When Luck Meets Hesitation: Shakib Al Hasan’s Toss Triumphs and Tactical Troubles

Shakib Al Hasan’s second stint as Bangladesh’s Test captain has started with an uncanny knack for winning tosses. Twice in as many matches, Lady Luck has smiled upon him, granting him the early advantage that any captain craves. Yet, as the dust settles on these matches, the victories at the toss have done little to alter the grim narrative of Bangladesh’s struggles in the longer format.

When Shakib opted to bat first on a green-tinged surface in Antigua, it seemed a bold and commendable decision. It signalled intent—a declaration that the Tigers were unafraid to confront the challenge posed by a lively pitch. But boldness without execution is merely bravado, and the story that unfolded was anything but heroic.

Bangladesh’s innings unravelled in a single hour, a hapless procession of batsmen succumbing to the West Indian pacers’ relentless assault. The scoreboard read a dismal 43 all out—a statistic that will linger as a scar in the annals of Bangladesh cricket. The visitors needed only to weather the first two hours of the session, as the track’s initial life was destined to fade under the Caribbean sun. Instead, the team’s lack of discipline and temperament—symptoms of an overdose of shorter-format cricket—sealed their fate before the game had truly begun.

The Antigua debacle seemed to cast a long shadow over the second Test in Jamaica. Once again, Shakib won the toss, but this time he chose to bowl first—a decision as puzzling as it was timid. On a surface with a grassy tinge and underlying hardness, the opportunity to bat first and dictate terms was spurned. Instead, Bangladesh fielded a bowling attack comprising just one pacer and three spinners, a combination ill-suited to exploit the morning conditions. The spectre of Antigua’s ‘43’ appeared to haunt the team, influencing decisions and undermining confidence.

As the day unfolded, the Jamaican pitch behaved predictably. The initial grass-induced movement gave way to a harder surface that promised cracks and turn for spinners as the match progressed. By opting to bowl, Bangladesh not only missed the chance to seize the initiative but also invited the prospect of facing a deteriorating pitch in the fourth innings.

The bowlers, including Shakib, struggled to find rhythm or precision. Erratic lengths—too short to trouble and too leg-sided to threaten—allowed the West Indian batsmen to settle in. Kraigg Brathwaite, the epitome of discipline and grit, capitalized on their mediocrity, grinding his way to a determined century. Bangladesh’s woes were compounded by a missed review when Brathwaite was on 98—a moment emblematic of the team’s lack of sharpness in the field.

As the day wore on, Shimron Hetmyer injected flair into the West Indian innings, punishing Bangladesh’s bowlers for their lack of consistency. The Tigers, once known for their fearless bowling under the guidance of Heath Streak and Chandika Hathurusingha, now appeared toothless and tentative. The contrast was stark and painful—a reminder of how far the team has drifted from its days of defiance.

At the heart of this decline lies a troubling pattern: a captain plagued by self-doubt. Shakib, a cricketer of immense talent and cricketing acumen seemed uncertain and disconnected. His body language betrayed frustration, and his decisions lacked conviction. A captain’s mindset often sets the tone for the team, and when that mindset is clouded, the collective performance invariably suffers.

Looking ahead to Day 2, the mission is clear yet daunting: restrict the West Indies to under 400 runs. But achieving this will require more than just tactical adjustments. It demands a shift in attitude—a rediscovery of the courage and clarity that once defined this team. Without it, the Tigers risk enduring another day of regret under the sweltering Jamaican sun.

Bangladesh cricket finds itself at a crossroads. The toss may have been won, but the battle for identity and resilience remains an uphill climb. For Shakib and his men, the time for hesitation has passed. It’s time to channel the fearlessness of old and remind the cricketing world that the Tigers are not to be tamed.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar 

The night a dream was torn apart: England's anguish and Croatia’s historic ascent

It felt like watching a masterpiece shredded stroke by stroke before your very eyes. England’s dream of reaching their first World Cup final in over half a century was extinguished, and in those harrowing moments after the final whistle — as disoriented players drifted across the pitch like somnambulists wading through a nightmare — one could not help but wonder if this would become their life’s abiding regret.

In time, these players may look back on a tournament that subtly recast England’s image — from plodding artisans of anxiety-ridden football to a team suffused with fresh verve. But shaking off the trauma of this semifinal collapse will not be easy. They will forever carry the grim knowledge that the World Cup may never again arrange itself so invitingly, and that for a tantalising stretch, Gareth Southgate’s men convinced even the most sceptical among us that they might actually achieve it. Truly, they did.

Wonderful Croatia 

Instead, it is Croatia who return to the Luzhniki Stadium, destined to meet France, and amid the English post-mortem it would be grossly unjust to overlook the iron-willed courage that defined Zlatko Dalic’s side. The defining act arrived in the 109th minute, courtesy of Mario Mandzukic — a striker hobbled by a ravaged knee. In many ways, that image encapsulates Croatia: a team that survived three successive knockout games through extra time, and which, barring sheer exhaustion, might yet carry football’s most glittering prize to a nation of just four million souls.

For England, it is the consolation of a third-place playoff against Belgium, an afterthought they will greet with the same hollow enthusiasm as Bobby Robson’s forlorn semi-finalists of 1990. Immortality, alas, is reserved for others. Moscow 2018 will now reside beside Turin 1990 in England’s archive of noble failures, grief etched most starkly on the face of Kieran Trippier. The full-back, who had ignited English hopes with his sumptuous free-kick, wept openly as he hobbled off after Mandzukic’s dagger to the heart. He knew the dream was gone.

Yet amid the ruin, Southgate and his team have achieved something quietly revolutionary: they have reshaped how England is perceived by the world. From a land of infighting and dreary entitlement has emerged a squad bound by evident brotherhood, comfortable in their own skin, their spirit brightened by humility. This England bends it like Trippier. This England has a colossus at the back, Harry Maguire, whose primary vocation is — in Southgate’s own words — to “get his bonce on everything.” This England, at long last, has restored pride to its people.

Still, Southgate had warned with sober honesty that his side remained imperfect, and it must have jarred him to witness how abruptly they ceded control midway through the second half. Until then, England had played with an authoritative conviction, suggesting this might become the grandest feat of any team since 1966. John Stones looked every inch the elegant centre-back England has craved for generations; Dele Alli improved markedly; Henderson marshalled midfield security; Maguire dominated. It was all there, fleetingly.

The Croatian Blow

But they failed to land the decisive second blow, and when Ivan Perisic conjured his audacious, airborne equaliser in the 68th minute — nipping ahead of Trippier and Kyle Walker to steer the ball past Jordan Pickford — the game irrevocably tilted. From then on, Croatia imposed themselves in ways both subtle and brutal. England still teased us with hope: Stones was denied by a desperate clearance off the line in extra time. Yet by then, for the first time in Russia, England’s defence seemed frail, their nerves shredding. Perisic struck the post, Rebic squandered a rebound. The siege was gathering.

It was doubly cruel given England’s first-half artistry: their tireless suppression of Luka Modric and Ivan Rakitic, and the ecstasy, just five minutes in, when Trippier’s free-kick soared over a six-man wall, dipped, curled and kissed the underside of the bar. As broken as he appeared at the end, Trippier returns home a bona fide star.

But Southgate conceded that his team’s inexperience may have been their undoing. When Croatia pressed, England’s composure faltered. Clearances were snatched, judgment clouded. In the cold parlance of coaching, they lacked “game management.” Their shape dissolved, their threat dwindled. Harry Kane, destined to claim the Golden Boot, cut a paradoxical figure: lethal in statistics, but strangely muted in penetration. Sterling’s lively but erratic outing ended early; Lingard will replay that skewed first-half chance in his mind for years. Kane’s best moment was nullified by a borderline offside — perhaps it would have stood under VAR had he found the net instead of the post. But it is all mere conjecture now.

It fell instead to Mandzukic, Croatia’s battered warrior, to deliver the coup de grâce. Stones lost him for an instant, and that was enough for the striker to smash his shot home. England sought to rouse themselves, but momentum is a merciless force once surrendered. They will forever remember the night they led a World Cup semi-final — and let it slip.

“We all feel the pain,” Southgate admitted afterward. Football, once more, is not coming home.

Motivated Croatia Looks to Create History 

Modric, meanwhile, was withering in his assessment of English arrogance. “They underestimated Croatia tonight — that was a huge mistake,” he said. “They should be more humble, show more respect. We dominated mentally and physically.”

Perisic, recalling his boyhood days cheering Croatia’s 1998 heroes in his village jersey, called it a dream fulfilled to score and propel his nation to their first final. Defender Sime Vrsaljko dismissed England’s new supposed sophistication, suggesting that once pressed, they reverted to old habits of long-ball desperation.

Dalic, for his part, spoke with an air of prophecy. “This tournament will be won by a team with character,” he declared. Croatia, 1-0 down in three consecutive knockouts, have woven history from grit and defiance. They are the first new finalists since Spain in 2010 — from a country barely 30 years into independence, now writing its own epic.

“This has been debated for 20 years,” Dalic said, invoking the ghosts of 1998. “Maybe God gave us this chance to settle it.”

So the dream shifts from Wembley to Zagreb. England are left to reflect on a campaign that reignited faith but ended in tears — a masterpiece half-finished, cruelly torn from the easel.

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar 

Shakib Al Hasan: A Champion's Trial by Fire in North Sound

On a lively pitch tailor-made for the pacers, Kemar Roach unleashed a masterclass in fast bowling on the opening morning of the first Test. The seasoned campaigner turned tormentor-in-chief, ripping through the Bangladesh top order with precision and venom. Within the first session, the Tigers’ hopes of a solid start lay in tatters. Tamim Iqbal, Mominul Haque, and Mushfiqur Rahim departed in quick succession, leaving the burden of resurrection on their captain’s shoulders.

But Shakib Al Hasan, the prodigal all-rounder reappointed as Bangladesh’s Test skipper, faltered almost immediately. Facing only his second delivery, Shakib nicked an outswinger from Roach that left him grasping at thin air—his comeback as Test captain igniting with a disheartening duck. By the end of a torrid hour, Bangladesh was skittled for an abysmal 43 runs, a collapse as stunning in its brevity as it was in its inevitability.

Under normal circumstances, such a catastrophic performance would have ignited a firestorm of criticism across Bangladesh. The cricket-obsessed nation holds its heroes close but spares no mercy when they stumble. Shakib, a perennial target for his perceived arrogance and inconsistencies, often bears the brunt of such ire. Yet, with the FIFA World Cup capturing the collective imagination, the full force of public discontent was mercifully diluted. Still, murmurs of disappointment pervaded the cricketing fraternity, questioning the ability of their talismanic leader to navigate the storm.

Shakib Al Hasan is no ordinary cricketer. He is, without a doubt, one of the finest all-rounders of his generation—a player blessed with sharp instincts, a brilliant cricketing mind, and the rare ability to single-handedly turn games in his team’s favour. However, at Antigua, none of these qualities were on display. Instead, Shakib appeared a shadow of himself: a man searching for answers under the unrelenting Caribbean sun.

The Antigua pitch offered variable bounce and assistance for bowlers, conditions Shakib might have exploited in his prime. But his deliveries lacked the bite and menace of yesteryears, his trademark arm balls missing their sting. On this day, the champion cricketer seemed adrift, his body language reflecting his internal struggles. Even champions are entitled to off-days, but captains—especially those burdened with the mantle of greatness—are seldom afforded the luxury of excuses.

In Bangladesh, where cricket is both a passion and a barometer of national pride, captains are expected to embody resilience and fortitude. For Shakib, the challenge is magnified. He carries the expectations of a nation and the weight of his own storied legacy. His critics, quick to brand him as aloof or arrogant, often overlook his undeniable contributions to Bangladesh cricket. Yet, when the team falters, the spotlight inevitably finds its way to him.

Antigua served as a grim reminder of the brutal demands of Test cricket. The format, often regarded as the ultimate test of skill and character, leaves no room for complacency. For Shakib, who has occasionally expressed ambivalence toward the rigours of Test cricket, this was a wake-up call. As captain, he must shoulder not only his personal performance but also the collective spirit of the team. Leadership, after all, is about rising in moments of adversity, about becoming the lighthouse that guides the ship through treacherous waters.

Shakib’s story is far from over. He has the intelligence, charisma, and skill to reclaim his place at the summit. But to do so, he must embrace the demands of Test cricket with renewed vigour. He must inspire his team, not just with words but with deeds, proving once again why he is celebrated as one of the world’s finest all-rounders.

For Bangladesh, success in Tests often mirrors Shakib’s fortunes. When he thrives, the Tigers roar. As the dust settles on a disastrous opening day in Antigua, Shakib Al Hasan must rise, for himself and for his team. The Tigers need their captain to lead them out of the abyss, reminding the cricketing world why Bangladesh’s brightest star still burns with untapped brilliance.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar 

Reflection on Brazil’s World Cup Exit: A Journey of Heartbreak and Hope

For a Brazilian football fan, defeat in a World Cup match is more than a loss—it is a national wound that takes years to heal. The sting is sharper when the Samba Boys are eliminated in the knockout stages, their dreams dashed on the grandest stage. Such heartbreak lingers, haunting fans until the next World Cup arrives with a fresh promise of glory. The ghost of that devastating 7-1 defeat to Germany at the Mineirão in 2014 still looms large, and in 2018, hopes were high that Brazil would exorcise those demons in Russia. Yet, it was Belgium who delivered the crushing blow in Kazan, extinguishing Brazil’s aspirations. 

A Tale of Dominance and Defeat 

As the final whistle blew, Brazilian fans clung to the consolation that they had been bested by a superior side on the day. But for many, including myself, that rationale offered little solace. It was a bitter pill to swallow: a Brazil team that dominated the second half, created over twenty chances, and relentlessly tested Belgium’s defense, left the tournament empty-handed. 

The loss was not for lack of effort. Brazil’s players poured their hearts into the game, particularly in the latter stages. Yet, football is a game of fine margins, and Belgium capitalized on theirs. The Selecao, for all their brilliance, were left to rue their missed opportunities. 

Tite’s Revolution and the Road Ahead 

When Tite took the reins from Carlos Dunga, Brazil was a team adrift, struggling to find its identity. Under his stewardship, the Selecao underwent a remarkable transformation. Tite restored confidence to a demoralized squad, turning them into a cohesive, dynamic unit that dominated the World Cup qualifiers. His tactical acumen and ability to instil belief in his players seemed to set the stage for greatness in Russia. 

Yet, the World Cup is an unforgiving arena, and Brazil fell short of expectations. Still, Tite’s work should not be dismissed. His vision and methodology have laid a strong foundation, and he remains the ideal architect for Brazil’s future. His influence could shape a new generation of players capable of fulfilling the Hexa dream in Qatar 2022. 

Temperament: The Missing Ingredient 

Technically, Brazil remains a footballing powerhouse, but temperamentally, they have been found wanting in recent years. In key moments of major tournaments, their mental fragility has been exposed. Even against Costa Rica in the group stages, cracks in their composure were evident. The team’s ability to handle pressure and maintain focus under duress must be addressed. 

Brazil needs players with the mental toughness of legends like Romário. When Romário arrived at Barcelona in 1993, he boldly declared himself the best—and then proved it with his performances. The Selecao must cultivate players who exude confidence and back it up on the pitch, rather than succumbing to theatrics or wilting under pressure. 

The Next Wave of Talent 

Brazil’s footballing pipeline is brimming with promise. Young talents like Vinícius Júnior, Malcom, Richarlison, Arthur, Rodrygo, and Lincoln Henrique represent a bright future. These players, combined with established stars like Philippe Coutinho, Gabriel Jesus, and Casemiro, have the potential to usher in a new era of Brazilian football. 

This new generation needs nurturing, and Tite’s steady hand is crucial. His ability to foster unity and discipline will be instrumental in transforming raw talent into a formidable team. If Tite chooses not to continue, someone like Rogério Micale could take up the mantle. However, Tite’s experience and understanding of the current squad make him the ideal candidate to lead Brazil forward. 

A Time for Renewal 

Brazil’s exit from the 2018 World Cup is a painful chapter, but it also marks the beginning of a new journey. The Selecao must learn from their shortcomings, particularly in terms of mental resilience, and channel their energy into building a stronger, more composed team. 

The task ahead is daunting, but the path to redemption is clear. Brazil’s footballing heritage demands excellence, and the fans deserve nothing less. As the nation turns its eyes to Qatar, hope flickers anew. The dream of Hexa lives on, and with the right leadership and a reinvigorated squad, the Samba Boys can once again dance their way to glory.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar

Croatia vs Russia: A Ballet of Nerves, Memory, and Mortal Time

The night was thick with tension in Sochi, where two teams, neither regular patrons of football’s deepest chambers, danced precariously on the edge of history. When Ivan Rakitić stepped up for his penalty—history compressing itself into a single inhalation—he wore the look of a man who had already travelled this particular corridor of fear. Against Denmark he had proved nerveless; here, he merely repeated the ritual, sending Croatia into a delirium that was half joy, half incredulity.

A generation after the swagger of Suker, Boban, and the glory of France ’98, Croatia had clawed its way back to the last four of the world. The echo was complete.

The Small Violence of Vida’s Header

They might have believed it was theirs even before Rakitić’s final word. When Domagoj Vida rose in extra time to meet Luka Modrić’s corner, it was less a thunderous statement than a conspiratorial whisper. The header was neither forceful nor clean, its journey long and uncertain, yet it crossed the line all the same, helped along by bodies that confused Akinfeev’s sightlines.

That ball, slow-motion in its lethality, underlined football’s strange geometry: sometimes it’s not velocity that kills, but the subtle corruption of time and vision.

Russia’s Impossible Dream and the Shock of Self-Belief

It is worth recalling how Russia arrived here, burdened by scorn. Winless in seven before the tournament, the lowest-ranked team in the field, derided as national shame. But football is a solvent for all narrative certainties. A hopeful group stage and that cathartic mugging of Spain cracked open a window to an impossible dream.

They pressed Croatia with unexpected vigour, playing the first half with a boldness utterly alien to their cautious dissection of Spain. Golovin floated close to Dzyuba, a battering ram made flesh, and Cheryshev uncoiled to produce a goal of radiant arrogance—his left foot sculpting a curler from 25 yards that Subašić watched with quiet awe. It was a strike that rewrote the very air, bending it into belief.

Croatia’s Response: The Subtle Recalibration of Fate

But football rarely obeys the initial swell of romance. Zlatko Dalić had left Marcelo Brozović on the bench, electing to start with Modrić and Rakitić unanchored in midfield, inviting Kramarić to float ahead. The gamble bore mixed fruit: Croatia were vulnerable to Russia’s high press, yet once Mandžukić’s intelligent cross found Kramarić unmarked, order was restored. The Russian defence, momentarily hypnotised, left Kramarić free to nod home. The stadium’s silence was like the held breath of an entire nation.

As the match wore on, Dalić adjusted, inserting Brozović and freeing Modrić and Rakitić to orbit higher. Slowly, inexorably, Croatia claimed the middle of the chessboard. Modrić in particular unfurled his influence—turning, pointing, measuring time itself with each delicate touch.

The Tragedy of Fernandes, the Cruelty of the Gods

Extra time swung again, as football often does, like a pendulum with a blade. After Vida’s goal seemed to seal Croatia’s ascendancy, Russia dredged up one final act of collective will. From Dzagoev’s delivery, Mário Fernandes—who would later inhabit the cruel theatre of missed penalties—powered home an equaliser that detonated the Russian bench into a sprint of delirium. They leapt barriers, tumbled into embraces, feeding off a communal madness.

It would not last. Penalties are a distillation of football’s deepest dread, the point at which technique and psychology meet under a withering sun. Smolov attempted a panenka, a fragile conceit that betrayed the nervous mind, and Subašić devoured it. When Fernandes, flush from his heroics, dragged his own attempt wide, it felt as though destiny itself had leaned down to whisper: not tonight.

Modrić’s Wicked Luck, Rakitić’s Inevitable Calm

When Modrić stepped up, he seemed spent. His penalty was modest, paltry even, pushed by Akinfeev onto the post—but football’s impish gods decreed it ricochet across the goal line and nestle inside the opposite net. Even luck appeared to bend to Modrić’s exhausted grandeur.

And then Rakitić, with that studied air of a man signing off the final line of a script already written. Calmly, inevitably, he found the corner. Croatia erupted, a small nation of four million roaring across continents.

Russia’s Poignant Exit and Football’s Brief Illuminations

For Russia, there was only ache, though of the noble kind. Stanislav Cherchesov’s side had advanced far beyond ridicule into a quarter-final that gave them vivid, luminous memories. They did not bolt the doors as they had against Spain; they dared to stride out, to impose themselves, to create. In the end, they died by the same open spirit that made them new heroes.

The Now or Never of Croatia

England’s scouts would have seen all this—the way Croatia’s midfield can smother opponents once Brozović frees Modrić, the warning bells of fatigue in their ageing core, the way Perišić ghosted in to strike the post, the vulnerability on set pieces.

For Croatia, the future is both a promise and a threat. Modrić, Rakitić, Mandžukić, Subašić—all on the wrong side of 30, all knowing that this World Cup might be their last waltz at the grandest ballroom. And so they dance with desperation that makes them dangerous, chasing not merely victory, but immortality against the creeping dark.

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar