In a dreary, rainy one-dayer at the Sinhalese Sports Club in 2001, Virender Sehwag’s 70-ball 100 had made spectators — I was one of them — realise, in a rare non alcohol-induced moment of clarity, that the most attacking ‘genuine batsman’ of our era had arrived.

There were comparisons with another short, free-flowing swinger initially, but Najafgarh’s Tendulkar soon stepped out of his idol’s shadow by stamping his originality. Never more clearly than in Bangalore that December when he charged down the track against Ashley Giles’s negative leg-stump line and inspired the long-suffering Tendulkar to do the same from the other end. The cricket world had to accept that Sehwag was unique, different from any other player when analysed in totality.

But the story of Sehwag, the batsman, is not just a modern-day fable about hand-eye coordination, balance, the will to take risks, and the resolve to back yourself against any odds. There is a parallel story-line in which he is criticised for being reckless, the shortcomings in his technique are highlighted by experts in tacky e-stadiums on TV channels, and there’s a constant debate on how many times he has let India down by losing his head when he should’ve used it.

What hardly anyone talks about is how many times Sehwag has been let down by his own illustrious team mates after he’s handed them a Test match on a platter by providing them with the best platform they could’ve ever hoped for. Inevitably, instead of building on a blazing century-stand or a mammoth run-a-ball opening that should bolster the confidence of any middle-order batsman, Team India have crumbled under the weight of his runs.

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