This morning, while travelling by bus to the hospital, I found myself amid an electric atmosphere. Conversations buzzed around me, and the passengers brimmed with optimism, animated by the final day’s play between Bangladesh and the West Indies at Mirpur. The scent of victory hung in the air—something rare for our cricket. Everywhere, people exchanged predictions laced with confidence, hoping for a triumph that felt both imminent and deserved.
Checking Facebook on my phone, I found our virtual communities resonating with the same fervour. The collective voice of Bangladesh prayed for one thing: Do not let this be another Multan. The scar of that infamous loss, where we fell to a single man’s brilliance, still lingers. Yet, in Mirpur, we were not up against a lone genius; this time, we lost ourselves.
Sohag Gazi, on his Test debut, spun a web around the Caribbean tail, wrapping up the innings swiftly. His efforts set a modest target of 245 runs for Bangladesh—achievable with time in hand. The fifth-day pitch at Mirpur was far from a minefield. Yes, it offered uneven bounce, but nothing beyond the reach of disciplined batting. What stood between us and victory was not the opposition but our own temperament, and our ability to endure pressure. Yet, when faced with the moment of reckoning, we unravelled. Again.
Self-Destruction: A Familiar Story
Chasing in the fourth innings demands patience, application, and the ability to absorb pressure session by session. We squandered it all with reckless abandon. Tamim Iqbal chased a wide delivery he could have easily left alone, a shot as casual as it was costly. Junaid Siddique, too, fished outside off-stump—an act of surrender disguised as intent. Shahriar Nafees pulled a short ball straight into trouble, and Nasir Hossain misread a turning delivery with alarming naivety. Even Sohag Gazi, after his stellar bowling performance, tried to loft a shot in a crucial partnership with Riyad—an inexplicable decision when the game was delicately balanced.
This collapse was not a tactical miscalculation or the brilliance of the opposition; it was self-destruction, pure and simple. The dreams of millions were dashed once more, and for what? Poor shot selection, lack of composure, and an inability to pace an innings when it mattered most.
When Will We Learn?
This was not an isolated failure; it is part of a painful pattern that haunts Bangladesh cricket. Time and again, when victory seems within reach, we falter. The same mistakes—recklessness, impatience, and mental fragility—recur, as if etched into our cricketing DNA. Have we not yet learned how to win? Or worse, have we forgotten how to learn from defeat?
It is in these moments of despair that the character of a team is forged. Will the Tigers carry this disappointment into the second Test in Khulna? Or will they retreat into complacency, content that the match lasted five days, their individual milestones intact?
Test cricket is a privilege for Bangladesh—opportunities come sparingly, and each match offers a chance to silence the doubters who still question our right to compete at this level. But opportunities squandered become regrets, and regret is a bitter pill that Bangladesh fans have swallowed far too often.
The Time for Change
There is no shame in defeat, but there is shame in not learning from it. This is the moment to build character, to understand that cricket is not just about numbers on a scoreboard—it is about meeting expectations, honouring the hopes of a nation, and, above all, believing in oneself.
Our cricketers need to feel the weight of this defeat—not to be crushed by it but to grow from it. The passion of Bangladesh’s fans is not a limitless resource; it needs to be nurtured with performances that reflect fight, resilience, and heart. These defeats are not just statistics—they are broken promises to the people who invest their dreams in the team.
Victory is not elusive—it is within our grasp. But to seize it, we must first embrace the discomfort of failure. Only then can we stop murdering the dreams of those who believe in the Tigers, game after game. The time for excuses has passed. The time to learn how to win has arrived.
Now, it’s up to the Tigers to rise—or fall—once more.
Thank You
Faisal Caesar
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