A day before this Test match, Jasprit Bumrah and Rishabh Pant were in the middle of an engaging duel at the practice nets. On a devilishly dark practice wicket, Bumrah was searching for reverse swing with a worn-out ball. Pant played a couple of ferocious drives down the ground, and bantered: “Tu so raha hai kya?” Pant was breaching the universal caution code of fast bowlers: “Never needle a fast bowler.” Especially one who’s ever-smiling.
A day before this Test match, Jasprit Bumrah and Rishabh Pant were in the middle of an engaging duel at the practice nets. On a devilishly dark practice wicket, Bumrah was searching for reverse swing with a worn-out ball. Pant played a couple of ferocious drives down the ground, and bantered: “Tu so raha hai kya?” Pant was breaching the universal caution code of fast bowlers: “Never needle a fast bowler.” Especially one who’s ever-smiling.
Provoked, but still smiling disarmingly, Bumrah picked up a shining new ball from a carton. He shortened his run-up, drawing a what’s-the-big-fuss response from Pant, and pounded in and literally cut Pant’s ego and technique into two halves.
It was the length that deceived him first, neither short nor full that his feet froze. Then the line, homing into his off-stump. Then the angle — he thought it was coming in with the angle, as Bumrah was bowling from around the stumps and wide off the crease— only that it tore off the seam fractionally. The third was his pace, for even if Pant belatedly realised that the ball was deviating away, he had no time to make the requisite adjustments. He hung the bat in the air, and the ball just kissed the shoulder of his blade.
Pant stared confusedly at the pitch, his eyes scratching the surface to find an inexistent crack. He found none. He realigned his guard, moving from middle and leg to middle and off, and began preempting the late movement. Bumrah pitched the ball exactly at the same spot, only that it came in with the angle. Pant smiled sheepishly, prompting the same question as he had asked Pant: “Tu so raha hai kya?” To not wreck his morale further, he shouted an SOS to Umesh Yadav.
Provoked, but still smiling disarmingly, Bumrah picked up a shining new ball from a carton. He shortened his run-up, drawing a what’s-the-big-fuss response from Pant, and pounded in and literally cut Pant’s ego and technique into two halves.
It was the length that deceived him first, neither short nor full that his feet froze. Then the line, homing into his off-stump. Then the angle — he thought it was coming in with the angle, as Bumrah was bowling from around the stumps and wide off the crease— only that it tore off the seam fractionally. The third was his pace, for even if Pant belatedly realised that the ball was deviating away, he had no time to make the requisite adjustments. He hung the bat in the air, and the ball just kissed the shoulder of his blade.
Pant stared confusedly at the pitch, his eyes scratching the surface to find an inexistent crack. He found none. He realigned his guard, moving from middle and leg to middle and off, and began preempting the late movement. Bumrah pitched the ball exactly at the same spot, only that it came in with the angle. Pant smiled sheepishly, prompting the same question as he had asked Pant: “Tu so raha hai kya?” To not wreck his morale further, he shouted an SOS to Umesh Yadav.