The year 1998 was one of transformation for Pakistan cricket. The golden generation of fast bowlers—Wasim Akram and Waqar Younis—was no longer at its devastating best as injuries, age, and off-field distractions took their toll. Wasim, Pakistan’s premier left-arm magician, had endured a difficult period marred by injuries and external controversies. Waqar, the other half of the legendary “Two Ws,” found himself burdened with leading the pace attack, a responsibility that had once been equally shared.
Though Waqar remained a formidable bowler, he was not the same force of nature that had terrorized batsmen in the early 1990s. His searing pace had diminished, and his pinpoint accuracy—once his hallmark—became inconsistent. As the 1998 season progressed, Pakistan cricket found itself at a crossroads, seeking the right balance between experience and renewal.
When Wasim Akram was reinstated as Pakistan’s captain in late 1998, replacing Aamir Sohail, he inherited not just a team but an era in transition. His first major challenge was a historic series in India, a contest brimming with political, emotional, and sporting intensity.
For the first time, Indian crowds would witness the fabled “Two Ws” in their own backyard, as they prepared to take on the great Sachin Tendulkar. Wasim, rejuvenated, met expectations with his spellbinding swing and tactical brilliance. But Waqar struggled. Apart from one fiery spell in the second innings of the Chennai Test, his impact was minimal. His speed had dropped, his radar was inconsistent, and his aura of intimidation had begun to fade.
As the teams moved to Kolkata for the inaugural Asian Test Championship, Wasim Akram faced a defining moment. Sentiment and loyalty pointed towards persisting with Waqar. But Pakistan cricket had always been ruthless in its pursuit of success. And so, a bold decision was made—Waqar Younis, one of Pakistan’s greatest fast bowlers, was dropped.
In his place, a raw, untested force was unleashed upon the world: Shoaib Akhtar.
The Wild Card Enters the Arena
At the time, Shoaib Akhtar was an enigma—a talent largely unknown to the wider cricketing world but a name whispered among Pakistan cricket circles. His reputation, however, extended beyond his cricketing ability. He was a free spirit, a restless maverick who had already gained notoriety for his off-field antics.
During Pakistan A’s 1997 tour of England and South Africa, Shoaib had made headlines for breaking curfews and indulging in the night-time thrills of the Western world. He spent the previous summer playing club cricket in Ireland, returning with a passable Dublin accent and an endless stream of stories from O’Connell Street’s pubs.
But beyond the theatrics, Shoaib possessed something extraordinary—raw, untamed pace.
The cricketing world had caught glimpses of his ability during Pakistan’s Test series in South Africa earlier in 1998. In the second Test at Durban, Shoaib delivered a match-winning spell, helping Pakistan secure a rare victory. His thunderbolts drew comparisons with Allan Donald, South Africa’s premier fast bowler. Wasim Akram, who had faced both, made an emphatic declaration:
"Waqar was as fast in his heyday, but Shoaib’s bouncer is much quicker."
Yet, despite these promising flashes, Shoaib remained untested on the biggest stage. That was about to change.
Kolkata’s Eden Gardens, one of cricket’s most electrifying venues, was about to witness the birth of a new phenomenon.
Setting the Stage for an Earthquake
Day 1 of the Kolkata Test provided an early hint of what was to come. As the evening light faded, Shoaib steamed in and shattered VVS Laxman’s stumps with a searing inswinging delivery. A warning shot had been fired.
But the true storm was yet to arrive.
As Day 2 dawned, India was in control. Rahul Dravid and Sadagoppan Ramesh were methodically grinding down Pakistan’s modest first-innings total of 185. With the score at 147 for 2, drinks were taken.
Session breaks can be deceptive. Batsmen, even those well-set, can lose their rhythm in the brief pause. Wasim Akram, ever the astute leader, sensed an opening. He tossed the ball to Shoaib Akhtar, hoping the young speedster could break the deadlock.
What followed was not just a breakthrough—it was an earthquake.
Shoaib charged in with his trademark long run-up, his energy still high despite the Kolkata humidity. His first delivery to Dravid, a full-length inswinger, seemed to move with an intelligence of its own. The ball started straight, then suddenly dipped and curled towards the leg stump. Dravid, a master technician, tried to bring his bat down in time—but the ball was too quick, too well-directed.
Leg stump cartwheeled.
Boom.
Dravid, the man who would later become “The Wall,” had been breached. Kolkata’s murmurs of discontent were growing. But the real drama was yet to unfold.
Sachin Tendulkar emerged from the dressing room, greeted by a thunderous ovation. Ninety thousand fans rose in unison, chanting his name. In India, Tendulkar was more than just a cricketer—he was a deity. And now, he stood between Shoaib Akhtar and history.
The crowd roared as Tendulkar took his guard. Shoaib, already in motion, barely waited.
The delivery was full, reversing viciously in the air. Tendulkar, ever composed, adjusted slightly, looking to drive. But the ball swerved late, as if obeying a hidden command, and slipped past his bat.
Middle stump lay uprooted.
For a moment, silence.
A silence so profound it felt unreal in a stadium bursting with life just seconds earlier.
Boom.
Sachin Tendulkar, the greatest batsman of his era, had fallen for a golden duck—the first in his Test career.
Shoaib Akhtar, arms outstretched, tilted his head to the sky, absorbing the moment. He had not just dismissed two of the world’s finest batsmen—he had done it in successive deliveries, in their own backyard, on the grandest stage.
The Changing of the Guard
As if scripted for maximum drama, the next batsman in was India’s captain, Mohammad Azharuddin. If Shoaib’s deliveries to Dravid and Tendulkar had been masterpieces of swing, his delivery to Azharuddin was an exhibition of raw hostility.
A bouncer, fast and steep, crashed into the back of Azhar’s helmet. The message was clear—this was a different breed of fast bowler.
By the time Shoaib’s spell ended, his figures read 4 for 71, his final victim being Venkatesh Prasad, beaten by yet another scorching yorker. But numbers only tell part of the story.
In the stands, Waqar Younis watched. He had built his career terrorizing batsmen with toe-crushing yorkers, reverse swing, and sheer pace. And now, before his eyes, a successor had emerged.
Shoaib Akhtar was not just another fast bowler. He was a force of nature, a whirlwind of pace and personality. His career would be marked by brilliance and controversy, by breathtaking spells and moments of recklessness. But on this day in Kolkata, none of that mattered.
Cricket had found its next great fast bowler.
And Pakistan had found its new storm.
Thank You
Faisal Caesar
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