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The Day
Abul Stole the Spotlight
The drama unfolded in Khulna with Bangladesh teetering at 193 for 8 against the West Indies, seemingly hurtling towards another predictable collapse. A dream debut for Abul Hasan at number 10 saw him launch a whirlwind century that stole the headlines. Yet, in the swirl of euphoria surrounding the debutant, Mahmudullah’s role—essential but hidden—faded into obscurity, as it often does. It was Mahmudullah’s patient hand that enabled Abul’s heroics, quietly nurturing the innings from the other end. While Abul’s audacity captivated onlookers, it was Mahmudullah’s subtle guidance that allowed the tail-ender to flourish.
A century from No. 10 is a rarity, a spectacle in its own right. But cricket is a duet—sometimes an electric guitarist takes centre stage, and other times it’s the rhythm guitarist whose steady chords prevent chaos. Mahmudullah played the latter role to perfection that day. His ability to anchor and adapt to the needs of the tail reflects the deep cricketing intelligence that defines his career, though it rarely finds mention in celebratory columns.
An Anchor in
Storms
Mahmudullah’s innings in Khulna was no anomaly; he has spent much of his career performing these invisible miracles—rescuing his side from disaster only to be overshadowed by more flamboyant peers. In critical moments, he has made a habit of offering calmness, much like Inzamam-ul-Haq or VVS Laxman—players revered for their ability to make the chaos of cricket appear manageable. Yet Mahmudullah does it without their acclaim.
Consider Bangladesh's unforgettable 2011 World Cup triumph over England, where Mahmudullah's steady hand, in partnership with tail-ender Shafiul Islam, snatched a victory from the jaws of defeat. It was a turning point in Bangladesh’s cricket history, not just because of the win but because it was a lesson in resilience. Mahmudullah’s contributions tend to mirror that theme: not flashy but indispensable, not celebrated but pivotal.
A similar scenario played out in Mirpur, during the first Test against the West Indies, when Bangladesh faced the grim prospect of following on. Mahmudullah, alongside Nasir Hossain, orchestrated a vital stand. Once again, Nasir's aggression stole the limelight, leaving Mahmudullah in the shadows. Yet it was the elder statesman’s presence that held the innings together—a scaffolding around which Nasir built his more glamorous edifice.
A Craftsman, Not a
Genius
Cricketers like Tamim Iqbal, Shakib Al Hasan, or Nasir Hossain earn adulation for their bravado, akin to painters flaunting vivid strokes on a canvas. Mahmudullah, on the other hand, is like a diligent artisan—his craft lies in small touches, quiet improvisations, and playing with restraint. **He doesn’t seek to dominate bowlers; he seeks to outlast them**. It is this workmanlike quality that makes his contributions easy to overlook, even though they are often the difference between defeat and salvation.
When he walks to the crease, Mahmudullah doesn’t envision grand masterpieces. Instead, he finds himself in a crisis zone—where wickets tumble like dominoes and the team looks to him for stability. He thrives in such situations, stitching partnerships with the lower order, **ensuring survival while the more glamorous players flounder**. He doesn’t need thunderous applause; all he asks is for his partners to trust his quiet competence. In Khulna, it was this assurance that allowed Abul to bat with such freedom.
The Complexity of
Batting with the Tail
Batting with the tail is one of cricket's most delicate challenges, requiring both skill and empathy. A tailender, by nature, craves reassurance from the other end—a reminder that the battle is not yet lost, and the impossible might still be achievable. It takes a special kind of cricketer to nurture such partnerships, striking a balance between guiding and shielding the less experienced partner. Mahmudullah’s strength lies in this delicate balancing act, much like Laxman’s famous partnerships with the Indian tail or Inzamam’s rescues for Pakistan. In Khulna, Abul’s innings would have been a fleeting burst of bravery without the calm foundation Mahmudullah provided.
Redefining
Heroism
In an era that idolizes flair and dynamism, Mahmudullah represents a different kind of heroism—one that does not demand attention but earns quiet respect. He is not a cricketer who fits neatly into our romantic ideal of the sporting genius. He doesn’t dazzle like Shakib or thunder-like Tamim, nor does he thrill with adventurous stroke play like Nasir. Instead, he offers something more enduring: the assurance of stability when everything seems to be falling apart. And yet, it is this reliability that often goes unnoticed.
The narrative of cricket tends to favour those who perform in technicolour, but heroes come in many shades. Mahmudullah is not the kind to paint in bold, sweeping strokes; he paints in muted tones, filling the gaps others leave behind. He is a player for the critical moments, the times when flamboyance fails, and grit is the only currency that matters.
A Hero of a Different
Kind
Abul Hasan may have been the star that afternoon in Khulna, but it was Mahmudullah who set the stage for that star to shine. His innings, much like his career, was an exercise in selflessness—an act of service rather than spectacle. Cricket, like life, is not always about grand gestures. Often, it is about the small, essential contributions that ensure everything holds together.
In the grand tapestry of Bangladesh cricket, Mahmudullah Riyad may never be celebrated as the brightest thread**. But without him, the fabric would fray at the edges. He is not the kind of hero we celebrate loudly, but he is the kind we depend on when everything seems to be unravelling. And that, too, is a form of greatness—quiet, unassuming, and enduring.
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