In the annals of cricket history, few Test series have captured the essence of resilience and perseverance quite like South Africa’s 1997 tour of Pakistan. Amidst torrential rain, unpredictable pitches, and a fluctuating battle of skill and nerve, the South African team showcased remarkable fortitude to secure a historic series victory. A story woven with thrilling individual performances, strategic brilliance, and moments of drama, this series became a testament to the power of belief and determination. Despite daunting odds, including injuries, weather disruptions, and an adversarial home team bolstered by Wasim Akram and Waqar Younis, South Africa’s triumph on Pakistani soil in 1997 stands as a symbol of their tenacity and character. This article takes you through the highs and lows of that unforgettable series, where grit and resilience triumphed over nature, injuries, and the fierce challenge of a team hungry for victory.
A Test of the Unexpected – Twist and Turns, Record Breaks in Rawalpindi
South Africa seized the early advantage, flirting with the prospect of victory as Pakistan stumbled to 216 for six by stumps on the first day. Yet the illusion was short-lived. The truth, as stark as the unyielding surface itself, soon emerged: the pitch offered neither pace nor movement, its bounce resembling that of an old tennis ball on sun-hardened clay. Devoid of moisture, the wicket refused even the courtesy of cracking. Any hopes of a genuine contest withered, but the match would remain memorable—not for its competitiveness, but for the extraordinary debut performances that defined it. Pakistan’s three newcomers, particularly Ali Naqvi and Azhar Mahmood, left an indelible mark, scripting history as the first pair of same-team debutants to score centuries in the same Test.
Naqvi, a 20-year-old opener brimming with youthful exuberance, launched his innings with a flurry, racing to 25 from as many balls before the sobering reality of his partners’ dismissals forced a change in approach. Reining in his aggression, he crafted a century that spanned into the evening, a feat met with both admiration and quiet exasperation from his teammates when, with just two overs left in the day, he succumbed to a reckless slash off Allan Donald, departing for 115. His exit ushered in Mahmood, an all-rounder of understated elegance. The following morning was damp with rain, and so too was Pakistan’s resurgence—Moin Khan and Saqlain Mushtaq fell lbw in quick succession, leaving the hosts reeling at 231 for eight. South Africa had, by all measures, outperformed expectations on a surface seemingly built for batsmen.
Yet, as so often in cricket, the tail had its own script. The last two wickets did not just delay South Africa’s dominance; they nearly doubled Pakistan’s total. Waqar Younis, known more for his venomous yorkers than his batting, played an innings of two halves—one of stout defence, the other of exhilarating counterattack. His Test-best 45 included two sixes (one an audacious hook off Donald) and five boundaries, but it was Mahmood’s quiet mastery at the other end that truly turned the tide. Initially unnoticed in his mechanical efficiency, he burst into life when Waqar fell, shifting gears with a series of imperious extra-cover drives, unfurling them off both front and back foot.
By the third morning, the unbroken final-wicket stand had amassed 111 more runs, taking the game beyond South Africa’s grasp. Mahmood, batting with a poise that belied his inexperience, finished unbeaten on 128—his maiden first-class century, achieved in 349 minutes and punctuated by 11 fours and a six. At the other end, Mushtaq Ahmed, relishing the rare indulgence of unpressured batting, plundered a maiden Test fifty, his innings highlighted by an over in which he lifted off-spinner Pat Symcox for three sixes and a four. Their 151-run partnership equalled the world record for a tenth-wicket stand, a feat last accomplished by New Zealand’s Brian Hastings and Richard Collinge in 1972-73, when they too had defied Pakistan in Auckland.
With eight sessions remaining, Gary Kirsten embarked on an innings dictated by time, not runs. Resolute and unflappable, he anchored South Africa’s resistance, closing out the day unbeaten despite the loss of Adam Bacher, who fell to a sharp catch at silly point by the third debutant, Mohammad Ramzan. Kirsten would go on to bat for nearly seven hours, virtually securing the draw. His vigil, however, ended just shy of a century—edging a rare Saqlain Mushtaq delivery that not only turned but lifted unexpectedly.
Amidst this slow-burning contest, a brief moment of grandeur arrived at tea. Queen Elizabeth II and the Duke of Edinburgh, in Pakistan for the nation’s 50th-anniversary celebrations, graced the ground, greeted by a rare sight—15,000 spectators admitted free of charge, a stark contrast to the otherwise sparse gatherings that had marked the match.
Trailing by 53, South Africa’s final mission was less about overturning the deficit and more about unsettling Pakistan for the battles ahead. Hansie Cronje and his bowlers pressed forward with the only remaining objective—psychological advantage. The hosts stumbled to 80 for five, the game momentarily flickering back to life, only for Mahmood, once again, to restore order with an unbeaten half-century, shutting the door on any further drama. The match, if not the most competitive, had become a chronicle of individual triumphs—an introduction to future stalwarts and a reminder that sometimes, Test cricket’s most enduring narratives are shaped not by the contest, but by those who rise within it.
The Sheikhupura Stalemate
The match unfolded as a chaotic spectacle of monsoon rain, injury, and last-minute replacements, leaving only two days of actual play. A groin injury ended wicketkeeper Dave Richardson's remarkable streak of 38 consecutive Tests since South Africa’s 1992 readmission, forcing a hurried call-up for 20-year-old Mark Boucher, who made the trip from East London with little time to prepare. Lance Klusener found his way into the side as a stand-in for the injured Allan Donald, while South Africa, adjusting to further setbacks, opted for both their spinners after Schultz’s unexpected departure. Pakistan, too, faced their own disruptions—Waqar Younis succumbed to a bruised foot, while Wasim Akram, returning after a six-month layoff with a shoulder injury, sought to reassert his presence. A tactical reshuffle saw the inclusion of Ali Hussain Rizvi, a spinner with promise but little experience.
The setting was as much a character in this unfolding drama as the players themselves. Lodged in the urban comforts of Lahore, both teams endured the 90-minute, pre-dawn commute to the venue, wrapped in tracksuits and absorbed in their personal stereos, attempting to drown out the arduous journey. The first morning was a washout, the city’s streets and fields drowning under relentless downpours. By noon, the clouds relented, revealing a pitch concealed beneath an improvised patchwork of canvas and tarpaulin—saturated beyond immediate repair. Frustrations simmered, yet no one bore the burden of accountability. Only the steady diplomacy of match referee Ranjan Madugalle salvaged any play, coaxing the players onto the field under far-from-ideal conditions.
When cricket finally began, it was Gary Kirsten and Adam Bacher who seized the moment. Their century opening stand, the second in succession, was a testament to both their attacking intent and their fortune against Wasim Akram, whose return was met with defiant strokeplay. So sluggish was the turn off the surface that Mushtaq Ahmed was introduced as early as the tenth over, yet Bacher—uncertain in defence—chose to meet the challenge head-on with a barrage of lofted drives and sweeps. The narrative of his maiden Test century hovered tantalizingly close, only for nerves to tighten their grip at 96, a cruel repetition of his previous best. Mushtaq, having beaten the bat repeatedly, finally found the edge.
Hansie Cronje injected urgency with three slog-swept sixes, while Shaun Pollock and Klusener pressed home the advantage with a brisk 96-run stand in just 18 overs. The final total of 402 was a rebuke to Pakistan’s pre-match expectations—Saeed Anwar had anticipated South Africa’s collapse against spin, yet Mushtaq’s four for 122 lacked a decisive bite, Saqlain Mushtaq was played with unexpected ease, and Rizvi, despite his extravagant loop and generous turn, seemed ill-equipped for this level.
Pakistan’s reply began confidently, passing fifty before Saeed Anwar’s late-evening dismissal halted their momentum. Any hopes of a decisive contest, however, drowned alongside the buffaloes wading through flooded fields. The last two days were a study in futility—players embarking on three-hour round trips to a ground where the rain never relented, their drives slowed further by waterlogged roads and the slow, heavy presence of livestock seeking higher ground. In the end, the match, much like its travellers, remained stranded in limbo—defined more by circumstance than cricket.
A Game That Slipped Away
South Africa clinched the series dramatically, overturning the balance of play to bundle Pakistan out for a meagre 92 on the fourth day. The victory, unexpected yet emphatic, bore the imprint of Pat Symcox, who, after 13 Tests, finally played a match-defining role. This was a contest waged on an uncharacteristically green wicket—an anomaly in Pakistan, where curators were accustomed to preparing dry, lifeless surfaces. Yet an edict from Majid Khan, the PCB chief executive, had insisted on enough grass to ensure results, and the pitch, with its emerald sheen, proved a fickle ally for both sides.
Hansie Cronje, perhaps against his better judgment, opted to bat first. It was a decision he may have regretted the moment Wasim Akram and Waqar Younis, reunited at last, began their symphony of seam and swing. With the new ball talking, South Africa were dismantled in a spell of relentless hostility, slumping to 30 for four. Mushtaq Ahmed then tightened the noose, snaring three scalps to reduce them to 99 for seven at lunch. But just as the innings threatened to dissolve completely, Kirsten—scrappy, unyielding—found an unlikely ally in Symcox, a man whose batting had long irritated opposition bowlers.
What followed was an innings of defiance and audacity. Symcox bludgeoned his way to 81 off 94 balls, their partnership swelling to 124 and dragging South Africa into contention. Divine intervention, or perhaps mere cricketing absurdity, played a hand when a Mushtaq googly zipped through his defences, slipping under the bat and passing cleanly between off and middle stump. Umpire Dunne, in disbelief, wiped his spectacles, only to find that a badly cut bail had refused to dislodge. Wasim eventually removed Symcox with an inswinger, leaving Kirsten to soldier on with the erratic assistance of Paul Adams.
Drama followed when Kirsten, momentarily awarded a century, had it cruelly revoked after a scoring error was discovered. For a brief moment, he was left stranded on 99, only for the scorers to adjust their calculations, reinstating his hundred—an unbeaten effort that made him the first South African to carry his bat in a Test since Jackie McGlew in 1961-62.
Pakistan’s innings followed an eerily similar trajectory. The new ball spat and jagged, reducing them to 80 for five on the second morning. But then came resistance. Inzamam-ul-Haq and Moin Khan stitched together a commanding 144-run stand, steering their side to 224 for five, just 15 behind and seemingly in control. Sensing the creeping tension in his ranks, Cronje turned to himself. His golden arm struck instantly—Inzamam, on the cusp of a century, flailed at a wide outswinger and perished at second slip. In Cronje’s next over, a jittery Moin allowed another wobbling delivery to sneak onto his off stump. Momentum shifted again, though, as Aamir Sohail, nursing a damaged finger, combined with Waqar Younis to push Pakistan’s lead to 69.
The following day, Symcox reprised his role as an unlikely batting hero. Stationary at the crease but lethal to anything pitched up, he carved his way to another half-century, featuring one of his customary sixes over long-on. Pakistan’s spinners, though, clawed back control—Mushtaq and Saqlain splitting seven wickets as South Africa collapsed. And so, as the third evening drew to a close, Pakistan, needing only 142 to win, sat comfortably at four without loss. Victory seemed within grasp, and their confidence was palpable.
But cricket, ever a game of shifting tides, had one final twist. On the bus ride back to the hotel, an animated Symcox delivered a rousing speech to his crestfallen teammates. “This game can be won,” he declared. The words hung in the air, more hope than certainty, but by morning, they would prove prophetic.
The final day began with Sohail slashing Donald for two early boundaries. But cricket’s fine margins often separate triumph from folly—his third attempt found point. Then came Shaun Pollock, executing a masterclass in control and precision. With ruthless efficiency, he dismantled the middle order, claiming four wickets in seven balls. The Pakistani batsmen, trapped in headlights, froze like startled prey. By lunch, the scoreboard read 79 for six.
In the dressing room, the tension was suffocating. “I don’t know how they felt,” Pollock later admitted, “but we couldn’t eat a thing. We all just sat, staring at the clock, willing the minutes to go by.”
Cronje wasted no time after the break, tossing the ball to Symcox. The off-spinner, so often the burly, grizzled fighter, now turned wily fox, tempting the terror-stricken lower order with teasing flight. Wasim, gripped by panic, swatted across the line and perished. Saqlain, unsure whether to attack or defend, merely deflected the ball into the waiting hands of short leg. And then, the final act—Moin, defiant to the last, skied a pull to deep mid-wicket. Donald, sprinting in, clutched the catch at throat height and tore off in jubilation, covering 60 meters in a blur of sheer exhilaration before diving into the celebratory crush of bodies.
South Africa had won, not through dominance but through resilience, seizing their moment when it mattered most. It was a victory forged in adversity, fueled by the unshakable belief that even against the run of play, the game was never truly lost—until it was won.
A Series of Contrasts
This series was one of the ironies. In one match, a lifeless pitch stifled South Africa; in the next, a sporting surface turned against Pakistan. Debutants shone while veterans faltered. The rains dictated more than the captains did. And in the end, the defining moments belonged to those who had no right to steal the show—Symcox with the bat, Cronje with the ball, Pollock with relentless precision.
For Pakistan, it was a lesson in missed opportunities. For South Africa, it was a triumph of resilience. And for cricket, it was a reminder that even in drawn Tests and rain-ruined matches, drama finds its way to the heart of the game.
Thank You
Faisal Caesar
