In the long history of cricket, very few stories sound as unbelievable as this one. A player scoring 100 runs in just 3 overs? It’s not a fantasy or a misprint. It happened. And of course, it was Sir Donald Bradman who pulled it off.
Here’s the full story of that one-of-a-kind innings — what led up to it, how it unfolded, and why it remains untouched to this day.
On November 2, 1931, Don Bradman played a club match for Blackheath XI against Lithgow, a local side from New South Wales. The occasion was the inauguration of a new cricket pitch.
There was no trophy at stake, no television coverage, and no international opposition. It was a low-pressure, social match — until Bradman picked up his bat.
At the time, Australian cricket used eight-ball overs. That gave batters 24 balls across three overs, not the 18 balls we’re familiar with today.
This wasn’t a flurry of mishits or lucky boundaries. It was an intentional display of power, timing, and complete control. Bradman faced 22 of the 24 balls thanks to sharp strike rotation from his partner Wendell Bill.
Over | Bowler | Runs Scored | Ball-by-Ball Summary |
1 | Bill Black | 33 | 6, 6, 4, 2, 4, 4, 6, 1 |
2 | Horrie Baker | 40 | 6, 4, 4, 6, 6, 4, 6, 4 |
3 | Bill Black | 29 | 1, 6, 6, 1, 1, 4, 4, 6 |
In just 18 minutes, Bradman reached his century. And that wasn’t the end of it, he eventually went on to score 256 runs in the innings.
According to eyewitnesses and Bradman himself, this outburst wasn’t premeditated. Before the match, Lithgow’s wicketkeeper cheekily reminded Bradman that Bill Black, one of the bowlers, had once dismissed him and had been talking about it ever since.
Bradman, in his own words, said, “It happened purely by accident. Everyone was surprised — no one more than me.”
That "accident" turned into one of the most stunning batting displays ever witnessed.
It’s tempting to compare this feat with today’s T20 exploits, but there are a few reasons why no one has matched it — and likely never will.
With 24 deliveries instead of 18, Bradman had six extra balls to score from. That alone gave him a huge advantage compared to today’s formats.
His partner wasn’t just scoring — he was helping. By taking timely singles, he made sure Bradman stayed on strike for 22 of the 24 balls.
This wasn’t a professional game with rankings and sponsors on the line. But that relaxed environment allowed Bradman to play with complete freedom.
Even if a batter today hit every ball of three six-ball overs for six, they’d end up with 108. That’s with zero singles or dots. Bradman’s 100 was clean, composed, and came without modern power bats or fielding restrictions.
Bradman finished his innings on 256. Wendell Bill contributed 68 runs. Horrie Baker, the bowler who delivered the second over, ended with 62 runs conceded from just two overs.
The bat Bradman used in that match now resides in the Bradman Museum in Bowral — a quiet reminder of an afternoon that turned into a legend.
Ironically, in the next official Sheffield Shield match, both Bradman and Bill were dismissed for ducks. Sometimes, cricket balances itself out.
Was this century ever recognised by cricket’s governing bodies?
Not officially. It wasn’t a first-class or international match. But the event was well-attended, reported, and preserved in historical records and museums — including the Bradman Museum.
Could anyone match this in today’s cricket? Honestly, no.
Even hitting every ball for six in modern 18-ball overs gives a maximum of 108 runs. There’s no room for singles, twos, or errors. Bradman’s feat remains unmatched.
Who were the bowlers on the receiving end?
Bill Black and Horrie Baker. Both were good club-level bowlers. Black bowled the first and third overs. Baker, the second. It’s worth noting that Black had previously dismissed Bradman, which added to the drama.
Did Bradman walk out with a plan to break records?
No. He was responding to a light-hearted tease. What followed was pure instinct, timing, and mastery — not strategy.
Bradman’s 100 in 3 overs isn’t just a record. It’s a moment frozen in cricket’s collective memory. It wasn’t captured on video, it doesn’t appear on official stat sheets, and it didn’t result in a win or loss that changed a tournament.
But nearly a hundred years later, we’re still talking about it.
Why? Because it shows us something deeper — that greatness doesn’t always come with a trophy or a title. Sometimes, it just happens. And when it does, the world remembers.
Bradman didn’t go out that day to prove anything. But in less than 20 minutes, he reminded everyone why he was, and still is, in a class of his own.
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