Reviving Bangladesh’s Football Dream: A Call for Action

 

The 1-0 defeat suffered by the Bangladesh Under-23 football team at the hands of their Nepalese counterparts in Sylhet was not the result that many had hoped for. In front of a fervent, packed crowd at the Sylhet National Stadium, the home team’s loss was a bitter disappointment. The Sylhet faithful, so passionate and hopeful, had expected to see their team leave the pitch victorious, but it was not to be. 

Yet, amid the disappointment, there is a much-needed recognition of the crowd’s unwavering support—a beacon of hope for the future of football in Bangladesh. The atmosphere in Sylhet was nothing short of electric; the crowd’s energy seemed to infuse the very air with a sense of celebration, a carnival-like spirit that reminded everyone of the untapped potential of football in the country. 

This should not be overlooked: despite the ups and downs of Bangladesh’s football history, the Sylhet crowd demonstrated that football’s appeal in the nation is far from dead. In fact, it is very much alive—though perhaps misunderstood or underappreciated in certain quarters. If the sport has waned in popularity in Dhaka, this cannot be seen as a death knell for football across the entire country. Football's reach still extends deep into the heart of Bangladesh, especially in regions like Sylhet where the passion for the game burns bright.

The Disconnect Between Dhaka and the Rest of Bangladesh

This brings us to a critical question: why has the Bangladesh Football Federation (BFF) failed to extend the sport’s reach beyond Dhaka? Has there been any meaningful effort to nurture football's popularity in other parts of the country? For far too long, football in Bangladesh has been treated as a Dhaka-centric sport, with the capital city seemingly serving as the sole barometer for its success. This myopic view has ignored the passionate football fans in smaller towns and regions, where the love for the game is just as fervent.

The BFF’s failure to take football to the grassroots, to spread its appeal beyond the capital, has done a disservice to the sport. While cricket, particularly in the last two decades, has gained dominance in Bangladesh, this rise has never truly been a direct threat to football. Instead, it is the failure of football’s custodians to recognize the growing need for development and infrastructure outside of Dhaka that has caused the sport’s decline. 

A Call to Action for the Legends of the Past

One of the most frustrating aspects of the current football discourse in Bangladesh is the nostalgia-laden rhetoric that surrounds the sport. Former football stars often reminisce about the "golden age" of Bangladeshi football, invoking a time when the sport was beloved and respected. But where I ask, is the effort to reignite those golden days? Why have these same football legends not been more proactive in reviving the sport they once helped define?

Football, like any other sport, goes through cycles—ups and downs, periods of growth and stagnation. It is natural for a sport to face a downturn, but overcoming this phase requires more than just wistful nostalgia. It requires deliberate, sustained effort, and perhaps most crucially, leadership. This is where the past legends of Bangladesh football must step in—not just as commentators on the game, but as active participants in its revival. 

Sure, players like the great Salahuddin have made attempts to breathe life back into the sport. But is one individual’s effort enough to turn the tide? The answer is no. The challenges are too great, and the task too immense, for one person to bear alone. The question must be asked: where are the academies, the grassroots programs, the infrastructure that could help groom the next generation of football talent? Where is the collective vision to take football out of the Dhaka bubble and into the homes and hearts of Bangladesh’s millions of football enthusiasts?

The Cricket Fallacy: Football and Cricket Are Not Enemies

Another point that needs to be addressed is the misguided notion that cricket’s rise in popularity has somehow been a threat to football. This belief is not only shortsighted but entirely unfounded. Football and cricket can, and should, coexist. The problem lies not in cricket’s success but in the failure to understand that the rise of one sport does not have to come at the expense of the other. Bangladesh can—and should—be a nation where both cricket and football flourish side by side.

The real threat to football’s growth has not been cricket’s popularity, but the lack of strategic thinking and investment in football’s future. Bangladesh’s failure to capitalize on the potential of football, especially in regions outside Dhaka, stems from a fundamental disconnect between the needs of the sport and the decisions of its governing bodies. A failure of vision, rather than a rivalry between sports, has held back football’s progress.

Hope for the Future: Sylhet’s Silent Message

Despite these shortcomings, the recent display of passion and energy in Sylhet offers a glimmer of hope. The love for football in Bangladesh is not lost. Sylhet’s supporters, though they left the stadium with heavy hearts after the team’s loss, have shown us that football can still ignite the spirit of a community. The potential for a football renaissance in Bangladesh is very much alive, and the people of Sylhet have proven that the groundwork for this revival exists.

This is not the end of the story for Bangladeshi football. Far from it. The road to recovery will require vision, investment, and a concerted effort to bring football to the people—not just in Dhaka, but in every corner of the country. This revival must start at the grassroots, with proper academies, coaching programs, and a renewed focus on youth development. The time has come for the legends of Bangladesh football, those who lived through the golden days, to return to the frontline, not as nostalgic figures, but as leaders who can guide the sport into a new era.

In the end, sitting back and lamenting over what has been lost will accomplish nothing. Change can only come if we are willing to stand up and fight for it. And I remain optimistic that, with the right effort and leadership, the glorious past of Bangladeshi football can be rekindled.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar

Mahela Jayawardene: A Portrait of Elegance and Innovation

 

The first time I witnessed Mahela Jayawardene in action was in the midst of a tense one-day tri-nation tournament in Australia, a match that remains etched in the memories of cricket fans. While much of the focus that day was on the infamous clash between Sri Lankan captain Arjuna Ranatunga and Australian umpire Ross Emerson, there was a subplot unfolding quietly in the background—a subplot that would come to define Sri Lankan cricket for the next two decades.

In the face of a seemingly hopeless situation, a young Mahela Jayawardene remained poised, composing one of the most memorable knocks of his early career. This innings, a century that steered Sri Lanka to a dramatic victory, marked my introduction to a player who, even at that stage, displayed all the hallmarks of a future great. In that moment, I saw in him the potential to carry forward the legacy of Aravinda de Silva and Arjuna Ranatunga—both heroes of Sri Lanka's cricketing past—and indeed, Jayawardene would not disappoint.

The Elegant Craftsman: Mahela as a Batsman

From that point on, Jayawardene's career unfurled with remarkable consistency, as he established himself as one of the most elegant batsmen of his generation. In an era dominated by brute force and power-hitting, Jayawardene’s approach to batting stood in stark contrast. He was an artist with the bat, crafting innings with a level of finesse that few could match.

There was a fluidity to his strokes that could captivate even the most hardened critics of modern cricket. His drives through the covers—delicate yet authoritative—his wristy flicks off his pads, and the elegant cuts behind the stumps were the kinds of shots that made watching him bat feel like witnessing a masterwork. Jayawardene’s supreme hand-eye coordination allowed him to play the ball late, one of the key skills that made his batting so effective. He was a man capable of playing every shot in the book with grace, and his ability to manoeuvre the ball to all corners of the field only added to the beauty of his craft.

But beyond the aesthetic pleasure his batting provided, it was his consistency and ability to anchor innings that made him indispensable to Sri Lankan cricket. Whether it was in a pressure-filled chase or during a difficult Test match, Jayawardene’s temperament and technique were his greatest assets.

A Captain for the Ages

While his batting artistry captivated the world, it was Mahela Jayawardene's captaincy that transformed him into one of Sri Lanka’s most revered figures in cricket history. His ascent to the role of captain in 2006, under Marvan Atapattu’s injury during the England tour, was not just a case of circumstance but one of destiny. Sri Lanka’s cricketing landscape required stability, and Jayawardene—a figure often described as quiet and unassuming—was ready to take up the mantle.

In the opening Test at Lord’s, Jayawardene’s leadership was immediately put to the test. With Sri Lanka staring down the barrel of an impending defeat, Jayawardene rose to the occasion most remarkably. His 119 in the second innings was not just a captain’s knock—it was an act of defiance, a refusal to let the team succumb to the weight of defeat. The innings turned the game on its head, transforming a first-innings deficit of 359 runs into an overnight lead, and ultimately helping Sri Lanka escape with a draw. In that moment, Jayawardene’s influence as a leader was undeniable. It wasn’t just his technical ability that made him a great captain, but his unshakable calm under pressure, his ability to inspire his team, and his intuitive grasp of the game.

Innovative Leadership: The Brain of Mahela

As a captain, Jayawardene’s approach was marked by an uncanny ability to innovate. Unlike many captains who adopt a reactive style, Jayawardene was a proactive strategist. He would set unorthodox fields, make sudden and bold bowling changes, and even shuffle the batting order with an almost instinctive sense of what was required in the moment. His captaincy was a blend of tactical sharpness and bold decision-making, and his ability to think several moves ahead was a characteristic that set him apart.

Even when he was not at the helm, Jayawardene’s influence remained strong. His cricketing acumen was always available for the captains who followed him—Kumar Sangakkara, Angelo Mathews, and others—offering not just tactical advice but a guiding philosophy of leadership. His impact was as much intellectual as it was emotional; he was a man who understood the game deeply and knew how to nurture the players around him.

As former Sri Lankan coach Paul Farbrace once noted, Jayawardene's influence extended beyond his on-field exploits. “Everything he does is always for the team and for Sri Lankan cricket. There is not a selfish bone in his body. He’s a world-class player and a world-class person." These words speak to the essence of Mahela Jayawardene not just as a cricketer, but as a leader and a mentor. His selflessness and commitment to the collective cause are what made him not just a captain but a cornerstone of Sri Lanka’s cricketing identity.

Legacy and Conclusion

As Jayawardene prepares to retire from international cricket, following the ongoing Test series against Pakistan, it is hard to imagine Sri Lankan cricket without his presence. His departure will leave a void that will not easily be filled—on the field, of course, but perhaps more importantly, in the cricketing brain that guided and inspired generations.

While we will undoubtedly miss his elegant batting, it is his sharp cricketing mind, his ability to think outside the box and his unwavering leadership that will be remembered as his lasting legacy. For Sri Lankan cricket, Jayawardene was not just a player; he was an institution. In an era where cricketing genius is often celebrated for its raw power, Mahela Jayawardene’s true genius lay in his ability to blend elegance with innovation, and it is this that will ensure his place among the all-time greats of the game.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar

Germany’s Triumph: A Symphony of Systemic Mastery and Footballing Evolution

On the evening of July 13, 2014, the Maracanã witnessed not just a coronation, but the realization of a vision. This was no ordinary World Cup final, nor was it a singular, isolated victory. It was the culmination of a two-decade-long metamorphosis—one that had transformed German football from the brink of stagnation to the pinnacle of sporting supremacy.

After 24 years of longing, over a billion euros in investment, and countless recalibrations of philosophy and structure, Germany finally reclaimed their place at football’s summit. This was a victory that bore the fingerprints of meticulous planning, of long-term commitment, and of a footballing culture that had refused to accept mediocrity. In the stands, Angela Merkel and Michel Platini applauded spectators to a spectacle that felt as much like an inevitability as it did a triumph.

For the first time, a European team had conquered South America. Yet more significantly, this was not just any European team—it was the most European of all champions, a side crafted in laboratories of tactical thought, engineered in academies of technical precision, and forged in the unrelenting crucible of elite competition.

A Legacy of Evolution: Germany’s Defining Triumphs

Every German World Cup victory has carried a deeper historical resonance. The Miracle of Bern in 1954 was a phoenix-like rise from the ashes of war, a shock victory over the great Hungarian side that would become a defining moment in West Germany’s post-war identity. Twenty years later, in 1974, the team of Beckenbauer, Müller, and Breitner asserted German football’s dominance, ushering in an era of serial contenders.

The victory in 1990, against the very same Argentine opponents, arrived with an air of destiny—coinciding with the fall of the Berlin Wall, marking not just the end of an era but the dawn of a reunified Germany. It felt like the start of a dynasty, yet what followed was a period of unexpected decline. The golden years gave way to a decade of underwhelming performances, culminating in the humiliation of Euro 2000—a moment that forced German football to stare into the abyss and rethink its entire foundation.

A Nation at a Crossroads: The German Football Revolution

The 2000 European Championship was not merely a disappointment—it was a wake-up call, a stark and painful confirmation that German football had fallen behind. A single point from three matches, finishing last in their group behind Portugal, Romania, and England—Die Nationalmannschaft had never looked so ordinary. The game had evolved, and Germany had been left behind.

It was a reckoning that the Deutscher Fußball-Bund (DFB) could not ignore. If Germany was to reclaim its position among the world’s elite, change was not just necessary—it was urgent.

The response was as radical as it was methodical. The DFB initiated a nationwide overhaul, investing heavily in grassroots football, scouting, and coaching. More than 400 full-time youth coaches were hired, and academies were restructured to prioritize technical ability over brute strength. The rigid, mechanical approach of the old was abandoned in favour of fluidity, adaptability, and creative expression.

Inspired by the youth development models of France and the Netherlands, Germany built 120 new football bases across the country, ensuring that talent could be nurtured at the earliest stages, regardless of socio-economic background. These were not elite programs but grassroots initiatives, designed to cultivate an entire generation of technically gifted players.

The transformation extended to the Bundesliga, where clubs were incentivized to develop and integrate young talent. By the mid-2000s, a new generation had begun to emerge—players who had been shaped by this modern philosophy: Philipp Lahm, Bastian Schweinsteiger, Mesut Özil, Thomas Müller, Toni Kroos, Marco Reus, and Mats Hummels.

At the international level, the appointment of Jurgen Klinsmann as head coach in 2004 injected a fresh, progressive mindset. Klinsmann was willing to dismantle the old guard, placing his trust in youth, in dynamism, in a style of football that emphasized control and technical proficiency. His influence laid the foundation, but it was Joachim Löw, his assistant-turned-successor, who perfected the vision.

The Final: A Tactical Chess Match with an Inevitable Conclusion

The 2014 final against Argentina was not a free-flowing spectacle, but rather a contest of resilience, intelligence, and patience. Argentina, led by Lionel Messi and anchored by the indomitable Javier Mascherano, approached the game with a pragmatic, disciplined strategy. Their deep defensive lines, quick counterattacks, and relentless pressing unsettled Germany early on.

Three times Argentina carved open the German defense. Three times they failed to land the decisive blow. Gonzalo Higuaín squandered a golden chance, Messi’s curling effort drifted agonizingly wide, and Rodrigo Palacio’s lofted attempt lacked conviction.

Germany, having dismantled Brazil in the semi-final with ruthless brilliance, now found themselves in a war of attrition. The dazzling interchanges of their previous matches gave way to controlled possession, calculated movement, and an unshakable belief in their system.

As extra time wore on, the tension grew, the outcome hanging in fragile uncertainty. And then, in the 113th minute, the moment of destiny arrived.

A burst of energy down the left, André Schürrle’s curling cross, and then, in a moment of technical perfection, Mario Götze’s sublime finish—a first touch off the chest to cushion the ball, a second to guide it past Sergio Romero with effortless precision. A goal that encapsulated the very essence of modern German football: technique, intelligence, and composure under pressure.

Beyond 2014: The Blueprint for the Future

Germany’s triumph was more than just a victory—it was a testament to the power of foresight, planning, and patience. Of the 23-man squad, 14 players had come through the post-2000 reform system, moulded in the academies that had redefined the nation’s footballing identity.

While Spain’s dominance from 2008 to 2012 was built on the foundations of Barcelona’s tiki-taka, Germany’s success was the result of a broader, more inclusive system. It was not the work of a single club but of an entire footballing culture.

This was not merely a generational golden team—it was a blueprint for sustained success. The model Germany had pioneered was scalable, replicable, and designed to endure. It was an approach that England, struggling to harmonize its Premier League riches with national team success, could only envy.

The Challenge for the Rest of the World

Germany’s victory in 2014 was utterly merited, a vindication of every decision taken in the preceding years. It was proof that in football, as in life, vision and execution triumph over short-term fixes and reactive tinkering.

