‘Yes, no, wait, sorry’: Anatomy of a run out

In the recent ICC Women’s T20 World Cup match between New Zealand and India, a bizarre incident occurred.

Amelia Kerr of New Zealand played the last ball of the 14th over to wide long off and took a single. The ball was in the hands of Harmanpreet Kaur, India’s captain. At that point, the umpire handed the bowler her cap, usually a sure sign that the end of the over has been called. Undeterred, the batters, presumably ignorant of the fact that the bowler’s cap had been returned, tried to steal a run. Kaur threw the ball to the wicket keeper, who ran out Kerr.

She headed off to the dugout, convinced of her dismissal, but was stopped by the fourth umpire. After some discussion, the umpires ruled that the ball was dead when the dismissal occurred. Kaur was incensed and had to be restrained, but the letter of the law was upheld. Observers were unanimous in saying that they had not seen anything like it before.

While this was a run-out attempt that failed, it generated a degree of drama, something common to this method of dismissal, since it can involve an error of judgment by not just one, but two people. Some batters are “bad runners.” This reflects their tendency to be a poor judge of when a run is possible, or not. It is conventional that the batter on strike calls for a run if he or she has full vision of the ball. If the ball is out of vision, the responsibility for calling falls to the non-striker.

A number of factors must be computed very quickly in a batter’s head when deciding if both parties can reach the other crease before the ball is returned by the fielder to the stumps. These include the speed at which the ball has been hit, how close it is to the fielder, the competency of the fielder in gathering and returning the ball at speed, underfoot conditions, the running speed of the two batters and the state of the match in terms of level of risk worth taking.

Denis Compton was a debonair, dashing, English batter whose best years were between 1946 and 1950. During this time, he scored 14,641 runs with 60 centuries in county cricket and for England, also finding time to play 250 matches for Arsenal, including the win over Liverpool in the 1950 FA Cup final. One of his English cricket colleagues remarked that “a call for a run from Compton should be treated as no more than a basis for negotiation.” Maybe this was the origin of “Yes, no, wait, sorry.”

There have been others afflicted with similarly impaired judgment. Inzamam-ul-Haq was a notoriously leaden-footed runner. An example occurred in the group stage of the 1992 ODI World Cup when Pakistan, chasing 212 to win against South Africa, were 135 for 2. Inzamam, on 48 from 43 balls, pushed the ball to point, set off for a run but was sent back by his captain, Imran Khan, who recognised the danger. But the world’s finest fielder was lurking, Jonty Rhodes swooped, flung himself horizontally, simultaneously releasing the ball, which broke the wicket. Pakistan folded to 173 all out.   

South African players have featured in other disastrous run-out incidents. At Edgbaston in the semi-final of the 1999 ODI World Cup, Australia were restricted to 213. With 39 deliveries remaining, South Africa required 31 runs, with four wickets in hand. The equation was reduced to nine runs in the last over, only one wicket remaining. Lance Klusener hit the first two balls for four. The field was brought in, Klusener hit the ball straight to a fielder, his partner had moved far out of his crease and a direct hit to his stumps would have led to a run-out.

The next ball was also hit straight to fielder, this time Klusener ran, but his partner did not, until too late. The match was tied. Australia progressed to the final by virtue of having beaten South Africa in the group stage.

No consideration of run-outs would be complete without reference to Geoffrey Boycott. In 1977, back in the England team after a self-imposed exile, he was batting at Trent Bridge, Nottingham, with local hero Derek Randall, who had never made a century in a Test match on his home ground. Randall had settled his nerves in making 13 when Boycott tried to play the ball into the off side, set off for a run only to find that the ball had gone straight back to the bowler. Boycott continued running to the non-striker’s end, Randall sprinted to the other end but was already doomed. The locals booed — I know, I was there — while Boycott stood with gloved hand over his face. He later wrote that “if the ground had opened and swallowed me at that moment it would have been a mercy.”

In January 1978, the tables were turned when Randall ran out Boycott in Pakistan, the latter remarking that he could not complain after Nottingham. The following month, Boycott captained England in New Zealand. In the second innings of the second Test quick runs were needed to seize the initiative. Boycott, in poor form, could not provide them. It is rumoured that senior team members decided that he should be deliberately run out. This responsibility fell to a young Ian Botham and he did not disappoint, to the chagrin of his captain.

Probably the most famous run-out in the game’s history occurred in Brisbane in 1961. When the last over of the match began, Australia, with three wickets left, needed six runs to beat the West Indies. Five runs were scored, but two wickets lost, one to a run-out. On the penultimate ball, the last pair set off for the winning run. The fielder, Joe Solomon, side on to the stumps, threw the ball, which hit the wicket with the scores level. The match was tied, the first ever in Tests.

These examples demonstrate that a run-out has the capacity to generate mixed and varied emotions. Tragic, even farcical lows, as experienced by the South Africans and Randall, are balanced by the incredulity of Australians and West Indians snatching unlikely victories. Victims and perpetrators of chaotic run-outs rarely forget the experience.