By the time India arrived in Kanpur for the fourth ODI of the Wills World Series, their place in the final was virtually assured. Two wins in the bank and a washed-out contest between West Indies and New Zealand meant this match held significance not for qualification, but for momentum and reputation. Yet, what unfolded would echo far beyond the boundaries of Green Park.
A Calculated Toss, a Confident Team
Mohammad Azharuddin, presiding over a batting unit as
formidable as any in the subcontinent—Tendulkar’s brilliance, Sidhu’s grit,
Jadeja’s swagger, Kambli’s flair—chose to chase on a benign pitch. The logic
was sound: India had already gunned down West Indies once in the tournament. A
rinse-and-repeat seemed likely.
But cricket, ever the trickster, had different plans.
Arthurton’s Resilience and India’s Misfires
The West Indians were offered early prosperity—not by design
but through Vinod Kambli’s butterfingers. Twice within minutes he grassed
chances that could have shaped the innings. Stuart Williams and Phil Simmons
survived, then thrived.
Srinath, steaming in with fire but cursed by fate,
repeatedly beat the bat only to be let down by fielding lapses. Tendulkar’s
golden arm was needed to trigger relief, first removing Williams with a
self-created moment of athletic brilliance. However, the notable absence of
Brian Lara — benched for dissent in the previous match — changed the complexion
of the middle order.
Amidst this, Keith Arthurton emerged as the ballast. He
began steadily, then accelerated with purpose, carving drives and cuts that
grew fiercer as overs dwindled. His final tally—72 from 62 balls—was a
masterclass in pacing. With frantic running from Cummins and a late-innings
injection of aggression, West Indies harvested 49 runs in the last five overs,
closing at 257 for 6. Not unattainable, yet substantial enough to demand
precision.
India’s Chase: A Story of Promise Dissolved
India responded with a dual-tempo plan: Tendulkar’s audacity
at one end, Prabhakar’s anchoring at the other. The early passages aligned with
this blueprint. Tendulkar swatted Cuffy aside and then dismantled Simmons with
surgical aggression. But Benjamin and Cummins applied brakes—with Cummins
eventually striking the decisive blow: Tendulkar castled for 67 in a display
that felt like an opera’s crescendo cut mid-note.
From promise, anxiety was born.
Sidhu, starved of strike, perished in desperation. A bizarre
interruption followed—spectator misconduct halting play, tempers flaring. When
calm returned, chaos returned with it—but of the sporting kind. Azharuddin
flicked imperiously before falling to an acrobatic one-handed snatch by
Cummins. Kambli and Jadeja were run out—direct hits cutting deeper than
yorkers.
Still, the chase was not lost. The required rate sat within
reach: 63 needed off 54.
And then, inexplicably, the lights dimmed.
India crawled—five runs in four overs, eleven in the next
five. Prabhakar, who had battled to a century of sweat rather than sparkle,
managed only subdued applause. Mongia, equally cautious, finished with four off
21 balls. What the scoreboard recorded—211 for 5 and a 46-run defeat—could not
fully capture: the bewilderment that hung heavy in the air.
Keith Arthurton, deserving and decisive, was named Man of
the Match.
Aftermath: From Match to Maelstrom
What followed was larger than cricket—a vortex of suspicion:
Two points deducted, as match referee Raman Subba Row
accused India of intentional underperformance — a ruling the ICC later
overturned, deeming the referee had exceeded his authority.
Prabhakar and Mongia suspended, replaced by Chetan Sharma
and Vijay Yadav for the final, which India won handsomely, almost mockingly,
by 72 runs.
But controversy does not vanish simply because a trophy
follows.
In 1997, Manoj Prabhakar reignited the embers through an
explosive interview, alleging slow-batting instructions from team management.
He claimed he was sacrificed at the altar of secrecy — ostracised for following
orders.
The BCCI responded with gravity: a one-man inquiry under
former Chief Justice Y.V. Chandrachud. Players, icons, and journalists were
questioned. The report dismissed Prabhakar’s claims as tardy and untenable:
“I find it difficult to accept any of the statements made by
Manoj Prabhakar… There appears to be no plausible reason why he slept over such
important episodes for years.”
Mongia too denied any existence of match-fixing influence:
“It is crazy that any player will attempt to lose a match.”
For now—at least in that chapter—Azharuddin was cleared.
Epilogue: A Match That Refused to End
Cricket frequently leaves room for foil and shadow. The
Kanpur ODI became more than a scorecard—it became a symbol of suspicion, a
prelude to a more devastating match-fixing saga that would engulf Indian
cricket years later.
On the surface, it was a tale of missed chances and
strategic stagnation. Beneath, some insisted, was something far more
unsettling.
To this day, the match remains a riddle — caught forever
between flawed performance and alleged intent. A night when India lost not just
a game but the unquestioned innocence of belief.
Thank You
Faisal Caesar
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