A Tale of Missed Chances: Bangladesh’s Bitter Debut in Melbourne

In the grand theatre of cricket, few venues hold as much prestige as the Melbourne Cricket Ground. For Bangladesh, their debut here was meant to be a landmark—a moment to showcase grit and growth on the international stage. Instead, it turned into a lesson in complacency and missed opportunities.  

The Weight of Expectations

Both Bangladesh and Sri Lanka entered this encounter carrying the weight of middling campaigns. Each had managed just one victory, and ironically, against the same opponent—Afghanistan. While Sri Lanka stumbled but survived against the Afghans, Bangladesh's comprehensive win over the same opposition had raised hopes of a resurgent Tigers' side. Sharing points with Australia due to rain was seen as a bonus, one that could propel Bangladesh with renewed vigor. Instead, it seemed to lull the Tigers into a state of lethargy, a dangerous complacency unbefitting a team with aspirations of climbing cricket's hierarchy.  

The Fielding Fiasco

If cricket is a game of fine margins, then fielding is where battles are won or lost. Bangladesh's outing in the field was a masterclass in how not to approach this discipline. In the very first over, Anamul Haque spilt a regulation catch at slip—a moment that set the tone for the Tigers' dismal day.  

Kumar Sangakkara, one of cricket’s most clinical finishers, was handed two lives, at 23 and 60. Mushfiqur Rahim missed a straightforward stumping of Lahiru Thirimanne. Tillakaratne Dilshan, running for his life, was reprieved by a misdirected throw and a lack of support at the stumps.  

Each error compounded the misery, allowing Dilshan and Sangakkara to craft magnificent centuries. Their partnership became a juggernaut, lifting Sri Lanka to a daunting total. One could almost hear the echo of the adage: "Catches win matches."  

Captaincy Under the Microscope

Mashrafe Mortaza, a stalwart of Bangladeshi cricket, has often been the embodiment of resilience. But in Melbourne, his captaincy betrayed a sense of passivity. A captain's role is not merely to place fielders or rotate bowlers; it is to inspire, to instill belief even when the odds seem insurmountable.  

Mashrafe, however, seemed to wait for fortune to favour his side rather than forcing the issue. His field placements lacked imagination, his bowling changes lacked urgency. In the face of Sri Lanka’s batting onslaught, this defensive approach only magnified Bangladesh’s woes.  

A Batting Order Misjudged

As if the fielding debacle wasn’t enough, the Tigers faltered in their chase. Losing Tamim Iqbal in the first over was a psychological blow, but it was also an opportunity to adapt. This was the moment to send an experienced campaigner like Mushfiqur Rahim to steady the ship. Instead, Soumya Sarkar, a talented but raw stroke-maker, was pushed into the crucible.  

Soumya’s flamboyance provided brief fireworks, but what the situation demanded was composure. Mushfiq, with his temperament and ability to anchor an innings, could have been the balm for Bangladesh’s early jitters.  

Similarly, when Mominul Haque was dismissed, it should have been Shakib Al Hasan walking to the crease. His ability to craft partnerships under pressure is well-documented, and his pairing with Mushfiq might have resurrected the chase. Instead, rigidity in the batting order cost Bangladesh momentum and, ultimately, the match.  

Lessons in Humility and Hunger

Cricket, like life, is an unforgiving teacher. Bangladesh’s Melbourne misadventure exposed deep flaws—complacency, lack of adaptability, and a failure to seize critical moments. Yet, these shortcomings also present an opportunity.  

To move forward, the Tigers must embrace the harsh lessons of this defeat. Fielding drills must become relentless, captaincy more proactive, and the batting order more flexible. Most importantly, the fire to prove their mettle must burn brighter.  

In the storied annals of cricket, every team has endured such chastening moments. It is how they respond that defines their legacy. For Bangladesh, the road to redemption begins with a simple mantra: learn, adapt, and fight.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar 

Sri Lanka's Elusive Glory: A Saga of Skill, Spirit, and Heartbreak

The Sri Lankan cricket team is a rare blend of talent, grace, and resilience. Over the years, they have been a compelling force on the world stage, reaching the finals of numerous ICC tournaments since 2007. Yet, each time, the coveted trophy slipped from their grasp, leaving these warriors at the altar of glory but never as victors. Luck, it seems, has chosen to play a fickle role in their journey, smiling fleetingly before retreating at the decisive moment.

In the ongoing Champions Trophy, Sri Lanka began their campaign in a riveting fashion. Despite boasting one of the most experienced and formidable batting line-ups, their shocking collapse for 138 in Cardiff raised eyebrows. But the astonishing spirit they displayed defending that modest total set the stage for a contest that would be remembered long after. Lasith Malinga’s searing yorkers and the aggression of his fellow bowlers turned seemingly unassailable into a nearly impregnable fortress. The Kiwis eventually emerged victorious, but Sri Lanka walked away with renewed self-belief, an unspoken promise to turn that spirit into triumph in their next encounter with England at the Oval.

Facing England’s power-packed batting lineup, Sri Lanka found themselves chasing a daunting 294, a mountain by any measure and seemingly insurmountable given the team's recent struggle on flatter tracks. Yet, Cardiff had left a mark—somewhere within the team, a spark had ignited, an unwavering belief that pushed them forward. England, however, began according to plan, removing Kusal Perera early. But as the game wore on and the Oval lights began to glow, the scene shifted dramatically.

Tillakaratne Dilshan, with his audacious stroke play, brought his usual flair, cutting, pulling, and driving with an abandon only he could manage. Watching Dilshan was like witnessing a free spirit—an eagle soaring over the pitch, unshackled and instinctive. At the other end, Kumar Sangakkara’s bat sang a different tune: his drives, pristine and poetic, blended an elegance that was purely Sangakkara’s own. In those moments, their partnership was a symphony—a duet of power and grace, as nature’s ferocity met refinement.

When Dilshan finally departed, Mahela Jayawardene entered, the finest craftsman of modern cricket. As he joined Sangakkara, the Oval seemed to transform. Jayawardene, with his precise timing and fluent strokes, added to the spectacle, creating a rare harmony between two maestros. Sangakkara, by now, was in full flow, driving at a pace and with a hunger rarely seen. Even in his aggression, Sangakkara was all class, a rhythm that defied convention yet dazzled like the poetry of Kazi Nazrul Islam, the unrestrained beat of nature set free.

As Jayawardene left after his masterful innings, Mathews made a bold call, promoting the unlikely figure of Nuwan Kulasekara up the order. Kulasekara, known more for his bowling than his batting, was sent to play the role of a pinch-hitter in an attempt to shock the English attack. And shock he did, with a flurry of audacious shots that shifted the entire momentum of the game. His bat spoke in thunderous tones, a masterstroke from Mathews that cast Kulasekara as the night's unexpected hero. What had been a meticulous chase turned into a tempest of boundaries and runs, each stroke nudging Sri Lanka closer to an improbable victory.

Sangakkara, the night's anchor, reached his century—a fitting capstone to one of the finest innings of his career. But his heroics, though unforgettable, were almost overshadowed by the audacious display from Kulasekara, whose fearless hitting sealed the victory. Together, they delivered a thrilling performance, a night etched into cricket's annals, a testament to the beauty and resilience of Sri Lankan cricket.

Despite their brilliance, a lingering question remains: why have these legends of the game—Sangakkara, Jayawardene, Malinga, Mathews, and Dilshan—been denied the honour of lifting an ICC trophy? Sri Lanka’s journey has been marred by heartbreaking near-misses, each close call leaving them standing just short of glory. It would indeed be a cruel irony for such a generation of gifted cricketers to leave the sport without a major trophy to their name, especially given the courage and heart they display with each outing.

Sri Lanka’s fight to reach the top mirrors a pursuit of something grander than victory; it is the pursuit of vindication, of justice for the artistry they bring to the game. It is only fitting that Lady Luck, who has turned away from them time and again, should finally relent and grant them the prize they so richly deserve. To see these champions lift a trophy would be the culmination of a journey defined by grit, passion, and the beautiful, fleeting artistry they bring to cricket. For Sri Lanka, the world waits, hoping that destiny finally embraces these legends and writes them into history as the champions they were always meant to be.

Thank You
Faisal Caesar

Leading from the Front: My Favourite Captain's Knocks in Test Cricket

Tillakaratne Dilshan’s commanding 193 was more than just a personal milestone; it was a statement of intent, a defiant response to adversity that breathed life into a Sri Lankan batting unit still reeling from England’s formidable 486. In a moment that demanded resilience, Dilshan shouldered the responsibility with a blend of aggression and composure, crafting an innings that ranks among the finest played by a Test captain. His knock was not merely about accumulating runs—it was about restoring confidence, setting an example, and galvanizing his team in the face of a daunting challenge.

History has shown that when a captain is targeted, the entire team often feels the tremors. The great West Indian sides under Clive Lloyd understood this psychology well—destabilize the leader, and the rest will follow. Conversely, a captain in full command of his craft can inspire a collective resurgence, turning individual brilliance into a force that elevates the entire team.

Dilshan’s innings transported me back to the many captains I have admired since I first began following cricket nearly two decades ago. I did not rely on statistical breakdowns or cold, numerical dissections; rather, I sought out those rare moments of captaincy brilliance—innings that were not just about runs but about character, defiance, and the intangible art of leadership.

Brian Lara 153 not out vs Australia, third Test, Bridgetown Barbados, 1999:

Set a daunting target of 308, the West Indies found themselves in dire straits at 105 for five, their hopes hanging by a thread as Glenn McGrath orchestrated yet another masterclass in fast bowling. Australia, relentless in their pursuit of victory, had all but tightened their grip on the match. And yet, amid the ruins stood Brian Lara—undaunted, unfazed, and utterly majestic. 

As wickets tumbled around him, Lara remained the immovable force, a solitary artist painting defiance onto a collapsing canvas. When the eighth wicket fell, with 60 still needed, the contest appeared all but decided. But Lara’s presence infused belief into his partners. Curtly Ambrose, known more for his destruction with the ball than his resilience with the bat, withstood the Australian attack for 82 minutes—an act of pure defiance inspired by the genius at the other end. When Ambrose departed, the final chapter teetered on the edge of despair. Courtney Walsh, the last man standing, had to negotiate five deliveries—each a potential death knell. Fortune played its part, as a wide and a no-ball prolonged the drama, before Lara seized the moment, driving Jason Gillespie to the cover boundary to complete a victory etched in folklore. 

What made this innings truly extraordinary was the absence of a safety net. Unlike the great rearguard efforts built on partnerships, Lara carried the burden of an entire nation alone, knowing that a single misstep would spell certain defeat. 

Though Lara's captaincy record may not place him among the game's great leaders, this innings remains, without question, the most heroic by a captain in the history of Test cricket—a masterclass in skill, composure, and unyielding belief.

Graham Gooch 154 not out vs West Indies, first Test, Leeds, 1991:

It was a damp, brooding summer in England, and at Headingley—where the conditions have always been a paradise for fast bowlers—the stage was set for a contest defined by pace, movement, and survival.

The West Indian quartet of Malcolm Marshall, Curtly Ambrose, Courtney Walsh, and Patrick Patterson unleashed a relentless barrage of hostility, dismantling England’s batting order with ruthless efficiency. The hosts were bundled out for 198—a modest total, yet one that proved sufficient to expose the vulnerabilities of the opposition. The West Indian batsmen, despite their rich pedigree, fared no better against the seaming conditions and were dismissed for 172, ensuring the match remained finely poised, teetering on the edge of uncertainty.

Then came Curtly Ambrose, at his most menacing. With an aura of quiet intimidation and a spell of ferocious pace and steep bounce, he tore through England’s second innings. Wickets fell in rapid succession, and it seemed another chapter of Caribbean dominance was about to be written. But amidst the wreckage stood Graham Gooch, unwavering and unshaken. Against the sheer hostility of Ambrose and his fearsome comrades, he responded not with mere resistance, but with elegance and defiance. His strokes were not just acts of survival but of command—pulling with precision, driving with authority, and standing firm against an onslaught that would have undone lesser men. His unbeaten 154, an innings of sheer courage and technical mastery, lifted England to 252—a total that would prove decisive.

When the final wicket fell, England had triumphed by 116 runs, securing their first home victory over the West Indies since 1969. It was more than just a win; it was a moment of catharsis, a breaking of chains after decades of Caribbean supremacy. And at the heart of it stood Gooch—a batsman who, on that damp Leeds pitch, turned resistance into triumph.

Brian Lara 213 vs Australia, second Test, Kingston, Jamaica, 1999:

Another Brian Lara masterpiece—an innings etched in the folklore of West Indian cricket. In response to Australia’s 256, the West Indies found themselves in dire straits at 34 for four, their batting lineup unravelling under the weight of relentless pressure. It was a moment that demanded not just skill, but defiance, leadership, and an almost mythical resolve. And in that moment, on a sunlit, wind-swept Sunday, Lara delivered. 

What followed was not just a recovery, but a resurrection. Cautious at first, he meticulously rebuilt, absorbing the early pressure before shifting through the gears with the kind of audacious stroke play that defined his genius. He dismantled Stuart MacGill with two towering sixes in an over and ravaged Greg Blewett with four consecutive boundaries. Shane Warne, the master of spin, was met with imperious drives that sent the ball soaring into the stands. In all, Lara struck 28 fours and three sixes, crafting a double-century that was both ruthless and poetic—a symphony of destruction composed over 469 minutes and 344 deliveries. 

The impact was transformative. West Indies seized control, securing a crucial lead of 175, and with their confidence restored, wrapped up the match with a dominant 10-wicket victory. More than just a triumph, this was a reaffirmation of West Indian cricket’s indomitable spirit—led, once again, by the singular brilliance of Brian Lara.

Imran Khan 136 vs Australia, second Test, Adelaide, 1989-90:

 Pakistan began their second innings trailing by 84 runs, only to find themselves ensnared in a nightmarish collapse. The start was nothing short of catastrophic—three wickets had fallen with just seven runs on the board, and before long, the scoreboard read a grim 22 for four. The pressure was immense, and the situation was dire. If ever there was a moment for leadership and resilience, it was now. 

Cometh the hour, cometh the men. Imran Khan and Javed Miandad—two of Pakistan’s most battle-hardened warriors—dug in, resisting Australia’s charge with unwavering determination. For nearly three hours, they absorbed the hostility, defying both the bowlers and the looming crisis. But when Miandad finally fell with the score at 90—Pakistan barely six runs ahead with half the side dismissed—the challenge remained far from over. Matters worsened when Salim Malik retired hurt, leaving Pakistan perilously vulnerable. 

Enter Wasim Akram, a young prodigy under the tutelage of a master. What followed over the next 729 minutes was nothing short of extraordinary. Under Imran’s watchful guidance, Akram crafted an innings that defied his role as a lower-order batsman, exuding the class and composure of a seasoned top-order player. Their monumental 191-run partnership not only steadied the ship but also transformed the complexion of the match. Akram’s fearless 123 was a testament to both his talent and his captain’s mentorship. 

By the time Pakistan declared, their lead had swelled to 304—a position that ensured a hard-fought and honourable draw. What had begun as a collapse ended as a statement of resilience, an exhibition of character forged in the crucible of adversity. It was a match not just saved, but redefined by grit, belief, and the unbreakable spirit of Imran Khan and his young apprentice.

Michael Atherton 185 not out vs South Africa, second Test, Johannesburg, 1995-96:

Ray Illingworth described it as "one of the great innings of all time," a sentiment echoed by many who deemed Michael Atherton’s defiant masterpiece the finest ever played by an England captain.

The circumstances were nothing short of dire. Having gambled on four fast bowlers and opting to field first—a decision that spectacularly backfired—Atherton now faced the daunting task of ensuring England's survival. With a theoretical target of 479 looming irrelevantly in the background, the real challenge was to last four overs and five full sessions against a relentless South African attack. Unlike their previous three drawn Tests, where England had batted first and amassed large totals, this was a test of pure resilience. The one lively pitch of the series had mercifully flattened out, and a full house of 30,000 on the fourth day anticipated England’s inevitable collapse. By the close of play, their captain had already lost four partners—twice in the space of three balls. 

On the final morning, Atherton needed time to rediscover his rhythm, his footwork initially hesitant. A moment of fortune came when, on 99, he fended a short delivery off his body into Gary Kirsten’s hands at short-leg—only for the ball to pop straight back out. He responded emphatically, hooking Allan Donald’s next delivery to the boundary to reach his ninth Test hundred and 4,000 career runs, celebrating with rare emotion as he embraced his partner. Soon after, Smith fell to a wild slash caught at third man, and Russell—on just five—offered a return catch to Pringle, who spilt the chance. England’s hopes of survival remained faint, but they refused to fade. 

Slowly, resistance turned into belief. Across England, fans clung to television and radio broadcasts, mirroring the tenacity of Atherton and Russell. The captain’s approach was a masterclass in discipline—every shot measured, every decision calculated. He refused to be lured into recklessness, confining his strokes to his strongest areas square of the wicket, yet punishing anything loose to the boundary 28 times, ensuring the bowlers never dominated. Russell, for his part, shouldered more than his fair share of the burden, constantly reminding Atherton of England’s infamous collapse in Barbados in 1989-90. 

By the time stumps were finally drawn, Atherton had batted for an extraordinary 643 minutes—England’s fourth-longest innings—facing 492 balls of unyielding determination. Russell stood firm for 277 minutes, defying 235 deliveries. Together, they had not just saved a match but crafted one of the most iconic acts of defiance in Test cricket history—an innings for the ages, forged in grit, patience, and unwavering resolve.

Graeme Smith 154 not out vs England, third Test, Edgbaston, 2008: 

Edgbaston has been the site of South African heartbreak in the past, none more painful than their dramatic exit from the 1999 World Cup. But nine years later, those ghosts were finally laid to rest. With a masterful, unbeaten 154, Graeme Smith scripted one of the most significant triumphs in South Africa’s cricketing history, leading his team to their first series victory in England since 1965. His innings, a defiant and calculated masterpiece, was the cornerstone of a chase that will be remembered among the finest in Test cricket. The victory was sealed emphatically, with Smith and Mark Boucher compiling a 112-run partnership, grinding down a weary and spent England attack as they claimed the extra half-hour to drive home their dominance.

For Smith, it was a crowning moment at a venue that had already witnessed his brilliance. His 277 at Edgbaston in 2003 had announced his arrival as a young, ambitious captain, yet South Africa had squandered leads in that series. This time, there was no room for a repeat failure. He was determined to ensure the contest would not reach a decider at The Oval. And, as if fate wanted to add one final flourish, the winning boundary came off the bowling of Kevin Pietersen—a symbolic touch to a moment already steeped in meaning.

While Smith's innings stood head and shoulders above the rest—the next-highest score being just 45—it was Boucher’s presence at the other end that proved invaluable. Arriving at the crease with South Africa precariously placed at 171 for five, he was the perfect ally for his captain. England had just regained momentum through Monty Panesar’s dismissal of AB de Villiers, whose crucial 78-run stand with Smith had kept the chase alive. But as the final session stretched beyond three gruelling hours, the emotional and physical exertions of England’s attack took their toll. By the time the extra overs were claimed, any lingering hopes of replicating the heroics of 2005 had all but faded. Lightning, after all, does not strike twice.

Smith’s steely determination never wavered. As partners came and went, he remained immovable, expertly navigating a surface that had begun to wear, offering Panesar increasing assistance from the footmarks. His innings was not without its share of fortune, but in the final innings of a Test match, every batsman is entitled to a touch of luck. To further underscore the scale of his achievement, no team had successfully chased more than 208 at Edgbaston before this match. And, remarkably, Smith’s hundred—crafted off 177 deliveries—was the first-ever fourth-innings century at the ground.

History had been rewritten. The ghosts of past failures were exorcised. And at the heart of it all stood Graeme Smith, his name now forever etched in South African cricketing folklore.

Note: The above list is my pick of one of the best captain’s knocks played, which I have witnessed on TV since 1990. In the coming days, this list will grow. 

Thank You

Faisal Caesar