Babar Azam and the Art of Resistance

Cricket, at its most poetic, is not about victory or defeat—it is about defiance, about holding one’s ground when the tide has already announced its destination. In Karachi, Babar Azam authored such defiance, chiselling 196 runs of rare beauty and fortitude, and in doing so, he held up a mirror to the essence of Test cricket: survival as triumph.

The Weight of a Captaincy and a Century Drought

For two years, Babar’s bat had been silent on the matter of centuries. Silence, however, is not absence—it is incubation. When he arrived at the crease with Pakistan trembling at 21 for 2, destiny seemed to invite yet another collapse. Instead, what unfolded was an innings that transcended numbers. Yes, it was the highest fourth-innings score by a captain in Test history. Yes, it spanned 425 balls, more than some entire teams survive in a match. But to reduce it to statistics is to ignore its greater resonance: it was an act of reclamation. Babar reclaimed his narrative, and with it, Pakistan’s pride.

The Mirage of Victory, the Substance of Survival

There was a moment—brief, intoxicating—when the impossible shimmered on the horizon. With Rizwan settling into rhythm and the partnership swelling, Pakistan flirted with the idea of chasing down the record 506. For a people who live perpetually at the edge of dreams, the suggestion was irresistible. The crowd did its arithmetic, its feverish brains running faster than the scoreboard. For a fleeting hour, victory seemed to slip into the realm of possibility.

But cricket, like life, punishes audacity when it is misplaced. The ball grew old, the runs dried up, and Lyon—Australia’s much-maligned spinner—found sudden vindication. Babar fell, Rizwan resisted, and the contest retreated from conquest to preservation. And yet, what preservation it was: 171.4 overs faced, second only to the timeless Test of 1939. Pakistan had not won, but they had endured—and endurance, in Test cricket, is often more eternal than victory.

The Theatre of Tension

In those final overs, with seven Australians swarming the bat and every delivery heavy with menace, the National Stadium transformed into a theatre of nerves. Every forward defence by Nauman Ali was applauded as though it were a cover drive. Every Rizwan single became a hymn of resistance. And when Rizwan finally reached his century, not as a marauder but as a sentinel, the ground exhaled. This was not the rapture of victory—it was the relief of survival, which in cricket can feel just as sweet.

Australia’s Frustration, Pakistan’s Redemption

Australia will curse their drops, rue their fatigue, and wonder how once again they let a fourth innings slip through their grasp. They will count the missed chances—Smith’s spill in the slips, Khawaja’s drop at extra cover—as squandered opportunities. But Test cricket has never been about the chances you create; it is about the ones you take. And Pakistan, battered in the first innings, humiliated at 148, took their chance to rewrite the narrative.

For them, this was no draw. It was a reclamation of dignity, a reminder that Karachi is not to be conquered lightly, and that cricket’s beauty lies as much in what is denied as in what is achieved.

The Lasting Memory

When Babar walked back four short of 200, Karachi stood in ovation not for the runs but for the spirit. It was a century that will be told not as a scorecard entry but as a story of how Pakistan, against logic and precedent, survived.

The man at the gate, smiling wryly, asked at the end: *“What happened today, huh?”*

The answer is simple yet profound: Pakistan remembered how to fight. And in Test cricket, sometimes that is victory enough.

 Thank You

Faisal Caesar

 

A Night of Majesty and Melancholy: The King Reclaims His Throne

The stage was set the air electric. Santiago Bernabéu, steeped in history and grandeur, welcomed the world’s gaze as Lionel Messi returned to a venue once synonymous with his most bitter rivalries. The build-up was drenched in hyperbole, the media's obsession with Messi and his star-studded PSG ensemble—Kylian Mbappé and Neymar—painting a picture of inevitable triumph. Yet, what unfolded was a masterclass in resilience, a tale of glory tinged with PSG's despair.

A banner behind the south goal proclaimed boldly: “We are The Kings of Europe.”

As the night progressed, every word of that declaration rang with undeniable truth.

The Illusion of Control: Mbappé’s Flash of Brilliance

The match began with PSG in ascendance. Mbappé, the heir apparent to football’s throne, dazzled in the first half, slicing through Real Madrid’s defences with electrifying pace and precision. His goal—seemingly sealing PSG's passage to the quarterfinals—momentarily silenced the Bernabéu faithful. Paris, two goals up on aggregate, exuded confidence.

But football is a cruel game, and the second half unravelled their illusion of control. For every breathtaking run and pinpoint pass, PSG harboured fragility—a vulnerability masked by fleeting brilliance.

The Rise of the King: Benzema’s Night of Destiny

Enter Karim Benzema. At 34 years old, the Frenchman, now the undisputed leader of Real Madrid, turned the tide with a performance etched in gold. His hat-trick—crafted with guile, instinct, and precision—became the stuff of legend. When he robbed Gianluigi Donnarumma for the first goal, it was a spark; when he slotted home Luka Modrić’s sublime assist for the second, it was an inferno. And when he pounced on Marquinhos’ calamitous error for the third, the Bernabéu erupted in pandemonium.

Benzema’s brilliance wasn’t merely opportunistic. It was a reminder of his enduring class, his unyielding resolve, and his unparalleled ability to deliver when it matters most. With eight goals in the Champions League this season and 41 goal involvements in 31 matches, he stands firmly in Ballon d’Or territory.

The Magician in Midfield: Modrić’s Mastery

If Benzema was the sword, Luka Modrić was the spellcaster, weaving magic from midfield. At 36, Modrić continues to defy time, orchestrating Real Madrid’s resurgence with vision and composure. His assist for Benzema’s second goal was a masterpiece, threading a pass through a forest of defenders with unerring accuracy. It was a moment of genius in a game defined by them.

Modrić’s influence extended beyond statistics. His relentless energy, his ability to dictate the tempo, and his sheer presence transformed the tide. From dispossessing Neymar and Messi to initiating attacks, he was the fulcrum of Real Madrid’s dominance.

PSG’s Collapse: A Symphony of Errors

For PSG, the night was a symphony of errors. Donnarumma’s hesitation handed Real Madrid their lifeline. Neymar’s errant pass set the stage for Modrić’s brilliance. Marquinhos’ misjudgment sealed their fate. These were not just mistakes; they were implosions, each more catastrophic than the last.

This wasn’t the first time PSG crumbled under pressure. Memories of their 2017 collapse against Barcelona resurfaced—a haunting reminder of their propensity to falter on Europe’s grandest stage.

A Tale of Two Clubs

As the final whistle blew, the contrast was stark. Real Madrid, battle-hardened and unyielding, celebrated a victory that reaffirmed their status as Europe’s royalty. PSG, for all their glamour and resources, were left to rue another European heartbreak.

Santiago Bernabéu remains a fortress, a place where legends are forged, and dreams are dashed. On this night, the King—Karim Benzema—stood tall, his crown gleaming under the lights. The castle remains his domain, and the message is clear: Real Madrid are not merely participants in the Champions League; they are its essence.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar 

The Paradox of First Impressions: The Making of Shane Warne

 

It’s often said that the first impression is the best, but history has a knack for disproving this notion. Champions in real life have demonstrated time and again that initial appearances rarely dictate the final outcome. Instead, it is perseverance, mental fortitude, and an ability to thrive amidst unpredictability that separates the extraordinary from the rest. Life, like sport, is unpredictable, and it is this unpredictability that forges legends. For the casual observer, these legends may seem like mere entertainers, but for those who truly understand the craft, they are heroes—demigods who redefine their art.

In the third Test at Sydney in 1992, Australia handed a debut to a young spinner who looked more like a 90s kid indulging in burgers, beer, and ice cream than a professional cricketer. Shane Warne, as he was called, toiled against India’s formidable batting lineup, finishing with a solitary wicket at the cost of 150 runs. By all accounts, it was a disastrous debut, and many wrote him off as a passing experiment.

But fate had other plans. After Australia’s dismal World Cup campaign at home, the team toured Sri Lanka. In the first Test at Colombo, with the match slipping away, Warne was given another chance to prove his worth. 

The Colombo Turning Point 

The final session of the Colombo Test seemed destined for a Sri Lankan victory. Aravinda de Silva, in full flow, attempted to loft Craig McDermott, only to be caught spectacularly by Allan Border. That moment shifted the match’s momentum, but it was the unassuming Warne who would seize the narrative. 

Sri Lanka needed just 30 runs with four wickets in hand. Border handed the ball to Warne, a move as audacious as it was desperate. Warne, with just one Test wicket to his name and an average hovering near 200, was visibly nervous. Yet, something clicked. He bowled a maiden over to start, his deliveries landing precisely where he intended. The wickets began to fall. Aided by Greg Matthews, Warne removed three key batters in quick succession, leaving Sri Lanka stunned. 

The victory was dramatic, and more importantly, it marked the birth of Shane Warne, the spinner who would go on to revive the lost art of leg-spin in Australia. As Warne himself later reflected, *“If that Test had been on television in Australia, it would be remembered as one of the great matches of all time. Those three wickets changed things for me.”*

The Birth of "Warnie" 

Warne’s career, however, truly ascended to mythic proportions during the 1993 Ashes. By then, he had shown flashes of brilliance, notably against the West Indies and in the Frank Worrell Trophy, but doubts lingered about his consistency. 

At Old Trafford, Warne was introduced into the attack in the 28th over, with England steady at 80 for 1 in response to Australia’s 289. The pitch was turning, and the stage was set. The first delivery Warne bowled to Mike Gatting would etch his name into cricketing folklore. 

The ball looped wide outside leg, kissed the turf, and spun viciously past Gatting’s bat to clip the off bail. It was a delivery so outrageous, so otherworldly, that it defied belief. Dickie Bird, the umpire, was incredulous. Gatting stood frozen, unable to comprehend what had just transpired. And as Ian Healy’s exuberant *“Bowled Warnie!”* echoed through the ground, a legend was born.

A Genius Beyond the Ordinary 

Warne’s greatness lay not just in his mastery of spin but in his ability to turn the tide of matches with sheer audacity. He was unpredictable yet reliable, flawed yet brilliant. His boyish charm, coupled with his genius on the field, endeared him to fans and critics alike. He wasn’t just a cricketer; he was a performer, a showman who turned cricket pitches into his personal stage.

From the Colombo Test to the Ashes, Warne’s journey was a testament to the power of resilience. He embraced his flaws, both on and off the field, and turned them into strengths. Whether it was a magical spell of leg-spin or a candid post-match interview, Warne connected with people in a way few athletes could. 

Flirting with Unpredictability 

Warne’s career was a symphony of contradictions. He was the boy next door and the enigmatic genius, the flawed human and the cricketing demi-god. He flirted with unpredictability, and in doing so, he redefined what it meant to be a leg-spinner. 

Every time he took the ball, fans held their breath, knowing something extraordinary was about to happen. His legacy isn’t just about the wickets he took or the matches he won; it’s about the joy he brought to millions, the artistry he displayed, and the memories he created. 

A Legacy That Lives On 

Warnie, as he came to be known, was more than a cricketer. He was a cultural icon, a man who made leg-spin fashionable again and inspired countless youngsters to pick up the art. His career was a celebration of life, of cricket, and of the sheer unpredictability that makes the game so special. 

Even in his absence, Warne’s spirit lives on in every googly bowled, every flipper unleashed, and every moment of brilliance on the cricket field. His story is a reminder that first impressions may falter, but hard work, resilience, and a touch of genius can outshine them all.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar 

Plan for the Future: BCB Should Think of Working with Allan Donald on a Long Term Basis

Allan Donald’s coaching journey is a testament to his enduring passion for the game and his relentless pursuit of excellence. A fast-bowling legend, Donald brought not only his expertise but also a transformative mindset to the teams he coached. His contributions, particularly during his tenure with South Africa, stand as a hallmark of how a great player can evolve into an exceptional coach. Yet, his interactions with other cricketing nations, including Bangladesh, reveal the complexities and challenges of his coaching career.

The Reluctance to Join Bangladesh

A decade ago, when Allan Donald was approached about the possibility of becoming Bangladesh’s bowling coach, he categorically declined. At the time, Donald was deeply entrenched in Gary Kirsten’s coaching staff for South Africa, a position he described as a dream role. “My interest is with South Africa, and I won’t give that up at all,” he asserted. His decision reflected not only his loyalty to South Africa but also his desire to work within a system that allowed him to maximize his impact.

Bangladesh, in contrast, was not an enticing prospect for Donald then. The country’s cricketing infrastructure, plagued by inconsistencies and administrative challenges, did not align with his vision of nurturing world-class bowlers. For a coach of Donald’s calibre, who thrives on discipline and strategic planning, the lack of a long-term framework was a significant deterrent.

Transforming South Africa’s Pace Attack

Donald’s impact on South Africa’s bowling unit under Kirsten’s leadership was nothing short of revolutionary. The addition of Vernon Philander to an already formidable duo of Dale Steyn and Morne Morkel transformed South Africa’s pace attack into a fearsome force. This trio didn’t just aim to contain opposition batters; they sought to dominate and dismantle them, even on pitches that traditionally didn’t favor pacers.

Statistics bear testament to Donald’s influence. Under his guidance from 2011 to 2014, Steyn’s bowling reached new heights. Steyn claimed 133 wickets at an average of 21.84 and an economy rate of 2.91, significantly better than his pre-Donald numbers. This improvement wasn’t coincidental. Donald’s meticulous approach emphasized precision, adaptability, and mental toughness—qualities that elevated Steyn from being a great bowler to one of the greatest.

Donald’s philosophy was rooted in the principles of “jungle law: hunt or be hunted.” This aggressive mindset resonated not only with the seamers but also with the entire team. His emphasis on yorkers, reverse swing, and death bowling added layers of sophistication to South Africa’s arsenal. The result? Test series victories in Australia and England, and South Africa’s ascension to the No. 1 Test ranking.

Challenges Beyond South Africa

Despite his his success, Donald’s coaching journey wasn’t without hurdles. His brief stints with England and New Zealand showcased his ability to adapt to different environments, but they also highlighted the challenges of balancing professional commitments with personal priorities. Donald’s decision to step away from England’s coaching setup in 2007 was a poignant reminder of the sacrifices that come with a high-pressure role.

His time in Zimbabwe and later with Sri Lanka further illustrated his commitment to nurturing talent, even in less-than-ideal circumstances. In Sri Lanka, Donald’s efforts to identify and develop promising bowlers were hindered by communication barriers and a lack of time. “Building relationships takes time, and when you’re not speaking the same language, delivering your message precisely becomes a challenge,” he admitted.

The Bangladesh Chapter

When Donald eventually took up the role of Bangladesh’s bowling coach, it was under a short-term arrangement leading up to the T20 World Cup 2022. While his appointment brought hope, it also underscored the BCB’s tendency to favour short-term fixes over long-term planning. Donald, a hard taskmaster with a keen eye for spotting and nurturing talent, thrives in environments where he has the freedom to implement his vision. Unfortunately, Bangladesh’s cricketing ecosystem, often marred by nepotism and administrative interference, posed significant challenges.

Donald’s success with Bangladesh hinged on the board’s willingness to grant him autonomy and invest in a sustainable development plan. His track record suggests that given the right conditions, he could elevate Bangladesh’s bowling unit to new heights. However, expecting transformative results within a limited timeframe was unrealistic.

Legacy and Lessons

Allan Donald’s coaching career reflects the complexities of transitioning from a player to a mentor. His ability to inspire and transform bowling units is undeniable, but his success is contingent on the support and structure provided by the organizations he works with. For Bangladesh, Donald’s tenure was an opportunity to learn from one of the best. Whether they capitalized on it or not is a question that only time will answer.

As Donald continues his journey, his legacy as both a player and a coach remains intact. He is a reminder that greatness is not just about individual brilliance but about the ability to elevate those around you. For cricketing nations like Bangladesh, the challenge lies in creating an environment where such greatness can flourish.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar 

Rod Marsh: The Field Marshal of Australian Cricket

In the annals of cricket, where tales of swashbuckling batters and fearsome pacers often dominate, the contributions of wicketkeepers remain an understated art. Yet, amidst the clamour for runs and wickets in the 1970s, a man named Rodney William Marsh quietly rewrote the role of the wicketkeeper, elevating it to a craft as vital as any other on the cricket field. 

Marsh was no ordinary gloveman. His acrobatics behind the stumps, sharp cricketing mind, and undying commitment to the game made him an indispensable cog in Australia’s cricketing machine. He wasn’t just a wicketkeeper; he was the architect of moments, a guardian of the baggy green ethos, and a character who shaped the spirit of his team. 

The Telepathic Bond: Marsh and Lillee

If cricket is a game of partnerships, none exemplified this better than the duo of Rod Marsh and Dennis Lillee. Their combination transcended mere collaboration—it bordered on telepathy. The scoreboard often bore the inscription “caught Marsh, bowled Lillee,” a phrase etched 95 times in Test cricket, a testament to their unmatched synergy. 

Wisden, the cricketing bible, aptly observed, “Few partnerships between bowler and wicketkeeper have had so profound an impact on the game.” Lillee himself acknowledged Marsh’s role, saying, “I’ve played with him so much now that most of the time I know what he is going to do before he has bowled.” 

Marsh’s ability to read Lillee’s intentions—from the angle of his run-up to the subtle variations in his deliveries—was as much about instinct as it was about preparation. It was this intuitive brilliance that elevated Marsh from a mere catcher of cricket balls to a co-creator of history. 

A Controversial Beginning

Marsh’s journey to greatness was far from smooth. Selected for the 1970-71 Ashes series, he faced intense scrutiny, replacing the popular Brian Taber. The press was unforgiving, dubbing him “Iron Gloves” after a string of missed chances and conceding 44 byes in the series. 

But Marsh was no stranger to adversity. His superior batting, which had initially won him the spot, soon proved invaluable. In the Fifth Test of the series, he equalled the highest Test score by an Australian wicketkeeper, a feat overshadowed by captain Bill Lawry’s controversial decision to declare with Marsh just eight runs short of a century. Marsh’s response to the media criticism was stoic: “I gained 40 runs instead of missing eight,” he remarked, revealing his team-first ethos. 

The Evolution of a Maestro

Marsh’s early struggles were a crucible that forged a cricketer of unparalleled skill and resilience. Learning from his English counterpart Alan Knott, Marsh honed his craft, and by the 1972 tour of England, he was regarded as one of the finest wicketkeepers in the world. 

His batting, too, blossomed. He became the first Australian wicketkeeper to score a Test century, crafting a masterful 118 against Pakistan in 1972. His first-class career was equally illustrious, with over 10,000 runs and a highest score of 236. 

Marsh’s performances in the mid-1970s, particularly against the West Indies and England, cemented his legacy. He was a pivotal figure in Australia’s dominance, taking 45 dismissals in two series and setting a world record of 26 catches in six Tests against the West Indies. 

The Keeper as a Leader

Marsh was more than just a cricketer; he was a leader without a title. Critics often referred to him as “the best captain Australia never had.” His tactical acumen, ability to inspire teammates, and knack for reading the game made him an unofficial leader on the field. 

When the breakaway World Series Cricket emerged in the late 1970s, Marsh was among the first to sign with Kerry Packer, embracing the revolution that reshaped cricket. His performances in the Super Tests were stellar, claiming 54 dismissals in 16 matches, proving that even in uncharted waters, Marsh’s brilliance remained undimmed. 

Cultural Custodian of the Baggy Green

Beyond the numbers, Marsh was a cultural icon. He instilled pride in the baggy green cap, embedding Henry Lawson’s 1887 poem, Flag of the Southern Cross, into the team’s victory song. His sense of fair play was equally legendary; it was Marsh who silently protested Greg Chappell’s infamous underarm delivery in 1981, mouthing “Don’t do it” as the captain made his controversial call. 

Marsh’s on-field antics—diving acrobatically, appealing raucously, and tossing the ball high after dismissals—endeared him to fans. Off the field, he was a raconteur, a coach, and an administrator who left an indelible mark on cricket’s fabric. 

A Legacy Beyond Numbers

Rod Marsh retired with a then-world record 355 Test dismissals, mirroring Dennis Lillee’s tally of wickets—a poetic symmetry that encapsulated their partnership. His contributions to ODI cricket were equally impactful, with his aggressive lower-order batting often turning games on their head. 

Marsh’s post-retirement roles as a commentator, coach, and academy director ensured that his wisdom shaped generations of cricketers. He wasn’t just a player; he was a custodian of cricket’s soul. 

The Field Marshal Cricket Always Loved

Rod Marsh was a cricketer who transcended his position, a man who epitomized the spirit of the game. From his early struggles to his record-breaking feats, from his leadership without title to his cultural contributions, Marsh’s story is one of resilience, brilliance, and enduring impact. 

He wasn’t merely a wicketkeeper; he was the field marshal of Australian cricket—a legend whose legacy will echo through the ages.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar