Courtney Walsh keeps one out at Kensington Oval in 1999
Ben Stokes’ innings in the Headingley chase has obviously gone down as one of the greatest in history. Jack Leach’s 1 not out, on the other hand, has attained cult status of sorts. However, there have been even lower unbeaten, yes 0*, which have been vital in the context of the games. Abhishek Mukherjee looks back at some iconic 0 not outs in the history of Test cricket.
Ben Stokes’ innings in the Headingley chase has obviously gone down as one of the greatest in history. Jack Leach’s 1 not out, on the other hand, has attained cult status of sorts. He was cheered every time he blocked anything, every time brought out that piece of cloth to wipe his glasses, especially before taking on 140 kph bowlers – to an extent that his glassmaker rued not having printed his logo in larger fonts on the cloth, thereby losing out on an excellent marketing opportunity. Upon Stokes’ request, Specsavers eventually confirmed that they would sponsor Leach’s glasses for the rest of his life.
Insubstantial his one run might be, his existence at the crease was crucial nevertheless. He was there with Stokes till the end, and in the end that was what mattered.
But what about iconic unbeaten performances of even smaller magnitude? Negative individual scores have ceased to exist since double-wicket cricket went out of fashion – and we shall restrict ourselves to Test cricket anyway. Here is the list of the most famous zero not outs of them all.
CT Studd, The Oval, 1882
CT Studd - Perhaps this was the way he stood at the non-striker’s end as Ted Peate lost his head and his wicket
This was 1882, the summer of CT Studd. Only five men scored more runs than him that summer and only two got more wickets.
A special talent, then, this 21-year-old was. Surely someone you would expect to bat up the order when you have to chase 85 against Spofforth and Boyle? Surely the man who had scored two hundreds against the tourists that summer, for Cambridge and MCC?
Not quite.
Hornby, captain of the side, himself opened with The Doctor. Barlow came next, then Ulyett, who perished at 51. Grace himself went next, leaving – as we know – six men to score thirty-odd runs; as we know, they could not get them.
While all this was going on, an unwell Studd waited in the pavilion wrapped in a blanket (which belonged to Bonnor of the Australian camp). AA Thomson, however, suggested that Hornby wanted to keep Studd “up his sleeve”, though it is not clear exactly what purpose that would have served.
Lucas batted at five, Lyttelton at six, Steel at seven, Read at eight, Barnes at nine… then, finally, Studd emerged at ten. Unfortunately, Spofforth had struck with the last ball of his 28th over, which meant that Barnes would be on strike. And Boyle got Barnes first ball.
Now Peate – whose final First-Class career would read 2,384 runs and 1,076 wickets – walked out. He had a swipe and ran two. Another ball passed by, which meant that Peate had to survive one more ball – remember, overs used to four balls each those days.
But Peate had no intention to survive. He swung and was bowled. “Mr Studd was so nervous I did not feel I could trust him to score the runs.”
Studd never got to face a ball. The finest performer in that English summer had been reduced to an entity as redundant as the last letter of his surname.
Lindsay Kline, The Gabba, 1960-61
Solomon had already run out Alexander with a direct hit from mid-wicket, off the seventh ball of the penultimate over. Australia needed only 7 at that point with 3 wickets in hand.
Perhaps the most famous cricket photograph of all. Lindsay Kline looks back to see whether Ian Meckiff has made his ground, Brisbane, 1960-61
An anxious Kline (559 First-Class runs, 276 wickets) had to be reassured by opener Colin McDonald that he would not be needed to bat. Why would he be? Surely Benaud would see them home before that?
Australia needed 6 off the last eight-ball over.
Grout, hit on the solar plexus by Hall in the first ball, had nevertheless responded to Benaud’s call for a leg-bye. Then Hall bounced Benaud out. Then Meckiff defended. Then Hall missed an easy run out when Meckiff ran for a bye and collided into Kanhai while trying to catch Grout.
Australia needed 3 in 3 balls. And then Meckiff swung. The ball would have made it, but for the clovers on the unmown outfield. Hunte ran out Grout – at the striker’s end.
The batsmen had run two, but only two – in other words, Australia still had a run to get. This meant that Kline would still have to bat; worse, face Hall.
Kline somehow managed to turn it towards square leg. Meckiff had already set off. Kline hesitated, then set off. It was not his call… and surely the fielder would miss, after all, he had only one stump to aim at!
It is not clear whether Meckiff had realised that the fielder was Solomon. And even he had, surely lightning could not strike twice? Surely Solomon could not pull off two near-miracles under pressure of this order in such a short span of time?
But Solomon did. And Test cricket had its first tie.
Later in the series, Kline would bat for 109 minutes to save a Test at Adelaide – and never play again despite an outstanding bowling record.
Courtney Walsh, Kensington Oval, 1999
The resolve written in his eyes. His bat sufficiently inept to keep him from edging. Walsh at Kensington Oval, 1999
West Indies had to chase 308 that day, but at 105/5, and later, at 248/8, all seemed to be over. However, as we know, Lara decided to intervene, and that was that.
Lara added 54 for the ninth wicket with Ambrose. The Antiguan giant, the bat an apologetic toothbrush in those gigantic hands, kept Australians at bay by stretching his leg almost halfway down the pitch in forward defence.
But West Indies still needed 6 when Ambrose fell, slicing Gillespie towards the hawks in the slips.
And out came Walsh. There have been worse batsmen – but in recent past, perhaps only Muralitharan has matched him in sheer No. 11esque entertainment factor over a sustained period of time. Three years before the Test in question, with Richardson having almost pulled off a chase in the World Cup semi-final, Walsh had missed an almighty heave and had fared the worst.
There was no raucous cheer the stands. There was an anxious murmur instead, for they knew. Everyone knew. “This is not the sight the West Indian fans were hoping for,” quipped Holding on air.
There were three balls to negotiate. The first was wide outside off stump. Walsh left it with the flourish of Picasso, tucked the bat into his left armpit, and punched the air – though he need not have worried, for Gillespie had overstepped.
The target was reduced by a run, but was that what the fans had wanted?
The next ball was short, on target. Walsh semi-hopped, but the ball fell at his feet. Almost immediately he gestured to assure Lara, presumably an exercise in vain.
Then he somehow managed to smother a yorker completely. It was not as obvious as it sounds. Walsh was just sufficiently late on his shot to ensure that the bat and the ball reached the point of impact at the same time. The ball moved barely a yard away.
The last ball of the over rolled towards gully. Walsh had seen off Gillespie.
Forget mortals, Sobers, sitting in the stands, stood up and walked away. He would face the ground again, but he, like thousands present at the ground, needed to regain his poise after what he had witnessed.
And a dropped catch, a wide, and a lot of drama later, Walsh was back to negotiate a solitary ball from McGrath – but the pressure was on the Australians this time, for the scores were tied.
What followed was undoubtedly the most appropriate representation of Walsh’s batsmanship. He played some sort of defensive shot with his bat between both pads, but significantly inside the line. It did not matter that ball some distance away: in Walsh’s books, you either defended on went in line but never both.
The Lara cover-drive off Gillespie followed, next over.
Nuwan Pradeep, Lord’s, 2014
Agony and Relief: Nuwan Pradeep survives at Lord’s 2014
When the greatest Test series of all time are discussed and debated, this one is criminally left out. Perhaps it has to do with the fact that this featured only two Tests, just like the 2011-12 Australia-South Africa clash. However, both Tests were decided in their stipulated last overs.
Sri Lanka needed to bat out 90 overs. They were 123/1 after 42. After 54 overs they had eight wickets in hand. Three quick wickets fell, but they fought back again, and had five men standing with 67 balls in hand. Then they lost three more wickets.
They had two wickets in hand when Broad began the final over. The first ball took Herath’s glove and flew to Prior down the leg. The glove had come off the bat before contact, but for some reason he chose not to review.
So Pradeep, Sri Lanka’s No. 11, walked out – to bat under floodlights, for had there been no floodlights, play would have been called off long ago.
Now Pradeep deserves some introduction. Pradeep had not played with a cricket ball till 2007, when he was 20. His graduation to the highest was fast-tracked after he won a soft-ball contest in Sri Lanka. He was playing Test cricket in just four years.
Unfortunately, while he was coached extensively on fast bowling, they overlooked his batting. Or perhaps he was beyond conventional coaching.
As of 2019, his Test average stands at a princely 4 – marginally less than his 4.80 at First-Class level. In fact, so inept was Pradeep at handling bouncers at that point that when he had tried to execute a cross between an evasive action and a flag-hoist in the first innings, he had collapsed and smashed the stumps with his bat.
Obviously Broad was going to bowl short. The first ball was obviously a bouncer, but Pradeep ducked as soon as Broad released the ball. A waste of a bouncer, perhaps, when all Broad needed to do was bowl full and straight.
The next ball was just short of a length. Pradeep missed it despite his desperate attempt to edge.
Now, finally, Broad pitched up. And Pradeep guided it towards point. He had probably even middled it.
Then came the most dramatic moment. Broad brought one in, predictably hit the pads, demanded a leg-before, and got the decision in his favour.
But even as the fielders broke into celebration, Pradeep reviewed with such alacrity that it seemed almost predetermined.
There had been an inside edge.
By now Pradeep had let one go, missed while trying to edge, blocked one, and survived a dismissal because he had an inside edge.
What was left to achieve for this tail-enderest of tail-enders whose batting was suddenly the talking point of the entire cricket fraternity? Ah, the outside edge.
So he did exactly that. The ball flew towards second slip. Standing there was Chris Jordan, one of the safest and most acrobatic slip catchers in history, let alone the decade.
Jordan obviously caught this.
Off the bounce.
Eight days after this drama, England needed to score bat 117 overs to win the Test after Mathews carved out a fine hundred. England, jolted by Prasad, needed to bat 172 balls with two men standing. Broad fell 50 balls later, but Anderson hung around with Moeen.
Unfortunately, Anderson was on strike in the last over. He survived four balls from Eranga before trying to fend the fifth away. The ball flew to Herath at backward square leg, Sri Lanka’s slowest fielder – but he did not have to move an inch.
Anderson had faced 55 balls for his duck. Had he survived two more, he would have featured on this list.
Special mention: Colin Cowdrey, Lord’s, 1963
Cowdrey’s was not a zero not out per se. He had scored 4 before a good-length ball from Hall shot up and hit him just above the wrist with an audible crunch. The arm had to be plastered, of course.
The cheers as he came out, and his get up, were both reminiscent of a war veteran emerging in public. Colin Cowdrey at Lord’s, 1963
The match came down to the last over. England needed 8 with two wickets in hand. They got 2 off the first 3 balls. Then Shackleton played one to Worrell at short mid-on. He would probably have not run, but he had to when he realised that Allen had already sprinted down to his end.
Worrell and Shackleton, thirty-eight both, armed with ball and bat respectively, ran towards the non-striker’s end. Worrell won the race.
Now England needed 6 from 2 balls – but they had run out of batsmen. The ones fit to bat, anyway.
Or had they?
While the day’s drama had unfolded in the middle, Cowdrey had been practising batting left-handed in the dressing-room. Now he walked out, his gloveless left arm plastered elbow down.
Thankfully, he would not have to face Hall.
Thankfully, Shackleton did not attempt to steal Cowdrey’s glory and become the hero of the day. He was content with a draw.
What should one call this effort? A truncated unbeaten zero?