Thailand's magical day in Sydney

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Thailand's day out

You go to watch cricket because most of the days won’t be special. You get yourself up out of bed and along to the ground because probably the game will be a standard affair. Some runs, some wickets, the fundamentals, nothing to write on your website about. You go to these games because they most likely won’t be great. And because they probably won’t be great, there is a slight chance that they will be. So on the rare occasion when something special happens, you will have earned the opportunity to see it.

That’s what got me up and away from The Wire and back onto a train network that one can only assume has a Minotaur waiting at the centre, off in the direction of the western suburbs where median house prices fall from $4million to a paltry $2million, out to Homebush and see Thailand play Pakistan. 

I had watched Thailand get smashed in each of their three games so far. I had no reason to expect anything different. But it was their last outing at the tournament, and my last chance to see them play for who knows how long, and I did wonder if they might have learned a few lessons to apply, or whether they would just be worn out and ready to go home. 

And then… Thailand happened.

What the hell. Twenty overs of the most exhilarating strokeplay, the crispest timing, the mounting delirium of success after success. It’s amazing what a single over’s work from one player can do for the confidence of everyone else in a team. It’s amazing when you can feel momentum, that most overused and usually untraceable concept, coursing in contrary directions through both teams on the field. 

On our show last week, Nattakan Chantham was one of the players we spoke to. She’s satirical, dry, quick to flash a smile or cock an eyebrow from under a boyish haircut. She’s instantly likeable. Today that’s how she batted. In their previous matches the Thais have come out hesitantly, puzzling through like the opening overs were Sudoku, then have fallen to the pressure of a slow rate. This time the quiet couple of overs were the same, then Nattakan launched.

Four boundaries in the fourth over. All tournament Thailand have struggled to hit the rope. Four times in an over. The first was remarkable. By the fourth it felt crazy. The most striking part of her striking was how clean it was. Along the floor through cover, through extra. Down the ground through mid-off. Then over the top of the fielder there, full swag. 

South Africa showed the Thai bats weren’t used to pace, but Pakistan have a slower attack and the Showground has a slower pitch. These conditions can cause power players to lose their shots, but they made Nattakan perfect. She waited for the ball to come, then timed her strokes to perfection.

Pakistan’s best bowler, Diana Baig, had gone for one run off the bat in her first two overs, and had a catch dropped at slip off the left-hander Nattaya Boochatham. After seeing her partner’s work though, Boochatham belted Diana for a pull shot and a straight hit. The openers got another three boundaries in the next over, whipped up and over square, inside-out over cover, then down the ground.

Boochatham kept playing that shot over cover, and it kept working. She threw in a slog-sweep that flew over the field. Chantam kept driving through the field. With the partnership flying along at more than 7 per over, suddenly Thailand were looking at a huge total. With Pakistan’s less than potent batting, anything above 100 gave them a chance for a win. Above 130 the game was theirs to lose.

The fall of wickets always loomed as the true test. With one partnership flying, their confidence was their own. But it would be a lot harder for a new player to come in and play the same way. With Thailand, a wicket could stall the run rate and lead to a sequence of flails to the infield. 

The wicket came with both bats on 44, Boochatham holed out trying to heave a full toss. But the partnership she had built was 93. Nattakan didn’t flinch, driving the very next ball through cover for four, then pulling another for a half-century. 

This felt more than special: a Thai player raising the bat in a World Cup match for the first time. Her full bench of teammates rose, cheering and extending a group thumbs-up towards the pitch. They had been interacting all day, dancing as the boundaries came, synchronised in their moves and their cheers and their beaming smiles.

Diana returned, Pakistan’s rock. A reflex low catch off her own bowling finally ended Nattakan’s day. With all pretence of neutrality abandoned, my worry set in. 

We’ve talked about not patronising Thailand. We also know that in this tournament, they are playing teams well above their usual level. We know that the adjustment is huge, let alone the amount of attention and the cameras and the coverage. We know that even competing takes a huge effort, the very best sequence of deliveries or shots of which they’re capable. 

So it was impossible to watch them without worrying for them, like you might worry for a bandy-legged young giraffe finding its feet. They were always shaky. Would they fall over and waste such a good start? Would the innings slip away?

Not a chance. Chanida Sutthiruang has a beaming smile on the big screens when she comes out to bat, and she played the same way. Carving strokes over midwicket and cover. The keeper Nannapat Koncharoenkai glided and glanced more boundaries.

But best of all was their running. Fast, fearless. Every time they hit a gap in the field, Sutthiruang was turning for a second, her long ponytail flying behind her, urging Koncharoenkai through. Motoring up and down the wicket, always thinking of adding to the score. Puffing herself out to get back on strike, then still finding the next brace or the next boundary. 

With every two, you expected a run out, but the pressure of the running would make Pakistan players fumble, or the ball would have a bit of extra momentum to evade them, or the throw to the keeper would be too high, or Sutthiruang would fly back just that bit faster than you expected, arriving as the bails and stumps lit up.

She was bowled for 20, and received a standing ovation as she walked off. Some 20s are much more important than others. This one had launched Thailand past 140, past their highest score in the format. 

They had two balls left, and two runs to reach 150. Onnicha Kamchomphu had the unenviable two balls to face. The first of Nida Dar’s off-breaks she missed outside off, dot ball. But even with one ball to face, with all they had done, with what looked a standard chip towards mid-on, both players turned and hustled back and made it to secure a second run. 150 was on the board, and they had used literally every opportunity to its fullest.

The rain that followed is a desperate shame, of course. It’s hard to overstate how big a win for Thailand would have been: a team that has barely been around for a decade, raising itself out of the lowest levels of developing cricket nations, taking down one of cricket’s handful of big historical sides? Notching a win in a World Cup at the first time of asking? Of course, Pakistan could have produced something special, but they have never chased such a big score against any team. It would have been wonderful to see Thailand’s first World Cup win.

But even so, the rain shouldn’t take away from what we did see. Thailand’s highest score against any opponent, even some of the weaker sides they’ve faced in recent years. Blazing past their best against a proper senior side on a big stage. Scoring fast, but in a Thai way – not lumping sixes, which they’re not built for, but using timing and guile and fitness and awareness. Most of all, keeping their cool. The first innings of today’s match remains a wonder, and one worth decoding any train network in the world.