The Redemption at Edgbaston: Graeme Smith's Defining Triumph

Cricket, like life, often scripts tales of redemption in the most fitting of venues. For South Africa, Edgbaston had long been synonymous with heartbreak, the site of their most infamous World Cup misfortune in 1999. Nine years on, they returned to the scene of their despair, but this time, it was to script a different narrative—a story of grit, resilience, and ultimate triumph. It was here, in the heart of Birmingham, that South Africa, under the indomitable leadership of Graeme Smith, sealed their first Test series victory in England since 1965.

At the centre of this remarkable turnaround stood Smith himself, a captain whose sheer willpower and unrelenting determination propelled his team to one of their most significant victories. His unbeaten 154 in the fourth innings was not merely an exhibition of technical prowess; it was a masterclass in mental fortitude and tactical execution. In what will be remembered as one of the greatest centuries in a run chase, Smith carried the weight of history on his shoulders, ensuring that past failures would not define this South African side.

A Captain’s Knock for the Ages

Smith’s innings was built on a foundation of composure and clarity. The Edgbaston pitch, by the final day, had transformed into a battleground of uncertainty, offering inconsistent bounce and sharp turn from the footmarks. Conventional wisdom suggested that a chase of 281 on such a surface would be an uphill battle. But Smith, with his characteristic blend of aggression and restraint, defied expectations.

From the outset, he exuded a sense of purpose, dispatching anything loose while remaining unyielding in defence. He played positively but not recklessly, calculating each stroke with the precision of a man on a mission. His most testing moments came against Monty Panesar, England’s premier spinner, who was extracting significant turn and bounce. On 74, Smith offered no shot to a delivery that, on review, was shown to be crashing into the middle stump—an erroneous reprieve granted by Aleem Dar. Later, at 79, a miscommunication with AB de Villiers nearly resulted in a run-out, saved only by England’s fumbling execution. Then, on 85, he gloved Panesar behind, but England’s appeal was half-hearted, and the opportunity slipped away.

Despite these moments of fortune, Smith’s innings was one of calculated risk and sheer perseverance. Once past his century, the final stretch of his innings was defined by ruthless efficiency. England’s bowlers, fatigued and demoralized, could not manufacture the breakthrough they so desperately needed. The final, poetic flourish came when Smith clipped Kevin Pietersen to the boundary, securing victory in a manner that felt almost predestined. That the winning shot came off Pietersen—a player of South African descent who had chosen England—added an intriguing subplot to an already dramatic affair.

Boucher: The Silent Guardian

While Smith rightfully claimed the spotlight, Mark Boucher’s contribution was no less significant. Walking in at 171 for 5, with the game still in the balance, he was the last recognized batsman before the tail. South Africa needed stability, and in Boucher, they found a partner who embodied the very essence of defiance.

Boucher was a survivor of the 1999 heartbreak, one of only two players—alongside Jacques Kallis—who had lived through the trauma of that fateful semi-final against Australia. If anyone understood the cost of letting victory slip through their fingers, it was him. He approached his innings with characteristic tenacity, absorbing pressure and eking out runs with nudges, deflections, and calculated strokes. His unbeaten partnership with Smith, worth 112 runs, ensured there would be no late twists in the tale.

England’s Faltering Resistance

England, despite flashes of brilliance, lacked the sustained firepower to dismantle South Africa’s resistance. Their best chances came in the middle session when Panesar and James Anderson extracted sharp movement and Flintoff, with his tireless spells, threatened with searing yorkers. It was Flintoff who ignited hope, dismissing Neil McKenzie with a full delivery that trapped him plumb in front. The England camp stirred once more when Kallis, one of the world’s most accomplished batsmen, fell to a full toss from Flintoff that struck him high on the leg. The decision to give him out sparked fury in the South African dressing room, with coach Mickey Arthur visibly incensed.

But that was as close as England got. Panesar’s deliveries grew shorter, his energy waning. Anderson, curiously underutilized, bowled only 13 overs. Ryan Sidebottom, struggling for rhythm, offered little menace. Flintoff, the talisman, fought valiantly but lacked the final punch. As the final session extended beyond three hours, England’s resistance gradually crumbled under the relentless attrition of South Africa’s pursuit.

The Weight of History Lifted

This was more than just a Test match victory. For South Africa, it was a moment of catharsis. It was a confirmation of their evolution from a team burdened by past failures into a side capable of triumphing in the most challenging conditions. The spectre of 1999 was banished. The frustrations of previous tours, where they had come close but faltered, were finally laid to rest.

Smith’s innings was more than just a century; it was a statement. It was the embodiment of a leader who refused to be bowed by history, who carried his nation’s cricketing dreams on his broad shoulders and delivered them to glory. As he walked off the field, unbeaten and victorious, it was evident—Edgbaston no longer belonged to South Africa’s nightmares. It now stood as the stage of their redemption.

Mission accomplished!

Thank You

Faisal Caesar  

The AB Dilemma: Passion, Priorities, and the Future of Test Cricket

 

As South Africa's batsmen crumbled against England on the fourth day at Old Trafford in 2017, thoughts naturally turned to AB de Villiers, a cricketer synonymous with brilliance in every format of the game. What might he have been doing at that moment? Was he feeling a pang of regret, or was his mind far removed from the drama in Manchester, engrossed instead in music, cinema, or franchise commitments? Such musings are tempting but ultimately futile. AB’s love for Test cricket, underscored by 8,074 runs at an average of 50.46, is unquestionable. 

Yet, his absence was palpable. In the post-match press conference, captain Faf du Plessis delivered the inevitable news: AB de Villiers was unlikely to return to Test cricket. “The last time I spoke to him, he wasn’t keen to play again,” Faf admitted. “I hope he comes back, but I’m not expecting him to. He has earned the right to do whatever he wants.”  

The Right to Choose vs. Responsibility to the Team 

Du Plessis’s statement raised a perennial debate in cricket: should stalwarts prioritize personal needs or the collective good of the team? For players of AB’s calibre, who have served their country with distinction, the right to step away from the rigours of international cricket is well-earned. After more than a decade of touring, competing, and carrying the weight of national expectations, the desire to prioritize family and personal well-being is understandable. 

But Test cricket is not just a game; it is the soul of cricket. It demands more than skill—it demands sacrifice, commitment, and an unrelenting will to serve the team. Cricketing legends like Jacques Kallis, Graeme Smith, and Hashim Amla embodied these qualities. They juggled the challenges of international cricket and franchise leagues without abandoning the longest format. 

Their consistency and resolve built South Africa’s dominance in the 2000s, making the Proteas a feared team across the globe. AB de Villiers, by contrast, has become a polarizing figure. His absence in times of crisis left a void that even his incredible talent could not justify. 

Test Cricket’s True Guardians 

The contrast with other cricketers who faced similar challenges is stark. Mashrafe Mortaza, plagued by injuries throughout his career, never hesitated to put his country first. Despite physical setbacks, Mashrafe remained a symbol of resilience for Bangladesh. Similarly, players like Mushfiqur Rahim and Shakib Al Hasan have consistently shouldered the burden of responsibility, often under trying circumstances. 

Shakib, in particular, serves as a prime example of balancing personal life, franchise commitments, and national duty. Despite his stature as one of the world's best all-rounders and a sought-after figure in T20 leagues, Shakib has never wavered in his commitment to Bangladesh’s Test side. His willingness to sacrifice personal comforts for the greater good stands in stark contrast to players who prioritize short-term gains. 

The Twenty20 Conundrum 

The rise of Twenty20 cricket has added a new dimension to the debate. For purists, T20 is seen as a double-edged sword—on one hand, it has globalized cricket and brought new fans to the sport; on the other, it has created a culture where financial incentives often overshadow the values of Test cricket. 

The allure of franchise leagues, with their overflowing cash, glamorous parties, and shorter commitments, has tempted even the best players to reconsider their priorities. Legends like Chris Gayle and AB de Villiers have faced criticism for choosing lucrative T20 opportunities over the grind of Test cricket. 

Such decisions fuel the narrative that Test cricket is losing its relevance, a claim amplified by commentators with vested interests in the "tamasha" leagues. But Test cricket isn’t dying—it’s being neglected. The longer format needs protectors who are willing to endure its challenges and uphold its traditions. 

A Call for Reflection 

While AB de Villiers’s contributions to South African cricket are immense, his reluctance to continue in Test cricket at a time when the team needed him most tarnishes his legacy. Heroes are remembered not only for their skill but also for their sacrifices. AB’s decision to step away from Tests contrasts sharply with the indefatigable commitment of players like Kallis, Smith, and Amla, whose efforts transcended personal comforts and glorified South Africa on the global stage. 

The International Cricket Council (ICC) must also address the broader implications of T20 leagues. While their economic impact is undeniable, their unchecked proliferation threatens to erode the essence of cricket. A balance must be struck to ensure that the lure of T20 does not overshadow the enduring appeal of Test cricket. 

Test Cricket: A Legacy Worth Preserving 

AB de Villiers’s decision reflects a broader shift in cricketing culture, one where personal priorities often outweigh team and format loyalty. However, the likes of Mortaza, Shakib, and Amla remind us that Test cricket’s survival depends on players who view the format as more than just a job. 

As fans and custodians of the game, we must advocate for Test cricket’s preservation, demanding from players, boards, and the ICC a renewed commitment to its legacy. For cricket’s soul lies not in the fleeting thrills of a six or a ramp shot but in the enduring battle of skill, will, and perseverance that only Test cricket can offer.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar 

Graeme Smith: The Colossus Who Led from the Front

For much of his reign, Graeme Smith commanded a South African side brimming with talent. Yet, few can argue that his leadership alone was an immovable pillar in the team’s ascent. He stood like a colossus before his troops, his presence a testament to the rare but much-discussed trait of leading from the front.

Smith’s frame was instantly recognizable under the green cap, stationed confidently in the slips—active, assured, and eternally optimistic. A single glance at the field was enough to determine who was in charge. He played to win, and he played hard—sometimes too hard. His zeal, unrestrained and often bordering on belligerence, made him a polarizing figure, especially in the unforgiving theatre of sledging.

A Batsman Forged in Iron, Not Silk

When Smith strode to the crease, the sight alone was enough to unsettle even the most battle-hardened opposition. His square jaw jutted forward, his gaze bored through the fielders, and his imposing frame advanced menacingly toward the wicket. What followed was not elegance, but sheer force.

Left-handed grace, often associated with artists like David Gower or Brian Lara, found no place in Smith’s game. His strokes lacked the poetic fluidity of a natural stylist; instead, they were hewn from granite, merciless and pragmatic. His drives were clubbed, not caressed. The bottom-handed grip refused correction. If cricket were a sculptor’s trade, Smith wielded a sledgehammer where others used chisels. His batting was a craft, but never an art.

But for all its aesthetic shortcomings, Smith’s technique was built to last. His ability to absorb pressure and blunt even the most hostile bowling attacks made him one of the most effective openers in history. He relished contests against the world's fiercest fast bowlers—Brett Lee, Shoaib Akhtar, and James Anderson—all of whom found him an immovable object at the top of the order.

His dominance in England was particularly striking. In 2003, a 22-year-old Smith arrived on English shores with the weight of captaincy thrust upon him and proceeded to dismantle the hosts with back-to-back double centuries at Edgbaston (277) and Lord’s (259). The sheer scale of his run-scoring was jaw-dropping—his bat seemed wider than normal, his resolve stronger than steel. England had no answers.

An Underrated Giant in a Dressing Room of Artists

Perhaps this brutal effectiveness explains why Smith never quite commanded the same adulation as some of his illustrious teammates. Jacques Kallis embodied classical correctness, Hashim Amla batted with sublime elegance, and AB de Villiers was an artist whose strokes defied logic. Smith, in contrast, was the stone mason—his innings a foundation upon which others built monuments.

Yet, strip away the aesthetic comparisons, and the cold, hard numbers reveal his true stature. Smith’s Test record—9,265 runs at an average of 48.25 with 27 centuries—places him among the all-time greats. More remarkably, many of these runs came in the crucible of the fourth innings, a domain where even great batsmen falter. His 1,614 fourth-innings runs at 50.44 remain an extraordinary feat, and in successful chases, his average soared to a staggering 87.76.

The Johannesburg epic of 2006, where South Africa chased down 435 against Australia, saw Smith unleash a breathtaking 90 off 55 balls, setting the stage for one of the greatest ODI victories. It was an innings emblematic of his ethos: relentless aggression in the face of insurmountable odds.

A Captain Like No Other

Smith’s captaincy record is almost mythical. Thrust into the leadership role at just 22, he led South Africa in 109 Tests—more than any captain in history—winning 53 of them, another unprecedented feat.

He was not a strategist in the mould of a Mike Brearley, nor did he exude the cerebral finesse of a Richie Benaud. His methods were direct, sometimes unsubtle, but invariably effective. His authority was not dictated by words but by action—he led with conviction, and his team followed. His leadership was not merely a position; it was an embodiment of the South African spirit—tough, unyielding, and prepared for battle.

His captaincy was defined by two major themes: his ability to instil self-belief in his players and his relentless pursuit of excellence in foreign conditions. South Africa became the most formidable touring team under his watch, conquering England, Australia, and Pakistan with a fearlessness rarely seen in the post-apartheid era. His victories on Australian soil, including consecutive Test series wins in 2008-09 and 2012-13, were milestones that cemented his legacy.

The Blood and Bravery of Sydney 2009

Yet, beyond the statistics and triumphs, one image defines Smith’s legacy more than any other: Sydney, 2009.

South Africa had already secured their first-ever series win in Australia, but in the dead rubber third Test, defeat loomed. Smith had suffered a broken hand, an injury severe enough to prevent him from dressing himself, let alone batting. And yet, as the ninth wicket fell with 8.2 overs left to survive, out he walked—one hand strapped to his body, the other gripping the bat. The Australians did not hold back. Mitchell Johnson, Peter Siddle, and Nathan Hauritz attacked relentlessly. Smith endured for 26 minutes and 16 balls before a delivery reared off a crack, crashing into his stumps. South Africa lost the match, but Smith won immortality. He played the innings without painkillers.

The Unexpected Exit

As Smith neared the end of his career, both professional and personal factors cast shadows on his future. His marriage to Irish singer Morgan Deane hinted at a life beyond South Africa. His role as Surrey captain fueled speculation about a permanent shift to England. The 2011 World Cup loss had stung deeply, prompting him to step down from ODI captaincy. His Test form wavered.

And then, at just 33, he retired. The timing stunned the cricketing world. South Africa’s greatest leader, their unyielding warrior, had decided to lay down his sword.

A Legacy Carved in Stone

Unlike many of his predecessors, Smith did not inherit an established cricketing legacy. South Africa’s history was dotted with capable but uninspiring captains—Alan Melville, Dudley Nourse, Clive van Ryneveld. Hansie Cronje had been an exception, but his tenure ended in disgrace. In contrast, Smith built his own legend, not only as a leader but as one of South Africa’s greatest batsmen.

Graeme Smith was not a stylist, nor was he a statesman. He was a titan who strode into battle, unfazed by adversity, unwilling to surrender. His story is not one of finesse but of ferocity; not of elegance but of endurance.

He did not merely carve a niche for himself among cricket’s greats—he stormed through the gates, shattered the walls, and forced his way into history.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar 

Leading from the Front: My Favourite Captain's Knocks in Test Cricket

Tillakaratne Dilshan’s commanding 193 was more than just a personal milestone; it was a statement of intent, a defiant response to adversity that breathed life into a Sri Lankan batting unit still reeling from England’s formidable 486. In a moment that demanded resilience, Dilshan shouldered the responsibility with a blend of aggression and composure, crafting an innings that ranks among the finest played by a Test captain. His knock was not merely about accumulating runs—it was about restoring confidence, setting an example, and galvanizing his team in the face of a daunting challenge.

History has shown that when a captain is targeted, the entire team often feels the tremors. The great West Indian sides under Clive Lloyd understood this psychology well—destabilize the leader, and the rest will follow. Conversely, a captain in full command of his craft can inspire a collective resurgence, turning individual brilliance into a force that elevates the entire team.

Dilshan’s innings transported me back to the many captains I have admired since I first began following cricket nearly two decades ago. I did not rely on statistical breakdowns or cold, numerical dissections; rather, I sought out those rare moments of captaincy brilliance—innings that were not just about runs but about character, defiance, and the intangible art of leadership.

Brian Lara 153 not out vs Australia, third Test, Bridgetown Barbados, 1999:

Set a daunting target of 308, the West Indies found themselves in dire straits at 105 for five, their hopes hanging by a thread as Glenn McGrath orchestrated yet another masterclass in fast bowling. Australia, relentless in their pursuit of victory, had all but tightened their grip on the match. And yet, amid the ruins stood Brian Lara—undaunted, unfazed, and utterly majestic. 

As wickets tumbled around him, Lara remained the immovable force, a solitary artist painting defiance onto a collapsing canvas. When the eighth wicket fell, with 60 still needed, the contest appeared all but decided. But Lara’s presence infused belief into his partners. Curtly Ambrose, known more for his destruction with the ball than his resilience with the bat, withstood the Australian attack for 82 minutes—an act of pure defiance inspired by the genius at the other end. When Ambrose departed, the final chapter teetered on the edge of despair. Courtney Walsh, the last man standing, had to negotiate five deliveries—each a potential death knell. Fortune played its part, as a wide and a no-ball prolonged the drama, before Lara seized the moment, driving Jason Gillespie to the cover boundary to complete a victory etched in folklore. 

What made this innings truly extraordinary was the absence of a safety net. Unlike the great rearguard efforts built on partnerships, Lara carried the burden of an entire nation alone, knowing that a single misstep would spell certain defeat. 

Though Lara's captaincy record may not place him among the game's great leaders, this innings remains, without question, the most heroic by a captain in the history of Test cricket—a masterclass in skill, composure, and unyielding belief.

Graham Gooch 154 not out vs West Indies, first Test, Leeds, 1991:

It was a damp, brooding summer in England, and at Headingley—where the conditions have always been a paradise for fast bowlers—the stage was set for a contest defined by pace, movement, and survival.

The West Indian quartet of Malcolm Marshall, Curtly Ambrose, Courtney Walsh, and Patrick Patterson unleashed a relentless barrage of hostility, dismantling England’s batting order with ruthless efficiency. The hosts were bundled out for 198—a modest total, yet one that proved sufficient to expose the vulnerabilities of the opposition. The West Indian batsmen, despite their rich pedigree, fared no better against the seaming conditions and were dismissed for 172, ensuring the match remained finely poised, teetering on the edge of uncertainty.

Then came Curtly Ambrose, at his most menacing. With an aura of quiet intimidation and a spell of ferocious pace and steep bounce, he tore through England’s second innings. Wickets fell in rapid succession, and it seemed another chapter of Caribbean dominance was about to be written. But amidst the wreckage stood Graham Gooch, unwavering and unshaken. Against the sheer hostility of Ambrose and his fearsome comrades, he responded not with mere resistance, but with elegance and defiance. His strokes were not just acts of survival but of command—pulling with precision, driving with authority, and standing firm against an onslaught that would have undone lesser men. His unbeaten 154, an innings of sheer courage and technical mastery, lifted England to 252—a total that would prove decisive.

When the final wicket fell, England had triumphed by 116 runs, securing their first home victory over the West Indies since 1969. It was more than just a win; it was a moment of catharsis, a breaking of chains after decades of Caribbean supremacy. And at the heart of it stood Gooch—a batsman who, on that damp Leeds pitch, turned resistance into triumph.

Brian Lara 213 vs Australia, second Test, Kingston, Jamaica, 1999:

Another Brian Lara masterpiece—an innings etched in the folklore of West Indian cricket. In response to Australia’s 256, the West Indies found themselves in dire straits at 34 for four, their batting lineup unravelling under the weight of relentless pressure. It was a moment that demanded not just skill, but defiance, leadership, and an almost mythical resolve. And in that moment, on a sunlit, wind-swept Sunday, Lara delivered. 

What followed was not just a recovery, but a resurrection. Cautious at first, he meticulously rebuilt, absorbing the early pressure before shifting through the gears with the kind of audacious stroke play that defined his genius. He dismantled Stuart MacGill with two towering sixes in an over and ravaged Greg Blewett with four consecutive boundaries. Shane Warne, the master of spin, was met with imperious drives that sent the ball soaring into the stands. In all, Lara struck 28 fours and three sixes, crafting a double-century that was both ruthless and poetic—a symphony of destruction composed over 469 minutes and 344 deliveries. 

The impact was transformative. West Indies seized control, securing a crucial lead of 175, and with their confidence restored, wrapped up the match with a dominant 10-wicket victory. More than just a triumph, this was a reaffirmation of West Indian cricket’s indomitable spirit—led, once again, by the singular brilliance of Brian Lara.

Imran Khan 136 vs Australia, second Test, Adelaide, 1989-90:

 Pakistan began their second innings trailing by 84 runs, only to find themselves ensnared in a nightmarish collapse. The start was nothing short of catastrophic—three wickets had fallen with just seven runs on the board, and before long, the scoreboard read a grim 22 for four. The pressure was immense, and the situation was dire. If ever there was a moment for leadership and resilience, it was now. 

Cometh the hour, cometh the men. Imran Khan and Javed Miandad—two of Pakistan’s most battle-hardened warriors—dug in, resisting Australia’s charge with unwavering determination. For nearly three hours, they absorbed the hostility, defying both the bowlers and the looming crisis. But when Miandad finally fell with the score at 90—Pakistan barely six runs ahead with half the side dismissed—the challenge remained far from over. Matters worsened when Salim Malik retired hurt, leaving Pakistan perilously vulnerable. 

Enter Wasim Akram, a young prodigy under the tutelage of a master. What followed over the next 729 minutes was nothing short of extraordinary. Under Imran’s watchful guidance, Akram crafted an innings that defied his role as a lower-order batsman, exuding the class and composure of a seasoned top-order player. Their monumental 191-run partnership not only steadied the ship but also transformed the complexion of the match. Akram’s fearless 123 was a testament to both his talent and his captain’s mentorship. 

By the time Pakistan declared, their lead had swelled to 304—a position that ensured a hard-fought and honourable draw. What had begun as a collapse ended as a statement of resilience, an exhibition of character forged in the crucible of adversity. It was a match not just saved, but redefined by grit, belief, and the unbreakable spirit of Imran Khan and his young apprentice.

Michael Atherton 185 not out vs South Africa, second Test, Johannesburg, 1995-96:

Ray Illingworth described it as "one of the great innings of all time," a sentiment echoed by many who deemed Michael Atherton’s defiant masterpiece the finest ever played by an England captain.

The circumstances were nothing short of dire. Having gambled on four fast bowlers and opting to field first—a decision that spectacularly backfired—Atherton now faced the daunting task of ensuring England's survival. With a theoretical target of 479 looming irrelevantly in the background, the real challenge was to last four overs and five full sessions against a relentless South African attack. Unlike their previous three drawn Tests, where England had batted first and amassed large totals, this was a test of pure resilience. The one lively pitch of the series had mercifully flattened out, and a full house of 30,000 on the fourth day anticipated England’s inevitable collapse. By the close of play, their captain had already lost four partners—twice in the space of three balls. 

On the final morning, Atherton needed time to rediscover his rhythm, his footwork initially hesitant. A moment of fortune came when, on 99, he fended a short delivery off his body into Gary Kirsten’s hands at short-leg—only for the ball to pop straight back out. He responded emphatically, hooking Allan Donald’s next delivery to the boundary to reach his ninth Test hundred and 4,000 career runs, celebrating with rare emotion as he embraced his partner. Soon after, Smith fell to a wild slash caught at third man, and Russell—on just five—offered a return catch to Pringle, who spilt the chance. England’s hopes of survival remained faint, but they refused to fade. 

Slowly, resistance turned into belief. Across England, fans clung to television and radio broadcasts, mirroring the tenacity of Atherton and Russell. The captain’s approach was a masterclass in discipline—every shot measured, every decision calculated. He refused to be lured into recklessness, confining his strokes to his strongest areas square of the wicket, yet punishing anything loose to the boundary 28 times, ensuring the bowlers never dominated. Russell, for his part, shouldered more than his fair share of the burden, constantly reminding Atherton of England’s infamous collapse in Barbados in 1989-90. 

By the time stumps were finally drawn, Atherton had batted for an extraordinary 643 minutes—England’s fourth-longest innings—facing 492 balls of unyielding determination. Russell stood firm for 277 minutes, defying 235 deliveries. Together, they had not just saved a match but crafted one of the most iconic acts of defiance in Test cricket history—an innings for the ages, forged in grit, patience, and unwavering resolve.

Graeme Smith 154 not out vs England, third Test, Edgbaston, 2008: 

Edgbaston has been the site of South African heartbreak in the past, none more painful than their dramatic exit from the 1999 World Cup. But nine years later, those ghosts were finally laid to rest. With a masterful, unbeaten 154, Graeme Smith scripted one of the most significant triumphs in South Africa’s cricketing history, leading his team to their first series victory in England since 1965. His innings, a defiant and calculated masterpiece, was the cornerstone of a chase that will be remembered among the finest in Test cricket. The victory was sealed emphatically, with Smith and Mark Boucher compiling a 112-run partnership, grinding down a weary and spent England attack as they claimed the extra half-hour to drive home their dominance.

For Smith, it was a crowning moment at a venue that had already witnessed his brilliance. His 277 at Edgbaston in 2003 had announced his arrival as a young, ambitious captain, yet South Africa had squandered leads in that series. This time, there was no room for a repeat failure. He was determined to ensure the contest would not reach a decider at The Oval. And, as if fate wanted to add one final flourish, the winning boundary came off the bowling of Kevin Pietersen—a symbolic touch to a moment already steeped in meaning.

While Smith's innings stood head and shoulders above the rest—the next-highest score being just 45—it was Boucher’s presence at the other end that proved invaluable. Arriving at the crease with South Africa precariously placed at 171 for five, he was the perfect ally for his captain. England had just regained momentum through Monty Panesar’s dismissal of AB de Villiers, whose crucial 78-run stand with Smith had kept the chase alive. But as the final session stretched beyond three gruelling hours, the emotional and physical exertions of England’s attack took their toll. By the time the extra overs were claimed, any lingering hopes of replicating the heroics of 2005 had all but faded. Lightning, after all, does not strike twice.

Smith’s steely determination never wavered. As partners came and went, he remained immovable, expertly navigating a surface that had begun to wear, offering Panesar increasing assistance from the footmarks. His innings was not without its share of fortune, but in the final innings of a Test match, every batsman is entitled to a touch of luck. To further underscore the scale of his achievement, no team had successfully chased more than 208 at Edgbaston before this match. And, remarkably, Smith’s hundred—crafted off 177 deliveries—was the first-ever fourth-innings century at the ground.

History had been rewritten. The ghosts of past failures were exorcised. And at the heart of it all stood Graeme Smith, his name now forever etched in South African cricketing folklore.

Note: The above list is my pick of one of the best captain’s knocks played, which I have witnessed on TV since 1990. In the coming days, this list will grow. 

Thank You

Faisal Caesar

A Battle of Wills: Pakistan’s Remarkable Triumph in Dubai

 

As dusk gave way to night under the lights of the Dubai International Stadium, Pakistan and South Africa delivered a thrilling reminder of why One-Day International (ODI) cricket remains captivating, defying the naysayers who lament its dwindling relevance. In a five-match series that has brimmed with drama and unpredictability, Pakistan’s latest victory provided yet another unforgettable spectacle, underscoring the format’s unique charm.  

Pakistan’s Familiar Struggles, South Africa’s Steely Resolve  

Chasing South Africa’s challenging 275-run target, Pakistan entered the fray with the weight of recent failures in similar pursuits. Pakistan’s history with run chases is littered with heartbreak, often crumbling under pressure despite early promise. That frailty seemed poised to rear its head again as Imran Farhat departed early.  

South Africa, buoyed by Graeme Smith’s return as captain, was clinical in setting the target. Smith himself led the charge with a composed 92, and a critical third-wicket partnership with AB de Villiers kept Pakistan’s bowlers at bay. De Villiers’ boundary-less but clever 49 exemplified restraint, while late flourishes from Colin Ingram and Johan Botha stretched the total beyond Pakistan’s comfort zone.  

As Pakistan’s innings unfolded, familiar tensions resurfaced. Younis Khan, however, offered a glimpse of stability—his 73-run knock was an essay in controlled aggression, relying on deft placements rather than brute power. He played the quintessential anchor role, stringing partnerships with Mohammad Hafeez and Asad Shafiq, but when Shahid Afridi’s cameo of 29 off 25 balls ended, the balance tilted towards South Africa.  

A Game of Fine Margins 

 

At 220 for 7 in the 43rd over, with Abdul Razzaq back in the pavilion and defeat looming, it seemed another chapter in Pakistan’s long history of unfulfilled promises was about to be written. But, as cricket has shown time and again, Pakistan thrives when the odds are overwhelming. The unpredictable and chaotic moments that leave others flustered often become the stage for Pakistan’s finest hours.  

Enter Wahab Riaz. A bowler by trade, Riaz unexpectedly turned aggressor with the bat, refusing to bow to the script South Africa seemed destined to follow. His audacity was matched by Zulqarnain Haider at the other end, as the duo injected fresh energy into the dying embers of Pakistan’s hopes.  

Fortune Favors the Brave  

What followed was a sequence of near misses that would haunt South Africa. Pakistan’s resurrection was as much a tale of resolve as it was of squandered chances from their opponents. A botched run-out opportunity by Botha, a spilt chance from Graeme Smith, and Morkel’s wayward throw from his follow-through embodied the unravelling of South Africa’s control. Each misstep drew Pakistan closer to an improbable victory as if fate conspired to punish the Proteas for their lapses.  

When Pakistan needed just four runs from the final over, the tension was palpable. Yet even here, the drama continued. Riaz was run out for 18, leaving the match hanging in the balance. With the scores level, it was up to Haider to finish what had seemed impossible moments earlier. He coolly chipped the ball over midwicket, and Wayne Parnell, scrambling in desperation, missed yet another run-out opportunity. A simple nudge to square-leg sealed the game—and with it, Pakistan’s incredible comeback.  

A Victory Beyond the Scoreline  

This was more than just a win; it was an assertion of Pakistan’s identity - unpredictable, mercurial, yet capable of brilliance when it matters most. The game reflected not just skill but heart, a quality that has long defined Pakistan’s cricketing ethos. In their finest moments, Pakistan embodies the spirit of resilience battling through chaos to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.  

This series, and especially this match, serves as a reminder of why ODI cricket endures. It offers space for narrative arcs to unfold, for comebacks that stretch belief, and for moments of sheer drama that remain etched in memory. As for those who question Pakistan’s place in international cricket, tonight’s events serve as a resounding answer: without Pakistan, the cricketing world would lose something essential—an edge of unpredictability, the magic of the unexpected, and the thrill that comes from never knowing what will happen next.  

One thing is certain: as long as Pakistan continues to grace the field, cricket will remain the theatre of dreams, heartbreaks, and extraordinary triumphs.  

Thank You

Faisal Caesar