Date: March 24, 2011
Venue: Sardar Patel Stadium, Motera, Ahmedabad
Event: Pre-Match Studio Analysis (Star Sports / ESPN)
Match: Quarter-Final 2, ICC Cricket World Cup
Opponent: Australia
The morning sun over Ahmedabad was fierce, baking the concrete bowl of the Motera Stadium, but the heat inside the television studios was of a different kind. It was the heat of history, of expectation, and of a rivalry that had defined the last decade of cricket.
India vs Australia.
The Hosts vs The Defending Champions.
The team that topped Group B vs the team that stumbled to 4th in Group A.
It was more than a Quarter-Final; it was a reckoning. For every Indian fan, the ghost of the 2003 Johannesburg final still lingered—a wound that had never fully healed. Today was the chance to stitch it shut.
---
The broadcast opened with a dramatic montage: Ricky Ponting lifting the trophy in 2003 and 2007, cut against images of MS Dhoni's India conquering grounds across the world. The music was a thumping orchestral score that screamed War.
Back in the studio, the lights came up on a panel of heavyweights.
Host: Harsha Bhogle, the voice of Indian cricket.
Experts: Sunil Gavaskar (The Legend), Sourav Ganguly (The Architect of New India), and Ian Chappell (The Aussie Pragmatist).
"Welcome to Ahmedabad," Harsha began, his eyes twinkling with the gravity of the moment. "It doesn't get bigger than this. A billion people have woken up today with a knot in their stomachs. India plays Australia in a knockout game at home. The roads are empty, the offices are closed. Gentlemen, is this the 'Real Final'?"
"It feels like it, Harsha," Sourav Ganguly leaned forward, adjusting his tie. "You never write off Australia. I know they finished fourth in their group. I know they lost to Pakistan. But look at that shirt. That yellow jersey has won the last three World Cups. They know how to win knockouts."
"They are wounded lions," Ian Chappell agreed, his tone gruff but respectful. "And that makes them dangerous. Ricky Ponting is under immense pressure. He hasn't scored runs, the media back home is calling for his head. But Punter is a street fighter. If there is one day he will turn up, it is today."
Harsha gestured to the big screen. A graphic flashed up: AUSTRALIA'S KEY WEAPONS.
Shane Watson: The destructive opener.
Brad Haddin: The aggressive keeper-bat.
The Pace Trio: Brett Lee, Shaun Tait, Mitchell Johnson.
"That is the threat," Gavaskar noted, pointing to the names of the bowlers. "Pace. Raw pace. Shaun Tait is bowling 150 clicks. Brett Lee is steaming in. They know India's history against short, fast bowling. They will target the Indian openers early. They won't rely on spin; they will try to blast India out."
The Indian Juggernaut: A Team Transformed
"But this isn't the India of old, Sunny," Ganguly interjected confidently. "This team doesn't fear pace. We saw Sehwag against Steyn. We saw Deva against Morkel. This batting lineup is the best in the world."
Harsha swiped the screen. INDIA'S KEY WEAPONS.
Sachin Tendulkar: The God (372 Runs).
Yuvraj Singh: The All-Round Ace.
Zaheer Khan: The Bowling Captain (15 Wickets).
Virender Sehwag: The tone-setter (Fit and returned to the squad).
"The good news," Harsha announced, "is that Viru is back. The finger is strapped, but he is playing; that's a million-dollar question. But let's talk about the name that is on everyone's lips. The player who has changed the geometry of this Indian team."
The screen shifted to a singular image. A young man with intense eyes, wearing jersey number 6, raising his bat.
The Phenomenon: Siddanth Deva
Runs: 450 (Highest in Tournament)
Average: 90.00
Strike Rate: 142.4
Wickets: 14 (3rd Highest)
Economy: 4.8
A hush fell over the panel as they looked at the numbers.
"It is staggering," Gavaskar shook his head in disbelief. "We have seen great all-round performances before—Lance Klusener in '99, Yuvraj in this very tournament. But Deva is operating on a different level. He is the highest run-scorer and the third-highest wicket-taker. He is doing the job of two specialists."
"He is the difference," Ganguly said, his voice firm. "In 2003, Australia had Symonds and Bichel—guys who could bat and bowl. We didn't. Now, we have Deva. He balances the side perfectly. If Zaheer has a bad day, Deva bowls 10 overs. If Sehwag gets out early, Deva rebuilds. He is the ultimate luxury for a captain."
"From an Australian perspective," Chappell added, "he is the one they are worried about. They have plans for Sachin. They have plans for Sehwag. But Deva? He adapts. We saw him destroy South Africa with pace, and we saw him grind down West Indies with technique. He's an unknown quantity in a pressure cooker. The Aussies hate that. They like predictability."
Harsha smiled. "They call him the 'Devil of Cricket' for a reason."
"Exactly," Ganguly laughed. "Ask Hashim Amla. Ask Darren Sammy. When he has the ball, he is hostile. When he has the bat, he is arrogant. That is exactly what you need against Australia. You don't beat Australia by being nice. You beat them by looking them in the eye. Deva does that."
---
The discussion moved to the leaders. The screen split: Ricky Ponting vs MS Dhoni.
"This is the contrast of the match," Harsha observed. "Ponting wears his heart on his sleeve. He is angry, he is vocal, he is desperate. Dhoni... well, Dhoni is ice."
"Ponting is fighting for his legacy," Chappell said. "If he loses today, his captaincy career is likely over. He knows it. That makes him dangerous, but it also makes him prone to errors. He might push too hard."
"And Dhoni?" Gavaskar asked rhetorically. "Dhoni is in his zen mode. He has managed the pressure of a home World Cup beautifully. And having Deva has made his life easier. Dhoni loves having a multi-utility player. It allows him to control the game in the middle overs. Dhoni will wait for Ponting to make a mistake."
---
Harsha checked his watch. "We are 30 minutes away from the toss. The atmosphere in Motera is electric. 50,000 people are screaming. Let's have it, gentlemen. Predictions."
Ian Chappell: "My heart says Australia because they know how to win these big moments. But my head looks at the form guide. India's batting is too deep, and their spin attack on this dry Ahmedabad surface will trouble the Aussies. India, narrow win."
Sourav Ganguly: "India. Definitely India. We have the momentum. We have the crowd. And we have Deva. I think Deva or Yuvraj will turn this game. Australia's era ends today."
Sunil Gavaskar: "It will be tight. Australia will come hard. But India has too many match-winners. If Sachin fails, Sehwag steps up. If Sehwag fails, Deva steps up. If the pacers fail, the spinners step up. It is the most complete Indian team I have ever seen. India to win."
Harsha turned to the camera. "You heard it here. The experts are backing the Men in Blue. But cricket isn't played on paper. It's played on the 22 yards out there in the heat."
The broadcast cut to a live feed of the stadium. The sea of blue was mesmerizing. Flags waved in a rhythmic frenzy. The noise was a continuous, low-frequency rumble that vibrated through the television screens.
"The players are warming up," Harsha's voice rose over the ambient noise. "Sachin Tendulkar is marking his run-up? No, he's just shadowing. There is Sidanth Deva, chatting with Virat Kohli. They look relaxed. They look ready."
"This is it, India. The Quarter-Final. The barrier we have to break. The ghosts of 2003 are waiting to be exorcised. Stay tuned. The toss is moments away."
---
Inside the Indian dressing room, the air was thick with Deep Heat spray and focus.
MS Dhoni stood in the center. He didn't give a 'Chak De' speech. He didn't need to.
"Keep it simple," he said, his voice calm. "They will come hard. Let them. We absorb, then we punch back. Field like your life depends on it."
He looked at Deva. "Sid. You know your role?"
Deva nodded, checking the strap on his gloves. "Yes, Mahi bhai. Break the partnerships. Finish the innings."
"Good." Dhoni put on his cap. "Let's go."
As the Indian team walked out of the tunnel and onto the field, the roar of Motera hit them like a physical wave. It was a wall of sound that promised glory or demanded blood.
Across the field, Ricky Ponting chewed his gum furiously, his eyes scanning the Indian team. He stopped when he saw the Deva number 6. The one with the stats of a giant.
The Devil, Ponting thought. We take him down, we take India down.
The coin was ready. The captains walked to the middle. The world held its breath.
The Quarter-Final was on.
---
The heat in Ahmedabad was a physical force, a shimmering curtain that distorted the air above the pitch. It was 2:30 PM, and the Sardar Patel Stadium was a cauldron. Fifty thousand people were packed into the concrete bowl, their faces painted in the tricolor, their throats already raw from screaming. But beneath the noise, there was a palpable current of anxiety.
This was the defending champions, Australia. And they were threatening to ruin the party.
The toss had gone Ricky Ponting's way. "We'll have a bat, thanks," he had said, chewing his gum with that familiar, combative jaw-jut. "Runs on the board in a big game."
The start had been ominous. Shane Watson and Brad Haddin had launched an assault on the Indian new-ball bowlers. Zaheer Khan had swung it, but Watson had muscled him through the covers. Munaf Patel had been treated with disdain.
But then Ravichandran Ashwin had spun a web. In the 10th over (9.6), he tossed a carrom ball up. Watson, eyes wide with aggression, tried to sweep a ball that was too full. He missed. The timber rattled.
Wicket: S Watson b Ashwin 25
Australia 40/1
The crowd roared, a sound like a jet engine taking off. But the celebration was short-lived. Because out of the tunnel walked the man who had haunted Indian nightmares for a decade.
Ricky Thomas Ponting.
He didn't look like a man out of form. He didn't look like a captain under siege. He looked like a man who had decided that today, he would not lose.
---
For the next twenty overs, India hurled everything at him. Yuvraj Singh's golden arm, Harbhajan's doosras, Deva's cutters. Ponting had an answer for everything. He pulled the short balls with disdain. He drove the full balls with surgical precision. He was moving his feet like a boxer, lighter and faster than he had been in years.
Beside him, Brad Haddin was equally belligerent. They put on a partnership that sucked the energy out of the stadium. The scoreboard ticked over ominously: 100... 120... 140.
Yuvraj finally broke the stand in the 30th over, getting Haddin caught at deep mid-wicket for a well-made 53.
Australia 150/2
But Michael Clarke joined Ponting, and the Australian captain simply shifted gears. He reached his 50 with a glorious pull shot off Zaheer. He was on 70 now, batting with a frightening rhythm. He looked immovable. He looked destined for a century that would propel Australia to 300—a winning score in a pressure cooker.
---
It was the 38th over. The score was 185/2. Ponting was on 74. He had just smashed Harbhajan Singh for a boundary through extra cover.
MS Dhoni called for a drinks break, but it wasn't for water. It was for a council of war.
The Indian fielders huddled. Shoulders were drooping slightly. The heat was relentless.
"He's reading the spin too well," Dhoni muttered, his face hidden behind his sunglasses. "Zak is tired. Munaf is leaking runs. We need something different."
Siddanth Deva stood at the edge of the huddle, wiping sweat from his forehead. He had bowled 5 overs for 22 runs—economical, but wicketless. He watched Ponting shadow-practicing at the crease. The Australian captain looked possessed.
"Mahi bhai," Deva said, stepping forward.
Dhoni looked at the youngster. "Bol?" (Speak?)
"Give me the ball," Deva said. His voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the noise of the vuvuzelas. "I can get him."
Dhoni studied him. "What's the plan? He's pulling everything short. He's driving everything full."
Deva leaned in closer. "I'll use pure pace. But I need to set him up. I want to bowl the yorker. The toe-crusher."
Dhoni frowned slightly. "It's risky, Sid. If you miss by an inch, it's a full toss. Punter is in sublime form; he'll hit a full toss into the stands. If it's a slot ball, he drives it for four. The margin for error is zero."
"I won't miss," Deva said. There was a terrifying stillness in his eyes—a cold confidence that belied his 20 years.
Dhoni paused. He looked at Ponting, then back at Deva. He saw the fire.
"Okay," Dhoni said. "But don't just run in and bowl it. He'll see it coming. Deceive him. Make him think you're going for the wide line or the bouncer."
"Set the field for the short ball," Deva suggested. "Push mid-off back. Bring fine leg up. Make him think I'm going to bang it in."
Dhoni nodded, a small smile appearing. "Okay. Deep point, deep square leg. Mid-off back. Third man up. He'll think you're bowling cross-seam bouncers."
The field changes were made. The crowd watched, confused. Why was Dhoni removing the slips? Why was he setting a defensive field for a man on 74?
---
Commentary Box:
Ian Chappell: "Dhoni is turning back to the youngster. A brave call. Ponting is seeing the ball like a football right now. He's eating the spinners alive. Deva has pace, but pace can travel fast off the bat too."
Ravi Shastri: "This is the battle, Ian. The young challenger against the old master. Look at the field. Mid-off is back. Deep square leg is patrolling. Dhoni expects Deva to bang it in short."
Deva stood at the top of his mark. He felt the 'Brett Lee Template' surging—the explosive energy in the legs, the rhythmic run-up. But he mixed it with the 'Jacques Kallis Template'—the cerebral assassin, the poker face.
Ball 1:
Deva ran in hard. He hit the deck. A sharp bouncer, directed right at the helmet.
Ponting, reflexes still sharp, swiveled and hooked. But the extra pace hurried him. He couldn't keep it down, but it fell safely in the vacant deep fine leg region. They ran two.
Ponting moves to 76.
Shastri: "Good aggression! That woke Punter up. 145 clicks on the gun. Deva is bending his back."
Ball 2:
Deva went wide of the crease. He bowled a length ball, well outside off stump—the "wide line" theory. Ponting reached for it but withdrew his bat at the last moment.
Dot ball.
Ball 3:
Same line. Wide outside off, tempting the cut. Ponting shuffled across, looking to slap it through point, but the ball skidded through lower than expected. He missed.
Dot ball.
The trap was set. Ponting tapped the pitch, glaring at Deva. He was thinking: Okay, the kid is trying to bore me. He's bowling wide lines or bouncers. He's scared to bowl straight.
Ponting took his stance. He shuffled slightly across his stumps, opening up the off-side, ready to punish another wide ball. He tapped his bat. Come on, son. Give me some width.
Deva walked back to his mark. He didn't look at the crowd. He didn't look at Dhoni. He focused entirely on the base of the middle stump.
He took a deep breath. He unlocked the limiter he had placed on himself since his debut in 2008. He had bowled 150 before. But he had never gone all out. He had saved this for a moment when the team needed a miracle.
Ball 4:
Deva turned. The run-up was the same smooth, rhythmic approach.
But in the last five strides, he exploded. The arm speed was a blur. The grunt at the point of release echoed through the stump mic.
The ball left his hand like a white laser beam.
It wasn't wide. It wasn't short.
It was a yorker, tailing in viciously.
Ricky Ponting saw the ball release. His brain calculated the speed based on the previous deliveries—maybe 145 kmph. He initiated the downswing to dig it out.
But the ball arrived before his bat was even halfway down.
It was 162.4 kmph.
The air seemed to tear apart as the leather projectile screamed towards the stumps. Ponting's eyes widened in a millisecond of pure, primal realization: I'm late.
CRACK.
It wasn't just a sound; it was a detonation.
The ball smashed into the base of the middle stump.
The stump didn't just cartwheel; it snapped. The top half shattered, splintering into the air, while the bails flew over the keeper's head like frightened birds.
Ponting was still frozen in his follow-through, his bat jamming down onto empty air, his feet tangled. He looked back. The destruction behind him was total.
Wicket: R Ponting b Deva 76
Australia 187/3
For a second, there was silence. The crowd couldn't process the speed. Then, as the replay flashed the speed gun reading, the stadium exploded.
SPEED GUN: 162.4 KMPH
Commentary Box:
Ravi Shastri: (Voice cracking) "OH MY GOODNESS! WHAT HAVE WE JUST SEEN? THE STUMPS ARE SHATTERED! RICKY PONTING IS CLEANED UP!"
Tony Greig: "That is a thunderbolt! Look at the speed gun! One-hundred and sixty-two! That is the fastest ball of the tournament! That is the fastest ball by an Indian bowler ever! He has absolutely castled the Australian captain!"
