The hundred that eludes both Bradman and Tendulkar

In August 2008, scientist-turned-statistician Charles Davis revealed a piece of information that had the potential to redefine cricketing legend. Through years of laborious research, Davis came upon what he supposed might be Don Bradman‘s “missing” four runs, the boundary that would yield the unrealistic and ideal career average of 100.

The boundary in question was hit on the eight-day fifth Test of 1928-29 at Melbourne, where Bradman made 37 batting at number 7. It was accredited to Bradman’s partner Jack Ryder and reported in a couple of the “wrong” sections of the book, suggesting that actually, it might have been smashed by Bradman.

Davis spent some years re-accumulating runs scored by Bradman throughout his entire career and found along the way that there were many small glitches in the books, concerning not only Bradman but others cricketers too. He was meticulous enough to acknowledge that there are several plausible elucidations for the Melbourne error, of which Bradman notching an extra boundary is just one.

“At least one resolution involves transferring the boundary to Bradman,” he penned in the Sydney Morning Herald. “If so, a Holy Grail of statisticians has been found, and the ‘perfect’ average of 100.00 achieved. Is it really possible? Well yes it is, but unfortunately it is unlikely.”

The stimulating feedback is Davis’s remorse. It’s fathomable from the view of a statistician who has laboured long and hard, slating his numbers for years on end, anticipating that sliver of gold in the mud. But the truth is, the best thing about 99.94 – aside from its ability to instigate awe – is its imperfection. Contained within it is the story of that last innings, when Bradman, with soggy eyes, let one from Hollies slip through. Along with everything else, he was human, too.

Ninety nine point nine four, when spoken, almost sounds like a beautiful poetic alliteration- anyone can memorize it. While ’100.00′ might have its glossy, unapproachable patina, the fact is that had Bradman survived that first over from Hollies, he was unlikely to have made just four runs. We would have been left instead with something like ’100.57′ or 101.23′ or some other figure that lacked both the lyrical flimsiness of 99.94 or the roundness of 100.

Buried now by time- irreversible, colossal- we don’t often stop to ponder about 99.94. It’s just there- a benchmark too high for the world to achieve or more implausibly, better. One day, we’re hoping, there will be Sachin Tendulkar‘s final tally of international centuries alongside this incredible record. But considering the long delay, it’s becoming just faintly conceivable that it too will stop just shy of three digits, slightly more so that it will finish on the corpulent 100, but most likely to end up just over that mark.

In terms of statistical impact, such fractions matter little. Bradman remains, by average, 30% better than anyone else who has ever played the sport- a lacuna that makes him not just the best cricketer of all time, but one of the world’s best sportsman (as Usain Bolt would require to run the 100 meters in six seconds to be 30% better than other sprinters; Woods would require another ten majors and so on). Tendulkar’s coup, though, is perhaps even greater, and he will be more than 30% better than anyone else in terms of international hundreds scored.

Yet, there is an unquestionable romance to his finishing on 99, if that’s what he ends up doing. It’s the number he’ll be evoked by, purely because it’s the number that best embodies the epic magnificence of his lasting brilliance. If the number demonstrates both his greatness and his benevolence, if it tells his story the way 99.94 tells Bradman’s, then it will be perfect, with or without the hundredth hundred.