From Rain to Redemption: A Week That Revived the Cricket World Cup

The 2019 Cricket World Cup had a frustrating start as rain played an unwelcome guest, washing out matches and dampening the spirits of fans. Enthralling contests were left unresolved, leaving players and supporters in limbo. When Bangladesh’s match against Sri Lanka was abandoned due to rain, coach Steve Rhodes voiced the collective exasperation:

"We put men on the moon, so why can't we have a reserve day for these games?"

The whims of weather reduced the World Cup to a game of chance, threatening to overshadow the tournament’s prestige. Yet, as the skies cleared, cricket delivered a spectacle that reminded everyone why the 50-over format remains unparalleled in its drama and intensity. Four days, four thrillers—cricket came roaring back to life. 

A Week of High-Stakes Drama

The week began with South Africa, perennial underachievers, once again succumbing to pressure in a must-win clash against New Zealand. The Proteas’ campaign ended in heartbreak, epitomizing their struggle with World Cup demons. 

Then came Sri Lanka’s stunning upset over England at Trent Bridge. In a low-scoring thriller, the Lions roared back to life, showcasing grit and determination that had seemed lost. 

Afghanistan, the tournament's minnows, nearly pulled off the unthinkable against India. In a tense last-over finish, Mohammed Shami’s hat-trick rescued India from an embarrassing defeat, leaving fans breathless. 

But the pièce de résistance was the clash between New Zealand and the West Indies—a game that transcended cricketing boundaries to etch itself into World Cup folklore. 

The Brathwaite Blitzkrieg

At Old Trafford, New Zealand set a challenging target, thanks to the calm brilliance of Kane Williamson and Ross Taylor. The West Indies’ response was pure adrenaline. Chris Gayle and Shimron Hetmyer launched an assault reminiscent of T20 cricket, raining sixes in an audacious display of power hitting. 

But the aggression came at a cost. Reckless shot selection saw wickets tumble, and at 164 for 7, the game seemed lost. The focus shifted to distant São Paulo, where Brazil’s football team was dismantling Peru in a show of flair and precision. Cricket appeared to have ceded the spotlight. 

Enter Carlos Brathwaite. 

In a jaw-dropping display of calculated aggression, Brathwaite took the game into his own hands. With 47 runs required off five overs and only the inexperienced Oshane Thomas for company, he unleashed a barrage of boundaries. Matt Henry bore the brunt in the 48th over, conceding 25 runs as Brathwaite dismantled New Zealand’s bowling attack with brute force. 

The equation narrowed: 8 runs off 12 balls. Victory was within reach. 

The Final Act: A Tale of Inches

Kane Williamson, ever the tactician, marshalled his troops for one last stand. He turned to Jimmy Neesham, instructing him to bowl short and wide, denying Brathwaite his favoured hitting zones. The field was set with deep onside protection, forcing Brathwaite to manufacture his shots. 

Neesham delivered under pressure. A couple of dot balls built tension, and when Brathwaite reached his century with a pulled boundary, the crowd erupted. The stage was set for a fairytale finish. 

But cricket, like life, is cruelly unpredictable. Brathwaite, seeking to finish in style, mistimed a pull off a short ball. Trent Boult, stationed at long-on, held his nerve and the catch. The dream ended five runs short. 

Brathwaite sank to his knees, inconsolable. Williamson and Taylor, embodying the spirit of cricket, offered solace, much like Grant Elliott had done for Dale Steyn in 2015. 

Lessons in Defeat

The West Indies’ heartbreak was a lesson in the nuances of the ODI format. While Brathwaite’s heroics will be remembered as one of the great individual innings, the team’s over-reliance on big hitting proved costly. A more measured approach—rotating strike, building partnerships, and exploiting gaps—could have bridged the five-run gap. 

Cricket is a game of moments, but it is also a game of margins. The West Indies fell short, not for lack of effort, but for the absence of tactical finesse. 

A Tournament Reignited

This week of cricketing drama reminded us why the World Cup is the sport’s ultimate stage. Rain may have tested patience, but the subsequent thrillers reaffirmed the enduring allure of the 50-over game. From Brathwaite’s near-miracle to Shami’s hat-trick, these moments will live on in cricketing lore. 

As the tournament progresses, teams will carry these lessons forward. For the West Indies, the heartbreak of Manchester may yet fuel their resurgence. For fans, the week was a poignant reminder that cricket, in all its unpredictability, remains a sport like no other. 

Thank You

Faisal Caesar 

A Battle for the Ages: New Zealand’s Grit and Glory Against England

Test cricket, with all its glorious unpredictability, has long been a theatre of drama, passion, and perseverance. On Day 5 in Christchurch, New Zealand scripted a chapter that will resonate through the annals of cricket history—a tale of defiance and resilience, where the improbable was achieved against formidable odds. 

The morning began with Kane Williamson, New Zealand's modern-day colossus, falling to Stuart Broad for a golden duck on the very first ball—a rare blemish on an otherwise stellar career. For the first time, Williamson found himself dismissed on the first ball of a Test match, and New Zealand were reeling, losing two wickets in as many deliveries. The dream of ending a 34-year home-soil drought against England seemed to evaporate into the cold Christchurch air. 

At 162 for 6, England’s bowlers, spearheaded by the indefatigable Broad and James Anderson, seemed poised to snatch a series-levelling victory. The script appeared written: another triumph for England, another heartbreak for the Kiwis. Yet, as cricket so often reminds us, its narrative can turn on the smallest moments of defiance. 

Colin de Grandhomme: Cricket’s Maverick 

Enter Colin de Grandhomme, New Zealand’s unpredictable all-rounder, a man who embodies counter-intuition on the cricket field. De Grandhomme’s approach is as exasperating for opponents as it is captivating for spectators. With a devil-may-care attitude, he counter-punched England’s charge, wielding his bat with unorthodox flair. 

Twice in the match, he mocked conventional wisdom, refusing to yield under pressure. He struck with defiance in the first innings and dug in with purpose in the second. Together with Ish Sodhi, he laid the foundation for what would become an extraordinary seventh-wicket partnership, turning a collapse into a symbol of resistance. 

Ish Sodhi: A Portrait of Patience 

Ish Sodhi’s contribution to the game cannot be overstated. Once viewed primarily as a limited-overs specialist, the leg-spinner proved his mettle in the game’s most demanding format. Patience was his mantra, and survival his art. The milestone of fifty runs was irrelevant to him; what mattered was grinding out the overs, resisting England’s relentless assault, and keeping the dream alive. 

It was Test cricket at its purest—runs accumulated not through flourish but through sheer grit. Sodhi’s ability to weather storm after storm exemplified the mental fortitude required at the highest level. His partnership with de Grandhomme was a masterclass in determination, a refusal to succumb to England’s reputation and resources. 

Neil Wagner: The Unexpected Hero 

And then there was Neil Wagner, a bowler renowned for his hostile spells targeting batsmen’s ribcages, now wielding the bat in defence of New Zealand’s hopes. Wagner’s innings, a paltry seven runs off 103 balls, was a masterpiece in defiance. It was not pretty, but it was effective—a testament to the idea that even the most unheralded skills can shine under pressure. 

Against England’s all-star bowling attack—Broad, Anderson, Mark Wood, and Ben Stokes—Wagner’s stoic stand embodied the very essence of Test cricket. He did not merely survive; he inspired, becoming a linchpin in New Zealand’s improbable resistance. 

Breaking the Jinx 

For over three decades, England had tormented New Zealand on their home turf. Breaking a 34-year jinx is no ordinary feat—it requires more than skill; it demands passion, endurance, and a deep-seated belief in the impossible. 

Sodhi and Wagner batted through 31 overs, frustrating England’s bowlers and defying logic. As Sodhi finally punched the air in celebration, embraced by his jubilant teammates, the weight of history lifted. This was more than a cricketing achievement; it was a victory for the human spirit, a triumph of perseverance over adversity. 

The Victory of Test Cricket 

England, crestfallen and battered, could only watch as New Zealand celebrated. They had thrown everything into the contest but were denied by a team that simply refused to yield. It was one of those rare occasions where a hard-fought draw felt as triumphant as a win. 

The match in Christchurch was not just a victory for New Zealand; it was a resounding endorsement of Test cricket. At a time when the game’s longest format is often dismissed as archaic in the face of shorter, glitzier formats, this contest served as a reminder of its enduring relevance. The drama, tension, and sheer unpredictability of Test cricket remain unmatched. 

As the circus of T20 cricket prepares to take centre stage, this match stands as a counterpoint—a celebration of the craft, character, and endurance that make Test cricket the pinnacle of the sport. New Zealand’s triumph against England was not merely a win; it was a testament to the soul of the game.  

Thank You

Faisal Caesar 

The Colombo Redemption: How Ross Taylor’s New Zealand Discovered Their Soul Again

Sports rarely offer a neat morality tale. Yet, as New Zealand’s cricketers walked into the bruised Colombo twilight at the P Sara Oval, grinning through a cathartic beer shower, it was difficult not to see in their victory the shape of something deeper—a team stumbling out of its own darkness.

Five days earlier in Galle, New Zealand’s batsmen had looked like suspects in a crime scene, prodded and tormented by Rangana Herath as if he were lobbing grenades rather than bowling spin. They seemed hopeless, helpless, and hollow. So ordinary, in fact, that any talk of a resurrection sounded naïve.

And yet, at P Sara, something shifted. It wasn't the pitch. It wasn't luck. It was temperament, defiance, and the steel of two men—Ross Taylor and Kane Williamson—who chose to rewrite their team’s narrative instead of accepting its collapse.

The Decision That Rewrote the Story

New Zealand’s redemption began not with the bat, but with a decision at the toss.

Ross Taylor could have chosen safety. He could have bowled first on a damp Colombo surface historically friendly to fast bowlers. Few would have blamed him.

But captains sometimes make choices that are really messages.

Batting first was Taylor’s gauntlet thrown at his own batting group: Fight, or be forgotten.

It said the public deserved better, that cowardice was no longer acceptable currency.

If Galle exposed New Zealand’s fear, Colombo demanded courage.

Taylor and Williamson: Rediscovering the Art of Battling Time

In Galle, New Zealand had spoken of being “positive,” yet their batting had resembled a confused pendulum—dour where they needed intent, reckless when they needed patience.

Colombo was a different universe.

Williamson brought the serenity of a monk; Taylor, the self-denial of a man trying to shed his own past. Together they built not just runs, but rhythm. They turned survival into narrative control. Their 262-run partnership was less a stand than a statement.

Taylor’s century was perhaps the most un-Taylor innings of his career—eight boundaries in 189 balls, no indulgence in slog sweeps, no temptation toward bravado. It was a portrait of restraint from a man who had too often been hostage to his instincts.

Williamson, meanwhile, played with a calm so absurdly unflappable it felt as though he had teleported from another era—an era where Test batting was an act of meditation, not aggression.

Together, they rehabilitated New Zealand’s dignity.

The Seamers Take the Stage: A Pair is Born

If the Sri Lankan spinners dominated Galle, the Colombo script belonged to Southee and Boult, who bowled with the kind of synchronised ferocity and swing mastery that New Zealand hadn’t witnessed since the fragile brilliance of Shane Bond.

They did not just take wickets—they took the right wickets.

Dilshan through the gate. Sangakkara mistiming a hook. Jayawardene, that old sculptor of fourth innings chases, poking at an away-seamer he should have left.

In doing so, they turned a respectable first-innings total into a psychological chokehold.

This was not the New Zealand that folded under pressure.

This was a New Zealand discovering that discipline could be a weapon.

Sri Lanka’s Resistance and the Long Grind of Test Cricket

Test cricket is rarely a linear narrative. There are bad sessions, long afternoons, fading light, and slow suffering.

Sri Lanka did not give up their ground easily. Samaraweera and Randiv clawed them past the follow-on. Angelo Mathews later produced an innings of almost stoic heroism, evoking memories of Faf du Plessis at Adelaide.

But Test matches, like character, are built over five days, not one.

New Zealand’s bowlers—Southee, Boult, the persevering Patel, even the flawed-but-fighting Bracewell—kept chiseling.

There were lapses but no surrenders.

The Final Push: When Grit Overtook Despair

On the final day, with weather lurking like an uninvited guest, New Zealand needed not brilliance but belief. They needed wickets before the Colombo gloom imposed its own result.

And with poetic symmetry, it was Boult—the quieter killer, the tireless left-armer—who sealed the win.

Williamson’s catching brilliance at gully symbolised the collective uplift of a team that had rediscovered its hands, its hunger, its hope.

When Mathews finally edged to slip, New Zealand had not merely won a Test match.

They had exorcised something.

The Celebration: Relief, Not Rapture

The scenes after victory were not wild. They were human.

A huddle. A pledge. A beer shower instead of champagne.

Two fans waving the silver fern in monsoon-hit Sri Lanka, celebrating something that looked less like sport and more like salvation.

This victory wasn’t an outburst of triumph—it was a sigh.

The sigh of a team that had avoided a historic losing streak, a public backlash, and the emotional rot that comes from repeated humiliation.

What This Test Taught Us About New Zealand Cricket

This wasn’t just a win. It was:

Proof that temperament can be trained.

Proof that discipline can overcome chaos.

Proof that leadership is often made in decisions no one expects you to make.

Proof that a team can change its identity within a single week if it owns its flaws.

And most importantly, it was proof that New Zealand’s strengths—its seam bowlers, its humility, its collective ethic—still matter in cricket’s loud, impatient world.

As Ross Taylor said, “It’s one victory.”

But it is the kind of victory that plants seeds.

Ahead lies South Africa—a tour that bruises every visiting side. The defeats will come. But now, New Zealand will walk into that cauldron with something they did not possess six days earlier:

A glimmer.

A foundation.

A belief that dawn can indeed follow their darkest night.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar