The beginning of Sachin
It was 1989. India was touring Pakistan. A 16-year-old boy with curly hair and innocent eyes walked out to face the fierce pace of Waqar Younis and Wasim Akram. His name? Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar. He did not score big that day, in fact, he bled, quite literally! A rising delivery from Waqar Younis smashed into his face, splitting open his nose. blood poured down his jersey. The physio rushed in, panicking around him. But Sachin? He wiped the blood. Shook his head. And said, “Main khelega.” (I will play.) He was just 16, facing Pakistan’s deadliest bowlers in their own backyard and he chose to fight over fear. That wasn’t just courage. That was a prophecy. It was our first glimpse of the man who would never walk away from pain, pressure, or history
From the very beginning, there was something divine about his presence. His bat wasn’t just a piece of wood; it was a wand. It was the way he balanced, the elegance of his straight drive, and the silence in his focus that made him stand apart. You could tell he was made for greatness. He wasn’t just surviving international cricket he was preparing to dominate it
The journey to 100 centuries
In 1990, in just his ninth Test match, Sachin scored his maiden international century, a defiant 119 not out against England at Old Trafford. India was staring at defeat. The pitch was wearing out. But the teenager held one end like a veteran. That knock announced the arrival of a future legend.
Little did we know, this was just the beginning of a journey that would redefine cricket itself.
The 1990s belonged to Sachin. He was the heartbeat of Indian cricket, a symbol of hope during times when India often stumbled. The team was still learning to win abroad. The middle-order wasn’t always reliable. More often than not, it was Sachin who stood tall carrying the weight of India’s batting single-handedly, match after match. When Sachin walked in, the country felt safe.
If he scored, we smiled. If he didn’t, we switched off the TV.
Who can forget the 1996 World Cup? Sachin was the tournament’s top scorer with 523 runs. When India crashed out, it wasn’t the loss that hurt, it was seeing Sachin’s dream being crushed.
Then came 1998 peak Sachin. His twin masterclasses in Sharjah against Australia, famously known as the “Desert Storm” innings, are the stuff of legend. One knock of 143 to take India into the finals, followed by another of 134 to win the cup. He didn’t just outplay the Aussies, he stunned the whole world into admiration.
Every fan in the 90s must have a routine: watch cricket for Sachin, and live life around his schedule. His duels with Shane Warne were better than any scripted drama. Warne later admitted that he had nightmares of Sachin dancing down the track. That was the power he held.
The numbers were phenomenal centuries, double centuries, Player of the Series awards, but beyond stats, he was a boy from Mumbai who had become the face of a billion dreams.
My first vivid memory was from the 2003 World Cup. The entire nation waited for India vs. Pakistan, and Sachin didn’t disappoint. That upper cut off Shoaib Akhtar over third man for six, was more than a shot. It was a statement. That innings of 98 is still my favorite not because it was the highest, but because of the sheer audacity and precision he showed under pressure.
From there, it became an obsession. I’ve skipped meals, postponed homework, and even lied to stay home from school, all for the chance to watch him bat. I had posters on my walls. I mimicked his stance with a plastic bat. My cricketing world began and ended with him.
Along with his skill, it was his humility that won me over. In an era of showboats and trash talkers, Sachin stood silent. He didn’t need words. He had a bat, and he knew how to let it speak.
The wait (after 99th)
In 2011, Sachin scored his 99th international century during the World Cup against South Africa. He was in sublime form. We thought the 100th would come any day. “Just one more,” we kept saying.
But that one turned into the longest wait of our lives.
Innings after innings, he came close. He made 85 against Pakistan in the World Cup semifinal. He scored 91 at The Oval. He got 80s, 60s, 70s, but not the three digits. It was heartbreaking.
The media couldn’t stop talking about it. Fans grew restless. Opposing bowlers wanted that prized wicket. And Sachin… he carried it all on his shoulders with grace.
There were moments of frustration not just for him, but for all of us. As a fan, I remember whispering prayers with every run. I sat in the same place during every innings, thinking it might bring him luck. When he got out in the 90s, I felt like crying.
That whole year from March 2011 to March 2012 felt like we were stuck on a single screen, waiting for it to update. But Sachin didn’t give up. He never took shortcuts. He stayed patient. That’s what made him different.
Finally the moment
Then came March 16, 2012. India vs. Bangladesh. Asia Cup. A sunny day in Mirpur. It wasn’t a World Cup final. It wasn’t a marquee series. But it would become the most significant match in cricketing history.
Sachin batted slowly, cautiously, determined to see it through. I was glued to my TV, barely speaking. The scoreboard ticked forward. 70… 80… 90… Come on, please… Every fan in the country was whispering the same thing.
And then, a gentle nudge to square leg. He ran the single. The stadium rose. The commentators erupted. The screen read:
S.R. Tendulkar — 100 (138 balls)
My hands trembled. I couldn’t breathe for a second. I felt tears in my eyes. He did it. HE FINALLY DID IT.
Sachin raised his bat. Removed his helmet, looked up at the sky. And I swear, it was like watching a mountain finally reach the clouds. After 22 years. After 664 international matches. After more than 34,000 runs. That day wasn’t about Bangladesh. It wasn’t even about India’s performance. It was about him. About everything he had given us. About the man who became a myth, who became a memory for all of us to cherish forever.
That 100th hundred felt like the closing of a beautiful story, not the end, but the full stop it deserved.
It reminded me of my childhood, of the matches I watched sitting on the floor with my father, of school mornings spent dreaming about cricket, of backyard games where I shouted, “Sachin on strike!” before every ball. It reminded me of a time when life was simpler, and happiness was just a boundary away.
That century was more than just a number. It was a reward, for all of us who had believed, waited, hoped, and prayed. It was a lesson in patience, in perseverance, in grace under pressure. And most of all, it was a moment that stitched an entire generation together.
I may never meet him. I may never shake his hand. But the connection I feel is real. Because he gave us not just cricket, he gave us faith.
The Aftermath of this
Years have passed since Sachin retired, but his presence hasn’t faded. Young cricketers still cite him as their idol. Fans still get emotional watching his interviews. And I, like many others, still feel a chill when I hear the chant:
“Sachin… Sachin…”
He wasn’t just the man with the most runs or the most centuries. He was a phenomenon who turned cricket into a religion and united a billion people under one name. He didn’t just break records, he built dreams.
Few records in sport stand as tall as this. A hundred international centuries, not unreachable, but towering, almost mythical. It’s not that it can’t be done, but that it demands something superhuman, longevity, consistency, grace under pressure, and an almost spiritual love for the game. That’s why Sachin’s feat feels less like a number and more like a monument. A moment frozen in time, admired by generations.
For me, and for every fan who ever shouted his name from a rooftop, Sachin will always be more than a player.
He will be the reason we fell in love with the game.
If you’ve reached the end of this story, chances are cricket isn’t just a sport to you it’s a feeling. A soundtrack to your childhood. A reason to believe. Just like Sachin was never just a batsman, cricket has never been just a game for us.
At BlueFever, we live for these moments. We breathe the nostalgia of glorious knocks, missed chances, iconic partnerships, and unforgettable wins. We celebrate the goosebumps, the heartbreaks, and the roar of a billion voices echoing in unison for Team India.
If you’re someone who still gets chills watching highlights from 2003, or tears up when you hear the name “Sachin..” you’re one of us. And if you love revisiting the golden chapters of Indian cricket, this is your space.
Come, walk with us down memory lane. Visit bluefever.in and join BlueFever where cricket lives on, forever.
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References:
https://www.theguardian.com/sport/2012/mar/16/sachin-tendulkar-century-of-centuries-india
https://sidveeblogs.wordpress.com/2012/04/14/two-views-on-tendulkar/
https://www.planetspark.in/blogs/master-blasters-journey-a-biography-of-sachin-tendulkar
https://sachintendulkarcricketicon.blogspot.com/p/sachin-in-his-childhood.html