Gargi Raut at the Old Trafford
What is bravery? What is courage? Can it be put in a box? Can it be expressed in words?
Rishabh Pant taught us that it can certainly be shown on the field – when he showed up to play a cricket match two days after his father’s funeral and played the saviour for his IPL franchise, when he walked out of a burning car, knee dislocated at a 90 degree angle, covered in burns and lacerations; and when he made a comeback to the field 15 months later, after many had said that he would never walk again. And finally, yesterday, when he hobbled down the steps of the dressing room with a broken foot to bail his team out of trouble once again.
If you’ve been anywhere close to a press box during a cricket match, especially a Test, you’d know that the press box is the most phlegmatic of places. Even though cricket is entertainment, for many it is also serious work that requires grave concentration and meticulous attention to detail. There are no fans in the press box, no celebrations or screams; only rare moments of applause at extraordinary performances. Every journalist, trying to be neutral, goes about their business with as much stoicism as possible. The nature of the press box is perhaps more formal and stolid in England.
I recall a moment after the Lord’s Test had ended, when a couple of Indian journalists, a legendary former India player, and I were sharing a light-hearted laugh in the lunch area. It was over an hour after the match had concluded. Suddenly, an English journalist emerged and scolded us: “Guys… guys… we don’t come to your office and scream, do we? People are still working here.” For the record, there was no screaming involved. But no hard feelings, we all understand the need for some quiet and peace while working during long hours of Test cricket coverage.
What does it take to break the composure of these very uptight, very formal and unemotional press boxes? Pant. When Shardul Thakur nicked one off to Ben Duckett at gully off an outswinger from Ben Stokes, many assumed it would be Anshul Kamboj who would walk out to bat. But when Thakur stood at the boundary line opposite the dressing room, everyone in the room realised something was brewing. Typically, the media enjoys a clear view of the dressing rooms, with many journalists armed with binoculars to observe the activity. However, at Old Trafford, the dressing room is directly beneath the media centre, completely obscuring it from view. Murmurs started to grow as everyone started to contemplate the possibility of Pant walking out to bat, the same Pant who had arrived at the stadium in a moon boot and on crutches.
The little space that the front row offers between the seats was now occupied with journalists trying to get a view of who was walking in, the last row on their feet, phones out, waiting to catch a glimpse of what was going on as the commentators exclaimed “Rishabh Pant is hobbling down the steps!” And suddenly, you heard the slams of laptop screens, and “No way” mumbled in unison. Pant touched the boundary rope and offered a prayer as he looked to the sky, then limped to the crease.
Every second following that moment was cinema. As the Indian vice-captain attempted to defend and counterattack, balancing precariously on his fractured right foot, a wave of oohs and aahs swept through the press box. It was as if every journalist there felt a phantom pain of their own, grimacing at Pant almost losing his balance when he would put too much pressure on his broken foot.
As he tried to take singles, hobbling down the track, nervous laughs rippled through the room. Not because anything was funny, but because it was anything but. The chuckles came from the sheer disbelief at the madness that had possessed Pant to bat with a broken metatarsal. While giggles were aplenty, several “ouch”-es and winces followed.
And when he started hitting boundaries, something remarkable happened. The sharp, mechanical clatter of keyboards slowed. Heads lifted. Each boundary was met not with the usual stoic silence but with a slap on the table or another nervous chuckle and involuntary gasps. What we all witnessed was beyond sport, and the usual veneer of objectivity gave way to a human reaction, reminding us all of the power of the indomitable human spirit. The press box was no longer a chamber of clinical detachment.
Pant eventually fell to a delivery from Jofra Archer that sent his off stump tumbling, but when he walked back, the press box erupted in an applause and so did Old Trafford. While the spectators in the stadium were on their feet, so were the Indian team. Pant also managed to break the composure of the one place that prides itself on never flinching. A man, broken in body but unbreakable in spirit, reminding us why we fell in love with this game in the first place.
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