First impressions: Wooed by the glamour of Hundred

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Inter-city trains in the United Kingdom cost way less during the off-peak hours, hence I mostly woke up early and caught the ride before sunrise on my assignment to cover the white-ball series between India and England. Thereby, I am the first journalist to arrive at Trent Bridge for the hosts’ practice session, greeted by an elegant mahogany wood board in the press box. It carries in gold the names of pen-wielding phenoms, running the gamut from Neville Cardus to Vithushan Ehantharajah. The latest to be engraved on the honour roll is the chairperson of Cricket Writers Club, Rory Dollard, who enters after I have dry fruits for breakfast.

An oat jam crispie is his morning fuel. I introduce myself and we get talking. There is no urgency, with England still warming up via a game of foot-volley. Our conversation flows, kicking off from bodies of work, meandering to his Indian trips, and settling upon the reception to The Hundred, which has put bums on the seat while rubbing the wrong way luminaries like James Anderson who “hated every minute” of his experience last year. An investor in London Spirit believes it will become a multibillion-dollar competition to rival the Indian Premier League, so I thought I might as well find out for myself what the fuss is all about.

Guided towards the Alec Stewart gate of the Kennington Oval by the steward, I admire the sea blue wall graffitis featuring Surrey players. I sidestep a bunch of vapers nodding their head to rock music, passing by an old fellow juggling three glasses of beer to reach my destination on the concourse, an elevator to the media floor. MI London have opted to bowl in the season opener against Sunrisers Leeds, and the stadium is already full, much like my tummy thanks to the juicy marinated burger scribes were served in the cafeteria.

Sam Curran, who dominated the wicket charts versus India courtesy of his ingenious moonball, has his weapon deposited over long-on by Mitchell Marsh after conceding a boundary first ball. Playing a dot in this squeezed format is a sin, therefore he calls Ryan Rickleton through for a tight run. Keeper Nicholas Pooran isn’t interested in giving the leg bye as an eerily close shy at the non-striker’s end draws a collective gasp from the crowd, which is audible because I’m in the outdoor seating area. Sam, once described as an angelic choirboy by Rob Johnston, hasn’t incredulously become a bad bowler overnight, with proof appearing in the form of Rickleton’s dismissal.

Marsh, however, is unfazed, or rather the timeframe of an innings in The Hundred doesn’t allow any room for recalibration. He pulled Rashid Khan over cow corner and inspired Harry Brook to follow suit, their maximums triggering red-hot fireworks in front of me. I can feel the heat and so does Rashid, but he’s never backed down from a challenge in his storied career. Brook is rushed on the backfoot, his tame connection landing in Nathan Sowter’s palms. It has been an eventful couple of sets from Rashid, whose hands are on his head along with those of third man and fine leg as his flipper nearly spells the doom of a rampaging Marsh. Power is his forte but deft touch is not beyond him either, a cute reverse paddle apprises.


For the entirety of Bazball, there was talk of sprinkling sensibility on top of the spicy menu. Zac Crawley ignored that advice more often than not, in pursuit of his ceiling, yet as England relieved Brendon McCullum of Test tutelage he finally seemed comfortable curbing his instincts. The skipper rotated the strike to lend Marsh the spotlight, alas, Tom Curran scythed his fingers across the seam to elicit a chip to cover, making sure the bragging rights with regard to the slower variations remain within the family.

An adolescent next to me tells his father about the change-up. He is wearing jeans the same color as mine, I notice, to go with England’s jersey. I flirt with the idea of making a comment about how the younger Curran wrapped India around his finger, but the double whammy of bombastic tunes emerging from the speaker and the hissy sound created by the chatty audience kills my drive for socializing. Proffered a pizza, he cheers for the fielding team by slapping his thigh as Richard Gleeson torpedoes the middle-order.

Rohit Sharma and Nita Ambani enjoy the success of their sister franchise, the former’s twill cap complementing the green leather sofa he relaxed on after buying himself some breathing space at Lord’s. Tom Alsop’s shirt carried the same number as Rohit, and he found himself under pressure too, eyeing a risky single from mid-off. His camp is desperate for a revival, and Alsop feeds the hope by spanking a slot ball. The camera operator, sporting a neon pink bib, leaves his device to take evasive action. It is a sign that we’re heading into the final stretch, with buckets of french fries being relayed like batons in the adjacent lower stand. As an Indian, I wonder how amazing the unobstructed view must be, for reckless fan behaviour necessitates barbed wires and tall irons railings back home.

My contemplation is jarred by an outside edge that eludes the greedy gloves to meet the fence. The reactions from a couple are worth watching. The husband is ecstatic, letting out a vociferous roar, whereas the wife is unperturbed, casually sipping on alcohol as if the batter didn’t just survive by the skin of his teeth. Both are on their cellphone a minute later, with Trent Boult keeping the tail in check. They’ve missed a good effort on the rope in the process, which reveals a couple of things. Firstly, MI London’s fielding continues to be razor-sharp. Secondly, The Hundred appeals to a demographic that consumes cricket for the fun of it. To hell with the intricacies that members adhering to the dress code at the other ground in the cosmopolitan city analyze.


Folding in 99 balls, Sunrisers Leeds only managed 143 despite a healthy start. Alsop tried his level best before Boult caught him plumb with an ice-mandating blow to the ankle. Abrar Ahmed denied the opposition a hat-trick of scalps with an outrageous swing to clear fine leg, the shot cooler than the peppermint tea I fancied in the interval. Toby Reynolds, a contributor to White Glove, quenches his thirst as well prior to our quick chat about the action so far. We conclude that spearheads are more likely to bowl consecutive sets, Rashid and Boult bearing testimony, for captains fear overexposure may help the batters familiarize themselves with the threat and nullify it in turn. Besides the electric atmosphere, I am amazed by the pace of the game, turning to Toby again as a rookie observer of The Hundred. “Ends swapping after ten balls instead of six saves a great deal of time”, he reasons.

By modern day standards, an equation of 144 out of 100 should’ve been a cakewalk if Brydon Carse didn’t stand between MI London and victory. He clocked 90mph, removing James Vince and Jason Roy, poles lost and punch defeated respectively. Much to Sunrisers’ chagrin, Benny Howell was enduring a woeful night. His duck preceded a shellacking at the hands of southpaws Sam and Nicholas Pooran; the whole ordeal aggravated by debutant Abrar Ahmed’s poor show. The once-bespectacled mystery spinner, affectionately nicknamed Harry Potter, conceded 30 runs in ten deliveries as the partnership swelled to 93 off 40 balls.

Pooran married his brute force with dexterity, steering square the hard length of Nathan Ellis. Moments later, a fixture that began with Sam going the distance culminated with the all-rounder walking off unbeaten on 60, shaking hands with his mates. To quote Jacob Bethell after his own display in Durham, “there’s nothing sweeter.”

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