Cricket has a way of exposing not just talent, but temperament. It does not simply reward dominance; it tests resilience, punishes lapses, and, at times, delivers verdicts that defy logic. In Multan, under a sky heavy with expectation, England—a team that had conquered the mighty Australians—found themselves unravelling in a Test match they had controlled for four days.
Victory had seemed inevitable. And yet, as the dust settled on the final afternoon, it was Pakistan, the side so often labelled as mercurial, that stood victorious by 22 runs. The vanquished, stunned and disbelieving, could only ponder how a match seemingly in their grasp had slipped through their fingers.
A Collapse That Defied Explanation
The morning of the final day dawned with England needing 198 to win—an achievable target on a surface that had offered little demons. At 64 for one, they were well on their way. But then, in a passage of play that will be etched in memory as one of England’s most inexplicable implosions, they lost five wickets in the space of ten overs.
Suddenly, 101 for six loomed on the scoreboard. The once assured pursuit had turned into a desperate salvage operation. This was not a case of unplayable deliveries or a deteriorating pitch conspiring against them. It was something far simpler: lapses in judgment, reckless aggression where patience was required, and a collective loss of nerve.
So often in the previous year, England had wrung out victories from tight situations. This time, the vice had tightened around them.
Trescothick’s Burden and England’s Early Promise
With Michael Vaughan absent due to a knee injury, Marcus Trescothick was entrusted with leading England. His captaincy had been questioned before the match, but any doubts were swiftly silenced by his actions with the bat. In a performance of sheer dominance, he crafted a magnificent 193—an innings so commanding that it towered over every other contribution in the match.
Yet, unknown to most at the time, Trescothick was carrying a private anguish. His father-in-law lay critically injured in a Bristol hospital after a severe accident. The weight of that crisis, coupled with the demands of leading his country, made his innings all the more remarkable.
His 305-ball vigil, laced with 20 fours and two soaring sixes off Danish Kaneria, was a masterclass in control. When he was finally dismissed just after lunch on the third day, England had a lead of 144—substantial, yet not insurmountable. The score could have been far greater; they had been 251 for two before squandering opportunities in a way that would prove costly.
Pakistan’s fielding—rusty from a lack of Test cricket since June—had gifted them 22 no-balls and several lapses. But there were no such allowances when Pakistan came out to bat again.
Pakistan’s Fightback: The Captain’s Composure and a Turning Point
Pakistan’s second innings was a study in contrast. While England’s discipline in the field remained intact, Salman Butt and Inzamam-ul-Haq, two batsmen of different generations, set about ensuring Pakistan clawed back into the contest.
Butt’s batting was built on self-awareness. He understood his strengths, played within his limits, and worked the gaps with quiet precision. At the other end, Inzamam, ever the enigma, cut an unmistakable figure. Even in the rising heat, he refused to take the field without his signature sleeveless sweater—a curious contradiction for a man whose strokeplay was all silk and ease.
And then, with the game hanging in delicate balance, the second new ball changed everything.
Hoggard, England’s tireless workhorse, sent down his second delivery with the fresh cherry and found Inzamam’s pad in front of the stumps. The Pakistan captain, so often their rock in troubled waters, was gone. Panic set in.
Flintoff, sensing blood, pounced. He removed two more in rapid succession. Harmison, inconsistent but always a threat, claimed the final two. Pakistan had been blown away in a flurry of wickets, their innings folding at 341.
The target for England? 198.
A Chase That Became a Nightmare
On a Multan pitch that still bore no treachery, England’s path to victory seemed straightforward. Even after losing Trescothick late on the fourth evening, they resumed the final morning in a position of strength at 64 for one.
And then, the recklessness began.
Ian Bell, patient in the first innings, threw away his wicket in a misguided attempt to dominate Kaneria. He was the first of three wickets to fall in the space of eight balls.
The collapse sent ripples of anxiety through the England camp, but they still had their power hitters in Flintoff and Pietersen. Surely, one of them would stand up?
Flintoff’s response was cavalier—too much so. In a moment of impetuous abandon, he launched into a wild heave that found the hands of deep midwicket. It was not the shot of a man trying to win a Test match, but of one caught between instinct and responsibility.
Pietersen, England’s talisman throughout the Ashes, flailed at a delivery he had no business chasing. The edge was inevitable. The English dressing room, which had exuded confidence hours earlier, was now a study in disbelief.
The last semblance of hope came in the form of Geraint Jones. He fought valiantly, bringing England within 32 runs of victory before Shoaib Akhtar—a rejuvenated force in the second innings—produced a devastating delivery that crashed into his stumps via bat and pad.
Ten balls later, it was over.
A Lesson in Test Cricket’s Cruelty
As Pakistan celebrated, England were left to reflect on a bitter truth—one bad hour can undo four days of dominance.
For Pakistan, this was a victory carved from resilience and opportunism. They had not been the superior side for the majority of the match, but they had seized the decisive moments. Inzamam, ever the reluctant warrior, had marshalled his team with quiet authority. Kaneria had learned from his first innings and struck when it mattered. Shoaib Akhtar had risen to the occasion in his second spell.
For England, it was a humbling reminder that even the most well-drilled unit can succumb to pressure. They had carried the aura of Ashes conquerors into this series, but in Multan, they encountered a team that refused to bow.
The defeat stung all the more because of its suddenness. There was no slow disintegration, no drawn-out battle of attrition—just an hour of madness that turned an expected victory into a painful lesson.
As they walked off, England’s players wore the look of a team that knew they had let something slip. Pakistan, so often cast as the unpredictable ones, had instead been the side that held their nerve.
In the end, it was a reminder of why Test cricket remains the purest form of the game. It does not simply reward skill—it rewards composure. And in Multan, it was Pakistan who had more of it when it mattered most.
