A Toss, A Gamble, A Misfire
It began as a slow burner. A dull, rain-nudged Test match. A
sleepy pitch. A conservative script. Everything about Edgbaston seemed destined
to lull spectators into five days of benign equilibrium. And yet, in one final,
breathless twist, this match exploded into life—delivering high drama, bitter
regret, and unforgettable tension in its dying hours.
When Mike Gatting won the toss under heavy skies and chose
to bowl, many saw method in the madness. The summer of 1987 had been soaked in
rain, and the Edgbaston surface bore the pallor of promise for swing and seam.
Gatting gambled, hoping for early inroads. But as the first day unfolded, so
too did the cracks in England’s planning—none of them on the pitch.
Mudassar and Miandad: Calm in the Storm
Pakistan, resolute and unhurried, were in no mood to oblige.
The decision to omit Neil Radford—then tearing up the County
Championship—raised eyebrows. England’s attack lacked bite, and the tourists
cashed in. Mudassar Nazar, the epitome of gritty accumulation, ground his way
to a ninth Test hundred in an innings of meditative patience. Javed Miandad,
irrepressible as ever, should have gone early—put down by Botham at slip when
on 15. Instead, he joined Mudassar in a third-wicket stand worth 135. By the
close of play, Pakistan had cruised to 250 for three. England looked not just
flat, but oddly directionless.
Rain, Farce, and Five Wickets
Then came Day Two: a day that resembled farce more than Test
cricket. Rain sliced the day into fragments. Bad light hovered like a curtain
waiting to fall. At one point, the umpires strode out ready to resume play—only
to find the England team still in the dressing room, oblivious. Communication
breakdown? Tactical confusion? Either way, it was not the look of a side in
control.
Between interruptions, there were flashes of resistance.
Graham Dilley found rhythm and resolve, slicing through the middle order with a
memorable five-wicket haul. Mudassar fell at last—after seven hours at the
crease—and Dilley removed Malik and Imran Khan in a flurry. But the tail wagged
defiantly. Salim Yousuf, given a life on 4, blossomed into a thorn in England’s
side. His 91—the highest of his career—helped Pakistan swell to 439. A
mountain, given the time already lost.
Gatting’s Redemption and Imran’s Threat
England needed steel. They found it—at least at first. Chris
Broad and Tim Robinson launched the reply with authority, adding 119 for the
first wicket. But Imran Khan, ever the sorcerer with ball in hand, cast his
spell. The ball zipped, dipped, and seamed. Batsmen came and went. The innings
faltered.
Yet in the eye of the storm stood Gatting—the embattled
captain, fighting not just the opposition but the press, the pundits, and his
own doubts. His 124 was an act of personal and national restoration—six hours
and thirty-nine minutes of resolve. With able support from Emburey and Foster,
England eked out an 82-run lead. Narrow, yes—but precious.
Sleepwalking into Day Five
Then, the game began to sleepwalk again. Pakistan began
their second innings late on the fourth evening, and by lunch on Day Five, they
had almost erased the deficit. All signs pointed to a stalemate.
Foster’s Fire and Botham’s Spark
And then—chaos. Neil Foster, previously a footnote, turned
avenger. His spell after lunch was a jolt to the system. Shoaib, Mansoor
Akhtar, and Miandad—all gone in a blur. Edgbaston rumbled. England believed.
Botham, not to be outdone, pulled off a sensational return catch to dismiss
Saleem Malik, and then bowled Ijaz with a reverse-swinging gem. The finish line
shimmered.
But cricket is a game of fine margins and cruel timings. Bad
light robbed England of thirteen minutes—thirteen golden minutes where momentum
dissolved. Imran Khan, who had captained stoically and bowled masterfully, now
played the role of anchor. His 37, full of poise and time-wasting precision,
bought Pakistan a vital buffer. Still, when the final hour began, England had a
shot at glory.
The Final Hour: Run Chase and Ruin
124 runs. 18 overs. One chance.
Chris Broad lit the fuse. He blasted 30 off a five-over
opening stand of 37. The chase was on. The Edgbaston crowd surged with hope.
But from the moment Broad fell, so did England’s rhythm. Imran and Wasim Akram
bowled with menacing control, attacking the body, exploiting the absence of
modern-day fielding restrictions, and drying up the runs.
Then came the collapses—not of skill, but of nerves. Three
run-outs. Three hammer blows. All involving Bill Athey. His presence in the
late overs was marred by stagnation. Seven overs. Fourteen runs. A lifeless
coda to what should have been a climactic crescendo. England ended 15 runs
short. Fifteen runs adrift of what might have been one of their most audacious
wins
The Fallout and the Echo
In the aftermath, there was plenty of analysis—some fair,
some ferocious. Gatting faced a firestorm for his first-day decision. Athey was
dropped for the next Test. Yet, amidst the disappointment, this match earned
its place in memory—not because of the result, but because of how it dared, so
late, to dance with destiny.
Legacy of a Late Blooming Classic
From quiet beginnings to a fevered finale, Edgbaston 1987
became a tale of tension, tactics, and tantalizing what-ifs. It reminded the
cricketing world that even a match written off as a draw can erupt into
brilliance when players, pressure, and possibility align.
Thank You
Faisal Caesar
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