The Saga of Once Titans: A Rivalry for the Ages is Waning

Cricket has witnessed rivalries steeped in drama, skill, and fierce competition, but few matches captured the imagination like the Pakistan-West Indies encounters. For over four decades, these two sides clashed with relentless intensity, their duels a thrilling spectacle for cricket lovers worldwide. The rise and fall of both nations on the cricketing stage is a tale of epic highs and heart-wrenching lows—a contest between flamboyance and grit, Caribbean flair and subcontinental resilience. Their matches, often balanced on the edge of unpredictability, were not just battles on the field but narratives of shifting empires in world cricket.

The Inaugural Dance: 1958 – A Duel Etched in Time

Pakistan’s introduction to Caribbean soil in 1958 was more than just a tour—it was a baptism of fire. West Indies, already a cricketing powerhouse, expected to dominate the visitors. The scoreline—3-1 in favour of the hosts—tells a story, but the heart of that series lies deeper. It was a confrontation between two legendary innings, shaped by contrasting genius.

In the opening Test at Kingston, Pakistan were humbled, dismissed for a mere 106 and following on 473 runs behind. Enter Hanif Mohammad, who delivered a batting performance for the ages. Over six gruelling days, he resisted the West Indian attack with monk-like patience, crafting a monumental 337. Batting for 16 hours and 10 minutes—the longest innings in the annals of first-class cricket—Hanif’s epic not only saved the Test but also immortalized his name in cricket’s folklore. In a poetic twist, a few weeks later, West Indian icon Gary Sobers responded with an unbeaten 365 at Sabina Park, a dazzling innings that epitomized Caribbean flamboyance.

Beyond these batting marvels, the duel between Pakistan’s master of seam, Fazal Mahmood, and Jamaica’s fearsome *Roy Gilchrist* electrified crowds. Fazal’s subtle cutters earned admiration, while Gilchrist’s fiery pace delivered spine-tingling moments. Though Pakistan returned home defeated, they had left a lasting impression.

The Seventies: A New Generation, A Renewed Rivalry

Despite the captivating start, it took 19 years for Pakistan to return to the Caribbean. The cricketing landscape had transformed by 1977—West Indies, led by the formidable Clive Lloyd, had emerged as an unstoppable juggernaut, boasting a galaxy of stars like Viv Richards, Andy Roberts, and Michael Holding. In Pakistan’s corner stood Mushtaq Mohammad, leading an exceptionally talented side that included luminaries like Zaheer Abbas, Imran Khan, and Majid Khan.

The series was a classic clash of styles: Pakistan’s finesse versus West Indies’ raw aggression. *Wasim Raja*—with his audacious stroke play—took the fight to the fearsome Caribbean bowlers, scoring 517 runs against a brutal pace attack. Yet, despite flashes of brilliance, Pakistan found themselves undone by moments of brilliance from the West Indies. Colin Croft’s devastating 8-for-29 at Queen’s Park Oval and Gordon Greenidge’s marauding innings clinched the series for the hosts, though Pakistan’s resilience was undeniable.

The 1980s: Near Glories and Bitter Heartbreaks

  

The 1980s heralded an era of fierce competition, where Pakistan constantly flirted with greatness but fell agonizingly short. Imran Khan’s Pakistan possessed the firepower to match the best in the world, and their contests with West Indies became gladiatorial. The 1988 tour to the Caribbean, in particular, stands as one of the most enthralling Test series in cricket history. Pakistan, bolstered by Imran’s masterful bowling and *Javed Miandad’s* batting, took a surprise 1-0 lead. However, the West Indies—buoyed by the return of *Viv Richards* and *Malcolm Marshall*—stormed back to level the series, setting up a showdown at Kensington Oval.

At the fortress in Bridgetown, where West Indies had remained unbeaten since 1935, Pakistan came tantalizingly close to a historic triumph. Defending 266, Pakistan had the hosts reeling at 207 for 8. But destiny intervened cruelly—*Jeff Dujon* and *Winston Benjamin* dug in to deny Pakistan. Imran, crestfallen and convinced that poor umpiring had robbed his team, later described the heartbreak in his autobiography, underscoring how fine margins defined their rivalry.

The Nineties: The Waning Glow of a Rivalry 

By the 1990s, both teams were struggling to maintain their dominance. Pakistan, though rich in talent, faced internal challenges, while West Indies’ empire began to crumble. In 1993, a Pakistan side led by *Wasim Akram* came to the Caribbean amidst controversy, marred by drug scandals. The series lost much of its allure before it began. West Indies’ bowlers—led by *Curtly Ambrose* and *Ian Bishop*—overwhelmed Pakistan, while *Brian Lara* and *Desmond Haynes* delivered with the bat. Pakistan salvaged pride with a draw in the final Test, courtesy of *Inzamam-ul-Haq’s* magnificent 125.

The two teams’ fortunes continued to wane. West Indies, long the kings of cricket, suffered a slow decline. Meanwhile, Pakistan struggled with inconsistency and controversies. Their 1997 series win at home—Pakistan’s first clean sweep of the West Indies—marked a symbolic changing of the guard. Yet, the unpredictability of both teams ensured that every encounter carried the promise of drama.

The Modern Era: Shadows of a Bygone Age

  

By the 2000s, the Pakistan-West Indies rivalry no longer commanded the same global attention. While they occasionally delivered thrilling moments—like Pakistan’s hard-fought draw at Antigua in 2000—their clashes lacked the aura of past battles. Pakistan’s inability to win a Test series in the Caribbean remains a nagging regret, with near-misses reinforcing their frustration.

In 2006, Mohammad Yousuf broke Viv Richards’ long-standing record for most Test runs in a calendar year, offering a rare moment of nostalgia. The West Indies, too, provided glimpses of brilliance, as *Brian Lara’s* elegant 216 charmed fans in Multan. But these moments were exceptions in a rivalry that had lost its grandeur.

A Rivalry in Twilight: The Road Ahead

As Pakistan and West Indies prepare for another series after a six-year hiatus, the context is vastly different. The mighty West Indies no longer inspire the fear they once did, and Pakistan arrives as the stronger team. Yet, cricket remains a game of glorious uncertainties—both teams, unpredictable to the core, are still capable of conjuring magic when least expected.  

The rivalry between Pakistan and the West Indies may not hold the same allure today, but its legacy endures. It is a story of breathtaking triumphs and devastating defeats, of players who defied the odds, and teams that embraced the chaos of cricket. For those who witnessed these epic battles, the memories remain vivid—a testament to a time when every contest between these two cricketing nations was an event to cherish. Perhaps, in the spirit of the game, Pakistan might finally break their Caribbean curse. And even if they do not, one can only hope that the next chapter in this storied rivalry will recapture some of the old magic—reminding the world that cricket, like history, always finds a way to surprise us.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar

Jamie Siddons Bids Adieu to Bangladesh Cricket with Bitter and Sweet Memories

The curtain has finally fallen on Jamie Siddons' tenure as Bangladesh's head coach—a chapter marked by tumult and transformation. When Siddons inherited the reins from Dav Whatmore in 2007, the task was far from enviable. Whatmore had not only left a void but had raised expectations after Bangladesh’s memorable 2007 World Cup campaign. Siddons walked into a storm—a cricketing crisis that could have unravelled a lesser leader.  

The ICL Exodus: A Crippled Beginning

The first test Siddons encountered came swiftly. The Indian Cricket League (ICL), an unsanctioned league that lured players with hefty paychecks, snatched away many of Bangladesh's promising cricketers. The exodus in 2008 depleted the national squad, leaving Siddons with a skeleton crew. Players like Shahriar Nafees, Alok Kapali, Aftab Ahmed, and even the veteran Habibul Bashar chose the ICL’s allure, leaving the national side bereft of experience and spark.

Siddons was left with a nearly empty dressing room—an orphaned side that required rebuilding from scratch. Yet he did not flinch. He set about the painstaking task of nurturing young talents, crafting a new playing style, and instilling a culture of professionalism and discipline within the squad.

Ashraful’s Promise and Pitfall

Perhaps one of Siddons’ most frustrating challenges was the enigma of Mohammad Ashraful. In Ashraful, Bangladesh had a rare gem—one who could conjure brilliance with the bat. Yet, his inconsistency was the Achilles’ heel that crippled his rise to greatness. Siddons, ever the idealist, backed Ashraful unconditionally. But Ashraful, headstrong and distracted, chased dreams of becoming an all-rounder instead of sharpening his batting craft. His inconsistency bled into his captaincy, where his inexperience showed glaringly.

The Ashraful-Siddons partnership, once promising, fractured after the disastrous 2009 T20 World Cup. Ashraful, overwhelmed by captaincy’s burden, was a captain adrift, while Siddons’ advice seemed to fall on deaf ears. For Siddons, it was a bitter truth—talent without discipline is like a candle in the wind.

The Shakib Era: A New Dawn

The turning point of Siddons’ tenure came when Shakib Al Hasan took over the captaincy. Under Shakib’s dynamic leadership, the team began to gel, and Siddons' methods finally bore fruit. The high point was Bangladesh’s historic clean sweep over New Zealand—a triumph that reflected not just talent but the mental toughness that Siddons had painstakingly cultivated.

Siddons orchestrated that success with a meticulous plan. He ensured the players underwent a rigorous training camp, drilling into them the belief that they could compete with—and defeat—the best in the world. The whitewash against New Zealand wasn’t just a victory on the scoreboard; it was a validation of Siddons' faith in his young team.

A Divisive Mentor: Tough Love or Stubbornness?

  

Siddons was never one to sugarcoat his words or bend to sentimentality. His stern approach sparked accusations of favouritism and aloofness, especially towards players linked with the ICL. He famously kept Shahriar Nafees and Ashraful out of the regular squad's practice sessions ahead of the 2011 World Cup. Yet, while Nafees responded by working harder and reclaiming his spot, Ashraful seemed trapped in the same cycle of underachievement.  

Mashrafe Mortaza’s situation was another source of contention. Siddons desired a fully fit Mortaza, a leader on the field and a spearhead with the ball. But persistent injuries kept Mortaza from fulfilling his potential, and the selectors’ decision to drop him sparked rumours that Siddons lacked faith in the pacer. In truth, Siddons was pragmatic—he wanted results, and an injured Mortaza wasn’t part of that equation. Blaming the coach for Mortaza's exclusion was a misjudgment.

The 2011 World Cup: The Final Verdict

Siddons’ legacy was ultimately put to trial during the 2011 World Cup. Bangladesh’s performances oscillated wildly—from the ecstasy of a win over England to the ignominy of being bowled out for 58 against the West Indies and 78 against South Africa. Critics sharpened their knives, eager to pin the blame on Siddons. Yet the collapse wasn’t a failure of coaching but a symptom of Bangladesh’s fragile cricketing psyche. Siddons could guide, but in the heat of battle, the players had to hold their nerve. And too often, they didn’t.

A Farewell and a Reflection

Looking back, Siddons' journey in Bangladesh cricket was a tale of turbulence and hope. He wasn’t just a coach—he was a craftsman, mouding raw potential into something resembling resilience. Like a teacher whose methods are not immediately understood, Siddons was judged harshly at times. But his contribution is undeniable: he sowed seeds that could bloom into a brighter future. 

In one of his final interviews, Siddons offered a poignant reminder:  

"If these boys are allowed to grow together for another four years to the next World Cup, you’re going to have a lot of good fun and a lot of joy. We’ve had our share of joy—victories over New Zealand, wins against England and Ireland, and domination over Zimbabwe. These boys are the future. There’s no Ricky Ponting or Kumar Sangakkara to carry the burden; these players must grow into their own heroes."

Siddons' words resonate as both a plea and a prophecy. The future he envisioned wasn’t just about talent; it required patience—from the players, the board, and the fans. His tenure wasn’t a story of unblemished success, but it was one of progress—a journey through trials, disappointments, and triumphs that laid the foundation for Bangladesh cricket’s growth.

As Jamie Siddons departs, his final gift to Bangladesh cricket is not a trophy but a lesson: Greatness takes time. It requires belief, trust, and the courage to weather setbacks. His era may have ended, but the seeds he planted are still waiting to be harvested. The BCB’s task now is to nurture them with the care and patience they deserve.

Goodbye, Siddons. You were not just a coach—you were a cultivator of dreams, even when they seemed too fragile to survive.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar

A Farewell to the Magician: Muttiah Muralitharan

 In one corner of Mumbai’s Wankhede Stadium, elation flowed like a river, while across the stands, sorrow loomed like a monsoon cloud. Among the many forlorn faces, one stood out: Muttiah Muralitharan’s, etched with quiet disappointment as he bid farewell to international cricket on a note that fate had not scripted for him. A career filled with triumph, controversy, and extraordinary resilience ended not with a World Cup in hand, but as a runner-up. For those of us who admired him — who marvelled at his mastery — it felt like a dream denied. We had hoped, perhaps too sentimentally, for Murali to raise the trophy and leave the stage crowned. But cricket, ever so unpredictable, had other plans, and India, on that night, was the better side.  

Murali's journey has always been a symphony of contradictions. For his admirers, he is a genius, one of the finest to ever spin a ball, redefining what off-spin could be. For his critics, he is an enigmatic figure, his legacy shadowed by doubts about his bowling action — an "illusionist" to some, whose magic crossed the line into deceit. No cricketer since Douglas Jardine has polarized opinions as Murali has, and perhaps none has borne the weight of scrutiny with as much grace.  

What cannot be denied is the marvel of his craft. With supple wrists and a shoulder that rotated with the velocity of a fast bowler’s, Murali could make the ball grip, turn, and dance on pitches that seemed lifeless to others. His uniqueness was not merely physical — the deformity in his elbow was only a fragment of the story. It was his skill in combining the orthodox with the unorthodox, mastering the elusive doosra, that transformed him from a spinner into a phenomenon. On any surface, in any country, Murali was his captain’s talisman, a spinner who could conjure wickets even when nothing seemed possible.  

But genius rarely walks alone, and controversy was Murali’s constant companion. From the Boxing Day Test of 1995, when umpire Darrell Hair called him for throwing, to the 2004 episode where he was asked to shelve his doosra for exceeding the 15-degree tolerance, his career was as much a fight for legitimacy as it was for wickets. Even as sceptics called him a "chucker," Murali responded with serenity, going so far as to bowl on live television with a cast to demonstrate his legality. His smile, wide-eyed and boyish, remained unbroken through it all, as did his ability to decimate batting line-ups.  

For Sri Lanka, Murali was more than just a cricketer. He was a symbol of unity in a nation fractured by ethnic conflict, often the only Tamil in a team dominated by Sinhalese players. On the field, he played for victory; off it, he became a quiet force for reconciliation. In the aftermath of the 2004 tsunami, he dedicated time, energy, and resources to rebuilding the devastated regions, his influence stretching far beyond cricket’s boundaries.  

Murali’s cricketing achievements remain staggering. Part of Sri Lanka’s World Cup-winning side in 1996, he was instrumental in their run to the final in 2007. In Tests, his records are untouchable — over 800 wickets, including more than 100 against the giants of the game: India, England, and South Africa. Murali was a constant on pitches in Sri Lanka, where his spin was a nightmare for any batsman, or abroad, where he adapted with uncanny precision. His opponents knew that in a three-Test series, they would have to budget for 20 wickets or more in his ledger.  

Yet, beyond the records and accolades, there was something innately human about Murali. As he aged, his shyness gave way to a quiet confidence and sly humour that charmed even his critics. The same man who terrorized batsmen with his spin also offered them friendship with a smile that could disarm the fiercest opponent. He handled his critics with poise, even as legends like Bishan Singh Bedi continued to deride him as a fraud. But history, backed by science, would vindicate him. Under modern scrutiny, his action stood the test of time, proving that Murali’s magic was real.  

In his final World Cup, though, the magic seemed to ebb. Bowling through pain in the 2011 final against India, he tried everything in his repertoire, but the venom was missing. Dhoni and his men were too good that day, and Murali’s dream of ending his career with a World Cup in hand slipped away. It was not the fairy-tale ending his fans had hoped for, but cricket, like life, seldom offers perfect closures.  

Murali’s story will inspire generations of spinners, not just for what he achieved but for how he achieved it — with humility, resilience, and an unwavering smile. He taught the world that greatness is not just about records but about character and how one handles triumph and tribulation. He showed us that a true champion plays for personal glory and something greater — for a team, a nation, and, in Murali’s case, for unity.  

The departure of Muttiah Muralitharan leaves a void not just in Sri Lankan cricket but in the global game. His records may stand the test of time, but it is his spirit, his smile, and his story that will endure in the hearts of cricket lovers everywhere. And as the curtains fall on one of cricket’s most remarkable careers, we are left with the bittersweet truth: that some goodbyes are not meant to be victories, but quiet acknowledgements of a legacy that will live on.  

Adieu, Murali. The game was richer with you in it.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar 

The Price of the Present: Has T20 Cricket Undermined the Spirit, Charm and Quality of the Game?

Cricket, in the era I grew up watching—the 80s and 90s—was a game of strategy, endurance, and elegance. It was where the slow grind of Test matches revealed the character of players, and the 50-over format served as a thrilling middle ground between patience and aggression. But today, the rise of T20 leagues has drastically reshaped the landscape of cricket. While these leagues may have enriched cricketers financially, they have eroded the essence of the sport. In this pursuit of entertainment, cricket has traded quality for quantity, and the art of the game seems to be losing its soul.

Many modern fans may dismiss this as nostalgia, arguing that T20 leagues are the future. But the essence of a cricketer can never be fully captured in a mere 20 overs. Cricket has always been a test of temperament, skill, and resilience—qualities that can only be nurtured in the longer formats. Test cricket remains the truest expression of a cricketer’s mettle, while One-Day Internationals (ODIs) offer a valuable balance between tradition and modernity. The brevity of T20 cricket, however, forces players to chase instant gratification, robbing them of the chance to evolve into complete athletes.

What is more troubling is the way the narrative around cricket has shifted. Modern commentators and journalists often lavish praise on players excelling in franchise leagues, turning them into overnight sensations. This media frenzy not only overlooks players with genuine quality but also reduces cricket to a spectacle where fame matters more than craft. The very voices once entrusted with safeguarding the sport’s sanctity seem to have sold themselves, promoting a brand of cricket that prioritizes revenue over reputation.

T20 leagues have also created a troubling hierarchy in players’ priorities. Many cricketers today appear more invested in representing a franchise than wearing their national colours. This shift has fractured the sense of national pride that once defined cricket and fostered a sense of community among fans. The consequence is that the younger generation of cricketers is growing up with skewed values, where loyalty to a paycheck often outweighs loyalty to one’s country.

The shadow of match-fixing and betting syndicates further darkens this picture. Nowhere is this more evident than in the subcontinent, where the intersection of cricket, corruption, and gambling syndicates poses a grave threat. Young players, often lured by the glamour and money of T20 leagues, are easy prey for unscrupulous agents. The moral compass that cricket once championed is at risk of being irreparably damaged.

The think tanks of cricket may have set out to innovate, but in doing so, they have unleashed a demon. The commercialization of the game has come at a cost—one that cricket may not be able to afford in the long run. If the essence of the sport is to survive, there must be a recalibration of priorities. We need to recognize that cricket is not just about entertainment but about history, character, and the values that have inspired generations.

As a fan who cherishes the game in its purest form, I feel compelled to raise my voice. Cricket, after all, belongs to everyone. The custodians of the sport must be reminded that progress should not come at the expense of heritage. It is time to reclaim the spirit of cricket, so that future generations may witness the same elegance, grit, and beauty that captivated us decades ago.

The call is simple: let’s return to quality. The game deserves no less.

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar 

The Coveted Prize: A Reflection on India’s World Cup Triumph

 

The ICC World Cup trophy symbolizes more than just cricketing dominance—it stands as an elusive muse that inspires desire yet favours only the most exceptional suitors. Many nations yearn for her embrace, but only a few possess the intelligence, courage, and charisma to win her hand. To grasp such a prize is not merely an act of strength but a dance of strategy, resilience, and allure.  

It was only fitting, then, that Team India succeeded in this pursuit, for they embodied every quality needed to win cricket’s most coveted maiden. Their blend of tactical brilliance, raw fearlessness, and undeniable star power made them worthy of the highest accolade. And in this courtship, who better than Sachin Tendulkar—India’s cricketing demigod—to carry the torch?  

On a balmy Saturday night in Mumbai, Tendulkar’s career reached its long-anticipated zenith. The World Cup was not just another feather in his already ornate cap—it was the ultimate affirmation, a poetic culmination of his decades-long journey. To have finished without this triumph would have felt like an incomplete epic, a narrative robbed of its rightful climax.  

The moment the trophy met Tendulkar’s hands was pure serendipity, as though fate had paused in reverence. Cameras erupted in a symphony of flashes, illuminating the night like starlight captured on Earth. This was not just a sporting milestone but a moment transcending the game—a union years in the making. Tendulkar and the World Cup, it seemed, were destined to find each other, their bond sealed as if ordained by celestial decree.  

As the World Cup nestled securely in his arms, the image crystallized in the collective memory of a billion hearts—a dream long cherished, now fulfilled. His teammates had promised to win it for him, knowing that nothing less would suffice for the maestro who had given so much to the game. This was more than a victory; it was an offering of gratitude, a tribute to the tireless pursuit of excellence.  

This victory felt like the last piece of a grand puzzle finally falling into place, an act of poetic justice. It crowned not just a team but a nation’s enduring hope, transforming the weight of expectation into boundless joy. For India, this was more than a trophy—it was redemption, vindication, and the embodiment of a dream nurtured for generations.  

In that triumphant moment, Tendulkar's story became a fairy tale complete at last. A romantic cricketing odyssey had found its perfect conclusion, and the hero, having conquered all, would now rest in the annals of history—fulfilled, celebrated, and forever revered.  

And indeed, how fitting it is: Cricket’s greatest son has finally secured his place among immortals, cradling the trophy not just as a champion but as a legend who lived his dream to the fullest.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar