by Rex Clementine
If ever there was a reminder of why Test cricket remains the purest form of the game, this five-match series between England and India was it. After 25 pulsating days of twists, turns and tension, the series fittingly ended 1-1, a deadlock on the scorecard, but a feast for the soul.
Each session was a mini-drama, each day a chessboard of changing fortunes. One moment a team looked home and dry, the next they were staring down the barrel. This was edge-of-the-seat stuff, cricket in its most riveting avatar.
England, flying high on the wings of Bazball, were tipped to bulldoze India in their own backyard. With the Ashes looming, this was expected to be a mere tune-up for that or a pit-stop before the big challenge. But the Indians, missing their stalwarts, refused to be cannon fodder. Instead, they turned the tables and left Ben Stokes’ men with more questions than answers.
Bazball, for all its bravado, also showed its chinks. When the throttle is permanently jammed on fifth gear, the engine is bound to splutter now and then. England’s gung-ho approach did produce fireworks, particularly through Ben Duckett and Zak Crawley, who routinely took the shine off the new ball by lunch – but it also offered bowlers a sniff, and India’s seamers didn’t need a second invitation.
Gone are the days when a 200-run opening stand in England meant a yawn-fest until tea. This pair reached their just after lunch. Had Geoff Boycott watched from the commentary box, he might have choked on his Yorkshire pudding.
Then there were the pitches, flatter than a pancake at times, more Bangalore than Birmingham. The traditional green tops and swinging Dukes gave way to benign belters. With the decks resembling subcontinental highways, it was the batters who had the last laugh.
Yet, India arrived with a second-string squad, sans Virat Kohli and Rohit Sharma and with Jasprit Bumrah pencilled in for only three Tests. Still, they never flinched. Youth rose to the challenge. A revolving door of heroes emerged from the ranks and every time they looked dead and buried, someone dug in and delivered.
Mohammed Siraj, all fire and fury, finished with 23 wickets. But mere numbers don’t do justice to the heart he showed. The lad from Hyderabad, a city known more for silky batters like Pataudi, Azharuddin and Laxman, bowled like a man possessed.
In one of cricket’s cruel ironies, Siraj was left shattered at Lord’s when the ball trickled onto his stumps in a heartbreaking finish. But a fortnight later, just across the Thames at The Oval, he had the last laugh, sealing the game and the series stalemate with the final strike.
There were whispers before the tour: was Shubman Gill ready for the Test captaincy hot seat? KL Rahul was the safer bet, the seasoned hand. But Gill batted, and led, like a man born for the job. Cool as a cucumber, sharp as a tack and unflappable under pressure, he walked the tightrope between aggression and composure with aplomb.
He wasn’t just captain in name, he was India’s batting lynchpin. By series end, he had notched up four hundreds to take his tally from five to nine, topping the charts with a mammoth 754 runs. More importantly, he filled the gaping hole at number four – a seat once occupied by legends – with effortless grace.
Across the aisle, Joe Root was no slouch either. England’s Mr. Dependable racked up over 500 runs, reaffirming his place in the pantheon of modern greats. With each fluent cover drive and late dab, he closed the gap on Sachin Tendulkar’s all-time Test run record. The summit is now well within sight.
In the end, there were no trophies lifted, no champagne showers. Just mutual respect, full houses, and five weeks of glorious cricket that reminded fans why whites still matter. Test cricket, they say, is dying. Try telling that to the millions who watched this series. They’ll say it’s alive, well and still the ultimate test.
