A Young Brigade Roars: Australia’s Boxing Day Revival at the MCG

The script had an old ring to it: hostile fast bowling, batting collapse, and a familiar Indian surrender abroad. But this was no mere throwback to the past. At the iconic Melbourne Cricket Ground, before a record crowd of 189,347 across four days, a young and revitalized Australian side rewrote the opening chapter of the Border-Gavaskar series with a 122-run win that was less about dominance and more about emergence — of spirit, of identity, and of a new era in Baggy Green cricket.

The victory wasn’t sculpted solely from technical superiority. It was forged from hunger — the kind that oozes from the pores of cricketers yet to be burdened by legacy. James Pattinson, Peter Siddle, and Ben Hilfenhaus bowled not just with skill but with a venom that recalled the golden age of Australian quicks. Their relentless assault shredded India’s batting on the fourth day, reducing the final innings to a mere procession.

Pattinson, in particular, embodied the modern archetype of the Australian fast bowler — fiery but focused, aggressive yet controlled. That he contributed with the bat as well, scoring a career-best 37 not out to extend Australia’s second innings total to 240, only added layers to a performance that brimmed with promise. His dismissal of Rahul Dravid, with a delivery that jagged through the gate to uproot middle stump, was no less than a rite of passage. Dravid, bowled in both innings — a rarity — had no answer.

From his first over on home soil, Pattinson had the MCG faithful behind him. In that gladiatorial theatre, it wasn't difficult to imagine echoes of Merv Hughes in the air. When he bounced VVS Laxman out with an angling lifter and later trapped MS Dhoni, the generational shift was all but confirmed. Here was no longer the Australia that clung to fading legends, but one that found new heroes in youth.

The Anatomy of a Collapse: India’s Cracked Core

India’s batting implosion may have shocked casual observers, but it followed a familiar arc. Since the summer humiliation in England, this was a team nursing fragile confidence. The big names — Sehwag, Gambhir, Dravid, Tendulkar, Laxman — had all the appearance of champions, but increasingly the feel of ghosts chasing past glories.

Dravid’s dismissal — beaten through the gate — was symbolic. Laxman’s soft flick to square leg evoked disbelief. And Tendulkar, dazzling in brief cameos, was softened up by Pattinson before succumbing to a full delivery from Siddle — a square drive too airy, hands too early. With six wickets down for 81, the end was not in question but only in timing.

Even the lower order, typically a source of resistance for India, folded quickly. Ashwin provided fleeting resistance, scoring 30, but Zaheer Khan’s brief cameo — including a six — only delayed the inevitable. The fact that India had to rely on the likes of Ashwin and Zaheer for spine underscored how deep the rot ran in the top order.

A Team in Transition, A Spectacle in Renewal

The 2011-12 Australian team is not, by historical standards, great. But it is intoxicating to watch. It is raw, honest, and — crucially — relatable. The attack is composed of a bricklayer (Hilfenhaus), a groundsman (Lyon), a woodchopper (Siddle), and a roof-tiler-in-waiting (Pattinson). They are craftsmen in spikes, delivering the sort of evocative performances that stir the heart as much as the scoreboard.

At the centre of it all is Michael Clarke, a captain still molding his own legacy. Clarke’s leadership was inventive, if occasionally unorthodox. At one point, he turned to Mike Hussey’s gentle mediums to unsettle Sachin Tendulkar. It didn’t yield a wicket, but it yielded belief — that anything could happen. Clarke’s willingness to gamble with tactics lends his side an edge that is, at the very least, never boring.

In the slips, Ricky Ponting and Michael Hussey — two aging giants — fought back against the inevitable with a partnership that was less about statistics and more about narrative redemption. Every run they eked out in the second innings felt like a statement: that experience, too, has a place in youth’s world.

Cowan, Warner, and the Spirit of Renewal

If Pattinson provided the fire, Ed Cowan provided the flint. On debut, at 29, he played like a man who understood scarcity — of opportunity, of time. His composed 68 in the first innings showed the virtues of first-class grind. He left the ball with elegance, ran his singles like they mattered, and stood as a model for what Australia's top order sorely lacked in the years post-Hayden and Langer.

And then there is David Warner, who entered Test cricket with the label of a T20 bludgeoner but is slowly chiseling himself into a Test cricketer. His AFL-style leap on the boundary to catch Umesh Yadav sealed the match and the moment — a symbol of athleticism married to theatre, of new Australia embracing its future with both hands.

A Battle for Identity

This win was more than a 1-0 series lead. It was a proclamation — of a team reasserting itself, not just in results but in personality. In the crowd, Bay 13 roared not just for the wickets, but for the fight. There was the feeling that something was being built — not merely victories, but a new identity, one forged in sweat and sledges, in bruised ribs and thundering applause.

The challenge now for Australia is consistency. Since the South Africa tour, they have been a study in contrasts: shambolic in Cape Town, resilient in Johannesburg, dominant at the Gabba, agonized in Hobart, and now triumphant in Melbourne. To become great, they must learn to be boring — to win routinely, not just poetically.

But until then, this team is worth watching — not for perfection, but for the pursuit of it.

As the teams head to Sydney, the ghosts of past failures will follow India, while Australia will carry the memory of this performance like a badge. The Border-Gavaskar Trophy is still up for contest. But on this evidence, it is the hosts who seem hungrier for it — and far more likely to seize it.

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar 

Shakib Al Hasan: A Maverick Who Thrives in Chaos

The story of Shakib Al Hasan is one of flair, controversy, and relentless resilience - a narrative where brilliance on the field coexists with turbulence off it. Before the series against the West Indies, Shakib was at the centre of several controversies, his public persona oscillating between arrogance and defiance. His relationship with the Bangladesh Cricket Board (BCB) grew strained, leading to his removal from the captaincy, a decision seen as both punishment and damage control. Critics speculated that these distractions might affect his form, predicting a downward spiral. But champions like Shakib rarely crumble under pressure—they evolve, using adversity as fuel to reignite their brilliance.  

 Turning Controversy into Triumph 

The ODI series against the West Indies was Shakib’s first stage to respond to his critics, and he did so in style. In three matches, he amassed 79 runs at a strike rate of 117.1 while maintaining a formidable batting average of 79.00. With the ball, he was even more menacing, taking 6 wickets at an average of 16.00, with an economy rate of 3.84. These numbers not only sealed Bangladesh's success but also propelled Shakib to reclaim the top spot in the ICC ODI all-rounder rankings, overtaking Australia’s Shane Watson. For a nation that often seeks moments of sporting pride amid political and social struggles, this achievement was monumental. Shakib’s redemption arc had begun.

In the Test series that followed, Shakib showcased his adaptability and poise. He claimed 10 wickets at an average of 22.0, with an impressive economy rate of 2.98, stifling the West Indian batsmen with accuracy. But it was with the bat that Shakib truly excelled, scoring 168 runs at an average of 56.00, maintaining a fluent strike rate of 74.00. His all-around performance earned him the *Man of the Series* award and elevated him to second place in the ICC Test all-rounder rankings—a testament to his unwavering spirit amid personal turmoil.

The Pakistan Series: A Symphony of Skill 

Against Pakistan, Shakib’s bowling was the key to disrupting momentum in the lone T20 match, where he dismissed key players at crucial moments. In the ensuing three-match ODI series, he maintained his reputation as a miserly bowler, claiming 4 wickets at an economy rate of 3.03. His knack for breaking partnerships once again proved vital, with a bowling average of 22.50. However, the two-match Test series against Pakistan revealed another dimension of his genius—one driven by sheer willpower and artistry with the bat. 

In the second Test at Mirpur, Shakib entered cricket's elite club by becoming one of the few players to score a century and take five wickets in the same match - a feat achieved by legends such as Jacques Kallis and Ravichandran Ashwin. His 144 in Dhaka was an innings of grit and class, lasting nearly six hours and spanning five sessions, with only one boundary on the second day—a striking example of his patience. This was the fifth-longest innings by a Bangladeshi batsman, underscoring not just endurance but maturity. Every stroke he played that day was a perfect amalgamation of artistry and power, his off-side drives leaving fielders paralyzed. It was a performance that reminded the world that Bangladesh could produce technically sound, long-format batsmen. 

 The Enigma of Shakib: Flawed but Brilliant 

Shakib Al Hasan is not just an all-rounder—he is an enigma. His personality is a paradox: an eccentric mix of brilliance and rebellion, with a tinge of arrogance that sometimes clashes with authority. His confrontations with the BCB have been well-documented, painting him as a figure who refuses to conform to conventional expectations. Yet, on the field, Shakib’s ego never overshadows his commitment. When Bangladesh needs him most, he rises—delivering when others falter. It is this dichotomy - his off-field turbulence versus on-field excellence—that makes him so compelling. 

Despite the controversies, Shakib remains Bangladesh’s talisman—the one player capable of swinging games single-handedly, be it with the bat or ball. His impact goes beyond numbers. His flashy batting, deceptive arm balls, and audacious cricketing instincts make him a treat to watch. Shakib operates on instinct, untainted by the cautious strategies that often define modern-day cricket management. This unpredictability—this refusal to play by the book - is what makes him a legend in the making. 

 A Hero in the Making, Not Without Flaws 

Shakib’s career is a lesson in navigating chaos, embracing flaws, and finding brilliance in the unlikeliest of circumstances. He embodies the spirit of Bangladesh cricket - a blend of raw talent, defiance, and relentless ambition. While his off-field antics have made him a polarizing figure, they have also added layers to his persona. He is both a hero and a flawed genius, a player whose performances command respect, even from his harshest critics. 

In a world obsessed with perfection, Shakib stands out as a reminder that greatness often comes with imperfections. His journey is far from over, and as he continues to break records and defy expectations, one thing is certain - Shakib Al Hasan will remain a force to be reckoned with, someone who thrives not despite the chaos, but because of it. 

Never take your eyes off this maverick, for his story is still unfolding—one boundary, one wicket, and one controversy at a time.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar 

A Test of Tumult and Triumph: New Zealand’s Historic Win in Hobart

The second Test between Australia and New Zealand in Hobart was a gripping, low-scoring battle of attrition, where the conditions dictated play and exposed vulnerabilities in both line-ups. The match, ultimately won by New Zealand by a mere seven runs, was a testament to the potency of disciplined seam bowling and the fragility of batting under pressure.

Day One: A Verdant Pitch and Seam Bowling Mastery

A rain-affected first day saw Australia’s fast bowlers exploit a lively surface to dismantle New Zealand for a modest 150. Peter Siddle and James Pattinson shared eight wickets between them, their relentless accuracy and movement extracting both edges and indecision from the Kiwi batsmen. Only Dean Brownlie, with a composed 56, and Brendon McCullum, fighting through treacherous conditions, provided any resistance.

In response, Australia’s start mirrored New Zealand’s struggles. Phillip Hughes’ miserable series continued as he once again fell identically—caught by Martin Guptill off Chris Martin. Usman Khawaja survived a couple of close calls, and David Warner battled the probing Trent Boult before rain curtailed play at 1 for 12.

Day Two: A Swinging Pendulum

As the second day unfolded, New Zealand flipped the script, bowling Australia out for a meagre 136, taking an unexpected but vital 14-run first-innings lead. Chris Martin led the way with unwavering discipline, while the Australians faced the ignominy of nearly being dismissed for under 100 for the third time in a year. Siddle and Pattinson provided some lower-order defiance, but the Kiwi bowlers ensured a slim but crucial advantage.

New Zealand’s second innings began with intent. Ross Taylor and Kane Williamson counterattacked, with Taylor surviving an early chance when Hughes dropped him in the gully. Jesse Ryder fell to a brilliant leg-side stumping by Brad Haddin off Michael Hussey’s gentle mediums, but by stumps, New Zealand had reached 3 for 139, holding a lead of 153. It was the first sign that an upset could be brewing.

Day Three: Building the Target, Setting the Trap

New Zealand resumed in a position of relative strength but soon found themselves in familiar territory, as their innings crumbled from 3 for 139 to 9 for 203. Once again, Brownlie and Taylor played pivotal roles, Taylor’s 56 proving to be the highest score of the match. Yet, it was the unexpected tail-end defiance from debutant Boult that pushed New Zealand’s lead to 240, a total that, given the pitch’s fickle nature, was anything but trivial.

Australia’s chase began with nervous energy. Hughes, desperate for runs, enjoyed a stroke of fortune when a faint glove down the leg side went unnoticed by the Kiwis. Warner, showing more authority, guided the hosts to 0 for 72 when rain intervened, setting the stage for a climactic final day.

Day Four: Bracewell’s Spell and Warner’s Solitude

If ever a Test match encapsulated the fragility of modern Australian batting, it was the fourth day in Hobart. Resuming at 0 for 72, Australia had seemingly positioned themselves for a straightforward chase. Yet, Phillip Hughes, enduring a torrid series, succumbed yet again to Martin-Guptill, his place in the team now untenable.

The chase progressed with intermittent stability, Warner anchoring the innings while Khawaja provided support. But then came the game-defining intervention: Doug Bracewell, charging in with purpose, tore through Australia’s middle order in a single spell of devastating accuracy. Within the space of three balls, he dismissed Ricky Ponting, Michael Clarke, and Michael Hussey—each victim falling in a manner indicative of their struggles against lateral movement.

At lunch, Australia sat precariously at 5 for 173, the match in the balance. Warner soldiered on, reaching a defiant century, but the rest of the batting order capitulated under pressure. Tim Southee and Bracewell continued to bend the ball menacingly, tightening the noose. Haddin and Siddle perished chasing wide deliveries before Guptill snapped up Pattinson in the cordon.

With only Nathan Lyon left to support Warner, an unlikely partnership formed, bringing Australia within 25 runs of victory. Then, in a moment of high drama, Lyon survived an lbw decision via DRS, the ball seemed to have pitched millimetres outside leg stump. The tension was palpable, but it was merely a stay of execution. Bracewell, with one final burst of energy, breached Lyon’s defences, and with that, secured New Zealand’s first Test victory on Australian soil since 1985.

The Aftermath: A Triumph for New Zealand, A Reckoning for Australia

For New Zealand, this was a victory of historic proportions, led by an inspired bowling unit and the brilliance of Doug Bracewell, whose match-winning spell will be etched in Kiwi cricket folklore. For Australia, however, the defeat laid bare significant concerns—Hughes’ technical flaws, the lack of middle-order resilience, and a persistent vulnerability to swing and seam movement.

While Warner’s hundred stood as an innings of defiance, it was ultimately in vain. The Trans-Tasman Trophy remained in Australian hands, but the moral victory belonged squarely to New Zealand. The cricketing world had witnessed a thrilling, topsy-turvy contest—one where determination and grit triumphed over pedigree and expectation.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar 

The Philosopher King of Football: Socrates and the Intersection of Sport and Politics

In the pantheon of football legends, few figures transcend the game itself to leave a profound mark on society. Socrates Brasileiro Sampaio de Souza Vieira de Oliveira—known simply as Socrates—was one such figure. A towering, lanky 6’4” midfielder with a trademark beard and an unforgettable name, Socrates embodied a rare duality. His genius on the pitch was matched only by his passionate commitment to social justice and political resistance. As captain of Brazil's national team and a leading figure in the Corinthians Democracy movement, he demonstrated that football could be much more than a game; it could be a vehicle for change.

When Socrates passed away in 2011, then-Brazilian President Dilma Rousseff succinctly captured his dual legacy: “On the field, with his talent and sophisticated touches, he was a genius… off the field… he was active politically, concerned with his people and his country.” These words encapsulate a life lived at the intersection of sport and politics, a sharp contrast to the sanitized professionalism of modern football.

The Philosopher Athlete

Socrates acquired his name from his philosophy-reading father, a tax inspector in São Paulo, who imbued his children with intellectual curiosity. A career in medicine initially beckoned for the young Socrates, who sought a practical means to address Brazil's rampant poverty and inequality. Yet, persuaded by his father, he turned to football—a stage where his voice and actions could resonate more widely. His career began at Botafogo, but during his time at Corinthians in 1978, Socrates forged a politicized approach to the game, challenging the authoritarian structures both on and off the pitch.

The Birth of Corinthians Democracy

Under Brazil's military dictatorship, football mirrored the repressive rigidity of the regime. Players were subjected to a strict disciplinary system known as concentração, which micromanaged their lives and stripped them of autonomy. This environment was a microcosm of the larger political landscape, where freedom was stifled and dissent crushed.

In 1981, the arrival of Adilson Alves, a sociology graduate with leftist ideals, as director of football at Corinthians catalyzed a transformation. Alongside Socrates and Wladimir, a Black player with a similarly activist outlook, the trio spearheaded what came to be known as the Corinthians Democracy movement. They reimagined the club as a democratic institution where decisions—from player transfers to daily operations—were made collectively. This radical "player power" experiment extended even to the stadium janitors and laundry workers, who were treated as integral to the club’s success.

Socrates understood the symbolic power of football in a nation where the sport held a near-religious significance. The team’s 1982 act of defiance—taking to the pitch with jerseys emblazoned with “I Want to Vote for My President”—was a bold affront to the dictatorship. While Socrates was not the sole architect of Brazil's transition to democracy, his visibility and advocacy amplified the growing calls for change. At a 1982 rally of nearly two million protesters, Socrates stood beside Lula da Silva, the autoworker who would become a central figure in Brazil’s democratic movement. His ultimatum to leave the country unless political reforms were enacted underscored his commitment to the cause.

A Philosopher’s Perspective on the Game

On the international stage, Socrates brought the same politically charged ethos. Brazil's elimination from the 1982 World Cup, often lamented as a tragedy, was reframed by Socrates as a moral victory. To him, the team's aesthetic and idealistic style represented resistance to the rising tide of neoliberal efficiency and pragmatism. "At least we lost fighting for our ideals," he remarked, contrasting Brazil’s artistry with the utilitarian approach of Italy, their conquerors.

His symbolic gestures continued into the 1986 World Cup, where he used his platform to address global issues. His headbands bore messages like “Yes to Love, No to Terror,” in response to U.S. military aggression, and “Mexico Still Stands,” in solidarity with earthquake victims. These actions epitomized his belief that football could be a lens through which to view and critique society.

Legacy and Unfulfilled Promises

Despite his contributions, Socrates remained acutely aware of the limitations of Brazil’s democratic transition. The Democracy movement’s ideals were subsumed by the harsh realities of neoliberalism, which perpetuated inequality even after the dictatorship’s fall. Before his untimely death at 57, Socrates expressed disillusionment with the commercialization of football, lamenting how Brazil’s hosting of the 2014 World Cup symbolized this betrayal. White-elephant stadiums and exorbitant ticket prices excluded the very people who had once been his cause.

Socrates' life offers a poignant reminder that sport is not immune to societal currents. His example serves as a counterpoint in an age when football is dominated by corporate interests and anodyne post-match soundbites. Socrates wielded his fame and talent to articulate dissent and inspire change, embodying the potential for athletes to transcend the game.

The Lord of Style

Sócrates, once a centre-forward, later evolved into a distinguished midfielder, adept in both attacking and central roles. His style was defined by elegance, technical prowess, and a deep understanding of the game. As a playmaker, he was renowned for his deft through passes, precise long balls, and intricate link-up play, all of which were underpinned by a remarkable vision on the field. His two-footedness further enhanced his versatility, allowing him to dictate the rhythm of play with remarkable fluidity. Though primarily celebrated for his ability to orchestrate attacking movements, Sócrates was also a prolific goal scorer, possessing a powerful and accurate shot with his right foot, as well as a keen instinct for making late runs into the box. His aptitude for scoring from set pieces, particularly penalties, showcased his composure under pressure. Additionally, his height and aerial prowess made him a formidable presence in the air, despite not being particularly swift or inclined to rush the game. Instead, he often preferred to slow the tempo, relying on his intelligence and reading of the game to influence proceedings. His hallmark move, the "no-look" back-heel pass, epitomized his ability to surprise and outwit opponents with seemingly effortless flair.

Sócrates was a cornerstone of the Brazil national team during the early to mid-1980s, and his influence on the pitch was profound. Jonathan Wilson aptly described him as the "brain of Brazil," noting that while he may not have possessed the same flamboyance as Zico, his cerebral contributions were indispensable to the team's success. His former Fiorentina coach, Giancarlo De Sisti, further emphasized his intelligence, remarking that Sócrates was a man of great class, both on and off the field.

Beyond his technical and intellectual gifts, Sócrates commanded respect for his charismatic presence and leadership in the dressing room. His distinct physical appearance—marked by his height, headband, and iconic beard—made him instantly recognizable, while his unorthodox personality set him apart from his peers. A figure of strong, rebellious character, Sócrates was never one to shy away from expressing his left-wing political views, often using his platform to challenge the political status quo in Brazil. His defiance of convention extended to his personal life, where his lack of discipline and indulgence in smoking and drinking were well-known. He once remarked, "I am an anti-athlete. I cannot deny myself certain lapses from the strict regime of a sportsman. You have to take me as I am," encapsulating his refusal to conform to the typical expectations of a professional athlete. In this sense, Sócrates embodied a paradox: a man of great intellect and skill, yet one who rejected the conventional boundaries of both sport and society.

Conclusion: The Beautiful Game as a Stage for Liberation

The story of Socrates is not merely one of an exceptional footballer but of a philosopher who saw the pitch as a platform for justice. His commitment to democracy, equality, and solidarity in an era of repression demonstrates that football, at its best, can serve as more than entertainment—it can be a force for liberation. In a world increasingly driven by results and revenue, the legacy of Socrates beckons us to reimagine the beautiful game as a space for both joy and justice.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar  

The Enduring Legacy of Test Cricket: A Format for Eternity

The younger generation's growing disenchantment with Test cricket is a sobering reality. It saddens me to hear modern cricket pundits declare its so-called demise with alarming finality. Death of Test cricket? How can experts, entrusted with the legacy of the game, so carelessly forecast the end of its oldest and most profound format? The rapid rise of Twenty20 cricket, bolstered by the astronomical commercial success of the Indian Premier League (IPL), has captured the imagination of many, but at what cost? In this whirlwind of instant gratification, Test cricket risks being sidelined as antiquated, a relic from another era.

Suddenly, the five-day game—once regarded as the pinnacle of cricketing art—is labelled as outdated. To some, it has outlived its utility. Yet, dismissing it as irrelevant reveals a profound misunderstanding. Test cricket’s story is not just one of endurance; it’s a timeless narrative woven into the very soul of the sport. The sheer longevity of the format is not its weakness but its greatest strength. It transcends generations, evolving with each era without losing its core identity. It is not just another chapter in cricket’s history—it is cricket’s essence, stretching toward eternity.  

Recent Test matches—epics played in Cape Town, Johannesburg, and Mumbai—stand as a testament to the undying relevance of the format. These were not mere contests between bat and ball but enthralling narratives etched into the folklore of the game. They remind us that while T20s deliver fleeting sparks of excitement, Test cricket offers a slow-burning flame that glows brighter with time.

In Mumbai, the stage was set for a historic moment: Sachin Tendulkar’s much-anticipated 100th international century. Yet the match, as often happens in Test cricket, defied the script. What emerged was something even greater—a unique draw-tie outcome, now a treasured part of cricket’s history. It was a reminder that the format is more than personal milestones or records; it is a grand, unpredictable story, where the collective struggle eclipses individual achievements.

The Cape Town and Johannesburg Tests were no less thrilling—a rollercoaster of emotions that kept fans around the globe on the edge of their seats. These matches offered everything that defines Test cricket: tension, uncertainty, drama, and moments of brilliance. They showcased the depth of strategy, mental resilience, and physical endurance that only a five-day format can demand. Such experiences—the pressure of a fifth-day chase, the grit to bat out a draw, the fluctuating balance of power—are beyond the reach of the shortened formats. A Twenty20 spectacle may dazzle with instant fireworks, but it can never replicate the immersive narrative arc of a Test match.  

To watch these matches was to rediscover cricket’s soul. Test cricket is not just a format; it’s a journey—a journey marked by patience, perseverance, and moments of magic. It is the arena where cricket’s purest emotions—hope, despair, triumph, and redemption—are played out in their most profound forms. For those who truly understand the game, the beauty of Test cricket lies in this very unpredictability. A five-day draw can be as gripping as a victory; a tied Test can feel more significant than a World Cup win.  

The lasting appeal of Test cricket lies in its ability to transcend individual feats and deliver something grander—a collective memory that lingers long after the players leave the field. These recent epics in South Africa and Mumbai prove that Test cricket is far from obsolete. Its relevance is not dependent on trends or commercial viability; it is rooted in the spirit of the game itself. Test cricket, with its inherent unpredictability and scope for drama, will always find ways to reinvent itself, defying predictions of its demise.  

No matter how dazzling the future of cricket becomes, Test cricket will remain its beating heart. It is not just a format of the past but a promise for the future—a timeless tradition that will outlast the fads and fashions of the game. For as long as cricketers are willing to play it, and fans are willing to immerse themselves in its ebb and flow, Test cricket will endure—forever.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar