Bangladesh’s Elusive Quest for Fast-Bowling Greatness: Taskin Ahmed's Promise Amid Caution

Bangladesh’s journey in the realm of pace bowling has been one of ardent hope mingled with enduring frustration. Since the emergence of Mashrafe Mortaza, who inspired a generation with his fire and tenacity, Bangladesh has struggled to produce a successor who could consistently deliver the new ball and embody the nation's aspirations on the international stage. While there have been glimmers of promise, no one has yet managed to replicate the towering presence of Mortaza. However, in the recently concluded series against Zimbabwe, Robiul Islam showed promise with a commanding performance, rekindling hopes that the tide might finally be turning.

Yet it is a new, even younger face that has truly captured the imagination of Bangladeshi fans: 18-year-old Taskin Ahmed. With the fresh audacity of youth, Taskin’s confident demeanour on the field and smooth, aggressive action have made him an exciting prospect. He bowls with energy, exhibits impressive accuracy, and appears to possess an innate hunger for wickets that suggests he could become more than just a passing sensation. Taskin’s ability to swing and cut the ball at will is a rare gift, and his impact on fans has been profound, despite not yet being part of the national team. To many, he represents a natural heir to Mortaza's throne.

Taskin’s debut on the larger stage came during the second Bangladesh Premier League (BPL), where he represented the Chittagong Kings. Tasked with replacing the injured Shaun Tait, Taskin stepped up, making an immediate impact with a match-winning performance against Duronto Rajshahi. This was a defining moment, and in the heat of that contest, he showed glimpses of the composure and skill that would characterize his career moving forward. Watching him bowl, fans saw a young man seemingly born with a ball in his hand, a player who gave the impression of effortless mastery, as if fast bowling were part of his very being.

Taskin’s journey to this point has been marked by steady progress and the occasional setback. At just 16, he began his first-class career with Dhaka Metropolis, followed by a strong showing against the touring England Under-19 side in 2012, where he delivered a spell of sublime swing and accuracy that netted four wickets and helped his team clinch an important victory. The next year, he made waves in the BPL finals, where he scalped two crucial wickets, including that of Tillakaratne Dilshan. Though his team couldn’t overcome the Dhaka Gladiators’ formidable lineup, Taskin’s ability to thrive under pressure was evident.

For many cricket fans, Taskin’s early performances became the subject of conversations and online highlights, allowing fans like myself, who are less inclined towards T20 leagues, to witness his impressive skills on platforms like YouTube. Few players can capture one’s attention at first sight, but Taskin is certainly one of them. His passion, talent, and the air of a natural fast bowler make him a standout, capable of going far if nurtured wisely.

However, Taskin’s journey has not been without its challenges. Like many fast bowlers, he is susceptible to injury, a vulnerability that has already surfaced with a left knee issue. The Bangladesh Cricket Board (BCB) sent him to Australia for treatment, where specialists concluded that surgery was not necessary, though a careful regimen of rehabilitation and strength training over the next two to three months would be essential for a full recovery.

Herein lies a critical challenge for the BCB and those entrusted with Taskin’s development. This is not merely about managing a talented player; it is about sculpting a future. Taskin’s workload needs careful monitoring, particularly during the early, formative years of his career. The T20 format, with its intense bursts of activity, may not be ideal for him at this stage. A steadier progression in first-class cricket, with time to adjust and grow, would allow him to build the stamina and technique required for a sustainable international career. If possible, a stint in county cricket, where he could benefit from experienced guidance and a rigorous playing environment, could be invaluable.

Furthermore, the BCB must ensure Taskin has access to the mentorship of skilled fast-bowling coaches. Well-structured workshops, led by knowledgeable figures in the field, could not only help Taskin polish his craft but also support other promising young bowlers. Bangladesh has seen numerous promising players come and go, often lost to the missteps of premature exposure or inadequate guidance. Taskin’s story is still unfolding, and whether it becomes a tale of triumph or tragedy rests heavily on the choices made now.

Bangladesh cricket has had its share of meteors, players who dazzled briefly before fading into obscurity. Taskin Ahmed, however, has the potential to be more than a fleeting star. With a vision for long-term development, disciplined management, and the guidance of a seasoned hand, he could become the pace spearhead Bangladesh has yearned for. His career is a chapter yet unwritten, but one with the makings of a stirring tale—a tale that, if carefully nurtured, could serve as a new cornerstone for Bangladesh cricket’s fast-bowling legacy.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar

Lord’s Heatwave and the Cold Truth About Australian Cricket

The sun at Lord’s was punishing — the kind of oppressive heat that turns silk ties limp and prompts otherwise dignified gentlemen in the pavilion to knot handkerchiefs on their heads. On days like this, strangeness has a habit of creeping in: birds fly backwards, shadows stretch unnaturally, and leg-spinners rediscover their art.

Ian Bell was meant to be the day’s anchor, producing his third Ashes century in succession, a feat matched only by the greats — Hobbs, Hammond, Broad. He came to the crease with England teetering at 28 for 3, under the gaze of the Queen and the fire of Ryan Harris. Bell’s cover drives glistened like glass in the heat haze, understated strokes from an understated man. Yet cricket has a knack for rewriting its own script. By the close, Australia — bookending the day with wickets and poise — held the advantage, armed with a fresh ball and fresher hope.

But the romance of Bell’s innings soon collided with the blunt reality of Australia’s resilience with the ball and, more tellingly, their recklessness with the bat.

Collapse in the Cauldron

The pitch, dry but honest, had runs in it. What it demanded was patience. Australia gave it impatience. Their first-innings dismissal for 128 was not the result of unplayable deliveries but of an unplayable mindset. Poor shot selection, lapses in judgment, and an absence of fight defined the innings. Swann claimed five wickets almost by invitation. Harris, having earned a place on the honours board with 5 for 72, could only watch in fury as his teammates undid his work.

This was not merely a bad batting day — it was a window into the decline of an institution.

The Broader Decay

Andrew Strauss, with the detached precision of a surgeon, once remarked on the drop in standards he saw in Australian domestic cricket during England’s 2010–11 tour. The once-proud grade and Sheffield Shield systems, historically the finest proving grounds in the game, have been marginalised. The Shield now exists at the season’s fringes, ceding prime summer months to the Big Bash League. Matches are played on green, sporty surfaces designed for quick results rather than the cultivation of Test-level technique.

The financial incentives tell their own story. Players can earn more in six weeks of T20 than they do for a year grinding through the Shield. As Mickey Arthur once warned, “That’s the wrong way round.” When the craft of Test cricket pays less — in money, in prestige, in development — the craft withers.

England’s Ascendancy

England, by contrast, are in a golden era, buttressed by coherent planning and a domestic structure still tethered to the rhythms of first-class cricket. Lord’s became a showcase for their adaptability. Joe Root’s 180 was a masterclass in calculated patience morphing into expansive dominance. Graeme Swann’s spin, timed to perfection on a wearing surface, became the decisive weapon.

Even without major contributions from Alastair Cook or Kevin Pietersen, England dismantled Australia with almost clinical detachment. They have now won four Ashes Tests in a row, and the urn — already halfway retained — seems beyond realistic threat.

Symbolism in Defeat

Australia’s manner of losing at Lord’s was more telling than the margin — a record-equalling sixth consecutive Test defeat. Clarke, the captain, remains the side’s solitary world-class batsman, yet even he seems a man stranded between eras: too talented to be swallowed by mediocrity, too isolated to change it. The support cast — Watson’s familiar lbw exits, Hughes’ loose strokes, Khawaja’s premature aggression — reflects a side unsure of its own method.

Off the field, the picture is no less fractured. The public spat between sacked coach Mickey Arthur and Cricket Australia, the petty distractions of player disputes, and the constant hum of corporate spin all point to a system in disarray.

Lord’s as Judgement Day

For Australia, Lord’s was not just a cricket ground but a court of reckoning. In 2005, Ponting’s Australians celebrated here with raucous dominance. In 2013, Clarke’s Australians left humbled, their inadequacies exposed in the harshest light — at the home of cricket, in front of the world, on a pitch that asked questions they no longer seemed equipped to answer.

England, meanwhile, did not need to shout their superiority. Root’s grin after reaching his hundred, the quiet handshakes in the middle, Swann’s wry celebrations — all of it spoke of a side that knows its own strength.

The heatwave at Lord’s revealed more than sweat and sunburn. It showed a game tilting on its axis: England, precise and unflustered; Australia, flailing for a method, a structure, a future. Cricket’s cycles are long, but as the shadows lengthened on that fourth day, it felt less like a blip for Australia and more like the closing of an era.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar

To Become The Best, County Cricket Still Remains The Best Option

 

Bangladeshi cricket fans are eagerly awaiting the chance to see their two cricketing icons—Shakib Al Hasan and Tamim Iqbal—compete in the upcoming Caribbean Premier League (CPL) starting July 30. Shakib, a dynamic all-rounder, will represent Barbados under the leadership of West Indian power-player Kieron Pollard, while the ever-resilient Tamim will don the Saint Lucia colours, captained by the charismatic Darren Sammy.

For many, the CPL represents an exciting showcase of cricketing skill, but as alluring as these leagues are, there are concerns regarding their impact on developing the skill, temperament, and resilience essential for a sustainable international career—especially for players from emerging cricket nations like Bangladesh and Zimbabwe. For such teams, the focus on longer-format cricket is often regarded as crucial to foster well-rounded, seasoned players capable of handling the pressures of top-tier competition. Thus, while franchise leagues may offer substantial financial incentives and exposure, they do not necessarily nurture the foundational strengths of a cricketer. Instead, if Bangladeshi players were to secure opportunities to play more first-class cricket, particularly in England's county circuit, they could experience a more transformative journey toward cricketing excellence.

The county circuit, rich with history and tradition, provides a structured environment that rigorously tests a player’s technical proficiency, adaptability, and mental strength. The testing pitches and varying weather conditions demand adjustments to a batsman’s patience and a bowler’s persistence, ensuring that every match presents an opportunity for growth. Playing in the county championships has famously helped cricketers hone their craft, turning promising players into consistent performers on the world stage. In recent years, however, a trend toward shorter-format leagues has left fewer modern players interested in the commitment and intensity required by county cricket.

From Bangladesh's perspective, a robust season with a first-division county team could be transformative. Domestic cricket in Bangladesh has been hindered by logistical issues and a lack of competitive matches, potentially fostering complacency rather than growth. Engaging in county cricket would provide Bangladeshi players with a higher level of competition and regular, quality gameplay, which is critical for their development. This environment could benefit players like Shakib, and Tamim, or even promising talents such as Nasir Hossain, Mushfiqur Rahim, and Anamul Haque, should they secure opportunities to play in this esteemed setting.

Shakib’s past stint with Worcestershire in 2010 exemplifies how county cricket can shape a cricketer’s potential into tangible achievements. Worcestershire, reeling from a winless 2009 season and relegation to Division 2, sought Shakib to invigorate the squad. Joining the ranks of cricket legends like Imran Khan, Ian Botham, and Kapil Dev, who had previously played for Worcestershire, Shakib did not disappoint. He began his campaign with a composed 90 against Derbyshire and later blasted a brisk 72 against the Unicorns in a limited-overs game. His all-around prowess was evident across formats, as he amassed 398 runs in eight first-class matches and added 187 more in just five limited-overs appearances.

Yet it was Shakib’s bowling that truly dazzled. His skilful left-arm spin consistently stifled opponents; a standout performance of 8 for 102 against Gloucestershire underscored his versatility and impact. His 7 for 23 against Middlesex and 4 for 32 against Glamorgan in one-day games cemented him as a vital asset for Worcestershire that season. Shakib’s 35 wickets in eight first-class games and nine in limited overs underscored his adaptability to county cricket’s demanding conditions. His record-breaking efforts played a pivotal role in Worcestershire’s eventual promotion to Division 1—a feat that would have been unimaginable at the start of the season.

The tenacity and adaptability Shakib honed in county cricket undoubtedly shaped him into the world-class all-rounder who remains Bangladesh’s lynchpin. Sadly, his involvement with county teams since then has been limited to T20 leagues, a trend also observed with Tamim. The focus on shorter formats may limit the growth of talents who would otherwise thrive in the discipline of county championships, forging greater consistency and resilience.

County cricket’s rich history of producing cricketing stalwarts attests to its developmental benefits, which players from Bangladesh could greatly benefit from. Nasir, Mushfiqur, and Anamul, too, could gain valuable insights and skill improvements by experiencing the rigours of a full county season. Such exposure could bolster Bangladesh’s core and cultivate a future generation of cricketers adept at the technical and mental demands of international cricket.

In today’s cricketing landscape, while franchise leagues provide fame and fortune, it is through the long, unglamorous grind of county cricket that a player’s mettle is truly tested and refined. For Bangladeshi players, it remains a pathway not only to personal excellence but to a more competitive national team.

 

Thank You

Faisal Caesar

Shahid Afridi: The Daydream That Cricket Sometimes Allows

Who writes your scripts?

It’s the question that was once famously asked of Ian Botham when he conjured yet another improbable miracle on his Test comeback in 1986. It could just as easily have been posed today to Shahid Afridi. On a drizzly morning in Providence, Afridi returned to the international fold and delivered a performance so staggering that it seemed written by a mischievous dramatist: 76 runs off 55 balls, then 7 wickets for 12 runs. It was one of the greatest all-round shows ever in one-day internationals.

A Comeback Overshadowed by Skepticism

Afridi’s return to Pakistan’s ODI side had been met with raised eyebrows, even quiet derision. In recent months, Pakistan had purged the experienced ranks — Younis Khan, Shoaib Malik, Kamran Akmal all axed — and many wondered if Afridi, with no wickets in his last six ODIs and a self-conception more as a bowler these days, deserved yet another resurrection.

Those doubts were crushed under the weight of Afridi’s own audacity. This was not a cricketer tentatively seeking redemption; this was a comet blazing defiantly across a skeptical sky.

First, The Bat — Reckless and Sublime

The stage was set for disaster. Jason Holder’s menacing spell (8-4-8-4) had reduced Pakistan to 47 for 5. Misbah-ul-Haq was in his usual monk-like vigil, inching along at barely a run an over. Into this ruin walked Afridi, who on his third ball lofted a nonchalant six over long-off. A man of lesser ego might have dug in. Afridi swung again, sending the ball and West Indies’ plans into orbit.

Chris Gayle dropped a tough chance at slip, and after that Afridi simply galloped. Samuels offered long hops, Sammy was dabbed cheekily then driven mercilessly, and Sunil Narine — the mystery spinner deemed West Indies’ best threat — was bludgeoned out of the attack, taken for 32 runs in three overs.

On a pitch where Pakistan’s other batsmen ground out 120 off 245 balls, Afridi breezed to 76 from 55. His innings was both an act of liberation and madness, the reckless poetry that only he can script.

Then, The Ball — Sorcery and Ruin

The real genius of Afridi’s day lay not only in what he did, but when he did it. Pakistan’s 224 seemed a formidable score once West Indies slumped to 7 for 3 — their second-lowest ever after three wickets down in an ODI. Mohammad Irfan’s thunderbolts did early damage, but it was Misbah’s direct hit that sent Chris Gayle trudging off, a fatal blow to Caribbean hopes.

Still, Samuels and Simmons mounted a cautious, slow crawl. The required rate crept past six. Enter Afridi as Pakistan’s sixth bowler — and the game dissolved under his spell. Simmons was stumped, Bravo trapped plumb next ball. Afridi wheeled away in his star-man celebration, arms aloft, face aflame with childlike triumph.

His legbreaks, sliders, the odd googly and even an offbreak — each was a riddle too complex for West Indies’ batsmen. Pollard, starved of confidence after three ducks in four innings, was caught for three. Samuels fell lbw to a ball that bit sharply. Roach offered a tame return catch to give Afridi five-for.

By the time he returned for one final over, Sammy and Narine — who had miraculously survived the other bowlers — perished swiftly. West Indies folded for 98, their lowest ever ODI total at home. Afridi’s final figures: 9 overs, 2 maidens, 12 runs, 7 wickets.

The Symbolism — Folly, Genius, and the Intoxicating Unknown

Afridi’s cricket has always danced on the knife’s edge between genius and self-destruction. Dare to dismiss him as a fluke, a casino dice-roller masquerading as a cricketer, and he replies with days like this. He holds the record for the fastest ODI hundred. He helped Pakistan lift a World T20. His shelf groans under Man-of-the-Match awards.

Yet no one — least of all Afridi himself — knows what comes next. That is his singular magnetism: the thrill of living a daydream, so absurd it belongs to boys on dusty grounds, not men on international stages.

The Larger Lament — West Indies’ Brittle Promise

Amid this theatre of Afridi, spare a thought for West Indies. Always a side on the cusp of renaissance, always a side slipping backward again. Their bowlers had Pakistan on the mat on a pitch Misbah called “one of the toughest” he’s ever played on. Yet their famed big-hitters mustered only 98 in 257 balls, flailing against both spin and psychology.

Providence Stadium had not seen international cricket for two years, owing to administrative wranglings. The local fans, starved of spectacle, were finally treated to one — though it was Pakistan’s flamboyant mercenary who provided it, not their own.

The Question of Legacy — What now for Afridi?

Afridi was dropped from the Champions Trophy, much to his chagrin. His social media missives and media sound bites since then have brimmed with desire to sign off on his terms — by playing the next World Cup. In fairness, his batting against South Africa was vibrant too, though he was judged harshly on his bowling in a series unsuited to spinners.

Why was Afridi overlooked while others of dubious merit went to England? Perhaps because with Afridi, there is never certainty — only the guarantee that when he does perform, it is seismic.

How long will this last? Not even Afridi can tell you. But for one electric day in Guyana, he gave cricket lovers the sort of soaring escape normally reserved for dreams.

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar 

The first Test at Trent Bridge: Where the Ashes Found its Poetry Again

Frenzied. That was the first word that came to mind. But frenzy hardly contains the raw, aching theatre that unfolded at Trent Bridge over five days that felt both timeless and as if they might slip through our fingers in an instant. Cricket has long been celebrated for its slow, smouldering drama, for how it allows tension to spool out thread by delicate thread until it either snaps or binds two adversaries in a mutual appreciation of each other’s courage. And in this first Ashes Test, the old game gave us a masterclass in precisely that.

The numbers – England’s 14-run victory, Anderson’s 10 wickets, Agar’s 98, Bell’s 109 – are merely scaffolding. What they supported was something richer, a narrative that rippled with human frailty, audacity and the sheer delightful unpredictability that only cricket, in its maddest moods, can conjure.

The Unexpected Grace of Youth

Perhaps nowhere was this better embodied than by Ashton Agar, a teenager so fresh that his first delivery in Ashes cricket was a low full toss, a nervous apology to Shane Warne’s ghost. Yet by the end of his first innings, he was smiling at the world, holding two world records and tugging the entire contest into a parallel reality that Australia had scarcely dared to imagine. His 98 was no slogger’s fantasy; it was batting of intelligence and clarity, played with the body loose and the mind clear.

His story was not simply the making of a No. 11 with improbable runs. It was cricket’s persistent message that pedigree is secondary to possibility, that this game – for all its spreadsheets and analysts – still breathes in accidents and young men who decide, on a whim almost, that they will not bow to the obvious script.

England’s Master of Mood

And yet it was James Anderson, England’s artist of late movement, who turned this match into an English sonnet, complete with minor heartbreaks, delicate cadences, and a rousing couplet at the end. Anderson bowled with all the qualities that make the best fast bowling indistinguishable from poetry: control, subtle variation, and above all, a profound sense of timing. His late spell on the final morning, an unbroken stretch that demanded almost cruel levels of endurance, was a reminder that while youth may write new verses, it takes a craftsman to give them shape and meaning.

It was Anderson who exposed Australia’s tail, who found that extra inch of seam or swing when England needed it most. If Cook is England’s stern moral compass and Bell their elegant prose stylist, Anderson is their nerve, their living testament to what repeated heartbreak can forge: resilience without bitterness.

The Taint of the Broad Incident

Not all poetry is pure. This match will also be remembered for Stuart Broad’s non-walk. When he feathered Agar to slip via Haddin’s gloves and stood there as Aleem Dar signalled not out, it brought old debates about “the spirit of cricket” howling back into the English summer air. Broad’s defiance was awkward, even cringe-inducing, and the replays played his guilt on loop.

Yet if we’re honest, it also belonged to the modern game’s ethos. Players stand their ground now, because they are told it is the umpire’s job to judge, not theirs to confess. Still, the moment stained the day’s romance a little, not least because of how obvious it was. It was the one truly graceless note in a match that otherwise surged with the better parts of human character: risk, endurance, ingenuity, and occasionally, raw, humble apology to fate.

Bell’s Quiet Epic and England’s Grinding Genius

For Bell, there was a personal reckoning too. Too often dismissed as a man for pretty 30s, he batted here with an inner steel that proved once again how misleading reputation can be. His 109 was not just statistically important, it was aesthetically perfect for the situation: understated, precise, played with angles rather than force, a hundred that made England believe this contest would bend eventually to their will.

England’s method remains to wear teams down. It is cricket by attrition, by dry surfaces and disciplined lines and cautious second-innings fifties. Their critics find it dull; their supporters call it thorough. In the end, it worked, though it needed Anderson’s wizardry to seal it.

The Ashes as Enduring Allegory

What lingers from Trent Bridge is less the scorecard than the sense of sport stretching itself toward its most lyrical possibilities. We had the nostalgia of reverse swing on cracked Nottingham earth, the old man’s cunning from Clarke undone by the lightest of Hot Spot marks, the boy Agar batting with a smile too big for his helmet, Haddin’s last desperate stand, and a crowd that lived every ball as if it might be their last.

The Ashes often become a mirror, not just of two nations’ competitive instincts, but of how we all handle hope, fear, and the unstoppable trudge of time. This was a Test that took both sides to the brink of despair, only to reel them back with promise. That it ended in favour of England was almost secondary; what mattered was that it left us, players and spectators alike, a little more breathless, a little more grateful to be living through an era when cricket can still produce days like these.

When the urn is finally lifted later this summer, they may remember statistics. But they should also remember the long, crackling hours at Trent Bridge, when an old game felt exquisitely alive, and every heartbeat in the ground could be heard, almost, above the hum of a sunlit English afternoon.

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar