Tailenders: the true entertainers of Test cricket

Is there anything better in cricket than a big tail-end innings? Sports fans love anomalies. Like seeing John Terry end up in goal, or Peter Schmeichel charging forward to head home that corner.

In Guy McKenna’s last quarter for West Coast, the ageing full-back was swung forward. His plodding leads somehow yielded two marks and two wobbly goals, having kicked just 26 in 267 games before that day. The crowd cheered louder than they ever would for Lance Franklin kicking 12.

While we claim to love watching the masters practice their art, there’s still a particular joy to watching the eminently unqualified forced to try their hand at foreign trades.

Cricket is the only sport which offers up this role reversal on a regular basis. No other type of sportsman must so regularly go out and humiliate themselves by publicly attempting to practice a skill they don’t possess.

Imagine if pitchers and batters in baseball changed places every other innings. Even batsmen in cricket rarely roll their arms over, bar the odd desperate spell during some marathon dead-pitch partnership.

Yet almost every innings, the poor old bowlers have to strap on helmet and pads, and trudge out to be pelted by their opposite numbers.

Each responds in their own way.

The grim blockers, like Jason Gillespie and Matthew Hoggard. The ungainly swipers, like Muttiah Muralitharan and Danish Kaneria. The buccaneers – Mitchell Johnson, Colin Miller. And the hilarity of the truly clueless: Chris Martin, Courtney Walsh, Glenn McGrath, Bruce Reid.

But whichever family they belong to, when they’re able to assemble a decent innings, it’s a huge part of what makes cricket so fun. With the odds so far stacked against them, we accept their many failures and revel in their rare triumphs.

The ultimate in underdog victories is when a true tailender scores a Test match hundred. It elevates them to elite company, given many specialist batsmen never even reach this milestone.

Crowds winced with every ball as Saqlain Mushtaq batted an entire day against New Zealand to reach 101*. Cheered as Anil Kumble notched the only hundred in a total of 664 at The Oval, becoming India’s oldest debut centurion.

They laughed with disbelief and delight as Wasim Akram and Jason Gillespie went one better, smashing double-centuries (‘smash’ may be a bit rich in Gillespie’s case, but it’s on the scorecard all the same).

My favourite tail-ender, though, was invariably Shane Warne. He always threatened to be a decent batsman without ever quite living up to it. A dozen Test fifties and 34 ducks said it all. His clout was tremendous when he got it right. But as so often off the field, his decision-making was something of a problem.

He was strong through the off side – the defining image was his rotund figure rocking onto the back foot to smack boundaries through and over point. Then would come the needless swish to a length ball, the mistimed hoick to midwicket, the red-mist charge to a spinner, and he’d be on his way.

It was precisely this fallibility that made me barrack for him so hard. If Warnie could one day get a hundred, it would be the funniest tale of all. If Warnie could get a hundred, anyone could do anything.

Throughout his career, I hoped, and prayed, and cursed, and groaned, and crossed my fingers sore, and waited for the day.

So many times we came close, and I watched every one of them.

There were his twin 86s, against India and Pakistan, in the space of a month in 1999. His defiant, top-scoring 90 that held off England at Old Trafford in 2005.

There was England again, 2007 in Sydney, smashing six fours and two sixes off Monty Panesar on his way to 71 before finding himself stumped. Perhaps his best chance was his earliest, against New Zealand in 1993, when a ruthless Allan Border declared with Warne on 74 and Steve Waugh on 147.

But the real agony was at the WACA in 2001. New Zealand again – five of his half-centuries came against them. He’d been dropped at slip soon after arriving. Was spared by a missed run-out on 16. Dropped again just after reaching 50. On 80, he nicked one to the keeper. Not out, said the umpire.

Surely this was his day.

So there he stands, Shane Warne on 99, with only McGrath for company. Gillespie was out with Warne on 94. Warne looked increasingly nervous. The field is up, singles hard to find. His eyes keep darting around, mostly to midwicket, one of the few men back.

Don’t do it Shane, I’m saying. He glances there again. No! I’m yelling at the TV. Go straight, Warnie! There’s no-one there! Just chip him straight!

Daniel Vettori bowls. Warne goes for midwicket. Of course he does. Skews it. Of course he does. The high ball swirls in the breeze. Mark Richardson, the Hawke’s Bay Bullet, has time to run in and take the catch, flashing Cheshire dentures at the crowd.

My heart bled barbeque sauce that day as Warne, forlorn, trudged off the field. So near, and I think we knew even then he would never get any nearer.

So when the ongoing series in India found another long-serving spin bowler, one Harbhajan Singh, on 94 and batting with a No. 10, I could hardly bear to watch.

New Zealand were the victims again, poor buggers. While you could use this to mock their bowling stocks, bear in mind they had already dominated India’s famed top order. Gambhir, Sehwag, Dravid and Raina had made two runs between them, Tendulkar 12.

Harbhajan has always been a handy smiter, in the grand tail-end tradition of bash it before it bashes you. But after a grand total of six runs in three innings in his previous series against Australia, no-one would have predicted what was to come.

In the first dig he crashed a then-best 69. In the second, coming in at 6/65 with a loss imminent, he knuckled down. Passed that score. Got to 95. Kept looking at long-off.

There was a man back. Vettori was the bowler once again. Oh, Christ no, I was thinking, as Harbhajan came down the pitch. Connected. Cleared the fieldsman. Six runs. Century. Able to breathe again.

A week later, first innings of the second Test, and there was Harbhajan once more. On 32 when Sreesanth came out to bat with him at No. 11. Immediately biffing two sixes to wrest back the initiative.

He cruised to 85, slept well overnight, and picked up the next morning where he left off. Again, there was no fear. Another six to go to 97. Then nearly wrenching both arms from their sockets as he went for Tim Southee like Dave Foster taking down a Tasmanian blackwood.

With boundary riders everywhere, he managed to cool his jets. The crowd cheered every block from Sreesanth in support, playing the longest innings of his Test career. Up the other end, Bhajji must have been hoping his partner had forgiven him for that slap in the IPL.

A couple of singles to edge closer. Then an awkward jump, a tuck off the hip, and sprinting the full length of the pitch with both arms raised and his mouth open wide in a full-throated cheer.

Not many No. 8 batsmen have scored Test centuries, and none had ever done it back to back. Until now. Johnson came close, with his 96* and 123* against South Africa, but Harbhajan is the man who will be inscribed into the record books.

He went on to 111 before his partner’s resistance ended, swinging one final six to finish with seven for the innings, to go with his seven fours.

The partnership had swollen to 105, the lead 122, and the two bowlers walked off looking very pleased with themselves, Bhajji saluting the crowd.

By that point, if Warne had been watching, he might just have clicked off the TV to duck out for a quick cigarette.