The Faisalabad Test: A Battle Without a Winner

 A Test match can sometimes resemble a long novel: a slow burn punctuated by sudden violence, characters shaping and reshaping their own destinies across five days. Faisalabad 2005 was one such story—richly textured, chaotic in its detail, yet ultimately unresolved. At its center stood Inzamam-ul-Haq, serene in a storm of controversy, conjuring twin centuries that carried the aura of an elegy for a victory Pakistan could not quite engineer.

England survived at 164 for 6, and the series rolled on to Lahore. But the match, which could so easily have become a Pakistani epic, closed instead on the quiet note of what-might-have-been.

The Final Day: Pakistan’s Breathless Charge and Inzamam’s Defiance

By the last morning, the Test still sat precariously on its fulcrum. Pakistan’s innings had wobbled early, wickets falling around Inzamam like leaves shaken from a branch. Resuming on 41 with only the tail for company, Inzamam responded not with desperation but with craft.

He did something quietly subversive: he inverted tail-end tradition.

Instead of farming the strike, he often handed it to Shoaib Akhtar—Pakistan’s new “Matthew Hoggard” with the bat, maddeningly immovable, expertly wasteful. Shoaib consumed 49 balls for seven runs, while Inzamam scored 59 of the 85 they added in 27 overs. He took singles early in overs, slowed the rhythm of the game, and removed defeat from the table. And when he needed the flourish, he produced it—lofting Harmison into the Faisalabad haze to complete his second century of the match and surpass Javed Miandad’s national record of 23 Test hundreds.

When he declared Pakistan 284 ahead, he had done everything to save the match—and just enough, perhaps, to win it.

For the next hour, it seemed he had lit the fuse.

The Fast-Bowling Storm: Shoaib and Rana’s Hour of Fury

If Inzamam’s oeuvre across the match was an act of stately domination, Shoaib Akhtar and Rana Naved-ul-Hasan provided its violent counterpoint.

After lunch, in a spell that felt ripped from the pages of Pakistan’s fast-bowling folklore, the pair shredded England’s top order:

Trescothick bowled shouldering arms.

Strauss undone by a ball that kept low.

Bell flashing ambitiously to Akmal.

Vaughan trapped by Naved, one of the few straightforward umpiring calls in a match littered with controversy.

England, staggering at 20 for 4, were staring at Multan 2.0.

For twenty-five minutes, Faisalabad breathed fire. Every appeal carried the weight of a series. Every dot ball seemed a step closer to Pakistan’s first home Test series win in years. Had there been another hour of daylight—had the 55 overs lost to bad light been available—Pakistan might have seized their moment.

 

But England’s lower middle order, with Flintoff’s uncharacteristically sober fifty at its core, held fast. The pitch—benign to the point of parody for a fifth day—refused to deteriorate. And as the light dimmed again, salvation arrived for England in the form of the umpires’ raised arms.

Pakistan had done almost everything right. Almost.

Inzamam’s First Act: High Craft, Higher Drama

The seeds of frustration were planted much earlier. On the first two days, Inzamam’s batting carried both inevitability and improvisation. His first hundred mixed classical cuts with muscular straight hits, including a majestic six off Harmison. Yet it was also shaded by chance—a few leg-before shouts the previous evening, a dropped catch by Strauss on 79.

Around him, the match danced with theatre:

Shahid Afridi’s entrance triggered carnival energy, the crowd roaring as he launched Udal onto roofs and stands in a blaze of 67-ball brilliance.

His follow-up assault—a 92 off 85 balls—turned the second morning into spectacle before he perished to slip.

 Inzamam’s run-out, awarded after agonizing deliberation, ignited a debate still remembered: under Law 38.2, moving to avoid injury should have protected him.

Then came the surreal interruption: a gas cylinder explosion near the boundary, raising fears of something darker before being diffused. During the confusion, Afridi, never one to avoid mischief, attempted to scuff up the pitch—caught on camera, earning a ban.

The match swung like a pendulum, its narrative always one incident away from combusting entirely.

 

England’s Resistance: A Day of Drift, a Night of Revival

Day three felt like a comedown after Afridi’s theatrics. Pietersen and Bell, dropped repeatedly, stitched together 154 with contrasting styles: Pietersen flamboyant, Bell monastic. But as the match lulled into torpor, Shoaib revived it with a ferocious post-tea spell—breaking Flintoff’s bat and then his stumps with a 91mph thunderbolt.

England finished only 16 behind Pakistan’s first-innings total thanks to a comedy-laced last-wicket stand, Harmison reverse-sweeping Kaneria and Udal clubbing Shoaib into submission. Pakistan, for all their command, could not quite prise the door open.

The fourth morning revealed the first real fissures in Pakistan’s approach:

Malik and Salman Butt crawled to 50 in 18 overs. The tension of leading a series—an unfamiliar landscape for Pakistan—paralyzed them. Butt’s contentious dismissal, following Darrell Hair’s dead-ball call, further soured tempers.

Indecision had replaced intent.

Where Pakistan Lost Their Win

The match’s analytical heart lies here: Pakistan had control, yet control did not translate into victory.

Two moments defined the missed opportunity:

The First-Innings Fielding Lapse

Pakistan dropped multiple catches—simple and difficult—that would have buried England far earlier. The pressure of leading the series, as Inzamam later admitted, crept into their hands.

The Slow Crawl on Day Four

With a lead to build and overs disappearing to bad light, Pakistan drifted. Safety first, then ambition—it proved a fatal ordering. By the time they attempted to accelerate, the light had begun its predictable retreat.

The match was Pakistan’s to decide—not the pitch’s, not England’s. They dictated its tempo, its mood, its narrative. And yet, at the decisive moment, they stepped gingerly when they needed to stride.

Inzamam’s Reflections: Triumph Without Victory

In the aftermath, Inzamam radiated serene pride. His twin centuries had elevated him into a new pantheon: only the fifth Pakistani to score hundreds in both innings of a Test, and now, statistically, Pakistan’s greatest century-maker.

He spoke modestly of Miandad:

“I would not like to say I broke his record; I learned from him. He contributed to each of my 24 hundreds.”

He praised Shoaib’s menace, Rana’s craft, his team’s spirit. And yet, between the lines, there was the quiet ache of a captain who knew the moment had been there to claim.

“At 20 for 4, we had a chance. But the pitch was still good, and their middle order played very well.”

Pakistan could no longer lose the series, but they had failed to win it here. The Lahore Test remained, but the glorious opportunity for a decisive home triumph had slipped away.

Legacy of the Faisalabad Test: A Moral Victory, an Unfinished Epic

In cricket’s vast archive, Faisalabad 2005 sits as a match of high incident and higher symbolism:

A contest shaped by fast bowling of vintage Pakistani fire.

A captain’s personal odyssey, rendered in twin hundreds of contrasting mood.

A Test whose atmosphere, controversy, and drama evoked the famous Gatting–Shakoor Rana confrontation on the same ground two decades earlier.

It was a match Pakistan controlled but could not conquer.

A moral victory – Yes!

A cricketing masterpiece, certainly.

A victory denied—painfully, inevitably—by light, hesitation, and the faint tremor of nerves that comes when a team unused to leading suddenly sees the summit within reach.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar

A Test of Nerves: England’s Collapse and Pakistan’s Grit

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.

 Thank You

Faisal Caesar 

A Storm Called Shoaib: The Day New Zealand Was Blown Away in Karachi

By the time the Karachi evening drew its velvet curtain, there was only one name echoing through the humid air of the National Stadium – Shoaib Akhtar. The Rawalpindi Express wasn’t just fast; he was furious, poetic in destruction, ruthless in craft, and divine in rhythm.

On a day when Pakistan’s top-order stumbled yet again, and a volatile crowd threatened to turn the narrative, Shoaib Akhtar turned it into theatre. With a career-best 6 for 16, Akhtar didn’t just win a match – he detonated psychological warfare upon an already-depleted New Zealand side.

Shoaib’s Symphony of Violence

Shoaib didn’t just bowl fast; he tore through the air like a scythe slicing wind. On a batting surface that looked placid, almost friendly to strokemakers, Shoaib summoned a tempest. He didn’t need swing, seam, or mystery—his raw pace sufficed. The figures—6 wickets for 16—merely punctuated the visual chaos: stumps flying like broken battlements, batsmen backing away in survival mode, and a crowd that roared with the thrill of fear and awe.

