That one-run victory

The Ranji Trophy final has started today and it's time we rewind the clock to That Great Era (TGE). As I have said earlier, TGE refers to the period that encompasses the late '80s and the early '90s - no specific dates but you get the picture - when we were still leading wonderfully sad lives.

So we're back to TGE. It's May 1991 and it was time for a Ranji Trophy final. I mean, it was a big thing those days in the Pip household and Grandfather Pip was happy it was telecast on TV. I'm not sure if the whole game was shown but I sure know that the final day was. And that's generally what people remember when you say Haryana v Bombay, Ranji final.

If you ask any cricket fan about that final, I can pretty much assure you that he won't remember Deepak Sharma, who was the top-scorer for the match with 199. He will tell you about the final-innings chase, about Dilip Vengsarkar's valiant hundred, Kapil Dev's inspirational bowling, a climactic run-out, and tears, lots of tears. Vengsarkar cried, a nation cried with him and another set of Kapil's Devils rejoiced.

I've heard many nice stories about that game but the best ones are from Rakesh Sanghi, the official scorer for Haryana in those days. He clearly remembers the train journey to Mumbai. It was a long trip and the players were keeping themselves occupied with songs and dumb-charades.

But a few hours were enough for Kapil to send out orders. Nobody enjoys themselves until we win the final, he said. It was loud and clear. The rest of the journey was spent in near silence. Sanghi's words are worth repeating: "When Kaps spoke, everyone listened."

And then to the final day itself. Apparently it wasn't Vengsarkar who caused problems for Haryana. The headache came from elsewhere. More from Sanghi (paraphrased and not exact quote): During one break Kaps spent close to 20 minutes talking only about the strategy to get Sachin out. He was in such great form that nobody had any clue about where to bowl to him. He flat-batted Kaps for a straight six and a few of us in the dressing-room were convinced that the game was over.

I vaguely remember that six, seen through grainy DD television pictures. A few journalists who were at the game remember it too. One likened it to a shot that got the Wankhede pillars to creak.

Here's H Natrajan's view in Wisden Asia Cricket:

After lunch, Sachin Tendulkar, still only 18 years old, launched a counterattack with a six over the straight field off a slower one from Kapil. It was a declaration of intent. Tendulkar then greeted left-arm spinner Pradeep Jain with another straight six. As word of Tendulkar's charge spread around the city, the Wankhede began to fill up. Before long, 18000 had thronged to witness the unfolding of an epic.

I wasn't one of them. Instead I endured the pictures constantly flickering, the commentary (yes, that banal commentary) enthralling, and the tension mounting. AIR was on too, I think it was Suresh Saraiyya calling the game there. And suddenly there was chaos, an obscure guys called Kuruvilla, a run-out. And tears. And joy. And tears. And joy.

The match report in The Hindu (R Mohan, obviously) did the game justice, or so it felt then. The Sportstar had an even more detailed spread. And then there was Sportsworld. Cricket was good back then - if gave you time to inhale, recall and exhale. It allowed the big boys to play in a Ranji final. It allowed TV viewers to watch a Ranji final. It allowed young boys to analyse the game, talk about Tendulkar's six, feel bad for Abey and feel happy for Kaps.

Those were the days.

Ps:just for the record, they won by two runs. It still feels like one, though. So the headline must remain.