In the annals of one-day cricket, some moments defy probability, momentarily suspend the laws of inevitability, and leave an indelible mark on the psyche of those who witness them. Lasith Malinga’s extraordinary burst of four wickets in four balls against South Africa in the 2007 World Cup was one such moment—an eruption of raw pace, deception, and unrelenting menace that nearly turned a routine run chase into a nightmarish collapse.
For much of the match, South Africa had methodically charted their way to victory, seemingly immune to the ghosts of past implosions. Needing a mere four runs with five wickets in hand, they were all but across the finish line. Then, Malinga, with his slingshot action and a glint of mischief in his eye, wove a spell of destruction.
Shaun Pollock was the first to fall, undone by a devilish slower ball that dipped and deceived. Andrew Hall followed immediately, yorked brutally as the ball jagged through his defences and looped to cover. The hat-trick was sealed with surgical precision—the well-set Jacques Kallis, a bastion of composure, nicked behind off a searing delivery. Then, with the stadium still reverberating from the shock of what had just unfolded, Makhaya Ntini found himself at the mercy of a perfect yorker, the ball screaming past his bat and into the stumps.
Malinga had achieved what no bowler in ODI history had done before—four wickets in four balls. In a matter of moments, the seemingly inevitable had been cast into doubt. The ghosts of South Africa’s past stumbles—the rain-ruined semi-final in 1992, and the chaos of 1999—threatened to return with cruel vengeance. But Robin Peterson and Charl Langeveldt, with nerves frayed and hearts pounding, edged their way to victory, a thick outside edge from Peterson finally breaking Sri Lanka’s resistance.
A Game of Missed Chances and Tactical Missteps
Malinga’s last-gasp heroics, however, could not mask Sri Lanka’s earlier failings. Their innings had been a tale of missed opportunities, poor shot selection, and a lack of patience on a pitch that demanded restraint. The early spark provided by Sanath Jayasuriya’s 27-ball 26 was snuffed out as wickets fell in quick succession. Upul Tharanga’s tentative prod outside off, Kumar Sangakkara’s ill-fated glance down the leg side, and Chamara Silva’s self-inflicted run-out—each dismissal chipped away at Sri Lanka’s prospects.
A brief revival came through Tillakaratne Dilshan and Russel Arnold, who stitched together a 97-run stand, but the lower order’s capitulation was as dramatic as it was costly. From 194 for 5, Sri Lanka crumbled to 209, their tail-enders succumbing to rash strokes rather than resilience. In the end, their inability to bat out the full quota of overs proved as fatal as any of Malinga’s yorkers.
South Africa’s Calculated Chase and Murali’s Late Gambit
On a slow, spongy pitch at the newly inaugurated Providence Stadium in Guyana, South Africa adapted far better. Graeme Smith and Kallis, with contrasting styles, anchored the chase—Smith’s aggressive intent providing momentum, Kallis’s measured approach ensuring stability. The duo added 94, nullifying the early threat posed by Sri Lanka’s attack.
Murali, held back until later in the innings, nearly engineered a turnaround of his own. His double strike—removing Smith and Herschelle Gibbs in quick succession—briefly tilted the scales. The off-spinner’s variations in flight and turn had South Africa wobbling, and when he dismissed Mark Boucher soon after, a familiar unease crept in. But it was Malinga’s blitz that truly sent shockwaves through the contest, taking it to the brink of an unthinkable heist.
A Victory on the Edge of Chaos
In the end, South Africa prevailed, but only just. Their long-standing reputation as ‘chokers’ had been teased, tested, and nearly reinforced. Sri Lanka, despite their flaws, had nearly orchestrated the most outrageous daylight robbery in World Cup history.
Malinga’s spell, an exhibition of fast bowling artistry, would be remembered as one of the greatest moments in the tournament’s history. But cricket, as it often does, had the final say—the margins between triumph and heartbreak razor-thin, the echoes of what might have been lingering long after the final ball had been bowled.
Thank You
Faisal Caesar
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