It was fitting that Shoaib’s 100th ODI wicket was Craig McMillan, the stand-in New Zealand skipper, undone by a rising delivery that ballooned to Saqlain Mushtaq. That moment wasn’t just a wicket—it was an exclamation mark. From there, Shoaib roared downhill like a force of nature.

The Kiwi lower order, as if hypnotized by his menace, began to shuffle forward not to play but to escape. But there was no escape—not from pace like this, not in Karachi, not with Shoaib’s eyes aflame.

A Century in the Shadows

Before Shoaib’s storm came the steady brilliance of Yousuf Youhana, whose 125 off 155 balls was an innings of repair and resurrection. Walking in at 49 for 3, Youhana constructed a monument of composure. His technique was orthodox, almost classical, but the intent was iron-clad. He stitched a 161-run partnership with Younis Khan, whose 69 was all nudges and silent defiance. Together, they pulled Pakistan from quicksand into open, commanding territory.

Youhana, ever the pragmatist, didn’t just bat—he rebuilt, reimagined, and reasserted his authority as Pakistan’s middle-order sentinel. With a runner assisting his injured frame, he marched toward three figures, wielding timing like a scalpel. His century, his sixth in 101 matches, came not in a blaze of boundaries but in a surge of resolve.

In the final 10 overs, Abdul Razzaq’s 30 off 18 added chaos to calculation. He bludgeoned two sixes and a four, taking Pakistan to a muscular 275 for 6—a total that felt increasingly unreachable as Shoaib loomed in the dressing room.

A Kiwi Collapse and the Quiet Fall

New Zealand’s reply began with promise. Nathan Astle and Matthew Horne, brief and bold, took the score to 53 in 10 overs. Astle, in particular, hinted at his old, familiar elegance. But cricket is a game of ruptures, and Waqar Younis, with a cunning change of pace, punctured that dream. Astle was gone, bowled and befuddled. Wasim Akram followed with a trademark inswinger to trap Lou Vincent. From there, the spiral was unstoppable.

When Shoaib returned, he wasn’t bowling to win a game—he was performing an inquisition. One by one, the batsmen folded—mentally, technically, spiritually. New Zealand, without four frontline players and minus their captain Stephen Fleming, lasted just 30 overs for 122.

The Crowd, the Chaos, the Calm

The afternoon wasn’t without drama. Play halted briefly when a bottle thrown from the Intikhab Alam enclosure struck Andre Adams. The crowd, momentarily unhinged, threatened to bring the game into disrepute. But it was local hero Rashid Latif who restored order with a few well-chosen words to the crowd, reminding them that cricket must not be devoured by emotion.

His appeal worked. The crowd simmered down, and the game resumed—a rare moment when leadership outside the field proved as vital as within.

The Echo of Fire and Finesse

That day in Karachi wasn’t just about statistics or numbers. It was about fire meeting steel. About a wounded New Zealand side facing the full wrath of a fast bowler who had much to prove—to the crowd, to his critics, perhaps even to himself.

Shoaib Akhtar didn’t just bowl spells; he cast them. And in the shimmering Karachi sun, under the pressure of expectation and history, he carved out one of the most electric moments in Pakistan's cricketing folklore.

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar 

Pakistan’s Symphonic Destruction: A Sharjah Final Wrought in Steel and Silk

In Sharjah, where the sun casts long shadows over cricket’s storied theatre, Pakistan produced a performance as devastating as it was dazzling — a symphony of precision and power that culminated in one of the most brutal thrashings in ODI history. Their 217-run obliteration of Sri Lanka in the 2002 Sharjah Cup final was not just a victory; it was an emphatic announcement that Pakistan’s fabled flair could, when channelled, morph into unrelenting efficiency.

From Elegance to Execution: Pakistan’s Batting Renaissance

The script of domination began with Pakistan's innings — an essay of restraint and rupture. Imran Nazir, returning from the wilderness with the fire of redemption in his eyes, laid the foundation with a fluent 63, his bat a brushstroke on Sharjah’s canvas. His departure, followed by Afridi’s customary blaze-out and Inzamam’s unfortunate run-out, might have induced nerves in lesser sides. But Pakistan found poise in the most elegant of architects — Yousuf Youhana.

Crafting his highest ODI score, Youhana was a vision of classical batsmanship in a modern arena. His 129 off 131 deliveries wasn’t just a knock; it was a masterclass in tempo and timing. The strokes flowed — silken drives, wristy flicks, and calculated lofts — punctuated with three sixes and eight fours. But beyond the boundaries lay the substance: controlled rotation, tireless running, and an anchoring calm.

Beside him, Younis Khan matured before our eyes. Once derided for his inconsistencies, he blossomed in Youhana’s company. Their 155-run partnership was the cornerstone of Pakistan’s innings, elevating the score from a respectable 136 to a match-seizing 291. Together, they imbued the middle overs with purpose — neither meandering nor manic — transforming accumulation into assertion.

Even as the innings closed with back-to-back dismissals, including Youhana falling in poetic symmetry with Younis, the scoreboard bore testimony to an effort both monumental and methodical: 295 for 6 — the highest of the tournament.

Collapse at Dawn: Sri Lanka’s Capitulation

Chasing 296 under Sharjah’s unforgiving heat required nerves of steel and the skill of sages. Sri Lanka brought neither. With the asking rate perched around six from the outset, the Lankan top-order combusted under the weight of scoreboard pressure and Pakistan’s fast-bowling fury.

Wasim Akram, the eternal conjurer, set the tone by deceiving Marvan Atapattu, who chopped on — a dismissal as symbolic as it was sudden. From there, it was an unravelling. Sanath Jayasuriya, gambling with aggression, mistimed a pull off Shoaib Akhtar — caught by the bowler himself. Sangakkara followed suit, and then Chaminda Vaas fell lbw to Akram in the next over, a misadventure in pinch-hitting that reeked of desperation.

The scoreboard became a graveyard. Shoaib, raw and roaring, bowled with a mix of menace and mastery, ending with figures of 3 for 11. Younis Khan and Akram added scalps with surgical precision. By the 17th over, Sri Lanka stood decimated at 78 for 9 — their innings collapsed like a house built on sand. The absence of Muralitharan, nursing a dislocated shoulder in hospital, left the score terminally incomplete. But even his presence wouldn’t have rewritten this script.

Muralitharan's Misfortune: A Silent Tragedy

Overshadowing Sri Lanka’s fielding effort was the sight of Muttiah Muralitharan writhing in pain after a routine dive. The injury — a suspected ligament tear — could sideline the magician for months, robbing world cricket of one of its brightest stars. His void was felt instantly; his absence from the attack allowed Pakistan to plunder runs with impunity. In retrospect, his fall symbolised Sri Lanka’s collapse: their talisman wounded, their spirit broken.

Overkill, or Just Reward?

Ironically, this ruthless Pakistan side had only recently been accused of lacking the killer instinct. In Sharjah, they didn’t just kill — they carpet-bombed. With a balance of artistry and aggression, they lifted the Sharjah Cup and pocketed $120,000 in prize money. But far more valuable was the resurrection of belief — that when its talents align, Pakistan can not only win but annihilate.

Sharjah has long been a stage for Pakistani magic. On this April day, it witnessed an execution — graceful, grim, and unforgettable.

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar

The 1999 Kolkata Test: A Clash of Cricket, Controversy, and Chaos

Cricket has long been intertwined with history, politics, and the raw emotions of millions. Nowhere is this truer than in the enduring rivalry between India and Pakistan, where a single game can be both a sporting contest and a geopolitical flashpoint. The events of the Kolkata Test in February 1999—originally intended as the crowning fixture of a highly anticipated series—became a symbol of how sport can both unify and divide, enthral and enrage, captivate and combust.

It was a match that showcased Test cricket in all its dramatic beauty—breathtaking bowling spells, magnificent batting displays, and an ebb and flow that kept both players and spectators on edge. Yet, it was also a match overshadowed by controversy, marred by crowd unrest, and completed in an eerie, near-empty stadium that bore silent witness to the storm unfolding.

A Tour Precariously Balanced on the Edge of Politics

Even before a single ball had been bowled, the 1999 Pakistan tour of India teetered on uncertain ground. The political climate between the two nations was tense, as it often was, with cricket being wielded as both a bridge and a battleground. There were voices—some loud, some insidious—that sought to leverage the tour for nationalist posturing. Ultimately, after much diplomatic manoeuvring, the series was allowed to proceed, but only at the eleventh hour.

The Kolkata Test, initially scheduled as the third and final encounter of the series, was elevated to an even grander status—the inaugural match of the newly conceived Asian Test Championship. If anything, this only heightened the stakes.

The public, undeterred by the political undercurrents, responded with unbridled enthusiasm. Eden Gardens, a coliseum of cricketing passion, was packed to capacity. Over the first four days, 100,000 spectators flooded the stands—a record-breaking figure that eclipsed a six-decade-old milestone. Even on the final day, when India's hopes hanging by a thread, 65,000 loyalists remained, clinging to the belief that their team could script an improbable victory.

But as fate would have it, the battle that played out was not just between bat and ball, but also between raw passion and the very spirit of the game.

An Unraveling Masterpiece

For three days, the contest unfolded like a classic Test match, oscillating between domination and defiance.

India had dramatically seized the early momentum. On the first morning, Pakistan's innings tottered on the brink of collapse at a staggering 26 for 6. Javagal Srinath, a craftsman of seam and swing, was at his devastating best. But amidst the ruins, Moin Khan stood resilient. His counterattacking 70 ensured Pakistan reached 185—a total that still left them gasping but not entirely buried.

The crowd's hunger for an Indian masterclass was palpable, yet it was met with a gut-wrenching moment. Shoaib Akhtar, the Rawalpindi Express, came steaming in, and in an instant, the roar of expectation turned into a stunned silence. A searing yorker, a perfect symphony of speed and precision, rattled Sachin Tendulkar’s stumps first ball. The heartbeat of Indian cricket was gone without scoring. Eden Gardens, a cauldron of deafening support, was momentarily mute.

India eked out a narrow first-innings lead, and then came the counterpunch. In one of the greatest innings played on Indian soil, Saeed Anwar batted with an elegance that defied the carnage around him. He carried his bat for an unbeaten 188, a lone sentinel guiding Pakistan to 316. It was a statement of intent. India now needed 279 for victory—gettable, but by no means easy.

By the fourth afternoon, India seemed well on course. At 143 for 2, with Tendulkar at the crease, the script was aligning for a memorable triumph. And then, the match veered into the realm of the surreal.

The Run-Out That Ignited the Fire

Tendulkar, in full command, worked Wasim Akram to deep midwicket and set off for three runs. It was a routine moment, one among thousands in the game. But then, the extraordinary happened.

As he turned for the third, his path crossed that of Shoaib Akhtar, stationed near the stumps to field a potential return. Tendulkar, his eyes fixed on the ball, collided with Shoaib, momentarily losing balance. Even as he stretched towards the crease, the throw from the deep crashed into the stumps.

The moment hung in the air, pregnant with uncertainty. It was the first series officiated entirely by neutral umpires, and the decision was referred upstairs. After a long, agonizing delay, third umpire KT Francis ruled Tendulkar out.

The reaction was instantaneous, visceral. Boos cascaded down the stands. Chants of "cheat, cheat" reverberated around Eden Gardens. Bottles, plastic cups, and anything within reach were hurled onto the field. Shoaib Akhtar, now the villain in the crowd’s eyes, bore the brunt of the fury.

Play was suspended. As tensions boiled over, it took an appeal from Tendulkar himself—accompanied by ICC President Jagmohan Dalmiya—to pacify the crowd and resume the match. But the equilibrium had been shattered.

When play restarted, India collapsed in a daze. Rahul Dravid, the bedrock of the chase, fell almost immediately. Mohammad Azharuddin and Nayan Mongia followed in quick succession. By stumps, the hosts teetered at 214 for 6, still 65 runs adrift.

A Game Finished in Silence

The final morning promised drama, but what followed was pandemonium. When Sourav Ganguly perished to the ninth ball of the day, the crowd erupted in renewed fury.

Newspapers were set ablaze. Stones, fruit, and bottles rained down. The match halted again. This time, the authorities responded with force. Over the next three hours, police and security personnel cleared the stands, using lathis to drive out the 65,000 spectators. Elderly men, women, children—no one was spared the chaotic exodus.

When play resumed, Eden Gardens, once a pulsating fortress, was now a hollowed-out shell. A mere 200 people remained to watch the final rites. It took Pakistan just 10 balls to wrap up victory, but the atmosphere was unrecognizable. Where there should have been celebration or despair, there was only emptiness.

The Fallout: A Cricketing Tragedy

What should have been a celebration of Test cricket’s finest attributes had instead descended into farce. Dalmiya, initially dismissive of the disturbances, later condemned the events in strong terms, decrying the "unjustified and uncalled for" behaviour of the spectators.

For Pakistan, the triumph was bittersweet. Their captain, Wasim Akram, directed his ire at the Indian media, accusing them of fanning the flames of controversy. "You have said that Shoaib obstructed Sachin from making his ground and that I should have recalled him," he snapped. "Why should I? If a team collapses over one moment, that is our bonus."

For India, the fallout was even harsher. Azharuddin, weary and disillusioned, offered a quiet lament: "We are human beings. We can fail. But every time we cannot win."

Yet, perhaps the most tone-deaf remark came from Dalmiya himself, who, despite the chaos, tried to spin a triumphant conclusion:

"The game was finished, and cricket was the winner."

But was it?

If anything, the Kolkata Test of 1999 exposed the uneasy undercurrents beneath the game’s surface—the delicate balance between passion and provocation, adulation and anarchy. It was a match where the cricket was brilliant, the emotions volatile, and the end unsettling.

A Test match had been played. A spectacle had unfolded. And yet, in the silence of an emptied Eden Gardens, cricket had lost something.

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar 

The Dawn of a New Storm: Shoaib Akhtar’s Arrival on the Grand Stage

The year 1998 was one of transformation for Pakistan cricket. The golden generation of fast bowlers—Wasim Akram and Waqar Younis—was no longer at its devastating best as injuries, age, and off-field distractions took their toll. Wasim, Pakistan’s premier left-arm magician, had endured a difficult period marred by injuries and external controversies. Waqar, the other half of the legendary “Two Ws,” found himself burdened with leading the pace attack, a responsibility that had once been equally shared.

Though Waqar remained a formidable bowler, he was not the same force of nature that had terrorized batsmen in the early 1990s. His searing pace had diminished, and his pinpoint accuracy—once his hallmark—became inconsistent. As the 1998 season progressed, Pakistan cricket found itself at a crossroads, seeking the right balance between experience and renewal.

When Wasim Akram was reinstated as Pakistan’s captain in late 1998, replacing Aamir Sohail, he inherited not just a team but an era in transition. His first major challenge was a historic series in India, a contest brimming with political, emotional, and sporting intensity.

For the first time, Indian crowds would witness the fabled “Two Ws” in their own backyard, as they prepared to take on the great Sachin Tendulkar. Wasim, rejuvenated, met expectations with his spellbinding swing and tactical brilliance. But Waqar struggled. Apart from one fiery spell in the second innings of the Chennai Test, his impact was minimal. His speed had dropped, his radar was inconsistent, and his aura of intimidation had begun to fade.

As the teams moved to Kolkata for the inaugural Asian Test Championship, Wasim Akram faced a defining moment. Sentiment and loyalty pointed towards persisting with Waqar. But Pakistan cricket had always been ruthless in its pursuit of success. And so, a bold decision was made—Waqar Younis, one of Pakistan’s greatest fast bowlers, was dropped.

In his place, a raw, untested force was unleashed upon the world: Shoaib Akhtar.

The Wild Card Enters the Arena

At the time, Shoaib Akhtar was an enigma—a talent largely unknown to the wider cricketing world but a name whispered among Pakistan cricket circles. His reputation, however, extended beyond his cricketing ability. He was a free spirit, a restless maverick who had already gained notoriety for his off-field antics.

During Pakistan A’s 1997 tour of England and South Africa, Shoaib had made headlines for breaking curfews and indulging in the night-time thrills of the Western world. He spent the previous summer playing club cricket in Ireland, returning with a passable Dublin accent and an endless stream of stories from O’Connell Street’s pubs.

But beyond the theatrics, Shoaib possessed something extraordinary—raw, untamed pace.

The cricketing world had caught glimpses of his ability during Pakistan’s Test series in South Africa earlier in 1998. In the second Test at Durban, Shoaib delivered a match-winning spell, helping Pakistan secure a rare victory. His thunderbolts drew comparisons with Allan Donald, South Africa’s premier fast bowler. Wasim Akram, who had faced both, made an emphatic declaration:

"Waqar was as fast in his heyday, but Shoaib’s bouncer is much quicker."

Yet, despite these promising flashes, Shoaib remained untested on the biggest stage. That was about to change.

Kolkata’s Eden Gardens, one of cricket’s most electrifying venues, was about to witness the birth of a new phenomenon.

Setting the Stage for an Earthquake

Day 1 of the Kolkata Test provided an early hint of what was to come. As the evening light faded, Shoaib steamed in and shattered VVS Laxman’s stumps with a searing inswinging delivery. A warning shot had been fired.

But the true storm was yet to arrive.

As Day 2 dawned, India was in control. Rahul Dravid and Sadagoppan Ramesh were methodically grinding down Pakistan’s modest first-innings total of 185. With the score at 147 for 2, drinks were taken.

Session breaks can be deceptive. Batsmen, even those well-set, can lose their rhythm in the brief pause. Wasim Akram, ever the astute leader, sensed an opening. He tossed the ball to Shoaib Akhtar, hoping the young speedster could break the deadlock.

What followed was not just a breakthrough—it was an earthquake.

Shoaib charged in with his trademark long run-up, his energy still high despite the Kolkata humidity. His first delivery to Dravid, a full-length inswinger, seemed to move with an intelligence of its own. The ball started straight, then suddenly dipped and curled towards the leg stump. Dravid, a master technician, tried to bring his bat down in time—but the ball was too quick, too well-directed.

Leg stump cartwheeled.

Boom.

Dravid, the man who would later become “The Wall,” had been breached. Kolkata’s murmurs of discontent were growing. But the real drama was yet to unfold.

Sachin Tendulkar emerged from the dressing room, greeted by a thunderous ovation. Ninety thousand fans rose in unison, chanting his name. In India, Tendulkar was more than just a cricketer—he was a deity. And now, he stood between Shoaib Akhtar and history.

The crowd roared as Tendulkar took his guard. Shoaib, already in motion, barely waited.

The delivery was full, reversing viciously in the air. Tendulkar, ever composed, adjusted slightly, looking to drive. But the ball swerved late, as if obeying a hidden command, and slipped past his bat.

Middle stump lay uprooted.

For a moment, silence.

A silence so profound it felt unreal in a stadium bursting with life just seconds earlier.

Boom.

Sachin Tendulkar, the greatest batsman of his era, had fallen for a golden duck—the first in his Test career.

Shoaib Akhtar, arms outstretched, tilted his head to the sky, absorbing the moment. He had not just dismissed two of the world’s finest batsmen—he had done it in successive deliveries, in their own backyard, on the grandest stage.

The Changing of the Guard

As if scripted for maximum drama, the next batsman in was India’s captain, Mohammad Azharuddin. If Shoaib’s deliveries to Dravid and Tendulkar had been masterpieces of swing, his delivery to Azharuddin was an exhibition of raw hostility.

A bouncer, fast and steep, crashed into the back of Azhar’s helmet. The message was clear—this was a different breed of fast bowler.

By the time Shoaib’s spell ended, his figures read 4 for 71, his final victim being Venkatesh Prasad, beaten by yet another scorching yorker. But numbers only tell part of the story.

In the stands, Waqar Younis watched. He had built his career terrorizing batsmen with toe-crushing yorkers, reverse swing, and sheer pace. And now, before his eyes, a successor had emerged.

Shoaib Akhtar was not just another fast bowler. He was a force of nature, a whirlwind of pace and personality. His career would be marked by brilliance and controversy, by breathtaking spells and moments of recklessness. But on this day in Kolkata, none of that mattered.

Cricket had found its next great fast bowler.

And Pakistan had found its new storm.

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar 

The Durban Dogfight: A Triumph of Talent and Tenacity

Cricket is often a test of character as much as it is of skill. It is a battle of patience, strategy, and moments of brilliance that decide the fate of a contest. In the first Test at Kingsmead, Durban, Pakistan found itself at a crossroads—capable of greatness but frequently undermined by inconsistency. South Africa, a team defined by discipline and resilience, had never lost a Test to Pakistan before. Yet, over five gripping days, Pakistan’s raw talent, spearheaded by the masterful leg-spin of Mushtaq Ahmed, the fearless strokeplay of Azhar Mahmood, and the sheer pace of Shoaib Akhtar, secured a momentous victory. It was a triumph that resonated far beyond the immediate result, a statement that when Pakistan played to its potential, it could overcome even the most disciplined opposition.

A Clash of Strategies and Selection Gambles

Before the first ball was bowled, both teams had made bold choices in selection. South Africa, backing their pace attack, dropped off-spinner Pat Symcox despite his match-winning heroics in Johannesburg. In his place, they opted for the experienced swing bowler Fanie de Villiers. The home side also saw the return of their captain, Hansie Cronje, from injury, while Hylton Ackerman made his debut, replacing Daryll Cullinan.

Pakistan, too, had its share of forced changes. The absence of Inzamam-ul-Haq, who twisted his ankle in practice, paved the way for Yousuf Youhana (later known as Mohammad Yousuf) to make his Test debut. In the bowling department, they introduced young fast-medium bowler Fazl-e-Akbar in place of Saqlain Mushtaq, opting for a mix of pace and wrist spin.

While South Africa’s decision to rely solely on fast bowling would later haunt them, Pakistan’s gamble on youth and spin would ultimately prove decisive.

Azhar Mahmood’s Audacity Amidst the Ruins

Winning the toss, South Africa asked Pakistan to bat on a surface that offered inconsistent bounce and assistance to the seamers. Their decision seemed justified early on, as Donald and Pollock wreaked havoc, reducing Pakistan to 89 for five. The familiar story of top-order collapses loomed large for Pakistan, with their gifted yet unpredictable batsmen struggling against the probing accuracy of South Africa’s pace duo.

Then, against the tide, emerged Azhar Mahmood. If there was one opposition against whom he had built a reputation for dominance, it was South Africa. Having already scored two centuries against them in the previous series, he once again rose to the occasion with an innings of extraordinary class and composure.

Batting at an unusually low No. 7, Azhar took control with remarkable maturity. He blended aggression with intelligence, taking on the fast bowlers with an array of exquisite drives and cuts. His technique against the short ball was exceptional, as he hooked Donald with authority and drove him straight with confidence. His 132, which included 96 runs in boundaries, was an exhibition of counterattacking brilliance.

Beyond the numbers, however, what stood out was his ability to manage the innings. When wickets kept falling at the other end, Azhar ensured that he protected the tail, facing 80% of the deliveries in his ninth-wicket partnership with Shoaib Akhtar. His second fifty came in just 42 minutes, and he was responsible for 96 of Pakistan’s last 106 runs. By the time he departed, Pakistan had fought their way to 259—a total that, given their early struggles, was nothing short of a rescue act.

Shoaib Akhtar: The Fastest of Them All?

If Azhar’s innings had lifted Pakistan from despair, Shoaib Akhtar’s spell on the second day turned the game in their favor. Shoaib, playing in only his third Test, was still an unpolished diamond—raw, aggressive, and occasionally erratic. Yet, on this day, he was unplayable. Despite carrying a knee injury, he bowled at speeds that rivaled, if not exceeded, those of Allan Donald and Waqar Younis.

His spell of 5 for 43 was a spectacle in itself. Four of his victims were clean bowled, undone by the sheer speed and reverse swing that seemed to come effortlessly to him. The ball that dismissed Hansie Cronje, jagging in sharply to dismantle the stumps, was a moment of pure brilliance. His final wicket, trapping Pollock lbw, ensured South Africa’s innings ended at 231, giving Pakistan a narrow yet crucial 28-run lead.

For those watching, the debate was reignited: Was Shoaib Akhtar now the fastest bowler in the world? His pace, steep bounce, and ability to generate reverse swing at will made him a terrifying prospect. He had single-handedly ripped through South Africa’s lower order, proving that he was more than just raw speed—he was a match-winner in the making.

Saeed Anwar’s Classical Resistance

With momentum on their side, Pakistan approached their second innings with greater confidence. For the first time in 45 Tests since South Africa’s return to international cricket, an opening pair posted a century partnership against them. Saeed Anwar and Aamir Sohail, two of Pakistan’s most accomplished openers, laid the perfect foundation.

Anwar, the more fluent of the two, displayed his characteristic wristwork and timing. Batting for over five hours, he brought up his fifth Test century, surpassing 2,000 career runs in the process. It was an innings of patience and class, showing that aggression was not always necessary when building a lead.

Yet, as had so often been the case with Pakistan, their dominance was followed by self-destruction. From 187 for one, they collapsed, losing nine wickets for 67 runs. Pollock, relentless as ever, ran through the middle and lower order, claiming six for 50 in a devastating spell. Pakistan, from a position of strength, had squandered the chance to bat South Africa out of the match.

Still, a target of 255 on a deteriorating pitch was a formidable challenge. And with Mushtaq Ahmed waiting, the contest was far from over.

Mushtaq Ahmed’s Decisive Strike

If South Africa had gambled on an all-pace attack, Pakistan had placed their faith in wrist spin. Mushtaq Ahmed, a bowler who thrived on confidence, delivered when it mattered most. His six for 78 was a masterclass in exploiting rough patches and varying his flight and pace.

The South African batsmen, so adept against fast bowling, found themselves hesitant against Mushtaq’s leg-spin. One by one, they fell, their techniques exposed, their footwork uncertain. Even then, South Africa fought, as they always did.

A ninth-wicket stand of 86 between Mark Boucher and De Villiers briefly revived hopes of an improbable comeback. But on the final morning, Pakistan struck the decisive blow, securing a famous victory—South Africa’s first defeat to Pakistan in Test history and their first loss at Kingsmead since 1964-65.

A Victory That Transcended the Scorecard

For Pakistan, this was more than just a win. It was a testament to their ability to rise above their inconsistencies and play to their full potential. Too often, they had been a team of moments—brilliant one day, erratic the next. But in Durban, they combined skill, strategy, and resilience.

Azhar Mahmood’s audacity, Shoaib Akhtar’s fire, Saeed Anwar’s elegance, and Mushtaq Ahmed’s craft had come together in a performance that encapsulated Pakistan’s essence—flawed but formidable, unpredictable yet undeniable.

For South Africa, the defeat was a lesson in the cost of selection errors and the perils of underestimating Pakistan. Their pace attack, for all its excellence, had lacked the variation needed on a wearing pitch.

But for Pakistan, this was a statement. When they played as a unit, they were capable of beating the best. And in Kingsmead, they had done just that.

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar 

India vs. Pakistan: Passion and Pandemonium: The Paradox of Kolkata 1999

The Asian Test Championship, conceived by the Asian Cricket Council in the late 1990s, was an ambitious attempt to capitalize on the growing popularity of cricket in the region. With India, Pakistan, and Sri Lanka as the primary contenders—Bangladesh still two years away from Test status—the tournament promised both financial gain and a new platform for regional cricketing rivalries. The resumption of cricketing ties between India and Pakistan removed the final obstacle, paving the way for the championship’s debut.

The inaugural match, held at Eden Gardens in February 1999, was originally scheduled as the third and final Test of the India-Pakistan series. Instead, it became the opening act of the new tournament. The enthusiasm for the event was palpable; crowds flooded the iconic Calcutta ground, with approximately 100,000 spectators attending each of the first four days. Even on the final day, with India teetering on the brink of defeat, 65,000 fans filled the stands. This remarkable turnout shattered a 63-year-old record for aggregate attendance at a Test match, highlighting the fervour of cricket in the subcontinent.

However, the match was marred by chaos and controversy, overshadowing its historic attendance. The first major disruption occurred on the penultimate day, sparked by the controversial run-out of Sachin Tendulkar, India’s talismanic batsman. The dismissal incited outrage among the crowd, culminating in a riot. The following morning, with India languishing at 231 for nine, the tension boiled over. Frustrated spectators burned newspapers and hurled stones, fruit, and plastic bottles onto the field. The situation escalated to the point where play was suspended for over three hours, and the police forcibly evacuated approximately 65,000 fans from the stadium. The eerie silence that followed was reminiscent of the World Cup semi-final at the same venue in 1996 when a similar riot had forced officials to award the match to Sri Lanka by default. This time, however, play eventually resumed, and Pakistan swiftly claimed the final wicket to secure a comprehensive victory.

While the riots reflected deep disappointment rather than anti-Pakistan sentiment, they were a source of profound embarrassment for the Calcutta authorities. The unrest, though chaotic, lacked the viciousness often associated with such incidents, and miraculously, there were no fatalities. The only reported injury was to a member of the ground staff, struck on the ankle by a stone. Outside the stadium, there were no signs of violence, underscoring the fact that the crowd’s anger was confined to the confines of Eden Gardens.

Despite the disruptions, the match set a record for attendance. Over five days, an estimated 465,000 people witnessed the action—a testament to the enduring allure of cricket in the region. Yet, the stark contrast between the electric atmosphere of the opening days and the desolation of the final moments was striking. When play resumed after the riot, the ground, once teeming with life, was reduced to a ghostly shell. Only around 200 people remained to witness Pakistan’s swift triumph, creating an atmosphere more suited to a provincial county game than an international Test. Among the few holdouts were a well-dressed couple who resisted eviction, asserting their right to stay. Their defiance was short-lived, as a phalanx of police officers forcibly removed them just before play recommenced.

In the end, the inaugural match of the Asian Test Championship was a paradox: a spectacle of unprecedented attendance tarnished by chaos, a celebration of cricket’s unifying power disrupted by the raw emotions it can evoke. It stood as both a triumph and a cautionary tale, highlighting the passion and volatility that define cricket in the subcontinent.

Pakistan: Full of Life and Spirit – Fiery Shoaib Akhtar, Gorgeous Saeed Anwar  

 Pakistan's victory in the opening match of the Asian Test Championship was nothing short of extraordinary, a triumph forged in adversity and defined by individual brilliance. On a seaming Eden Gardens pitch, they elected to bat and were promptly reduced to a shocking 26 for six within nine overs, as Javagal Srinath and Venkatesh Prasad wreaked havoc. Yet, from the ruins, Moin Khan, Salim Malik, and Wasim Akram staged a gritty resistance, pushing the total to 185. It was a modest score but enough to secure a crucial batting point under the tournament’s bonus system. India, at 147 for two in reply, seemed poised to seize control, but cricket’s unpredictable nature had other plans.

Session breaks, with their peculiar ability to disrupt even the most composed batsmen, played a pivotal role. On the second day, Rahul Dravid and Sadagoppan Ramesh appeared unshakeable, steadily eroding Pakistan’s first-innings total. At 147 for two, drinks were called, and the course of the match irrevocably shifted. Enter Shoaib Akhtar, a lean, fiery pacer still carving out his legend. For 92 balls, Dravid had been the embodiment of resilience, meticulously laying the foundation for a formidable innings. But Shoaib’s delivery—a low full-toss that dipped and curved as if guided by a malevolent force—breached his defences and shattered the leg stump.

The dismissal was dramatic, but what followed was seismic. Sachin Tendulkar, India’s crown jewel, strode to the crease amidst a cacophony of cheers. A quick glance around the field, a nudge to his elbow guard, and he took his stance. Shoaib charged in again, delivering another dipping full-toss that seemed even quicker. Tendulkar, uncharacteristically beaten, saw his middle stump cartwheeling. It was only the second golden duck of his illustrious career. Shoaib, arms outstretched and face skyward, celebrated with a theatricality that would become both his hallmark and his burden. This moment announced his arrival as Pakistan’s new pace spearhead, a role left vacant by the ageing Wasim Akram and the waning Waqar Younis.

India’s collapse was swift. From 147 for two, they folded for 223, managing a slim lead of 38 runs and falling short of a second batting point. Ramesh, who had anchored the innings with a composed 79, fell to Wasim Akram, his dissent earning him a suspended one-match ban. The pendulum had swung decisively.

The third day belonged to two men: Saeed Anwar and Javagal Srinath, whose contrasting contributions defined the narrative. Anwar, after a string of failures, returned to sublime form with an innings of ethereal quality. Surviving an early dropped catch, he transformed into an artist at work, painting the Eden Gardens with strokes of genius. His slashing cuts and deft on-side flicks silenced the vociferous crowd, each shot a rebuttal to the millions willing him to fail. As the day wore on, his timing reached a crescendo, and the bat in his hands became a weapon of defiance.

 Anwar achieved a rare feat, carrying his bat through the innings to score a monumental 188, the highest Test score by a Pakistani on Indian soil. Over seven and a half hours, he struck 23 boundaries and a six, single-handedly propelling Pakistan to 316 and contributing 60% of the team’s total. He joined the elite company of Nazar Mohammad and Mudassar Nazar as the third Pakistani to carry his bat in a Test. His lone ally was Yousuf Youhana, who added 115 with him before falling to Srinath.

Srinath, undeterred by Anwar’s brilliance, produced one of the finest spells of his career. Armed with the new ball, he dismantled Pakistan’s lower order, taking six wickets in nine overs and finishing with eight for 86 in the innings and 13 for 132 in the match. His relentless accuracy and ability to extract movement on a wearing pitch kept India in the hunt.

Ultimately, this match was a testament to the mercurial beauty of Test cricket. It oscillated between moments of brilliance and collapse, of artistry and grit. Pakistan’s victory, built on Shoaib’s fire and Anwar’s finesse, was a masterpiece of resilience, while Srinath’s heroics ensured India’s spirit remained unbroken. This was not just a game; it was a theatre of human endeavour, where greatness emerged from the chaos.

That left India to chase 279. They had a good start when Ramesh and Laxman opened with 108. But after these two had departed, there occurred the incident which wrecked India's chances - and Eden Gardens' reputation.

By the fourth afternoon, India were well placed on 143 for 2 when there came the incident which turned the whole game ugly.

India’s Chaotic Chase

 The dismissal of Sachin Tendulkar in the Kolkata Test against Pakistan was a moment that transcended cricket, igniting passions and controversy in equal measure. The scene was set when Tendulkar, cheered to the heavens by a packed Eden Gardens, reached 5000 Test runs with a couple of well-placed runs off Wasim Akram. On his way back for a third, a moment of chaos unfolded. Substitute fielder Nadeem Khan’s throw from the deep struck the stumps directly. Tendulkar, colliding with Shoaib Akhtar near the crease, was adjudged run out by the third umpire after a prolonged deliberation. The crowd, sensing injustice, erupted into fury.

The incident was a study in perspectives. Shoaib, stationed a few yards behind the stumps to collect the throw, had his back to Tendulkar and seemed oblivious to the batsman’s trajectory. Tendulkar, focused on the ball’s flight, inadvertently veered into Shoaib, leaving him short of his ground. Neutral observers leaned towards the view that it was an unfortunate accident, though some, like Richard Hobson in *The Times*, placed the blame squarely on Tendulkar, remarking, “He kept his eye on the throw instead of his own route to the crease.” Wasim Akram, as captain, upheld the appeal, a decision entirely within his rights but one that deepened the crowd's resentment.

Tendulkar, visibly bewildered, bypassed the dressing room and headed straight to the TV umpire’s room to review the replay. His silence spoke volumes, his slight shake of the head a muted protest against the ruling. On the field, the mood turned ominous. Chants of “cheat, cheat” echoed around the stadium as Shoaib, now the target of the crowd’s wrath, was pelted with bottles and debris. The umpires, sensing the volatility, led the players off for an early tea.

The intervention of Tendulkar and ICC president Jagmohan Dalmiya eventually calmed the storm. Tendulkar’s appeal to the crowd to restore order was as dignified as it was necessary. Dinesh Vajpal, Kolkata’s police chief, acknowledged the cricketer’s role, remarking, “It was good of Sachin to go out and pacify the crowd.” Dalmiya, however, downplayed the gravity of the situation, claiming it had been exaggerated. “The crowd felt an injustice had been done, but there was no violence as such,” he said, a statement that many found overly optimistic.

The 67-minute delay, however, shifted the momentum decisively. When play resumed, Shoaib struck again, dismissing Dravid shortly after. Mohammad Azharuddin and Nayan Mongia fell in quick succession, leaving Pakistan firmly in control. By stumps, India were teetering at 231 for nine, needing 65 runs with only one wicket in hand. Sourav Ganguly, their last beacon of hope, succumbed early on the final day, and when Srinath edged Wasim Akram to the keeper, the match was all but over.

The crowd’s disappointment boiled over once more. Newspapers were set alight, and stones, fruit, and bottles rained onto the field. Police, armed with lathis, moved in to clear the stands, forcibly ejecting 65,000 spectators. Wisden noted the lack of malice in the unrest, describing it as “born of disappointment rather than anti-Pakistan feeling.” Yet, *The Guardian* condemned the police’s heavy-handed tactics, describing scenes of elderly men, women, and children being beaten and kicked as they were driven out of the stadium.

In the eerie silence that followed, Pakistan needed just 10 balls to complete their 46-run victory. The din of the previous days was replaced by a surreal stillness, with only 200 spectators scattered across the vast concrete stands. Among them, an elderly couple defiantly remained, asserting their right to witness the game’s conclusion. Their resistance, however, was short-lived; a swarm of security guards descended, forcibly removing them as the players took the field.

Pakistan’s triumph, though monumental, was overshadowed by the chaos and controversy that marred the match. It was a victory achieved in a theatre of passion and pandemonium, where cricket’s ability to inspire both unity and division was laid bare.

The Aftermath

The second and more severe disturbance at Eden Gardens shook Jagmohan Dalmiya to his core, leaving the usually composed ICC president visibly rattled. His earlier attempt to downplay the unrest seemed almost naive in retrospect. This time, his condemnation was sharp and unequivocal. “I exactly don’t find any reason for provocation today,” he fumed. “The action is totally unjustified and uncalled for. The spectators should learn that winning and losing is part of the game.” His frustration was palpable as he rebuked the crowd for what he described as a deliberate effort to prevent Pakistan’s victory. “Today’s gesture was very clear that the last wicket would not be allowed to fall. I condemn today’s action in the strongest possible manner.”

Dalmiya’s tone shifted from reproach to resignation as he grappled with the implications of the crowd’s behaviour. “If that is the only motive of the spectators—that the visiting team shouldn’t win here—I leave it to the future and hope God changes their attitude.” His words reflected both the embarrassment of a host and the disillusionment of a cricketing statesman witnessing the erosion of sportsmanship in the face of nationalistic fervor.

At the post-match press conference, Wasim Akram’s ire was directed not at the crowd but at the Indian media, whom he accused of inflaming tensions. “Whatever has happened today, it is only because of you people and your reports,” he declared, his frustration cutting through the diplomatic veneer. “You have said that Shoaib obstructed Sachin from making his ground and that I should have re-invited him to bat. Why should I do that? If a team fails for only one man, that is our bonus.” Akram defended his team’s actions and dismissed allegations of foul play, calling the media’s narrative both unwise and unfair. “The whole world saw none of them were responsible for the collision. But you have blamed me. Is that wise?” His words underscored the volatile intersection of media influence, public perception, and the high stakes of international cricket.

In stark contrast, Indian captain Mohammad Azharuddin cut a sombre figure, his tone laced with disappointment rather than anger. “I just want them to behave, because every time we cannot win. We are also human beings and any day we can fail,” he said, his words a quiet plea rather than a rebuke. Azharuddin’s reference to the 1996 World Cup semi-final debacle, where crowd unrest had also marred the game, highlighted a recurring pattern of emotional volatility among Indian spectators. “This incident has let us down in the world of cricket,” he lamented, his despair reflective of a deeper cultural malaise.

The great tragedy of the match lay in its paradoxical nature. On the field, it was a glorious advertisement for Test cricket—a contest that ebbed and flowed, showcasing the drama and unpredictability of the longest format. Off the field, however, it descended into chaos, tarnishing the sport’s reputation. The subsequent games in the Asian Test Championship—Sri Lanka versus India in Colombo and Pakistan versus Sri Lanka in Lahore—lacked the intensity and spectacle of the Kolkata Test. The final, a one-sided affair in Dhaka where Pakistan crushed Sri Lanka by an innings and 175 runs, offered little solace to those who had hoped for a fitting climax.

Dalmiya, ever the optimist, attempted to salvage some dignity from the ruins. “The game was finished, and cricket was the winner,” he declared with forced cheerfulness. But his words rang hollow, a reflection of an era when cricket’s administrators appeared increasingly detached from the realities of the sport they governed. For them, the bottom line often seemed to outweigh the spirit of the game, a disheartening trend that would cast a long shadow over cricket’s future.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar

The Fiery Spell: Shoaib Akhtar and the 1999 World Cup Semifinal

Cricket, particularly in its limited-overs format, has long been perceived as a batsman’s game. The spectacle of boundaries and centuries often overshadows the toil of bowlers. Yet, there are rare occasions when a bowler seizes the narrative, overshadowing even the most dazzling batting performances. The 1999 World Cup semi-final between Pakistan and New Zealand at Old Trafford was one such moment, where Shoaib Akhtar, at the peak of his powers, delivered a spell that was as destructive as it was poetic.

The Stage is Set

New Zealand entered the semi-final with quiet confidence, buoyed by their dramatic victory over Australia in the Super Six stage. Pakistan, on the other hand, was a juggernaut, led by the indomitable Wasim Akram and bolstered by a balanced side featuring a mix of experience and raw talent. The stakes were monumental, and Stephen Fleming, New Zealand’s captain, chose to bat on what seemed a flat pitch under clear skies.

What followed was not just a contest between bat and ball but a vivid display of cricket’s raw beauty, punctuated by Shoaib Akhtar’s blistering pace.

The Opening Salvo

The innings began on an erratic note. Wasim Akram, the master of swing, struggled with his rhythm, conceding wides and no-balls in his opening over. At the other end, Shoaib Akhtar started with a bang—an 87 mph delivery that screamed past Matt Horne’s hesitant defence. The tone was set. Shoaib’s second over was a mix of venom and misfortune. A bouncer aimed at Horne’s ribs induced an edge that flew over slip for four. A thunderbolt at 94 mph followed, but it was countered with grit. Despite the occasional wayward delivery, Shoaib’s raw pace was evident, and the crowd braced for what was to come.

The First Breakthrough

Shoaib’s first wicket was a sight to behold. Nathan Astle, one of New Zealand’s most dependable batsmen, faced a delivery that was a perfect amalgamation of speed and precision. Pitched on a length, the ball zipped through the gate, uprooting the leg stump before Astle’s bat could descend. It was a moment that defined Shoaib’s essence: pace that was not just fast but devastatingly accurate.

New Zealand’s Resistance

New Zealand regrouped through Roger Twose and Matt Horne. The pair steadied the innings, frustrating Pakistan’s bowlers. Twose, the hero of New Zealand’s win against Australia, played with characteristic composure, while Horne found his rhythm, striking three boundaries. At 130 for 3 after 31 overs, New Zealand seemed poised for a competitive total.

Then, Wasim Akram turned to his ace.

The Turning Point

Shoaib’s second spell was nothing short of extraordinary. Twose, who had looked unflappable, was undone by a mistimed pull, and the next delivery was a fiery bouncer that almost took Moin Khan by surprise. Fleming, now on strike, faced the ball of the tournament. Shoaib steamed in, delivering a yorker at 92 mph. Fleming, anticipating something shorter, was beaten for pace. The ball crashed into the base of the leg stump, leaving the captain bewildered and New Zealand reeling. It was a moment of sheer brilliance, a reminder of Shoaib’s ability to turn a match on its head with a single delivery.

The Final Burst

Brought back for the death overs, Shoaib’s slower ball deceived Chris Harris, pegging back his leg stump. It was a delivery of guile and control, a stark contrast to the raw aggression of his earlier spells. New Zealand managed to scrape together 241 for 7, thanks largely to Chris Cairns’ late flourish. Shoaib finished with figures of 10-0-55-3, a performance that, despite its statistical modesty, had left an indelible mark on the match.

The Chase

Pakistan’s response was clinical. Saeed Anwar and Wajahatullah Wasti, opening with purpose, built a partnership of 194, effectively ending New Zealand’s hopes. Anwar’s sublime hundred, his second consecutive century in the tournament, was a masterclass in timing and placement. Wasti provided solid support, and though he fell short of his hundred, his contribution was invaluable.

Ijaz Ahmed’s cameo added the finishing touches, and Pakistan cruised to victory with 15 balls to spare. The match ended in chaos, as ecstatic fans invaded the pitch, celebrating their team’s march to the final.

Man of the Match: Shoaib Akhtar

Richie Benaud, with his characteristic gravitas, named Shoaib Akhtar as the Man of the Match. It was a decision that resonated with those who had witnessed the spectacle. Shoaib’s spell was not just about wickets; it was about the psychological impact he had on the opposition. His pace, his aggression, and his sheer presence had tilted the game decisively in Pakistan’s favor.

A Legacy Etched in Fire

The 1999 World Cup semi-final was more than just a cricket match; it was a showcase of the sport’s raw, unfiltered beauty. Shoaib Akhtar’s performance was a reminder of the power of pace, the thrill of unpredictability, and the magic of a bowler in full flight. For those who witnessed it, live or in memory, it remains a moment of cricketing folklore, a testament to the artistry and ferocity of the Rawalpindi Express.

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar 

The Turning Point: Pakistan Beat Australia at Leeds - Lessons Learned from Adversity

The 1999 Cricket World Cup marked one of the most dramatic comebacks in the sport’s history. For Australia, the campaign began with uncertainty and near-collapse, but through grit, introspection, and strategic recalibration, the team transformed into an unstoppable force. The journey from the brink of elimination to ultimate glory began in the shadows of defeat, specifically after a demoralizing loss to Pakistan at Headingley, Leeds.

A Stumbling Start

Australia entered their third group-stage match against Pakistan with a precarious record of one win and one loss. The mood within the camp was tense, with whispers of an early exit and even speculative holiday plans being murmured among some players. The clash against Pakistan, a team brimming with talent and unpredictability, was pivotal.

The Australian think tank, led by captain Steve Waugh and coach Geoff Marsh, had pinned their hopes on swing-friendly conditions, opting for seamers Damien Fleming and Adam Dale to exploit the damp pitch. However, Dale’s lackluster performances in the first two games led to his replacement by Paul Reiffel. The reshuffle, however, failed to arrest Australia’s decline.

In a high-scoring thriller, Pakistan amassed 275/8, with Inzamam-ul-Haq’s 81 and Abdul Razzaq’s 60 forming the backbone of their innings. Inzamam’s characteristic mix of brilliance and eccentricity was on full display, as he and his partners found themselves at the same end of the pitch multiple times, twice resulting in run-outs. Despite these comical moments, Pakistan’s batting flourished, aided by Moin Khan’s explosive 31 off 12 balls in the death overs.

Australia’s response began poorly, with Adam Gilchrist falling for a duck. Partnerships between Mark Waugh and Ricky Ponting (91 for the second wicket) and later between Steve Waugh and Michael Bevan offered hope. However, the brilliance of Shoaib Akhtar, whose fiery pace accounted for Waugh’s dismissal on 49, sealed Australia’s fate. The 10-run loss left the team’s campaign hanging by a thread.

The Flashpoint: Waugh vs. Shoaib

The match at Headingley was not just a story of runs and wickets but also of simmering tensions. The duel between Waugh and Shoaib Akhtar provided a subplot that would resonate throughout the tournament.

Waugh, known for his composure, found himself at the center of controversy when Shoaib delivered what the captain later described as a “sly kick” during a run. The incident, accompanied by verbal exchanges and a contentious LBW appeal, awakened Waugh’s fighting spirit.

"As discreetly as I could, I walked with him for a few steps before saying, 'Every dog has its day,'" Waugh later revealed in his memoir. Shoaib, unapologetic, admitted years later that frustration over the not-out decision had fueled his actions.

This altercation, though minor in the grand scheme, symbolized the fire that still burned within Waugh and his team. It was a spark that would ignite a remarkable turnaround.

The Turning Point: A Meeting of Minds

The loss to Pakistan prompted a pivotal players’ meeting in the Headingley dressing room. Waugh insisted that no one leave until every grievance, doubt, and frustration was aired. The candid discussions, described by Ricky Ponting as “personal and raw,” laid the foundation for a unified team.

The meeting spilled over into a nearby pub, where Waugh convened with the struggling bowlers. This informal gathering birthed the “bowlers’ group,” tasked with devising strategies for every phase of an innings, particularly the death overs. The focus shifted to discipline, precision, and adaptability, as Australia sought to address their glaring weaknesses.

Strategic Recalibration

The immediate tactical shift was Glenn McGrath’s reinstatement with the new ball for the next match against Bangladesh. The move, seemingly minor at the time, symbolized a broader recalibration of Australia’s approach. The bowlers were now equipped with clear plans, and the team’s collective mindset shifted from survival to dominance.

Waugh’s defiance in the face of adversity became the team’s rallying cry. "A lot of people have written us off already, which is good because that can motivate players," he told reporters. His declaration that Australia needed to win seven consecutive matches to lift the trophy seemed audacious but underscored the belief he was instilling in his squad.

The Transformation Begins

The match against Bangladesh at Chester-le-Street marked the start of Australia’s resurgence. It was a chance to rebuild confidence, refine strategies, and rediscover their winning formula. McGrath’s disciplined bowling, combined with a reinvigorated batting lineup, set the tone for what would become a historic campaign.

From the depths of despair in Leeds, Australia embarked on an extraordinary winning streak, culminating in their triumph at Lord’s. Along the way, they defeated tournament favorites South Africa in a dramatic semi-final and outclassed Pakistan in the final.

Legacy of Leeds

The Headingley loss, though painful, was the crucible in which Australia’s World Cup-winning team was forged. The candid introspection, tactical innovation, and rekindled fighting spirit that emerged from that defeat became the bedrock of their success.

Steve Waugh’s leadership, blending stoic resilience with strategic brilliance, ensured that Australia’s 1999 World Cup campaign would be remembered not for its stuttering start but for its triumphant finish. The journey from near-elimination to champions was a testament to the power of belief, unity, and adaptability—a legacy that continues to inspire generations of cricketers.

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar 

A Masterclass Under Pressure: Sachin Tendulkar’s Adventure at Centurion

In the landscape of cricket, where legends come and go, few players have crafted as compelling an aura as Sachin Tendulkar. His career, spanning over two decades, is adorned with 49 ODI centuries and 96 half-centuries—each one a display of technical mastery and mental fortitude. Among these remarkable innings, one stands out for its sheer audacity and pressure: Tendulkar’s blistering 98 runs off 75 balls against Pakistan at Centurion during the 2003 ICC Cricket World Cup. 

This innings wasn’t merely about scoring runs; it was a testament to Tendulkar's ability to thrive under extreme pressure, showcasing a combination of grit, technique, and tactical prowess.

Setting the Stage: A High-Stakes Encounter

The match was no ordinary game of cricket; it was a face-off between two of the sport’s fiercest rivals on the grandest stage after a three-year hiatus. The subcontinent held its breath, and emotions ran high across India and Pakistan, with fans rallying around their teams in a fever of national pride. For Pakistan, the match was a must-win to stay in contention, adding to the intensity of an already charged atmosphere. 

In Dhaka, a young Pakistani fan—myself, a third-year medical student—eagerly awaited the clash, aligning my loyalties firmly with the men in green. In a serendipitous turn, our Community Medicine Viva was canceled on match day, leaving me and my classmates free to experience the game in its entirety. The entire campus buzzed with anticipation, emptying hours before the toss as students and faculty alike turned their attention toward the unfolding drama.

Pakistan opted to bat first, a confident move underscoring their determination. Saeed Anwar’s century anchored the innings, helping Pakistan post a challenging 273 for 7. With a bowling lineup comprising the likes of Wasim Akram, Waqar Younis, Shoaib Akhtar, and Abdul Razzaq, Pakistan had good reason to believe they could defend this total. Yet, lurking in the Indian lineup was Tendulkar, quietly preparing to counterattack in one of his most high-stakes innings.

The Arrival of the Little Master

From the moment he took strike, Tendulkar exuded an unmistakable sense of purpose. The decision to take the first ball over his usual partner, Virender Sehwag, was no mere coincidence; it was a signal of intent, a quiet announcement that he was ready to take on Pakistan’s best. The very first over against Akram saw Tendulkar calibrate himself to the pitch, absorbing the bowler’s variations and setting up his next moves with surgical precision.

In the second over, facing Shoaib Akhtar, Tendulkar unleashed a stroke that would come to define this innings. Shoaib bowled a short, wide delivery, and in a fraction of a second, Tendulkar’s bat met the ball with an explosive cut that sent it soaring for six over backward point. It was a calculated stroke, using Shoaib’s own pace against him, and it sent an unmistakable message to Pakistan: Tendulkar wasn’t just in form; he was ready to dismantle their attack.

A Tactical Assault on Pakistan’s Bowling

What followed was an exhibition of batting that highlighted Tendulkar’s ability to adapt and dominate. With the dismissals of Sehwag and Sourav Ganguly, the Indian innings appeared vulnerable. Yet, Tendulkar maintained his momentum, seamlessly switching between aggression and restraint, reading the bowlers with uncanny clarity. His footwork against Waqar and Akram showcased his command over timing, while his shot selection was a masterclass in using the bowler's strengths to his advantage.

Tendulkar’s innings was not just about boundaries and runs; it was a study in cricketing psychology. Each stroke was calculated, and each run was intended to pressure Pakistan's fielders and drain their bowlers. With every authoritative drive or delicate flick, he not only boosted the morale of his teammates but also weakened the resolve of his opponents. His on-drive off Akram was a particular highlight, displaying both timing and elegance. It wasn’t simply a run-scoring shot—it was a psychological victory over a bowler who had, for years, dominated world cricket.

Battling Fatigue and Injury

As Tendulkar approached his 90s, physical strain became evident. Cramps began to hinder his movement, forcing him to take medical breaks and disrupt his rhythm. But in a display of sheer grit, he fought through the discomfort, choosing to press on rather than yield. The sight of Tendulkar wincing with each step but still summoning the energy for flawless strokes was a testament to his determination. This stretch of the innings illustrated his mental resilience and ability to compartmentalize pain—a quality that separated him from other greats.

Yet, as so often happens in cricket, fate had its say. Shoaib, determined to exact some measure of revenge, bowled a fierce short ball. The ball rose unexpectedly, inducing an edge from Tendulkar’s bat that was gleefully claimed by the Pakistan fielders. Tendulkar’s dismissal at 98 was heartbreaking for Indian fans who had hoped for a century, but the damage was done. The chase was now within India’s grasp, and Tendulkar had, through his artistry and defiance, effectively dismantled Pakistan’s hopes.

Reflections on an Unforgettable Innings

As an ardent Pakistani supporter, I found myself in a mix of awe and desolation that night. Tendulkar’s innings had been an emotional rollercoaster, weaving through moments of exhilaration and despair. While he had shattered the dreams of countless Pakistani fans, there was no denying the mastery with which he had crafted his knock. It was an innings marked by tactical brilliance, mental fortitude, and cricketing genius, played on one of the world’s biggest stages against one of the game’s most feared bowling attacks.

A Defining Moment in ODI Cricket

Tendulkar’s 98 at Centurion was more than just a memorable innings; it was a definitive moment in ODI cricket history. The stakes of the World Cup, the storied rivalry, and the intimidating bowling lineup made this an innings where every run mattered. It was an epic blend of intensity, skill, and unyielding resolve, and it encapsulated why Tendulkar remains a revered figure in world cricket.

In retrospect, Tendulkar’s knock against Pakistan that day serves as a masterclass in how to handle pressure. By combining raw skill with unbreakable willpower, he inspired not only his team but also redefined the standard for high-stakes performances. For those who witnessed it—whether jubilant Indian fans or disappointed Pakistani supporters—it remains etched in memory as a showcase of brilliance in its purest form.

 

Thank You

Faisal Caesar