Don Bradman did not hold back his praise

by Arunabha Sengupta

Trent Bridge, 1938.
That was the day when captain Bradman called his men out on the balcony with the words, “Come and look at this. You will never see the like of this again.”

Stan McCabe in at 111 for 2, with Australia under the looming shadow of the enormous England total of 658 for 8. Four more wickets fell within another 83 runs. At 194 for 6, McCabe decided that the only chance to obtain a draw was the policy of all-out counter attack.

For the next two hours, it was enchantment performed with a willow-wand. Spectators remained transfixed, and from all accounts, so did the bowlers and fielders. In the pressbox, Bill Woodfull lamented, “It is a pity that the whole cricket world could not see this double-century.”
McCabe 170 while his last four partners scored 38.

The arrival at the wicket of Chuck Fleetwood-Smith was unequivocally accepted as the start of rigor mortis of any innings. However, in this case, life flowed from McCabe’s willow. The brilliance of his strokeplay was elevated to the realms of blinding dazzle. Engladn captain Wally Hammond tried the oft-repeated tactics of spreading the field on the boundary during the initial balls of the over. McCabe found the fence through the many sentinels who paraded the outfield. And when at the end of the over the men were brought in, tightening the field into a net through which no single could escape, the batsman threaded through the crowd for easy ones.

The debonair wrist-spinner at the other end also rose to this great occasion, surviving as many as 18 balls, even managing five runs of his own. McCabe spent the 28 minutes in his company by plundering 72.

Neville Cardus provided the equivalent flourish with his pen. Perhaps he watched this one. “Now came death and glory, brilliance wearing the dress of culture. McCabe demolished the English attack with aristocratic politeness, good taste and reserve. He cut and drove, upright and lissom; his perfection of touch moved the aesthetic sense; this was the cricket of felicity, power and no covetousness, strength and no brutality, assault and no battery, dazzling strokes and no rhetoric; lovely brave batsmanship, giving joy to the connoisseur…One of the greatest innings ever seen anywhere in any period…he is in the line of Trumper and no other batsman today but McCabe has inherited Trumper’s sword and cloak.”

Drives, stylish and impeccable, raced to the large arc between cover point and mid-wicket.. Hooks and pulls were essayed with customary easy elegance. Cuts were essayed so late, so delicately, that the slips of the day swore that no sound was heard. The bat, a rapier when flashing towards the front, was a feather when deflecting behind point.

And in spite of the rate that was seldom seen even in the halcyon days of Gilbert Jessop and George Bonnor, not a stroke could be categorised as a slog. Nor was there a hint of force. It was, to quote Gideon Haigh, “power without violence, dash without slap.” His 232 poured forth in 235 minutes with 34 fours and a six, scored out of 277. When he returned to the pavilion, Bradman greeted him with the words, “If I could play an innings like that I would be a proud man, Stan.”
No batsman has ever received a greater compliment.

Australia followed on. The following day, Bill Brown scored a century, Bradman hit his customary hundred, a sedate one, unbeaten, and played out time in the second innings.

The McCabe magic had done enough to save the day.