Steve Waugh has done it. In an incredible, nerveless display typical of the game's foremost fighter, he waited till the last ball of a roller coaster day to strike the boundary that brought the century a sporting nation and history itself had demanded.
Don Bradman and Doug Walters also hit boundaries off final deliveries to reach three figures, not bad company for an unpretentious young man from western Sydney. Now he sits alongside The Don in the books with 29 Test centuries. His extraordinary effort was acknowledged by opponents who answered their captain's call to gather outside the Australian pavilion to salute the warrior as he left the field.
Perhaps they know something. If this was goodbye it was not a bad way to go. Not that there seems to be any hurry. Spectators roared and sang their approval. It was a joyful day upon which men rose above themselves. You would not have missed it for quids. Steve Waugh's penultimate innings in Test cricket started with his team in trouble and fast bowlers pawing the ground. Has anyone heard this story before?
Justin Langer had miscued a hook and a relieved Yorkshireman had held on at fine leg as Australia sank to 3-56, a predicament commonplace years ago but unusual in these days of productive opening pairs. No sooner had the chance been taken than a familiar figure began to thread his way through the crowd, a man who comes to life in a crisis. Nor did it take him long to reach the sunlight. Waugh has always hated a fuss and put on his gloves and started marching to the crease long before Langer's slow withdrawal had been completed. As far as Waugh was concerned it was business as usual. He has played his cricket as a craftsman and a competitor, never as a romantic.
It was 3.25 on a Friday afternoon and there was work to be done.
At Waugh's appearance an ovation started to spread around the ground for this was a moment of sporting significance, the last appearance of a respected warrior. At such times crowds open their hearts in a way that can catch the hard-bitten player off guard. Don Bradman had a tear in his eye as he took guard for the final time in Test cricket, and he was not the sentimental sort. Sportsmen concentrate upon winning matches and inhabit a world insulated from daily discourse. Sometimes they see themselves through the harshness of the newspapers whose objectivity does not permit any show of affection. Only in parting can they sense the untapped warmth.
Not that Waugh showed the merest flicker as he strode to the crease. Long ago he learned to control his emotions, training himself so that mind and body find a harmony. If he was nervous or dismayed he did not betray the secret for it his not his way to give comfort to an opponent. Instead he practised a few shots as his partner faced the rest of the over, back defences mostly, the shot upon which his game has been built ever since frailties were found in his long lost days of youth, when half the current selectors were playing by his side. Damien Martyn survived those deliveries and then it was time for the long-awaited struggle between Waugh and his fates.
Waugh took guard and settled into his stance; head low over the bat and staring defiantly down the pitch, eyes hooded like a buzzard's in the heat of the day. There is no grandeur in him and no gesture either, only the substance of the committed. England threw the ball to Steve Harmison, whose salvos caused a suffering Waugh such discomfort in their previous confrontation. Finding nothing to his liking or anything menace, the Australian captain let the balls pass or else pushed them back down a pitch now wan in colour. It seemed that Waugh might not break his duck before tea. An over remained and Matthew Hoggard was recalled to test Waugh with some frisky swingers.
Apart from eleven Englishmen everyone wanted Waugh to score a few runs. After all England had plenty to spare. Already it had been a fine day for the old dogs, with Alec Stewart striking the ball around in his brisk way and Andrew Caddick taking wickets. At last Waugh was underway with a characteristic crack through point immediately followed by an efficient tuck off his pads. Viv Richards used to call out "jam" as he played his favourite strokes but Waugh has always preferred bread and butter. He repaired for tea and bananas with 8 runs to his name.
Afterwards Waugh began to cut loose. His body seemed alive with the challenge of the moment, enjoying the surge that pressure brings. Runs came in sudden bursts, boundaries taken off his pads, cuts dispatched through point. Although Caddick pushed him back he looked in control, subduing the climbers and punishing anything offline. A roar for leg before rent the air and was rejected, a decision acclaimed by a crowded house. Waugh had higher ambitions than the wearing down of a limited attack for he was on his toes, the flatness of recent times overcome.
Caddick strayed and Waugh pounced, sending the ball speeding away with late flicks of the wrist, three boundaries in an over, shots played with hidden power. Expecting to see the batsmen trotting a single, spectators were surprised to find long leg collecting a bruised ball from beyond the ropes.
Waugh did not look like a tired old man ready to hang up his cap. He looked sharp. Contrastingly Martyn did not settle, losing his wicket to a poor stroke. Nor could Martin Love outstare the moment. Waugh batted better than the men either side of him in the batting order. It is a point worth considering.
Waugh continued an assault upon English bowling that has lasted 16 years.
A withering off-drive took Waugh to 50, the crowd rose again and their cheers were acknowledged with a quiet raising of the bat. And then he went back to work.
Like a barrister in court Waugh was searching for the argument that could not be answered. Melbourne had not been enough, a dashing half-century before stumps and then faltering performances in the rest of the match. He bent low and drove through point, moving within sight of the runs required to reach 10,000 in Test cricket. Minutes later Waugh cut and put himself alongside Allan Border and Sunil Gavavskar in the record books, a wonderful achievement by an unpretentious young man from the western suburbs of the largest city on a remote, vast and mostly uninhabitable continent.
No less significantly, Waugh was playing the type of innings often seen over the years and sometimes taken for granted, the innings of a formidable competitor who has willed mighty deeds, feats that have played their part in his team's domination. Shane Warne and Glenn McGrath might be missing but their captain was still there, trying to save the side, refusing to bow to the inevitable, wanting to win the series 5-0.Not until a man is in a tight corner are his strengths properly understood. Waugh stood firm. If he goes or is pushed, he will be missed. And the beauty of it is he can resume his innings this morning.
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