Ian Chappell: "I don't believe it. Ponting was set. He was seeing it like a watermelon. But you can't play what you can't see. Deva has just produced a moment of magic. That is Shoaib Akhtar pace with Wasim Akram accuracy."
Deva stood in the middle of the pitch, arms spread wide, roaring at the sky. His face was a mask of pure adrenaline. Dhoni ran up and lifted him off the ground, a rare show of emotion from Captain Cool.
"I told you!" Deva shouted over the noise. "I told you I wouldn't miss!"
Ricky Ponting, the legend, the warrior, tucked his bat under his arm. He looked at the shattered stump, then looked at the 20-year-old kid who had just beaten him for sheer pace. He gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod of respect, and walked off. The Motera crowd stood up to applaud him, but the applause was quickly drowned out by the chant: "DE-VA! DE-VA!"
---
The dismissal of Ponting was the seismic shift. The aura of invincibility that had surrounded the Australian innings shattered along with the middle stump.
Michael Clarke, witnessing the carnage from the other end, looked rattled. The new batsman, Cameron White, looked terrified.
Deva's tail was up. He was bowling 150+ consistently now, the adrenaline masking the fatigue.
In the 42nd over, Zaheer Khan returned. He used the reverse swing that Deva had started to generate. He trapped Cameron White LBW with a dipping full toss.
Australia 210/4.
Michael Clarke tried to hold the innings together, scratching his way to a slower ball. But the pressure was suffocating. Every time Deva had the ball, the batsmen retreated into their shells, terrified of another 160 kmph missile.
---
In the 46th over, David Hussey tried to be inventive. He tried to scoop Deva over fine leg.
But Deva anticipated the move. He bowled a slower bouncer—an off-cutter at 125 kmph.
Hussey was through the shot too early. The ball gloved off the handle and lobbed gently to MS Dhoni, who didn't even have to move.
Wicket: D Hussey c Dhoni b Deva 15
Australia 228/6.
Commentary:
Gavaskar: "Smart cricket. Everyone is waiting for the thunderbolt, so he bowls the slower bouncer. He is playing with their minds. This young man is a complete package."
---
Australia limped to the finish line. Brett Lee and Mitchell Johnson swung their bats a few times, connecting with a few, missing many.
Munaf Patel bowled a tidy final over.
Australia finished at 249/8 in 50 overs.
From 185/2 and looking set for 300, they had crumbled to 249. The turning point was singular, undeniable, and violent: The Deva Yorker.
---
Back in the studio, the experts were breathless.
The replay of the Ponting dismissal was playing on a loop.
"That ball," Sourav Ganguly said, shaking his head, "changes the tournament. It changes Indian cricket. We used to be the ones getting bowled by 150 kmph yorkers. Now, we are the ones delivering them."
"It was the setup," Ian Chappell analyzed, circling the screen with a digital pen. "Look at the field. He bluffed Ponting. He made him shuffle across, expecting the wide line. That opened up the angle for the inswinger. And the pace... well, you can't coach that."
Harsha Bhogle looked at the camera. "250 to win. A Quarter-Final under lights. The pressure will be immense. But with that one delivery, Siddanth Deva has told the world: India is here to dominate."
---
The Dressing Room
Deva sat in the corner, chugging an water. His shoulder was throbbing. Bowling 162 kmph took a toll.
Sachin Tendulkar walked over and sat next to him. The God put a hand on the Devil's knee.
"That ball," Sachin said softly, "reminded me of 1999. Shoaib to Rahul. But this time, we bowled it. Well done."
Deva smiled, the pain fading instantly. "Thank you, paaji."
"Now," Sachin stood up, picking up his bat. "Rest up. We have a chase to finish. 250 is tricky."
The target was 250. Not impossible, but Motera was tricky under lights. The ball would skid, but Brett Lee and Shaun Tait would be coming in hot, fueled by the humiliation of seeing their captain castled.
The battle was far from over. But the momentum had shifted. The "Deva Delivery" was already etched into history. Now, the batsmen had to ensure it was a winning contribution.