Sunday, 14 February 2016.
Today is symbolic of many things. Today is the birthday of former footballer and manager Kevin Keegan. Today is the 25th anniversary of the film “The Silence of the Lambs”. Today is Valentine’s Day.
Today is also a chance. A chance for eleven young men. Cricket’s next big things.
Today is the ICC Under-19 World Cup final. India versus West Indies.
It’s likely the first time these tender psyches will have experienced pressure like this. The magnitude of the occasion. A chance to become heroes. A chance to become villains.
It’s extremely silly to speak of heroism and villainy at this point in a career. But such is the intensely narrative driven nature of modern sport that these stories are written anyway.
Rishabh Pant has already become a hero for his glorious hundred against Namibia. He has already been picked up in the IPL auction. This final is a chance to leave Bangladesh as the hottest young commodity in the world. His story is half-written.
There is another who grabs his chance. He grabs his chance today, of all days, in the final. He grabs it when Rishab Pant does not.
Sarfaraz Naushad Khan’s innings against the bright young things of West Indies cricket is perfectly representative of him – full of confidence, authority and a brutish elegance.
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The pitch at the Shere Bangla stadium in Mirpur for this final is in a right state. There is practically a green baize carpet on the wicket, and it increasingly looks like the game will turn on the toss.
The West Indies haven’t won a toss at any time in this tournament. So, of course, today is the day they break their duck and put India in.
It’s going to be difficult. A carpet of a pitch and a clutch of young Caribbean fast bowlers who can reach speeds their physiques shouldn’t be capable of.
When the going gets tough, the tough get going. Sarfaraz Khan is the ideal man for this kind of operation. The massive expectations rest lightly on his broad shoulders.
Sarfaraz has been the most consistent of the Indian batsmen. Four half centuries so far in this tournament, he is scheduled to come in at number four.
It begins badly. Very badly. The centurion and opener Rishabh Pant leaves his story incomplete. A surreal dismissal that Pant has only himself to blame for. A bizarre lapse in concentration.
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Safaraz’s manner is seductive. Cricketing skill is one thing, but the impression of that skill is quite another. Great players don’t always have both. Sarfaraz doesn’t have half the career of Ricky Ponting or Virat Kohli but the swagger of both. He’s a real charmer.
His upper body bulk is awesome. Others might look like chubby, red-cheeked schoolboys if they were built like him, but there is something about this Mumbai lad that screams a maturity beyond his years – even though he should be writing his secondary school exams right now.
That physical presence, that brash stride. The arrogance of youth personified. He seems irked that Washington Sundar was promoted to number four ahead of him. It’s a slight on his professional pride, a suggestion of doubt in his capabilities.
Great players know that they are great. They don’t always make it obvious, but some like Sarfaraz Khan brook no argument whatsoever.
But today, he walks into a situation most wouldn’t envy him for. India are 27-3 with a little more than six overs bowled. The West Indian bowlers have the batsmen hopping. But cometh the hour, cometh the man.
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The first ball, he ducks under a bouncer. It’s as though Alzarri Joseph recognises the significance of the batsman at the crease, as the bull who can shift the momentum around with one mighty swipe, and he mentally prepares himself for it.
It’s a rare quality that is present in only the best. The ability, by their mere presence, to force the opposing bowler to consciously elevate their game, to raise their mental conditioning to superhuman levels.
To win this battle and claim the prize scalp. Alzarri Joseph has been great in this tournament, and is wreaking havoc here. The fact that he considers Sarfaraz worthy of that extra 10% effort is a tribute to the Indian.
It’s a quality that was found in Sachin Tendulkar in years past. Allan Donald earmarked Sachin and the Waugh brothers as the ones he tried just that little bit harder for.
It’s become a mano-a-mano duel. Peppered with short bowling from the off, Sarfaraz is doing okay so far; he’s survived his first seven balls without major incident.
The eighth is dispatched to the boundary, a classy elegant drive with just a hint of front foot movement through the offside.
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He’s not without his lives. Sarfaraz lives on the edge – quite literally, as some balls go off it while others just beat it.
The West Indians have been pitching it short at anyone holding a bat, but there seems to be a special brand of venom reserved for Sarfaraz. Nothing too serious, just a few boys caught up in the biggest game of their lives that could decide their entire future for them. A nondescript encounter.
Their attrition, perversely, seems to energise him further. Seamers – Ryan John, Shamar Springer, Alzarri Joseph – and not spinners are charged down the track, for heaven’s sake.
The weak are victims of this attrition. Washington Sundar goes in the 15th over, a poor shot, with just 7 runs off 40 balls. The strong are not. Sarfaraz Khan is practically carved from a block of solid marble – watching in frustration as Sundar was tied down to the point where he couldn’t rotate the strike.
But Sarfaraz runs ones and twos. Nudges the innings at regular intervals. Kicks it along. Takes it away from the West Indies. And bit by bit, his patience, his persistence and his own attrition drags India into the optimal position for a late onslaught.
Self-belief is a slippery conviction. It is an incredible feeling when achieved, but also cruelly fragile, prone to disappearing in a flash.
Confidence in your own abilities is not just making the big hits, playing the expansive drives. It is also about backing yourself to scrap and fight when the team needs it. Confidence is as much about courage as it is about belief – a solemn determination to do what it takes.
And Sarfaraz has every intention to perform that late evisceration himself. To leave it to someone else would be a sign of weakness. Of bottling when the pressure is back on you.
Rahul Dravid is watching on the sidelines. He would be proud of this display. Perhaps he notices something of himself in Sarfaraz’s innings.
Not that Sarfaraz lets anybody forget he’s the best player out there. In the 21st over, a bad full toss is disdainfully swiped for four. Halfway through the 35th over, Sarfaraz also lifts John into the stands for the first six of the game.
A powerful, self-assured hit that he knows will reach the fence the moment he connects with it. His body is slightly closed, but there is not a scintilla of doubt in his movement.
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It has taken some time, but at last, the fifty arrives. And it arrives quite modestly. The look on his face, though, is anything but.
The look is determined. He didn’t so much expect to get to fifty as much as assume it. His mouth is slightly open. It seems he’s heaving. Sarfaraz clenches his fist and shakes it in triumph.
His steely glare seems to say, “Calm down. The job is only half done.” This is his seventh score of fifty-plus in Under-19 World Cups. More than anyone else in the history of this tournament.
And then he goes.
He goes one ball into the 39th over, with the score reading 120-7. Trapped leg before. A wild slog to hurry along the scoreboard in desperate times.He gets a pat on the shoulder as he walks away.
He departs for 51 off 89, his side’s top scorer by miles.His face bears a look of longing. Should have done more. Should. Have. Done. More.
Then he crosses the boundary rope, and he is gone.
The job remains half done.
*
India have lost this game. They have lost this final after cruising for the duration of the tournament. They are, individually and collectively, job half-done guys. It will disappoint them. It will disappoint Rahul Dravid. It will disappoint fans.
But will it disappoint Sarfaraz for long, if at all? Our man does not, after all, want for self-confidence. He may be pudgy and ungainly, but he was the most majestic bachelor this Valentine’s Day. Why is it suddenly so hot in here?
Oh, right. The Summer of Sarfaraz has started early this year.
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