For their rivals, the challenge was clear: disrupt the German machine before it becomes unstoppable. Because if history is any guide, this was not an isolated success. It was the beginning of an era, a statement of intent from a footballing nation that had not just rebuilt itself—but had redefined how football should be played.

The question was no longer whether Germany would win again. The question was: who could stop them?

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar 

Brazil's Catastrophic Collapse and Dunga's Return: A Puzzling Decision

The humiliating unravelling of Brazil at the World Cup—first in the devastating 7-1 semi-final annihilation by Germany and then in the dispiriting loss to the Netherlands—sent shockwaves through the nation. It became painfully clear that the Seleção needed to return to the drawing board. Amid the wreckage of shattered dreams, there emerged a rare consensus: sweeping changes were imperative. 

Such was the magnitude of Brazil's humiliation that unprecedented ideas began circulating, including the possibility of appointing a foreign manager—a heretical thought in the 100-year history of the Brazilian national team. The consensus was simple: a new dawn required bold and fresh leadership. 

And yet, the Brazilian Football Confederation (CBF) confounded logic by delving into its past, reappointing Dunga—a decision that left fans and pundits alike scratching their heads in disbelief. Dunga’s return marked not only the 54th managerial change since the Seleção’s inception but also the 12th instance of a former coach being reinstalled. The 1994 World Cup-winning captain was now tasked with resurrecting Brazil’s shattered footballing ethos, a tall order for a man whose previous stint ended in disgrace. 

It is worth examining the puzzling logic behind Dunga’s appointment. Following his first term as Brazil manager, Dunga’s coaching career hardly flourished. After a two-year hiatus, he managed SC Internacional—his old stomping ground as a player—in a stint that lasted less than a year. His most notable opportunity since then was a financially lucrative but ultimately unfulfilled offer to coach Venezuela. 

To his credit, Dunga’s initial tenure with Brazil was not a complete disaster. With 42 wins and only 12 draws in 60 matches, he delivered tangible successes: the 2007 Copa América and the 2009 Confederations Cup titles, along with Brazil’s dominance in South American qualifiers. Memorable victories over Argentina and Italy bolstered his resume. Even Brazil’s 2-1 loss to the Netherlands in the 2010 World Cup quarter-finals seemed less tragic when considering their scintillating first-half performance. 

Yet, Dunga’s pragmatic, workmanlike style of football was a far cry from the jogo bonito that had once defined Brazilian greatness. His insistence on defensive rigidity and his inability to adapt during critical moments tarnished his legacy. Worse still, his combative demeanour created a siege mentality that alienated fans, players, and media alike. 

In 2010, Dunga famously left Neymar—a burgeoning superstar at the time—out of the World Cup squad, a decision emblematic of his conservative approach. His feud with Globo TV, the powerful Brazilian media conglomerate, escalated tensions, casting a shadow over his team. Even revered figures like Kaká struggled under the pressure, while Dunga’s reliance on players like Felipe Melo—whose rashness mirrored the coach’s own combative style—led to costly errors. 

Given this turbulent history, the decision to reinstate Dunga raises troubling questions about the CBF’s vision for Brazil’s future. After the embarrassment of 2014, many had hoped for a revolution in Brazilian football, akin to Germany’s overhaul under Jürgen Klinsmann and Joachim Löw. Instead, Brazil seemed to have settled for a familiar face, despite Dunga’s inability to leave a meaningful legacy during his first tenure. 

This decision reflects a deeper malaise within Brazilian football, where the instinct to cling to the past often overshadows the need for innovation. With the weight of national expectation once again on his shoulders, Dunga must achieve what many consider improbable: to rejuvenate a broken team and restore Brazil’s stature in the footballing world. 

Whether he succeeds or falters, one thing is certain: this is a gamble that Brazil, bruised and battered, played blindly. 

Thank You

Faisal Caesar 

Dale Steyn: Master of Craft and Fury in Sri Lanka

The art of pace bowling, particularly in subcontinental conditions, often demands more than raw speed—it requires guile, precision, and a deep understanding of pitch and movement. Few pacers have left an indelible mark in these spin-friendly lands, yet Mohammad Asif and Dale Steyn stand out as rare exceptions, each conjuring masterful spells in Sri Lanka that redefined the boundaries of pace bowling.

In 2006 at Kandy, Mohammad Asif orchestrated a spell that is still remembered for its craft and control. Pakistan was facing a sizable Sri Lankan lead of 109 runs, and the hosts looked comfortable at 22 for 0. Asif, tall and lean, didn’t rely on the blistering speed or swing that defined the likes of Wasim Akram or Waqar Younis. Instead, he wielded relentless precision and sharp cutters to expose the limitations of the Sri Lankan batsmen, dismantling their lineup with a quiet menace reminiscent of Pakistan’s first pace maestro, Fazal Mahmood.

Asif’s approach was methodical, probing just outside the off-stump, luring batsmen into defensive mistakes and slicing through with late seam and swing. His accuracy and ability to move the ball off the pitch caused havoc, reducing Sri Lanka to a paltry 73 all out. On a track offering little to the pace bowlers, Asif’s spell was a masterclass in controlled aggression, paving the way for Pakistan’s series-clinching chase. His performance made Muttiah Muralitharan’s five-wicket haul look almost subdued in comparison.

But time moved on, and Asif’s career was later tainted by a ban due to spot-fixing, casting a shadow over what could have been a lasting legacy. Sri Lankan pitches continued to host numerous series, but few pacers managed to capture the magic of Asif’s Kandy performance—until Dale Steyn’s spellbound performance in Galle nearly a decade later.

In 2014, South Africa arrived in Sri Lanka for a Test series, and Steyn, already revered as the world’s top-ranked fast bowler, brought a fiery intent that the Galle pitch seemed unlikely to reward. It was a slow, dry surface, offering little for any bowler not armed with unyielding resolve and skill. Yet Steyn seemed unperturbed, responding with a spell that could only be described as fierce genius.

With his team needing a spark, Steyn unleashed a series of deliveries with bone-jarring short-pitched balls, followed by a menacing reverse swing that left the Sri Lankan lineup dazed. Kaushal Silva’s attempt to hook a rising delivery ended in a mistimed shot that ballooned to a fielder, signaling the beginning of Steyn’s dominance. He then took down Mahela Jayawardene, the same batsman who had tormented him in 2006. A full, almost yorker-length delivery thundered into Jayawardene’s pads, and although he reviewed the decision, the appeal stood, sending Galle’s grandstands into silence.

Steyn’s spell didn’t relent after tea. He resumed with an almost terrifying rhythm, hurtling short balls that tested the batsmen’s reflexes and morale alike, interspersed with reverse-swinging deliveries that swung in late to shatter stumps. His relentless assault continued through to the end, taking five wickets in the first innings and four in the second. Supported by Morne Morkel, Steyn led South Africa to an emphatic victory in conditions where other bowlers, even his teammates, struggled to find traction.

What set Steyn’s spell apart was his mastery over adversity. He extracted bounce and reverse swing from a lifeless pitch, transforming a flat track into a battleground. In scorching heat, he ran in with undiminished intensity, attacking relentlessly, showing no inclination to settle for a defensive approach. His yorkers were devastatingly accurate, his pace deceptive, and his control over reverse swing remarkable, a testament to his unmatched skill and determination.

Watching a fast bowler dismantle a batting line-up on a dead pitch is a sight to behold, a demonstration of the highest order of athleticism and tactical acumen. Flat tracks are often the bane of pacers, but Steyn’s resilience and adaptability transcended those limitations. The best fast bowlers seem to find something extraordinary within themselves when conditions offer them nothing. Both Asif and Steyn epitomized this ethos in Sri Lanka, delivering performances that showcased the enduring art of pace bowling in the face of adversity.

Sri Lanka’s batsmen were not merely defeated by pace; they were outplayed by two pacers who embodied the art and science of seam bowling, each in his own unique way. Asif brought subtlety and craft, and Steyn brought fire and power, both forever engraving their names in the annals of cricketing heroics in Sri Lanka.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar