:: Sport Plus

Tongue-tied when meeting the Don

R. Mohan

There has been an outpouring of emotion over Sir Donald Bradman this week during which his birth anniversary (August 27) was celebrated with the kind of reverence associated most with sporting demigods.

Bradman, the boy from Bowral, who went on to dominate the cricket world like none other (his Test average of 99.94 is bested only by the freak appearance of Andy Ganteaume of the West Indies who made 112 in the only innings he played) was much more than just a cricketer.

As one of his biographers, Charles Williams who wrote a compelling book on him, explains — "His cricketing achievements have to be viewed within the context of a crucial period in the history of modern Australia, a time when, as the country felt her way towards something that the world would recognise as nationhood, Bradman became a focus for national aspirations, a figure of unique status."

Bradman inspired such awe in the mind that a cub reporter who went out to Australia on his first tour in 1980-81 could be forgiven for being completely tongue-tied. The buzz in the touring party during the course of the tour match against South Australia in Adelaide was that Bradman would be visiting the dressing room the next day.

In relaxed days when touring media were treated like members of the team, I was asked to be present with the team. The players probably required someone to capture the moment with pictures and I was busy clicking away with many cameras when he came to the end of the line of players and so headed straight for me.

So rattled was I that all I blurted out was I was with the Indian press. There was a long golden silence of a few seconds when Kirti Azad tried to grab a picture of me speaking to the great men, or trying to speak to the great man. Bradman looked quizzically at me, but smiled most reassuringly to say he was pleased Indian newspapers were sending correspondents to report tours.

The story of how nervousness had wrecked my great moment was to be conveyed to Sir Donald a few years later by my friend S. Ramamurthy who worked on a submarine project in South Australia and who could count himself as one of the friends of Bradman. So gracious of him then to sign a split bail, which he then handed over to Ramamurthy and asked him to ensure I would have it as a memento of the meeting.

The signed bail, nicely varnished and preserved on a wooden plate, has a pride of place in my little collection of cricket memorabilia. An year later, Sir Donald also wrote a letter saying why he could not meet a group of Indian journalists who were in Australia for the World Cup. Search as I might, I could not trace the missive — neatly typed on the manual typewriters of the day and most elegantly signed with a pen — which must be valuable at least for the signature of the great man.

Dicky Rutnagur never tires of telling the story of how another Indian journalist, a freelance, was said to have asked who the short man in spectacles was when he was being introduced to the Indian touring party at the Adelaide Test match in 1986. Given his reputation as the prankster of the press, Dicky probably invented the story.

It is unimaginable anyone could have existed in the cricket world who would not have recognised Bradman. Having said that, the story of Tony Greig must be recalled. Flying into Australia in the company of Ackermann for the World XI series on the cancellation of a scheduled tour by South Africa, the Sussex batsman was received by a bespectacled gentleman who was most polite and even carried his bag out of the terminal.

Only much later did Greig realise that the person who drove them to town in his car was none other than Sir Donald Bradman. He could not have been the icon of the cricket world if he was not as humble as he was extraordinary at the batting crease in which he had to be all timing and silken class if only because he was a shade short. Down Under, he is a national hero in the league of the great racehorse Phar Lap.