The Don

The young South African was alighting from the plane when he saw a frail, diminutive man who had apparently been waiting there to welcome him to the kangaroo-land.
“Hello”.
“Good evening. I welcome you to Australia.”
“So how’s everything out here?”
“Not bad. I hope your flight was comfortable”.
“Sure it was. Tell me about yourself. What do you do for a living?”
“I’m retired now; but I used to play cricket for a living”.
“Oh, fantastic! What’s your good name?”
“They call me Don Bradman”…….

The above incident occurred when Bradman was well past his playing days and had been asked to welcome a prominent South African cricketer to Australia for playing a few benefit matches. Bradman, despite being the legend that he was, took this incident in his stride with a smile, when he ought to be offended; after all, he was the greatest batsman ever to have graced the cricket field!

I’m writing this article as a tribute to The Don. I’m not going to write line after line about his greatness. His extraordinary genius would soon outweigh the power of words and hence it is a futile exercise to try to portray his brilliance in words. I would rather like to narrate some of the true incidents of his life which are not only fascinating but also give a glimpse of his persona, his prowess.

When the young Donald Bradman from New South Wales started his career, he had begun to make waves in the domestic circuit of Australia almost as soon as he started his career. However, the purists scoffed at his rather unconventional way of holding the bat. But when the runs started flowing, people stopped talking about his grip.

Sometime in the nineteen sixties, Bradman was asked by a sports journalist as to how would he rate the contemporary bowlers; the journalist also asked him what his batting average would be. “Around 50”, replied Bradman. Startled, the journo asked him “Why only 50?” “Remember, I’m 60 now!” quipped Bradman. Although some may feel that this statement of his might border on the witty and the boastful, what can’t be missed is Bradman’s confidence in his abilities, so much so that he had a precise idea about how much he would average against a particular set of opponents, at a particular age. He was known to his teammates as a player who showed an extraordinary keenness in analyzing his batting and the various strategies set against him by the opponents. During the course of an innings at Blackheath, Bradman (aged 50, then) was at the crease when he casually asked the wicket-keeper, “What kind of a bowler is this chap?”. “Don’t you know him? He’s Bill Black, the off spinner who had dismissed you in an exhibition match a few weeks ago and has been boasting about it ever since, at your expense” replied the keeper. After a few minutes, this Bill Black was nursing an analysis of 2-0-62-0 and was begging his captain to take him off the bowling attack. Bradman had smacked him all over the place and ended up scoring a century in 3 overs in that match!



Neville Cardus was commonly regarded as the father of sports writing in the 1930s. His command over cricket was unquestionable and was highly regarded by the players themselves. In 1932 at Leeds, Australia had dismissed the English side for a paltry 200 but were reeling at 39-3 in reply. Bradman cancelled a dinner appointment with Cardus the same day, reasoning “I have to get a double hundred tomorrow and want to go to bed early to recharge my batteries and to refocus”.“But the law of averages is against you pulling off a big score tomorrow, Mr. Bradman!!” argued Cardus. To this, Bradman replied “I don’t belive in the law of averages. As for the appointment, I’m extremely sorry that I have to cancel it.” This left Bradman relieved and Cardus, fuming.

The next day of that Test match is now regarded as one of the most scintillating days of cricket ever played. Bradman scored 304 runs in a single day, one century in each of the sessions, resulting in total annihilation of the English bowlers. This goes to show how Bradman played his game-as if he had full and complete control over the fate of a match and his own batting.

In the late seventies Greg Chappell overcame Bradman’s tally of 6996 runs and thus became the most prolific Australian run-getter. When he was asked how he felt after beating Bradman’s record, Chappell retorted back, “To even think that one can surpass Sir Donald Bradman is a sacrilege.”

During his lifetime, Bradman never interacted much with the press and guarded his private life intensely. This perhaps enhanced his God-like image among cricket-lovers, feel observers. As a tribute to The Don, Mark Taylor, the Australian skipper declared the innings when he was batting at 334 against Pakistan. 334 happens to be Bradman’s highest test score and was, till recently (before Hayden decided to give Lara a run for his money) the highest score in an innings by an Australian.


Bradman’s statistics have been the subject of many a discussion over coffee tables all around the world. Sir Donald Bradman scored 6996 runs in 52 matches (80 innings), smashing 29 centuries along the way. On 12 occasions out of those 29, he crossed the 200-run mark, including his two triple centuries and an unlucky score of 299 not out (he had run out of partners)! His batting average has a near-philosophical interpretation. He averaged 99.94, unbelievably close to the magical figure of 100. More unbelievable is the fact that he got out for a duck in his last innings! Had he scored just 4 runs in his last innings, he would have not only touched the 100-run mark average, but would have also reached the then-phenomenal figure of 7000 test runs. The philosophical interpretation is this: however great a player may be, he can never be greater than the game itself (although many enthusiasts would love to make an exception in this case). They say cricket is a great leveler (like death itself) and the fact that Bradman was just 0.06 runs shy of the 3-digit mark is one of cricket’s many ironies. Eric Hollies holds the distinction (or notoriety?) of dismissing Bradman in his last Test innings.