A Gamble Gone Wrong: How Sri Lanka Outplayed West Indies in the 1995 Singer Champions Trophy Final

Cricket has a peculiar way of rewarding the bold and punishing the overconfident. On a scorching Friday afternoon at the Sharjah Cricket Association Stadium, Richie Richardson made a decision that would haunt the West Indies for the rest of the day. Winning the toss in the 1995 Singer Champions Trophy Final, he opted to field first—a calculated risk, but one that would prove disastrous against a Sri Lankan side that was gaining momentum on the international stage. What followed was a masterclass in batting, a dramatic collapse, and an eventual triumph that solidified Sri Lanka’s growing reputation in world cricket. 

Sri Lanka’s Commanding Start: Setting the Foundation

The Sri Lankan innings began with precision and patience as Sanath Jayasuriya  and  Roshan Mahanama  set a steady foundation. The West Indian bowlers struggled for an early breakthrough, watching helplessly as the openers manoeuvred the ball around Sharjah’s dry surface. Their partnership flourished past the century mark, and just as the West Indies looked increasingly desperate, they finally struck. 

At the ominous score of 111, Jayasuriya fell for 57 off 82 balls, courtesy of a sharp catch by Ottis Gibson off  Anderson Cummins. Yet, the dismissal did little to derail Sri Lanka’s intent. Mahanama, in sublime touch, went on to make 66, while the ever-dangerous Aravinda de Silva  played an explosive cameo, smashing a rapid 50 off just 35 balls. Their controlled aggression ensured Sri Lanka maintained a run rate of around 5.5 per over, keeping them firmly ahead in the contest. 

At 196 for three, Sri Lanka seemed poised for a massive total. However, cricket often twists narratives in unexpected ways, and the West Indies found their window of opportunity. 

The West Indian Fightback: Gibson’s Fiery Spell

Just when Sri Lanka looked set to accelerate, Ottis Gibson changed the complexion of the game. His pace and movement rattled the Sri Lankan middle order, sparking a collapse that saw Arjuna Ranatunga, Hashan Tillakaratne, Asanka Gurusinha, and Chandika Hathurusingha fall in quick succession. From a dominant 215 for four, Sri Lanka stumbled to 269 for eight, losing wickets at crucial moments. 

As the innings neared its end, an unusual interruption added to the drama. With Sri Lanka at 262 for seven, match referee Raman Subba Rao  surprisingly called for a lunch break with seven balls still remaining. The pause momentarily halted Sri Lanka’s momentum, but when play resumed, Gibson struck twice more, while Eric Upashantha  was run out. The innings concluded at 273, a challenging but chaseable target given West Indies’ batting firepower. 

West Indies Falter in the Chase: A Story of Missteps

What should have been a determined chase quickly turned into a nightmare. Eric Upashantha, playing only his second ODI, struck early, dismissing Stuart Williams and Brian Lara in quick succession. Losing Lara, their talisman, was a body blow from which the West Indies never truly recovered. 

Sherwin Campbell and Richie Richardson  attempted to stabilize the innings, but their partnership ended in disaster when a mix-up resulted in Richardson’s unfortunate run-out. As if the pressure wasn’t enough, Muttiah Muralitharan then delivered a moment of magic, clean bowling Campbell with a delivery that left the batsman clueless. At 88 for five, the West Indies were in dire straits. 

There was a flicker of resistance as Shivnarine Chanderpaul and Roger Harper put together 53 runs for the sixth wicket, rotating strike smartly and delaying the inevitable. But Sri Lanka had all the answers. Kumar Dharmasena  ended their fightback, dismissing Chanderpaul, while Muralitharan continued his dominance, catching Harper off his own bowling. 

At 156 for seven, the writing was on the wall. The lower order crumbled, and at  177 for nine, Sri Lanka was just one wicket away from victory. Yet, the final wicket would not fall easily. 

Gibson’s Late Resistance: A Last Stand in Vain

Despite the bleak situation, Ottis Gibson refused to go down without a fight. Complementing his stellar bowling performance, he launched a late counterattack alongside Hamish Anthony, adding a defiant **43-run stand off just 32 balls. Gibson’s 33 runs, featuring a six and three boundaries, injected momentary excitement into an otherwise one-sided chase. But the resistance was short-lived—Dharmasena struck again, dismissing Anthony to bring an end to the innings at 223. 

With that, Sri Lanka had clinched the title by 50 runs, a victory that was both convincing and symbolic of their rising status in world cricket. 

Conclusion: A Defining Moment in Sri Lankan Cricket

The 1995 Singer Champions Trophy final was a tale of two halves—Sri Lanka’s dominance in the first, and the West Indies’ fleeting comeback in the second. Richardson’s gamble at the toss proved costly, and while there were glimpses of brilliance from Gibson, Chanderpaul, and Harper, the West Indies never truly recovered from their top-order failures. 

For Sri Lanka, this victory was more than just a trophy—it was a statement of intent. A team once considered underdogs had now outplayed one of cricket’s most storied teams on a grand stage. It was a precursor to even greater triumphs, paving the way for their historic 1996 World Cup win. 

For the West Indies, the loss served as a reminder that their golden era was fading. The Caribbean dominance of the 1970s and 1980s had begun to erode, and this defeat at Sharjah was another indication that a changing of the guard was imminent in world cricket.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar 

The Longest Day: When Sri Lanka Scaled the Summit but Missed the Stars

The morning broke not with tension, but with inevitability.

At Colombo’s Premadasa Stadium, the promise of a world record loomed just 50 runs away. Thousands gathered under the blazing sun, drawn by the magnetic pull of cricketing history. The scoreline had become a gravitational force of its own — Sri Lanka, with only a single wicket lost, was poised to eclipse everything that Test cricket had previously known about dominance, endurance, and glory.

And yet, this wasn’t an ambush. This was the logical conclusion of two days of unsparing brilliance. If the pitch was a stage, then it had long stopped offering any surprises, let alone the possibility of a fall. Wickets in this Test had become mythic, like the rains in a desert — and so when Nilesh Kulkarni, on debut, dismissed Marvan Atapattu with his first ball in Test cricket, he was not just writing his own folklore, but unknowingly marking India’s last successful gasp with the ball for an agonizingly long stretch.

What followed was a siege.

On the third day, Sanath Jayasuriya — all languid wrists and iron resolve — accumulated 163. Roshan Mahanama, precise and unobtrusive, compiled 115. Their partnership of 283 blossomed into something far more audacious the following day: Jayasuriya added another 151, Mahanama 96 more, and Sri Lanka, at an absurd 587 for 1, seemed to have not so much batted as dissolved all traditional metrics of attrition.

As Jayasuriya resumed on the fifth morning with 326 to his name, the stadium stood in hushed reverence. For the faithful from Matara — his hometown — who had travelled 160 kilometres to witness their native son sculpt greatness, this was more than sport. It was a spiritual experience. Jayasuriya was not just batting; he was representing the crest of a nation's pride, the idea of what it meant to endure and excel.

The Indian fielders, meanwhile, walked out with the hollow gait of men condemned to participate in their own public defeat. The centuries by Sidhu, Tendulkar, and Azharuddin — once stirring declarations of intent — now felt like footnotes in a narrative they no longer controlled. The ball was old, the pitch lifeless, and the bowlers looked like they had been sentenced rather than selected.

Then, as the score ticked to 615 and anticipation reached fever pitch, the script broke. Mahanama, now on 225, misread a Kumble delivery, missed the line, and was adjudged lbw. A partnership of 576 — the highest for any wicket in Test history — came to an end, cruelly one run short of the First-class record held by Hazare and Gul Mohammad.

As fans dismissed the loss as a mere formality, fate stepped in with theatrical precision. Two deliveries later, Jayasuriya, undone by a touch of extra bounce from Rajesh Chauhan, lobbed a simple catch. After 799 minutes of marathon concentration, 340 runs off 578 deliveries, 38 boundaries and two sixes, he walked back — exhausted, perhaps even relieved, but unmistakably short of the historic mark that had suddenly seemed within reach.

It was not just the end of a partnership. It was the end of a myth-in-making.

Jayasuriya later confessed that he had not chased the record — not until he was told, on the fourth evening, that he was just 50 runs shy. That changed everything. He came out burdened not by ambition but by history. And history, as it often does, recoiled.

But the dismantling of the twin centurions did not halt the Sri Lankan juggernaut. Arjuna Ranatunga, reading the pitch better than any curator, deemed any pursuit of victory senseless. Instead, the innings became a slow-burn exhibition of psychological domination. Aravinda de Silva, padded up for nearly 13 hours, uncorked a hundred of pure flair. Ranatunga nearly joined him, falling short only due to a run-out. A 19-year-old debutant named Mahela Jayawardene — whose name would become etched in similar epic scale nine years later — added a silken 65.

By the time Sri Lanka declared at 952 for 6 — the highest team total in Test history — the Indian bowlers looked like survivors of a long war. Kumble's figures of 1 for 226 seemed generous. Rajesh Chauhan's 0 for 276 was a slow bleeding. And poor Nilesh Kulkarni, who had once stood on a pedestal with a wicket from his first ball, now bore the cruel burden of 1 for 195 across 70 overs — the most poetic descent from debut euphoria to historical punishment.

And yet, it wasn’t just numbers that this match offered. It was a study in the mind: of how greatness inches forward and how fatigue, expectation, and ambition each play their part in shaping the destinies of men.

For Jayasuriya, the record that slipped through his fingers will forever linger like a half-remembered dream. “I wasn’t going after the record,” he said, “not until someone told me I was only 50 short.” In that moment, what had been natural became deliberate. What had been free-flowing turned heavy. What had been joy became a burden.

And that — perhaps more than the mountain of runs, the shattered records, or the numbing exhaustion — is the great irony of sport. The closer one gets to immortality, the more human one becomes.

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar