Coney, who had batted for over two hours and 20 minutes with extreme fortitude, looked around Edgbaston. Standing at mid-off, Willis held a long conference with Allott. The bowler ran in, and Coney found the gap. The batsmen scampered one and turned for two. According to the rules, another run would do it, provided New Zealand did not lose both the remaining wickets.
Allott ran in again, and Coney pushed into the gap. It was a decision of calculated risk and complex analysis. The single was taken. After all, Bracewell was a batsman of sound credentials.
So we may think now, knowing that he finished his Test career with an average of 20 and a century to boot. At that time, however, he averaged five in the three Tests he had played. In his only One-Day International (ODI) till date, played four days earlier, he had scored three.
Perhaps Coney was aware that Bracwell had five fifties in First-Class cricket under his belt. Perhaps he just left the rest to chance. In any case, the run was taken and Bracewell took guard to face Allott.
The field closed in to stop the single. Allott ran in and Bracewell blocked, resulting in a heart-stopping dot ball. And then he got one in the slot. The field was up, his eyes lit up, and the willow swung without restraint. It pierced through the infield and ran away to the fence. New Zealand had pulled it off.
At the other end, Coney allowed himself a wide smile. After 12 stingy overs and an unbeaten 66 of rare poise and temperament, he could afford it. Hadlee had been brilliant as ever, with bat and ball, but this one time Coney pipped him for the Man of the Match award. One is sure that the great all-rounder did not mind.
Brief scores:
England 234 all out in 55.2 overs (Graeme Fowler 69, David Gower 92*; Richard Hadlee 3 for 32, Lance Cairns 3 for 44) lost to New Zealand 238 for 8 in 59.5 overs (Geoff Howarth 60, Jeremy Coney 66*, Richard Hadlee 31; Bob Willis 4 for 42) by 2 wickets.
(Arunabha Sengupta is a cricket historian and Chief Cricket Writer at CricketCountry. He writes about the history and the romance of the game, punctuated often by opinions about modern day cricket, while his post-graduate degree in statistics peeps through in occasional analytical pieces. The author of three novels, he can be followed on Twitter at http://twitter.com/senantix)
