The Wankhede Stadium witnessed some of the bravest batting seen in a one-day international. Unfortunately for England, it wasn’t by them. Their innings lasted 22 overs and just under two hours. Heinrich Klaasen was at the crease for longer than all their batters combined.
If anything could make England’s third and worst batting collapse of this tournament look more abject than it was it was the comparison with Klaasen’s heroic hundred. Fighting two separate foes – England’s bowling and the oppressive weather – he scored a double victory.
Mumbai’s first game of this tournament arrived after nearly two weeks of unusually high temperatures in the city. October is the month the monsoon leaves and the winter arrives. Locals are accustomed to a brief spike between the two – an Indian-Indian summer, if you will – but an unexpected east wind has trapped the city in a ferocious heat bubble. Forecasters issued severe weather alerts and hospitals reported increased admissions, not just from dehydration and sunstroke but also from the viruses that thrive in excessive heat.
For much of South Africa’s innings the thermometer showed 36C, but the humidity made it feel far hotter. Rassie van der Dussen’s shirt was sporting the Aston Villa wet look even before he reached his half-century. It was later hanging on the South African balcony along with his socks and trousers, in the hope his clothes would dry out before he took to the field again. Not a whiff of breeze stirred them.
These were the kind of punishing conditions in which anyone but professional athletes would shake hands early and head off for a cooling lime and soda in the clubhouse. Nor had either side arrived fully fit. South Africa’s captain watched on from the air-conditioned pavilion with a stomach bug. Adil Rashid, suffering similar symptoms, bowled his overs creditably – seven of them back-to-back – but spent a fair few more on the sidelines taking big, deep breaths. David Willey, playing his first game in the tournament, struggled with cramp no downward dog could shift and was also forced temporarily off the field.
The South Africa batting, however, seemed to keep accessing new power levels. Having established a foundation with Van der Dussen, Reeza Hendricks went violently after Joe Root; Aiden Markram hit a cover drive so hard it knocked Dawid Malan off his feet. Klaasen punched his way to 50 with a boundary off Reece Topley, then licked a dry tongue across his lips and smacked the next over extra cover. The pulled six off Rashid that followed left him with just enough energy to fist bump his partner, Marco Jansen.
In between overs, the pair sat on their haunches and gathered their strength like hunters in the middle of a long day on the savannah. It was hard to believe, at times, that it was not raining. Klaasen would look down at the crease and his helmet would stream water, trickling through the grille like a sacrament.
Twelfth men and support staff were regularly on and off for both teams, fetching towels and fresh socks, ladling out electrolytes. After one stoppage, Willey pulled out of his run-up with a fresh cramp, ran in again, then watched the ball slip sweatily towards Klaasen as a chest-high full toss. The batter skipped on the spot and cut it for six – then had nothing left in his legs for the free hit that followed.
By now, he had given up running. The most he could manage between the wickets was a laborious semi-jog: every joule of energy was conserved for the split second the ball flew at his bat. With four overs remaining, Mark Wood sent down a 147kph yorker that caught Klaasen on the pad and sent him sprawling forward. He lay, exhausted, on his back.
The next ball, just as fast, aimed once more at his toes. With an effort beyond human comprehension, Klaasen sent it soaring back over the long-on boundary. The next delivery was swung legside to bring up his century.
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As Klaasen began to tire, Jansen took up the slack, the long arms on his tall frame levering balls back over the bowler’s head with the pleasing sensation of someone prising the lid off a paint pot with a screwdriver. When Klaasen fell, his wicket one of fatigue as much as Gus Atkinson’s skill, it seemed cruel to expect him to drag his weary, depleted body up so many stairs to the dressing room.
Jansen’s long, springy legs bounded up them with surprising ease. He had plenty left in the tank, as England discovered to their cost when he took the wickets of Root and Malan in consecutive deliveries.
With the sun already set, England did not have to worry about the heat conditions so much as the swinging ball. And they didn’t worry about that for long.
