Sankaran Krishna

There was something about those guys - a combination of good looks, a way of carrying themselves, some intangible quality - that drew you. There were others who were better cricketers, by statistical or other measures, but this brief essay is about the different ways in which these three seemed to epitomise what draws us to sport in the first place.

With his outrageous sideburns, deep dimples and eyes that sparkled at all times, the handsome Engineer was the original dasher. He was bustling and hyperactive - whether it was behind the stumps or when at bat. As an opener, there was for him none of this nonsense about getting your eye in and playing within the V with a straight bat for the first few overs. Engineer would set off like a rocket, and when it came good, it was breathtaking stuff. Many in Chennai still talk of his unbeaten 94 before lunch on the opening day of a Test match (he went on to make 109) against a West Indian attack comprising Wes Hall, Charlie Griffith, Garry Sobers and Lance Gibbs. He was India's second-highest run scorer in the memorable 1971 series in England, and stayed until the end in the incredible win at The Oval. In the next series, at home against the MCC (as it used to be called back then), Engineer was in the form of his life, making the most runs by any player on either side.

What the scorecard does not show, however, is the massive statement Morkel made during the Australian first innings with a spell of incredible hostility in which he had the batsmen hopping, ducking, weaving and swaying, peppering them all over their bodies and helmets. With the exception of David Warner, who held his own, all the others looked distinctly uncomfortable. Morkel telegraphed his intention of being the enforcer - going around the wicket and into the ribcage of the batsmen, with fielders positioned for both the hook to the deep and the desperate fend to short leg. The message was clear: it was not just about squaring the series, it was about erasing the humiliation of the first Test, when Hashim Amla, Graeme Smith and others had worn red leather on their bodies, courtesy Johnson. When Morkel nailed the latter on his helmet and cracked it, you knew that irrespective of the series result (the Australians would win it 2-1) South Africa could hold their heads high. Morkel had ensured no one could accuse them of having bottled it under pressure, or of not having the gumption for a fight. One might even say that the spell Morkel bowled in that first innings enabled the destruction that the other South African bowlers wrought all around him.

In sharp contrast to that episode, everyone commends Harmison for sending a message in that phenomenal opening spell he bowled on the first morning at Lord's during the fabulous Ashes of 2005. Barely half an hour into the series Justin Langer was sporting a bulging raspberry of a wound on his elbow and Ricky Ponting wore a scar on his cheek - courtesy a Harmison bouncer that crashed into his grille and drew blood. Many remarked on how that opening assault signified a new and energised England who were not going to take a backward step.

We tend to forget that that opening morning's barrage by the English fast men was followed by the utter capitulation of their batting later that evening, falling short of Australia's measly 190 by as many as 35 runs. In the end, England were thrashed by 239 runs in less than four days. In the very next Test, Australia came within two runs of a 2-0 lead and all but retaining the Ashes. England were saved by a dicey call by the umpire to give Michael Kasprowicz out caught behind (a decision that might have been reversed on review today). Indeed, even in the fifth and final Test, had Shane Warne not shelled a simple catch when Kevin Pietersen was on 15 and England tottering at 89 for 3 (and their lead less than 100), Australia might well have retained the Ashes at The Oval by squaring the series.

Brijesh was a dashing batsman and electric fielder at cover-point. With his lithe physique, improbably light eyes, and a Zapata moustache that would have been the envy of any self-respecting pirate in the Caribbean, Brijesh was a contrast to many of his rotund Karnataka and South Zone team-mates who looked exactly what they were - bank officers.

Even as a high-school player in Bangalore, Brijesh was marked for bigger things. People spoke with awe of towering sixes hit with a nonchalant flick of deceptively slim forearms; of flat throws rifled in from the boundary, scattering stumps and bails with direct hits; of a sense of timing that was unreal - forward-defensive pushes that raced to the long-on fence.