The Bangalore Epic: A Test of Grit, Glory, and Redemption

In 1986, during a candid conversation at a London restaurant, Indian cricket legend Sunil Gavaskar confided to Pakistan’s Imran Khan that he intended to retire after the England series. Imran, however, was quick to object. He insisted that Gavaskar must continue playing, as Pakistan was scheduled to tour India the following year—and he wanted to achieve victory with Gavaskar still on the field.

Gavaskar expressed doubt, pointing out the political strains between India and Pakistan that often cast uncertainty over cricketing ties. Imran, though, was confident: the tour would happen. True to his prediction, cricket diplomacy prevailed. Both boards agreed to a “friendship tour,” and by the end of 1986, Pakistan’s much-anticipated visit to India was confirmed.

In January 1987, an 18-member Pakistan squad, led by the indomitable Imran Khan, landed on Indian soil for a five-Test and six-ODI tour. The stakes were immense. A series against India was always more than just cricket—it was a contest laden with history, pride, and an unrelenting desire for supremacy. For Imran, however, the challenge was even greater.

The team had arrived in India after a mixed run. They had reached the final of the Benson & Hedges World Series in Australia but fell to England at the last hurdle. Adding to the pressure was an off-field scandal. Qasim Umar, a former middle-order batsman, had hurled incendiary accusations against the team, alleging drug use, favouritism, and misconduct. The Pakistan Cricket Board swiftly buried the controversy by banning Umar for life, unwilling to let distractions derail their preparations for the upcoming World Cup, which they were co-hosting with India later that year.

The tour itself began in an underwhelming fashion. The first four Tests ended in dreary stalemates played on lifeless pitches that refused to produce a result. The crowd, eager for a decisive contest, grew restless. Frustration boiled over in Ahmedabad, where unruly fans pelted Pakistan’s boundary fielders with stones and rotten fruit. Twice, Imran led his team off the field in protest. The tension between the two sides was palpable—accusations of negative tactics flew from both camps.

But the fifth and final Test in Bangalore was destined for something far greater. Sensing the growing discontent, Indian cricket authorities prepared a ‘sporting’ pitch—one that would not allow either side to merely survive. What followed was a Test match that would etch itself into the annals of cricketing history, a battle fought on a crumbling battlefield where every run and every wicket carried the weight of history.

The Stage is Set: A Pitch from Hell

When the Pakistani team arrived at the M. Chinnaswamy Stadium in Bangalore, they found the pitch to be unlike anything they had encountered on the tour. It had a brittle, red surface that seemed to crack under the weight of expectation. Imran and vice-captain Javed Miandad examined it closely. Their initial assessment was that it would play true for the first few days before deteriorating into a spinner’s paradise. But what they failed to foresee was the pitch’s eagerness to unravel almost immediately.

Pakistan made two crucial last-minute changes. Iqbal Qasim, the left-arm spinner who had been sidelined for much of the series, was brought in at Miandad’s insistence. Imran, initially reluctant, yielded. Qasim’s experience, coupled with the left-handed angle he provided, would prove to be a masterstroke.

During the series, Gavaskar etched his name in history by becoming the first batsman to score 10,000 Test runs—a milestone that was celebrated across the cricketing world. Imran Khan himself was among the first to congratulate him at Ahmedabad, a gesture that reflected the pride of the entire subcontinent.

The final Test at Bangalore in March 1987 carried extra significance—it was Gavaskar’s farewell to international cricket. As a special tribute, captain Kapil Dev asked Gavaskar to walk out for the toss, an unprecedented gesture in cricketing history. Never before had a non-captain performed the coin toss when the captain was fully fit to play. The gesture drew universal applause and symbolised the respect Gavaskar commanded.

Imran won the toss and elected to bat. In hindsight, the decision seemed logical—bat first, post a decent total, and then exploit the crumbling pitch in the later stages. But within the first hour of play, it became evident that this was no ordinary wicket. The demons in the pitch had awoken early, and Maninder Singh, India’s left-arm spinner, turned tormentor-in-chief.

Collapse and Chaos: A Match Defined by Madness

Pakistan’s innings was nothing short of a horror show. The ball gripped, spat, and turned sharply from the very start. Maninder wove a web of destruction, claiming an incredible seven wickets as Pakistan crumbled to 116. Only Saleem Malik, with a valiant 33, provided some resistance.

By the end of the first day, India stood at a comfortable 68 for 2. The pendulum had swung decisively in their favour. Pakistan’s think-tank met that evening, grappling with a dilemma—why had Maninder extracted so much turn while Pakistan’s spinners had struggled? The answer came from an unexpected quarter.

Javed Miandad, ever the strategist, phoned his old friend Bishan Singh Bedi, the legendary Indian left-arm spinner. He requested an audience for Iqbal Qasim and off-spinner Tauseef Ahmed. That night, in a quiet corner of Bangalore, Bedi imparted wisdom that would change the course of the match.

“You’re trying too hard,” Bedi advised. “Don’t force the ball to turn. The pitch will do the work for you.”

The lesson was simple yet profound. When Qasim and Tauseef took the field on the second morning, they applied Bedi’s advice to perfection. India, expected to amass a commanding lead, instead collapsed for 145. The once-innocuous Qasim turned lethal, scalping wickets at crucial junctures. Tauseef provided perfect support, suffocating the Indian batsmen with relentless accuracy. Suddenly, the game was alive again.

An Uphill Battle: Pakistan’s Fight for Redemption

Trailing by 29, Pakistan’s second innings needed to be different. This time, they chose aggression over caution. Miandad promoted himself to open with Ramiz Raja, hoping to seize the initiative. Their 45-run stand provided a solid foundation, but wickets fell in clusters once again.

At 89 for 3, Pakistan was precariously placed. Then, in another unorthodox move, Imran sent Iqbal Qasim—normally a tailender—up the order to counter Maninder Singh’s spin. The ploy worked. Qasim, dogged and determined, added crucial runs alongside Saleem Malik and, later, Imran himself. When Pakistan ended the day at 155 for 5, holding a lead of 126, the game remained in the balance.

The following day, Saleem Yousuf played the innings of his life. The Pakistani wicketkeeper, known more for his glovework than his batting, counterattacked brilliantly. His 41, coupled with Tauseef’s gritty support, took Pakistan to 249. A lead of 220. Not a winning total, but a fighting one.

The Final Day: A Battle of Attrition

India needed 221 to win. Pakistan needed 10 wickets.

Wasim Akram struck early, removing Srikkanth and Amarnath in quick succession. But then came the master, Sunil Gavaskar. Steely-eyed, unshaken, he began to carve out what would have been one of the greatest match-winning innings of all time. His technique was impeccable. His patience is infallible.

With the score at 155 for 5, India still needed 65 runs. But Pakistan had one last trick up its sleeve—persistence. Qasim, the forgotten man of Pakistan’s spin department, had already made his mark with the ball. Now, he removed Kapil Dev with a delivery that jagged in viciously.

The game teetered on a knife’s edge. And then, the moment that would define this battle arrived. With India at 180, just 41 runs away from victory, Gavaskar—who had been unbreakable—was finally undone. Qasim, bowling with unerring precision, found the edge of his bat. Rizwan-uz-Zaman at slip held on for dear life. Gavaskar was gone for a heroic 96.

The silence in the stadium was deafening. A sense of inevitability gripped the Indian crowd. At 185, Yadav fell. At 204, Roger Binny, in a desperate attempt to steal victory, perished.

With India needing just 16 runs, Tauseef sent down a sharp, skidding delivery. Binny swung hard, aiming for the boundary. The ball kissed the outside edge and flew into Yousuf’s gloves.

For a moment, there was silence. Then the umpire’s finger went up.

Pakistan had done it.

A Victory for the Ages

This was more than just a Test match win. It was history being rewritten. Pakistan, after decades of trying, had conquered India in their own backyard.

For Imran Khan, it was a moment of vindication. For Miandad, a testament to his cricketing acumen. For Qasim and Tauseef, a place in folklore.

The 1987 Bangalore Test was not just a match—it was a saga, a tale of resilience, strategy, and unyielding belief. More than three decades later, it remains a shining example of Test cricket at its purest—where skill, courage, and patience triumph over adversity.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar

The Centenary Test: A Theatre of Time, Legacy, and Sporting Brilliance

Test cricket, at its finest, transcends the mere contest of bat and ball. It becomes a narrative, unfolding in intricate layers of history, struggle, and momentary genius. In 1977, as England and Australia convened at the Melbourne Cricket Ground to celebrate a hundred years since the first Test match, cricket found itself at the heart of an extraordinary spectacle. This was no ordinary contest—it was a pilgrimage, a journey through time, where the past and present collided in an event that was as much a commemoration as it was a competition.

From the moment John Arlott’s mellifluous voice echoed across the airwaves, painting images of “Lillee setting a field of immense hostility” and “seagulls on the stands as vultures recruited for him,” it was clear that this was not just another match but a living, breathing embodiment of Test cricket’s mythology.

The Gathering of Legends: Ghosts of the Game Watching Over the Present

The Centenary Test was more than a game; it was a conclave of cricketing royalty. Among the spectators were names that had shaped the very fabric of the sport: from the dashing Denis Compton to the relentless Bill O’Reilly, from England’s fearsome Frank Tyson to the artistic Keith Miller. Their presence lent a spectral quality to the contest as if the past was watching over the present, ensuring that the players understood the gravitas of the occasion.

Amidst these legends, nostalgia reigned. Ray Lindwall and Keith Miller, once architects of England’s destruction, now watched Dennis Lillee and Max Walker assume the mantle. Percy Fender, half-blind but still spirited, leaned on his grandson to describe the action. Colin McCool arrived by helicopter, airlifted from a flood-stricken Queensland. Denis Compton, in characteristic fashion, turned a forgotten passport into a last-minute dash to Cardiff and back, narrowly making his flight. This was no ordinary gathering; it was a celebration of cricket’s lineage, a testament to its enduring charm.

A Pitch that Spoke, a Ball that Hissed, and the Mastery of Lillee

A century after Tom Kendall’s left-arm guile had dismantled England in 1877, it was Dennis Lillee who turned the clock back with a spell of rare hostility. As the gold coin, specially minted for the occasion, landed in England’s favour, Tony Greig chose to field—a decision soon vindicated by the eerie movement of the ball under a heavy sky.

Bob Willis, all energy and intent, fractured Rick McCosker’s jaw with a short-pitched delivery that not only sent the batsman to the hospital but also served as an omen of the battle ahead. Derek Underwood, ever precise, tightened the noose. The English catching was electric, their appeals fervent. The Australians crumbled to 138, with only Greg Chappell showing resistance.

Yet, England’s reply was met with something greater—something elemental. Lillee ran in, a figure sculpted in aggression, six slips stationed like a cordon of executioners. The rhythm of his approach, the arch of his back, the explosion at the crease—it was fast bowling at its most visceral. England, tentative and hesitant, succumbed. Woolmer’s edge flew to slip. Brearley perished identically. Underwood, the nightwatchman, lasted just long enough to see his demise. Amiss and Fletcher fell in quick succession. And when Chris Old’s outside edge settled into Marsh’s gloves, Lillee stood in triumph—six for 26, England folded for 95.

This was a spell of bowling that belonged not just to this match, but to the pantheon of cricket’s most destructive performances. The pitch, green and deceptive, whispered secrets only he could decipher. The ball, an instrument of precision in his hands, moved like a trained predator. For Lillee, the stage was Melbourne, but the theatre was time itself. A hundred years of fast bowling had led to this very moment.

The Randall Epic: A Defiant Symphony Against Time and Fire

If Lillee’s spell was the hammer striking steel, then Derek Randall’s innings was a masterpiece of counterpoint—a symphony of resilience, innovation, and audacity. Walking in at 29 for one in the second innings, with Lillee scenting blood, Randall defied expectations. He was, at that point, a relatively unproven batsman, his highest score a mere 37. But here, under the sternest examination, he played the innings of his life.

He pulled Lillee with disdain, swept O’Keefe with impudence, and cover-drove with elegance. When Lillee struck him on the head with a searing bouncer, the MCG gasped. But Randall, in his mischievous manner, merely tipped his cap and carried on. He was as much a performer as a batsman, as much entertainer as a warrior. The innings bore shades of brilliance past—Trumper’s artistry, Compton’s flair, Dexter’s defiance. It was an innings that lifted England from the depths and briefly made the impossible seem possible.

The moment of supreme sportsmanship arrived when Randall, on 161, edged Greg Chappell to Marsh. The umpire’s finger went up, and the crowd applauded. But Marsh, in an act of pure cricketing nobility, informed the umpire that the catch had not carried. Randall, stunned and grateful, continued his march, adding 13 more runs before falling for 174. It was a knock worthy of history.

The Final Chapter: Fate Repeats Itself

As the last session unfolded, England still believed. Alan Knott, ever the fighter, played as if his life depended on it. But Greig’s dismissal at 369, followed by a flurry of wickets, left the tail exposed. When Lillee finally trapped Knott leg-before, the margin of victory mirrored that of 1877—45 runs.

History, it seemed, had a sense of poetry.

Dennis Lillee, carried off by jubilant teammates, stood as the match’s modern-day Tom Kendall. Randall awarded $1500 as Man of the Match, displayed characteristic humour: “Before I leave, I would like to thank Dennis for the bump on my head.”

Don Bradman, the greatest of them all, summed it up best: “It will go down in history as one of the greatest sporting events of all time.”

The Centenary Test was not just a match; it was a reaffirmation of cricket’s eternal appeal. It was sport as art, as memory, as legend—woven into the grand tapestry of time.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar

The St. Patrick’s Day Massacre: England’s Stunning Triumph in Colombo

Fresh from the five-day epic in Kandy, England and Sri Lanka embarked on another brutal contest—this time, a three-day thriller in Colombo. What unfolded was a Test match of astonishing volatility, culminating in a staggering collapse that saw Sri Lanka bowled out for just 81 on the third evening. England, despite a jittery chase, secured victory by three wickets and with it, the series 2-1. It was a triumph not only over Sri Lanka but also over oppressive heat and exhaustion. Thorpe, who anchored England’s innings twice, admitted he had never played in such draining conditions.

If Kandy had been a test of endurance, Colombo was an exercise in controlled chaos. The third day alone witnessed the fall of 22 wickets for just 229 runs, a statistic that spoke of both the frailty of batting under immense pressure and the mastery of fast bowling on a deteriorating surface. This time, however, there were no umpiring controversies to muddy the spectacle. Asoka de Silva’s officiating was widely praised, and with the integrity of the contest intact, tempers remained in check.

Tactical Adjustments and the Battle with the Toss

The significance of the toss loomed large. For the third consecutive time—and the 17th in 21 Tests as captain—Sanath Jayasuriya called correctly. With the pitch expected to deteriorate, Sri Lanka’s decision to bat was logical. England, meanwhile, made one crucial change: Hick, whose form had disintegrated, was replaced by Michael Vaughan, a selection that now seemed inevitable. The hosts, too, made adjustments, recalling Dilhara Fernando for Nuwan Zoysa and handing a debut to left-arm spinner Dinuka Hettiarachchi in place of Dharmasena, whose bowling had lacked penetration.

Caddick struck early, dismissing Atapattu in the second over with a delivery of near-perfect geometry—pitching on leg, straightening, and rattling middle and off. But that was England’s only moment of success in a first session dominated by Kumar Sangakkara’s assured strokeplay. The young left-hander, already emerging as the backbone of Sri Lanka’s batting, appeared untroubled by either pace or spin. Yet, cricket at this level has a way of exposing even the most confident.

After lunch, Gough—the ever-reliable enforcer—targeted Sangakkara with hostility, striking him with a bouncer before unleashing a searing, rising delivery that had the batsman recoiling. Uprooted from his rhythm, Sangakkara spooned the next ball tamely to cover. His departure triggered a slide, Jayasuriya falling soon after, though Aravinda de Silva and Mahela Jayawardene steadied the innings, taking Sri Lanka past 200 in the evening session.

Umpire Orchard, near-faultless throughout, may have erred in giving de Silva out caught at silly mid-off, the replays inconclusive. But if luck momentarily abandoned Sri Lanka, misfortune soon turned to calamity. England, invigorated by a late flurry of wickets, ensured the day ended in their favor. By stumps, Sri Lanka’s lower order lay in ruins—Dilshan and Jayawardene dismissed by Croft, Arnold undone by Giles. The collapse continued into the following morning as Caddick, armed with the new ball, ran through the tail. Seven wickets had fallen for just 36 runs.

England’s Response: A Battle of Grit and Guile

Despite a brisk start, England’s reply was soon troubled. Atherton, having smacked three early boundaries off Vaas, succumbed yet again to the left-armer, making it five dismissals in six innings. The method was predictable, the result inevitable.

Then came one of the more bizarre dismissals of the series. Trescothick, in his usual aggressive manner, whipped a shot toward leg, the ball vanishing from sight. Confusion reigned until the fielders, tracking its trajectory, discovered it lodged within the folds of Russell Arnold’s billowing shirt at short leg. An absurd but legal dismissal, and a first Test wicket for Hettiarachchi.

Hussain, battling a thigh injury sustained while fielding, endured a brief, agonizing stay at the crease. The injury would rule him out of the upcoming one-dayers, and his dismissal—dragging on against Hettiarachchi—reduced England to 91 for four. It was left to Thorpe and Vaughan to restore order, which they did with discipline and resilience, navigating Muralitharan’s extravagant turn to reach 175 by stumps.

Morning rain briefly delayed play, and in the lull, murmurs of a possible draw surfaced. No one imagined that the match would end within the day.

But if the second day had ended with a hint of stability, the third erupted into chaos.

The Morning Collapse: A Prelude to the Madness Ahead

England began disastrously. Vaas, rejuvenated, teased Vaughan and White into tentative prods, both edging behind. The hat-trick was narrowly averted, but the damage continued. Giles fell identically, giving Vaas three wickets for a single run in a 16-ball spell. He finished with a career-best six for 73.

Thorpe, composed amid the wreckage, might have perished himself—Orchard missed a clear edge to silly point—but he made full use of his reprieve. He shepherded the tail, even as he inadvertently ran out Croft, and reached his eighth Test century, an innings of defiance and class. His counterattack against spin and pace alike cemented his status as England’s premier middle-order batsman.

By the time the innings ended, England had lost six wickets for 74 runs, precisely the same tally they would need to win.

The Collapse That Shook Sri Lanka

If England had crumbled in the morning, Sri Lanka would have disintegrated spectacularly in the afternoon. What followed was a collapse of historic proportions, as Gough and Caddick ripped through the top order with a ruthless efficiency rarely seen.

Atapattu, who had opened the series with a double-century, now ended it with a pair. Sangakkara and Jayasuriya followed in quick succession, both victims of relentless pressure and sharp movement. De Silva, momentarily looking imperious with two boundaries in three balls, fell for the bait—Caddick’s slower delivery outwitted him, and he was caught at square leg.

The lower order collapsed in a blur of wickets, Muralitharan’s desperate reverse sweep—executed without even taking guard—symbolizing Sri Lanka’s complete capitulation. Within 28.1 overs, they were gone for 81, their second-lowest Test total. England, who had not bowled out a team for under 100 in two decades, had now done so four times in ten months.

The spin pair of Giles and Croft, much maligned at times, had come into their own. Their combined match figures of 11 for 144 highlighted a level of control and variation that had eluded them earlier in the series.

England Stumble to Victory

But still, the drama was not over. England, set a paltry 74, nearly lost their nerve. Atherton, for once surviving Vaas, fell to Fernando instead. When the score stood at 43 for four, Sri Lanka sensed the slimmest of chances. Yet, Thorpe, with the same poise that had defined his century, closed the door with an unbeaten 32.

The final act belonged to Hussain, bravely hobbling to the crease at No. 7 with a runner. It was a moment of stubborn defiance, but also one of cricket’s little ironies—he would become the eighth duck of the day, an unwanted record-equalling 11th for the match.

As the Barmy Army roared, chanting “Bring on the Aussies!”, England could reflect on a remarkable turnaround. From an innings defeat in the First Test to series victors, they had conquered not just Sri Lanka but themselves—overcoming fragility, adversity, and history.

This was Test cricket at its rawest—unpredictable, unrelenting, and utterly enthralling.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar 

 

New Zealand Triumphs in a Spin-Dominated Classic: Bracewell’s Brilliance Stuns Australia

 

In a thrilling Test match that swung like a pendulum, New Zealand emerged victorious over Australia in a contest where spin played a decisive role. The match featured a captivating duel between bat and ball, highlighted by John Bracewell’s exceptional performance, which made him the first New Zealand spinner to claim ten wickets in a Test match. Australia, despite a strong first innings foundation, faltered under relentless pressure from the home side’s spinners, paving the way for a memorable Kiwi triumph.

Australia’s Strong Start and Bracewell’s Game-Changing Spell

Allan Border elected to bat first despite a tinge of green on the pitch. The decision seemed justified as New Zealand’s pace duo of Richard Hadlee and Vaughan Robertson, making his Test debut, found little movement early on. Boon was the only batter to fall to a rising delivery, but Geoff Marsh and Wayne Phillips held firm, adding a record 168 runs for Australia’s second wicket against New Zealand. Marsh’s century, composed with calm authority in 258 minutes, put Australia in a commanding position at 227 for four by stumps on the first day.

However, the momentum shifted dramatically on the second morning when John Bracewell’s masterful off-spin unraveled the Australian lower order. With subtle flight and sharp turn, Bracewell decimated the batting lineup, claiming six wickets as the visitors crumbled from a position of strength. Australia’s last six wickets fell for just 36 runs, limiting their total to 283. Bracewell’s spell not only turned the match on its head but also set a record for a New Zealand spinner, with match figures of 10 for 106.

Matthews Strikes Back But Coney Stands Tall

In response, Australian off-spinner Greg Matthews provided an immediate reply, striking thrice before stumps on the second day to leave New Zealand reeling at 75 for three. With the pitch offering increasing assistance to spinners, the task for the Kiwi batters seemed daunting.

New Zealand struggled early on the third day, slipping to 107 for five before Jeremy Coney stepped up with a captain’s innings. Combining resilience with calculated aggression, he built crucial partnerships—first with Hadlee (63 runs) and then with Robertson—to steer New Zealand to 258, just 56 runs short of Australia’s total. Coney’s knock was one of his finest in Test cricket, showcasing his ability to absorb pressure and keep his team in the game.

Boon Carries His Bat as Australia Collapse Again

Australia’s second innings began with early jitters, finishing day three at 32 for two. The following day, David Boon anchored the innings with unwavering determination, becoming only the tenth Australian to carry his bat through a Test innings. However, apart from Boon, the rest of the batting lineup crumbled under Bracewell’s relentless spin. The Australians managed only 103 runs in their second innings, setting New Zealand a modest target of 160 for victory.

Wright and Crowe Seal New Zealand’s Victory

Although the target seemed attainable, Australia’s spin duo of Matthews and Border posed a potential threat on the deteriorating wicket. However, Matthews bowled too flat to extract the necessary turn, allowing John Wright to play one of his finest Test innings. Rutherford fought valiantly, and despite a contentious decision that saw him momentarily dismissed before being reinstated by a chivalrous Border, New Zealand finished day four well-placed at 85 for one.

On the final day, Wright reached his second half-century of the match, and Martin Crowe’s flurry of boundaries ensured a comfortable chase. With a composed and confident approach, New Zealand sealed a famous victory, underlining their growing prowess in Test cricket.

Conclusion

This match was a testament to the impact of quality spin bowling in Test cricket, with John Bracewell’s match-winning performance standing out as the defining factor. His ten-wicket haul not only changed the course of the game but also etched his name in the annals of New Zealand cricket history. For Australia, it was a game of lost opportunities, as a promising first-innings platform was squandered. In the end, New Zealand’s resilience, coupled with decisive contributions from Coney, Wright, and Crowe, secured a well-deserved and memorable victory.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar 

A Match of Great Promise Undone by Mismanagement and Weather

Cricket thrives on its ability to deliver unexpected turns, riveting battles, and the triumph of skill over adversity. Yet, for all the brilliance displayed in this Test, its dramatic potential was unceremoniously squandered by poor ground management and the unpredictable forces of nature. What had promised to be an enthralling contest, balanced precariously on a knife's edge, was reduced to an anticlimactic affair as rain on the rest day—compounded by inadequate covering and official incompetence—turned a crucial portion of the pitch into an unplayable mire.

The Jamaica Cricket Association found itself once again at the centre of controversy, facing the ire of the local media and cricketing fraternity alike. This was not an isolated failure but a recurring one, following the abandonment of a day's play in the previous year’s Test against England due to similar deficiencies. Such logistical oversights not only marred the integrity of the match but also cast a shadow over the credibility of the cricket administration in the region.

West Indies’ Grit and Australia’s Counterpunch 

When play ceased on the third afternoon, West Indies had staged three remarkable recoveries to stand 80 runs ahead with eight second-innings wickets in hand. Their resilience had been tested from the outset by the searing pace and unwavering accuracy of Craig McDermott, ably supported by Merv Hughes. Australia’s fast-bowling duo tore through the West Indian top order, reducing them to a precarious 75 for six midway through the first day.

The brutality of the Australian attack was evidenced by the injuries inflicted—Logie suffered a deep cut above his right eye, despite the protective grille on his helmet, after misjudging a McDermott bouncer. Haynes was forced to retire after being struck on the toe, while Greenidge required treatment for a blow to the shoulder blade, an injury that later kept him from taking the field. McDermott, relishing his dominance, baited Richards into an ill-fated hook to long leg before returning after lunch to dismantle Greenidge, the returning Haynes, and Marshall in a devastating spell.

Amidst the carnage, a spirited resistance took shape. Dujon and Ambrose provided crucial stability with a partnership of 69, allowing Logie—fresh from receiving seven stitches—to return to the crease. Undeterred by his injury, Logie launched a counterattack of dazzling stroke play, transforming his score from a modest 9 to a commanding 77 off just 110 deliveries, embellished with twelve boundaries. Dujon, exhibiting his characteristic resilience, ground out his highest score in his last 26 Test innings, anchoring West Indies' fightback with remarkable composure.

Australia’s Response and West Indies' Ruthless Counteroffensive 

The pitch was at its most benign on the second day, a fact that Australian batsmen capitalized upon. Marsh and Taylor forged a crucial 139-run stand, consolidating their team’s position. Their dismissals, within 20 runs of each other, momentarily disrupted Australia’s momentum, but Boon’s determined presence ensured stability. While the departures of Border and Jones in successive overs threatened a slide, Boon held firm, first with a 68-run stand alongside Border and then with a century partnership with Waugh.

Yet, just as Australia seemed poised for a formidable lead, Patterson’s incisive accuracy sparked a late-order collapse. The final six wickets tumbled for a mere 42 runs in the space of fifteen overs, as Patterson extracted bounce and movement to break through Australia’s defences. Boon’s stoic vigil lasted over six hours, culminating in a well-deserved century—his tenth in Test cricket. His innings, laced with nine boundaries, was a testament to unyielding concentration, even as wickets crumbled around him. The endurance he displayed was further underscored by a nasty blow to the chin from a Patterson bouncer when he was on 95, a moment that encapsulated both the ferocity of the contest and Boon’s unwavering grit.

The Turning Point: West Indies’ Explosive Second Innings 

Trailing by 107, West Indies had little choice but to seize the momentum with an emphatic response. Greenidge and Haynes, seasoned architects of countless West Indian triumphs, turned to aggression. Their counterattack, led predominantly by Haynes, caught the Australians off guard. Their 15th-century partnership in Test cricket propelled the hosts into the lead, transforming the complexion of the match within a few exhilarating hours. Haynes’ innings of 84, adorned with 14 boundaries, was a masterpiece of controlled aggression.

Yet, as so often in this match, McDermott proved to be the great leveller. Sensing the urgency of the moment, he summoned a spell of outstanding control and hostility, dismissing both openers within the span of 16 runs. Australia convinced they had Richardson caught down the leg side off Waugh late on the third day, were left frustrated as the appeal was turned down—a moment that ultimately lost its significance when the remainder of the match was reduced to a footnote.

Records and What Might Have Been 

Despite the rain-ravaged conclusion, the Test was not without its milestones. Richardson, displaying his customary resilience, went on to register his sixth century against Australia—his 11th overall in Test cricket. Viv Richards, already a legend of the game, surpassed Sir Garfield Sobers’ tally of 8,032 runs to become the highest run-scorer for the West Indies in Test history. On the Australian side, Allan Border eclipsed the 9,000-run mark, further cementing his legacy, while Haynes reached 6,000 runs. McDermott, the most influential bowler of the match, claimed his 100th Test wicket in just his 27th appearance.

A Conclusion Denied 

This match had all the ingredients of a classic—fluctuating fortunes, individual brilliance, and hard-fought battles between bat and ball. Yet, what should have been a gripping finale was instead reduced to a meaningless half-day of play. The disappointment was twofold: for the players, who had invested immense effort into shaping the contest, and for the spectators, who had been deprived of what promised to be a pulsating finish.

Cricket, as a sport, is no stranger to weather disruptions, but the failure to adequately protect the pitch from rain was an unpardonable lapse. For a region with such a storied cricketing tradition, such administrative failings marred an otherwise enthralling spectacle. As the final overs drifted into irrelevance, the West Indies and Australia could only reflect on what might have been—an enthralling battle denied its rightful conclusion by mismanagement and misfortune.

Thank You

Faisal Caeasr