The Gods Watched, Then Laughed: A Six-Run Saga at The Oval

There are endings that feel ordained and others that feel orchestrated by cosmic mischief. The conclusion of the fifth Test between England and India at The Oval was emphatically the latter. It unfolded like a fever dream—delirious, improbable, and unspeakably human.

India’s six-run victory, their narrowest ever in Test history, emerged not simply from the hands of Mohammed Siraj or the missteps of England’s middle order, but from the alchemy of sport itself—the convergence of exhaustion, absurdity, brilliance, and error into something that can only be called Test cricket.

This series, already heavy with subplots—injuries to Jofra Archer and Jasprit Bumrah, the emotional entropy of Ben Stokes, the volcanic emergence of Shubman Gill as captain, the absurdist pantomime of the Fortis-Gambhir spat—found its crescendo on Day Five, where the players limped into history on bloodied boots and blistered willpower.

The morning began as it often does in English cricket: with the gods asleep or drunk. The sun, out too late. The rain, gone but threatening. The crowd, half-believing. England needed 35 runs, India four wickets. Somewhere, in the bowels of the Oval, the ghosts of Cowdrey, Botham, and Laxman were shifting nervously in their invisible seats.

And then came Siraj.

This was not a spell of cricket. This was penance made flesh. His face still bore the psychic scar of stepping on the boundary rope the day before, turning a wicket into a six, a moment that might have defined the match had Siraj not insisted on writing a different ending. He began the final act like a man late to his own redemption, conjuring both movement and menace as the old ball kissed and cut its way back into the game.

His first scalp—Jamie Smith, drawn into a wide drive and caught behind—was surgical. But it was the aftermath, the shift in air, the sudden awareness that this game had become alive in a new, more volatile way, that truly changed the tone. Every ball thereafter felt like a coin flipped at the gods’ mercy.

It’s easy to romanticise Test cricket’s fifth days, but seldom does one deserve it so completely. This wasn’t just attrition or skill—it was performance art. Jamie Overton’s boundaries off Krishna were defiant, but Siraj struck back, his lbw dismissal of Overton squeezed from the cold stone of a DRS review. Then came Josh Tongue, yorked by Krishna, the stumps splintered like narrative finality. And then there was one.

Chris Woakes, one-armed and freshly bandaged, walked to the crease like a Shakespearean ghost—symbolic, tragic, nobly doomed. Much like Colin Cowdrey in 1963, he arrived to bear witness more than to wield influence. But what theatre it made. Each of his flinches, the wince on his face as his arm jostled from its sling, was worth volumes. At the other end, Gus Atkinson swung hard and missed harder. England crept toward the total. Each run now felt weightier than the innings that preceded it.

And then—fittingly, brutally—Siraj bowled the perfect ball. A full, arcing yorker, straight and swift. Atkinson missed. Off stump splayed. Victory. Catharsis. Pandemonium.

Siraj, the Series' Soul

If a single figure could personify the mad beauty of this series, it would be Siraj. In a contest bursting with characters—Brook the elegant outlaw, Gill the patrician stylist, Root the quiet surgeon—it was Siraj’s blood-and-thunder presence that provided its emotional core. His figures—30.1 overs in the final innings alone—reflected a stamina that bordered on spiritual. There is no stat for a man refusing to lose.

And yet the match was not his alone.

Harry Brook’s 111 in the fourth innings was a modern-day masterpiece—a collage of invention and abandon, of risk made rational. The lofted cover drive off Akash Deep, one of the more surreal moments in the annals of cricketing aggression, was less a shot than a declaration of belief. A conviction that scoring, even in such tension, was not only possible but necessary.

In contrast, Root played the long symphony—technically assured, emotionally unflustered, his 105 a reassertion of classical virtues amidst the din. But both fell, and with them, England’s hopes.

Bazball: A Philosophy Under Trial

What will be said of this era—this high-octane, lurching revolution that calls itself Bazball? Is it bravado or brilliance? Does it summon glory or fragility?

Here, perhaps, we found the limits of the aesthetic. For all its dazzle and daring, it leaves little room for compromise. The absence of Stokes’ fielding, the multiple dropped chances, the gaps in composure—these were not just tired bodies but also the product of a doctrine that sometimes trades tension for thrill. You live fast. You fall hard.

And yet, what theatre. What gall.

England’s collapse—47 for 4 from a position of command—wasn’t a failure of method as much as a failure of margin. India held tighter lines. England blinked first. Sometimes it’s that simple.

Of Groundsmen and Gods

It would be a mistake not to mention the strangest subplot of them all: Lee Fortis, the Oval groundsman, catapulted from the periphery of cricket’s subconscious into the cultural spotlight following his confrontation with Gautam Gambhir. The incident was comic, yes, but also deeply telling. In an era where cricket is increasingly commodified, where power resides with boards, broadcasters and brands, this was a turf war in the literal sense. And how ironic that Fortis’ pitch, green and uncompromising, produced a final act for the ages.

A Test series to Relish 

The 2025 England-India series, by any measure, now joins the pantheon of modern epics. From Headingley to Manchester, the storylines have multiplied—comebacks, centuries, injuries, rainbreaks, politics, pitches, dropped catches, and divine reversals. The cumulative emotional toll has been extraordinary.

And yet, what end could be more fitting than one that tips into myth? 35 runs needed. Three wickets in hand. One arm in a sling. And a man with unfinished business steaming in to bowl.

The gods, it seems, were not angry after all. They were just waiting for a better story.

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar 

Brook’s Brilliance and Pakistan’s Collapse: A Tragicomedy in Multan

The fourth day of the Multan Test will be remembered for two starkly contrasting narratives: Harry Brook’s rise to greatness and Pakistan’s steady unravelling. England’s fearless cricket, embodied in Brook’s remarkable innings, was met with a Pakistan team adrift, their captain Shan Masood smiling through the carnage like a figure lost in a tragicomedy. The field seemed a stage where Pakistan’s players resembled characters in a surreal, disjointed film, while Brook and Joe Root methodically dismantled what was left of Pakistan’s resolve.

Shan Masood’s leadership - or lack thereof - was glaringly evident. As the Pakistani captain, his body language was baffling, wandering across the field with a casual smile that felt entirely out of place. 

Comparisons to the Joker, with his unsettling grin masking deeper confusion, were apt. It wasn’t just that Masood’s team was losing; it was the apparent lack of direction that made the loss all the more painful. 

He seemed to exude an air of detachment as if the gravity of the situation hadn’t yet dawned on him. This is not the hallmark of a leader who commands respect or control over his team.

Babar Azam, a player of immense individual talent, looked more like a disoriented figure on this particular day. Labelled whimsically as the "Lady Gaga of Joker 2," Babar was a shadow of his usual self. His focus and commitment have raised questions, with a dropped catch at a critical juncture turning the tide further in England’s favour. That missed chance allowed Joe Root to escape on 186, and from there, the dominance only intensified.

Wicketkeeper Mohammad Rizwan, a man known for his grit, seemed to be mentally elsewhere, enduring the scorching heat behind the stumps. His usual sharpness was missing as the Pakistan bowling attack, spearheaded by the once-dominant Shaheen Shah Afridi and Naseem Shah, faltered. 

The analogy of the two running in like schoolboys rather than the heirs of Wasim Akram and Waqar Younis could not have been more cutting. Shaheen’s failure to make the ball talk, combined with Naseem’s lack of penetration, exposed the hollowness in Pakistan’s once-formidable pace attack.

The rest of the team appeared to be mere costars in this tragic play, underperforming, demoralized, and out of ideas. Their collective inability to rise to the occasion, despite the mounting pressure, made the English dominance all the more painful to watch.

While Pakistan crumbled, Harry Brook stood tall, playing an innings that will go down in Test cricket lore. His performance was not just a display of skill but a bold declaration of the future of the game. 

Brook’s knock of 300 was more than an individual milestone; it symbolised a new generation of cricketers who approach the Test format with the same aggressive mindset cultivated in limited-overs cricket.

Joe Root, the seasoned campaigner, was the perfect foil to Brook’s youthful exuberance. Together, their partnership of 454 runs against Pakistan was an exhibition of England’s modern-day “Bazball” philosophy, where aggression is no longer the enemy of patience. It was a performance that effectively bled Pakistan dry. The dropped catch by Babar Azam only added to the symbolism of the moment—a Pakistan side falling apart in the face of unrelenting pressure.

Brook’s ability to shift gears at will stood out. He began his innings with the restraint of a classical Test batsman, respecting the conditions and the opposition. Yet, as Pakistan’s bowlers began to tire, Brook became an aggressor. His crisp footwork against spin, ability to find gaps, and clean, powerful hitting turned the contest into a one-sided affair. His use of the crease—dancing down the wicket to smother spin or rocking back to cut and pull—was a masterclass in how to play spin in subcontinental conditions.

It wasn’t just the runs but the strike rate at which Brook amassed them that set his innings apart. His 300 came at a pace unheard of in Test cricket’s traditional approach, further emphasizing the changing dynamics of the game. Brook’s triple century was a feast for purists and a signal of where the game is headed: innovation and aggression are no longer confined to the shorter formats.

Pakistan’s performance resembled a farcical tragedy. 

In this drama, Shan Masood’s hollow smiles and clueless leadership brought to mind the tragicomedy of characters like Beckett’s Vladimir and Estragon, endlessly waiting for something - anything - that might turn their fortunes around. But no rescue came, and the team was left exposed under the relentless assault of Brook and Root.

Meanwhile, England, led by the indefatigable Joe Root and the rising star Harry Brook, delivered a performance straight out of a Shakespearean epic. Brook, the young prince, ascended to greatness in the oppressive heat of Multan, displaying the kind of brilliance that turns players into legends. In a sense, his innings felt like a coronation—a young knight stepping into the realm of the cricketing greats.

Root’s dismissal, finally falling LBW to Salman Agha, felt like the briefest of interruptions in an otherwise flawless narrative. His innings, extended by Babar’s fateful dropped catch, added an almost tragic irony to Pakistan’s misery. 

Brook’s innings was a reflection of where Test cricket stands today, poised between the old and the new. While traditionalists might yearn for the days of grinding out innings, Brook’s 300 showed that aggression, when channelled correctly, can coexist with patience and endurance. His innings embodied the modern ethos of Test cricket—fast-paced, fearless, and dynamic.

At just 25, Brook’s maturity and adaptability in Multan signalled the arrival of a new superstar, one who will likely shape the future of Test cricket. His performance will be remembered not only for the runs but for the way he played them, methodically, elegantly, and with aggression that signalled the changing tide in the game.

In the end, as Pakistan’s players left the field defeated, their disjointed efforts stood in stark contrast to England’s fluid, attacking cricket. 

Brook’s triple century may well be remembered as a turning point in the annals of Test cricket, a moment when the future took its first real strides into the present. For Pakistan, the match will serve as a bitter reminder that smiles alone can’t win matches; in the end, strategy, grit, and determination are what separate champions from the rest.

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar 

Pakistan Feels the Heat: Root and Brook Punish The Host

On a benign, placid deck, the English batsmen revelled in what was little more than a leisurely exercise against a toothless Pakistani bowling attack. They scored at an impressive rate of five runs per over until fatigue set in, slowing the pace only slightly to 4.87 runs per over across 101 overs—an ideal demonstration of modern-day cricket on a flat pitch, where bowlers lacking bite pose little threat.

Among the Englishmen, it was Harry Brook who appeared to savour the conditions most. It was on England's previous tour of Pakistan that Brook announced his arrival to the world, amassing 468 runs at an average of 93.60, including centuries in all three Tests. Once more, Brook picked up where he left off, resuming his mastery over Pakistan’s bowling unit.

His half-century came in just 49 deliveries, marking his fifth score of fifty-plus in six innings against this opposition. His second fifty was more measured, taking 69 balls, but even so, his strike rate hovered around the 80-plus mark. By no means was Brook finished; he seemed poised to inflict even more damage on the beleaguered Pakistani attack.

The Yorkshire duo of Root and Brook forged a monumental 243-run stand (and counting), the third consecutive century partnership in the innings. Earlier, Zak Crawley’s fluent 78 and Ben Duckett’s solid 84 provided the platform, contributing to 109- and 136-run partnerships for the second and third wickets, respectively.

Yet, the day truly belonged to Joe Root, who ascended to the pinnacle of English Test cricket by becoming the highest run-scorer in England’s history. Since his debut against India at Nagpur in 2012, Root’s rise has been nothing short of remarkable.

Root’s ascent to this historic milestone, surpassing Sir Alastair Cook’s long-standing record, has elevated him from a player of enormous promise to an undisputed legend. His journey has not been merely about accumulating runs; it is the story of a cricketer who has shouldered the weight of his team’s hopes across different eras, often standing as the lone bulwark against opposition attacks. His technique is a masterful blend of classical strokeplay and modern aggression, allowing him to adapt seamlessly to any scenario.

What distinguishes Root is not just his consistency but his ability to marry elegance with pragmatism. His innings can be as patient and composed as they are expansive and aggressive, depending on what the situation demands. His deep cricketing intellect, coupled with his adaptability to varying conditions, is what has made him a towering figure in English cricket.

Across a career filled with highs and lows, Root’s batting has been the one constant. From his debut as a fresh-faced prodigy, through his Ashes heroics, to his tenure as captain, Root has been the backbone of England’s Test side. Even as English cricket transitioned through turbulent phases—the retirements of Kevin Pietersen and Cook, the struggles in foreign conditions—Root’s bat remained steady, guiding his team through rough waters.

Root’s record-breaking achievement is more than just a statistical marvel; it’s a testament to his resilience, endurance, and mastery of the game’s mental and technical demands. His runs are not just numbers—they are emblematic of his ability to withstand the rigours of international cricket: long tours, form fluctuations, and the immense scrutiny that accompanies the captaincy. Root’s unflappable composure in the face of such challenges amplifies the significance of his record.

Particularly noteworthy is Root’s prowess on spinning tracks, where many of his contemporaries have faltered. Whether in India, Sri Lanka, or Pakistan, Root has not just survived but thrived, often posting his most memorable innings in these conditions. His mastery of the sweep shot, coupled with nimble footwork and patience, has made him a standout player in the subcontinent.

There is a poetic justice to Root surpassing Cook, two men who have come to symbolize English cricket in different eras. While Cook was the torchbearer for England in the early 21st century, Root now assumes that role in a time when Test cricket is grappling with its place amidst the rise of limited-overs formats. Root’s achievements underscore the enduring value of Test cricket, a format that demands skill, patience, and mental fortitude in ways shorter formats do not.

Joe Root’s journey is far from over. At an age where many batsmen are still at their peak, there is little doubt that his legacy will continue to grow. Yet, at this moment, as England’s leading run-scorer in Test cricket, Root stands not only as a symbol of English cricket’s past and present but also as a beacon for its future.

In Root, England has not only found a prolific batsman but also a cricketer whose story embodies the very spirit of Test cricket - an exquisite blend of skill, patience, and unyielding resolve. As he continues to script new chapters in his remarkable career, Root’s place among the pantheon of cricket’s greats is firmly secured.

Looking ahead, Day 4 promises more records for Root, as he is likely to add more runs to his already impressive tally.

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar