Tamim Iqbal: Rising from Ashes to Glory

For a cricketer, few things are as harrowing as a prolonged lean patch. For Tamim Iqbal, Bangladesh’s premier opening batsman, this dark phase threatened to overshadow a career built on grit, talent, and audacious stroke play. His once-reliable bat seemed to have lost its voice, his innings often ending in cheap and sometimes avoidable dismissals. The slump eroded his confidence, and whispers of his exclusion grew louder, casting doubts over his place in the national side.  

Tamim became the target of relentless criticism, amplified by the unforgiving arena of social media. Every failure was dissected, ridiculed, and meme-fied. The vitriol extended beyond the boundaries of sport—some fans crossed the line, even hurling abuse at his family. Rumours swirled that his spot in the team was secured by nepotism, given his familial ties to then-chief selector Akram Khan. As young talents like Soumya Sarkar and Rony Talukdar emerged, the narrative painted Tamim as an undeserving relic of the past, rather than the once-glorious face of Bangladesh's batting lineup.  

But champions are not forged in moments of triumph—they are built in the crucible of adversity. Despite the cacophony of critics, Tamim chose to focus on what he could control: his game. Under the guidance of coach Chandika Hathurusingha, he immersed himself in the nets, revisiting the fundamentals of his technique and resolving to spend more time at the crease. The process was slow and unrelenting, but Tamim refused to give up.  

The Resurgence  

The fruits of his labour became evident in April 2015, when Bangladesh faced Pakistan in a three-match ODI series. The series was symbolic—a clash against the very team that Bangladesh had not beaten in ODIs since their famous 1999 World Cup victory. Public speculation suggested that Tamim might lose his spot to one of the younger contenders. But when Bangladesh took the field, it was Tamim, not sidelined but walking out with Soumya Sarkar to open the innings.  

In the first ODI, Tamim faced a baptism of fire from Pakistan’s left-arm pacers. But this was not the Tamim of the lean years. The impetuous errors were replaced with patience, the rash shots with composure. He bided his time, gauged the bowling, and gradually began to unfurl his repertoire. His innings bloomed in the 28th over, where two majestic sixes off Haris Sohail hinted at a return to his imperious best. The cover drives, crisp and authoritative, soon followed. By the time his innings concluded, Tamim had crafted a magnificent 132 off 135 balls—his first century since 2013.  

His celebration was cathartic, a Cristiano Ronaldo-esque leap that symbolized vindication after years of struggle. Tamim's knock, coupled with Mushfiqur Rahim’s sublime hundred, powered Bangladesh to their first win against Pakistan in 16 years. While Mushfiqur was named Player of the Match, he acknowledged that Tamim’s innings was pivotal in achieving Bangladesh’s highest-ever ODI score.  

The Dominance Continues  

If the first ODI was a statement, the second was a spectacle. Tamim dismantled Pakistan’s bowling with an air of controlled aggression. His strokes disrupted lengths, his tempo suffocated the bowlers, and his dominance turned the match into a one-sided affair. Another hundred—his second consecutive of the series—cemented Bangladesh’s series victory and marked a triumphant return for a batsman many had written off.  

A Lesson for the Critics  

Tamim’s resurgence serves as a reminder of the fragile nature of form and the enduring truth of class. His story underscores the importance of patience, perseverance, and the value of constructive criticism over blind condemnation. For a player who has delivered so much to Bangladeshi cricket, the harsh treatment he endured from sections of fans was undeserved. True fans understand that players, like all humans, go through ebbs and flows. Criticism should inspire improvement, not humiliation; support during tough times is what builds champions.  

Tamim Iqbal’s journey from ridicule to redemption is more than a cricketing tale—it is a lesson in resilience, a testament to the power of self-belief, and a call for empathy in how we judge our heroes. Bangladesh cricket will remember this chapter not only for its historic victories but also for the rebirth of its greatest opening batsman. 

Thank You

Faisal Caesar 

The Dawn of New Beginnings: Bangladesh’s Moment to Rewrite History

May 31, 1999, is etched in the annals of Bangladesh cricket as a day of revolution. A spirited Bangladeshi side, participating in their maiden World Cup, shocked the cricketing world by toppling tournament favourites Pakistan in Northampton. That historic victory not only announced Bangladesh's arrival on the global stage but also catalyzed their journey toward Test status the following year. It was a moment of collective pride, one that ignited hope in a cricket-obsessed nation.  

Since then, Bangladesh’s cricket story has been one of resilience and incremental progress. While their Test cricket exploits have remained modest, the Tigers have built a reputation in One-Day Internationals (ODIs) as a force capable of slaying giants. They have notched victories over cricketing powerhouses such as India, Sri Lanka, England, West Indies, and New Zealand. Yet, a curious anomaly persists—their inability to triumph against Pakistan since that unforgettable day in 1999.  

In 32 encounters since Pakistan has emerged victorious every time. Even as Bangladesh has grown in stature and competitive spirit, the spectre of Pakistan has loomed large. Recent clashes, particularly in the Asia Cup, have seen Bangladesh push their neighbours to the brink. These nail-biting contests may have ended in Pakistan’s favour, but they underscored Bangladesh’s growing maturity and tenacity. Now, with a three-match ODI series set to begin on April 17, 2015, Bangladesh stands on the cusp of breaking the jinx.  

A New Context, A New Challenge  

For the first time in their cricketing history, Bangladesh will start as favourites against a traditionally dominant side. This shift in dynamics owes much to the Tigers’ steady evolution under coach Chandika Hathurusinghe. The team has found a balance between youthful exuberance and seasoned experience, evident in their spirited World Cup 2015 campaign, where they reached the quarterfinals. That performance has infused the side with renewed confidence, making them a formidable unit on home soil.  

The batting lineup, led by Tamim Iqbal, Mushfiqur Rahim, Mahmudullah, and Shakib Al Hasan, is a well-oiled machine. With a mix of flair and composure, these batsmen have developed the temperament to navigate world-class bowling attacks. On the bowling front, the pace duo of Taskin Ahmed and Rubel Hossain brings speed and aggression, while Shakib and Arafat Sunny add guile to the spin department. Together, they form a versatile attack capable of exploiting Pakistan’s vulnerabilities.  

Pakistan, on the other hand, arrives in Dhaka in a transitional phase. Key stalwarts like Misbah-ul-Haq, Shahid Afridi, and Younis Khan are absent, leaving the team reliant on a new generation led by the inexperienced Azhar Ali. With only 14 ODIs under his belt and a two-year hiatus from the format, Azhar’s appointment as captain underscores Pakistan’s current uncertainties. Their bowling remains potent, with Wahab Riaz and Saeed Ajmal leading the charge, but their young and untested batting lineup will face a stern examination against Bangladesh’s confident bowlers.  

Breaking the Jinx  

This series represents more than just a chance to end a 16-year drought against Pakistan; it is an opportunity for Bangladesh to establish themselves as a genuine contender on the world stage. The psychological barrier that Pakistan has represented can only be shattered through decisive performances, not narrow defeats.  

The Tigers have the momentum, talent, and home advantage to script a new chapter in their rivalry. For Bangladesh cricket, this series is a call to action—a moment to transform potential into history and near-misses into victories.  

As the first ball is bowled in Mirpur, the echoes of Northampton will linger. Sixteen years of waiting, striving, and growing will converge on this series. Bangladesh stands at the threshold of a new dawn. The time has come to not just compete but to conquer.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar

A Clash of Titans: Inzamam, Tendulkar, and the Theatre of Cricket

Some matches are merely won or lost; others are written into the annals of cricketing folklore. This was one such contest—a battle where individual brilliance clashed with the weight of history, where numbers and nerves waged war, and where, in the final reckoning, Inzamam-ul-Haq’s enduring elegance outlasted Sachin Tendulkar’s tactical genius. 

With three runs required from the final over, it seemed as if destiny had a sense of the dramatic. Tendulkar, already the hero with the bat, had the ball in hand. He bowled four dot balls, tightening the noose, forcing even the most ardent Pakistani fans into uneasy silence. But cricket has never been a game for predetermined endings. Off the final delivery, Inzamam often mocked for his awkward running but never for his placement, simply guided the ball past point, threading it through a five-man off-side ring with the precision of a master craftsman. With a single stroke, a victory was sealed, a legacy affirmed. 

The Tendulkar Symphony: A Hundred Under Fire

Before the final over could become the stuff of legend, the match had already been scripted as a Sachin Tendulkar special. His innings of 123 was not merely a century—it was a statement. Critics had begun to whisper of decline, of fading reflexes, of a once-infallible maestro struggling to keep pace with time’s relentless march. Tendulkar answered, not with words, but with an innings that was both classical and defiant. 

He began with the authority of a man who understood that greatness does not require permission. The first two flicks off his pads were a declaration: today, the master was in control. His cover drives spoke of vintage artistry, his running between the wickets of undiminished hunger. When Danish Kaneria tossed one up, Tendulkar dismissed it with a straight six that flattened a cameraman at long-on, a moment that captured both his precision and power. 

He found an ideal partner in Mahendra Singh Dhoni, the rising star whose unflappable presence allowed Tendulkar to orchestrate the innings at his own tempo. Their 129-run partnership was an intergenerational dialogue—one man sculpting the moment, the other chiselling away at the opposition’s resolve. Even when fatigue forced Tendulkar to summon a runner, his strokes carried the same authority. A reverse sweep here, a lofted drive there—this was not a man in decline but a batsman reaching deep into his reserves to silence his doubters. 

And yet, despite Tendulkar’s heroics, despite Yuvraj Singh’s final flourish that propelled India past 300, the day belonged to another. 

The Inzamam Enigma: A Study in Timing 

Inzamam-ul-Haq is often misunderstood. His batting, much like his career, appeared effortless at times and perplexing at others. He was never a batsman who played to the gallery, nor did he possess the calculated aggression of a modern-day finisher. What he had, however, was a gift for tempo—knowing when to accelerate, when to absorb pressure, and when to deliver the decisive stroke. 

As the Pakistani innings unfolded, it became clear that this was a match of layers, not moments. First came Shahid Afridi’s hurricane start, a 23-ball blitz that had India scrambling for control. Then, the measured grace of Salman Butt, whose 48 added substance to the madness. The middle overs saw Abdul Razzaq and Shoaib Malik playing the roles of architects, carving gaps, rotating strike, and refusing to let India seize momentum. 

But it was Inzamam who stood at the heart of the chase, stitching the innings together with an assurance that only he could provide. Each time the required rate threatened to slip into dangerous waters, he would pull it back—not through reckless power, but through the sheer elegance of placement and timing. 

His running between the wickets, often the subject of ridicule, was transformed into an asset. Scampering singles, converting ones into twos—this was an Inzamam at his most alert, aware that the game’s outcome rested on his broad shoulders. His strokes were never showy, never ostentatious, but always effective. 

Even when wickets tumbled around him—Malik’s mistimed loft, Younis Khan and Kamran Akmal falling to Nehra’s brilliance—there was no sense of panic. As the equation tightened, so did his focus. And when the moment arrived, when it all came down to a single stroke against Tendulkar, Inzamam delivered not with brute force, but with the simplest of dabs—perhaps the most poetic way for a batsman of his calibre to script an unforgettable finish. 

Cricket as High Theatre

This was more than just a game. It was theatre in its purest form—narratives intertwining, individual battles playing out within the broader war, and a conclusion so delicately poised that the margin between triumph and heartbreak was a mere inch of space between point and gully. 

Tendulkar had played the perfect protagonist, his century a masterwork of defiance. But in the end, the final act belonged to Inzamam, the man who had long been the backbone of Pakistan’s batting, a colossus who preferred to let his bat do the talking. 

 Cricket often revels in its unpredictability, in its ability to produce contests where neither past laurels nor numerical dominance can guarantee the outcome. This was one such day—a reminder that in the grand theatre of sport, the script is always unfinished until the last ball is bowled.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar 

Richie Benaud: The Voice That Made Cricket Eternal

Cricket in Bangladesh during my school days was a modest affair, overshadowed by soccer's grand stature. The sport's presence was fleeting—an hour-long weekly highlight on Bangladesh Television (BTV) every Sunday. Yet, that single hour became a sacred ritual for me and my father. We would sit together, eyes glued to the screen, as cricket unfolded its intricate drama.  

BTV, with its limited resources, brought us glimpses of the cricketing world through broadcasts of BBC Test Match Classics, the Austral-Asia Cup, the Sharjah Cup, and World Series Cricket. Among these, the matches in Sharjah stood out for their intensity, but the uninspired commentary and monotonous camera work often dulled their allure. However, the vibrant storytelling of BBC Test Match Classics and the dazzling production of World Series Cricket came to the rescue, igniting a deep and abiding love for the game within me.  

The World Series Cricket, in particular, was a revelation. It had all the makings of a young cricket fan's dream—vividly coloured clothing, under-the-lights day-night matches, and cutting-edge innovations like stump cameras and stump microphones that amplified every nuance of the game. The sweet, crisp sound of bat meeting ball echoed through our living room, amplified by brilliant camera angles that captured the action from every conceivable perspective. Yet, amidst all these technical marvels, it was the voice of Richie Benaud that truly enchanted me.  

Benaud’s commentary wasn’t just an accompaniment to the game; it was an art form in itself. His sharp wit, distinct tone, and incisive observations elevated cricket from a sport to a narrative masterpiece. Phrases like “...and he has done ’em,” “first cherry and gone,” and “bowled ’em round his legs with a jaffa” still echo in my mind, each word a testament to his command of language and understanding of the game. His presence on television—silver-haired and intelligent—became a fixture of my childhood, inspiring me to mimic his commentary while playing cricket alone in my room. Yet, no imitation could ever match the effortless brilliance of the man who had become a legend behind the microphone.  

As the years rolled on, much changed in Bangladesh. The nation ascended to the ranks of Test cricket, dethroning soccer as its premier sport. Satellite television brought live cricket into every household, and the internet made the world of cricket accessible like never before. Yet, through all these transformations, Richie Benaud remained a constant in my life—a voice that made cricket a ceaseless joy.  

Benaud's commentary was not merely descriptive; it was reflective, offering insights that deepened my understanding of the game. During my Secondary School Certificate (SSC) exams in 1997, the tri-nation tournament Down Under, narrated in his measured tones, became a welcome escape. Two years later, during my Higher Secondary School Certificate (HSC) exams, his commentary on the World Cup 1999 was a balm for my weary mind. Even during the gruelling days of medical school, the Australian summer brought with it lighter moments as I listened to his voice weave magic around every ball bowled.  

Benaud was not just a commentator; he was cricket’s guardian, voice, and soul. His passing marked the end of an era—a loss that felt deeply personal. For me, his absence has left a void that no other voice can fill.  

I had long dreamed of hearing Benaud’s thoughtful commentary during a Test match between Bangladesh and Australia on Australian soil. I yearned to hear his measured appraisal of Tamim Iqbal's flamboyant batting, Mashrafe Mortaza’s lion-hearted bowling, and Shakib Al Hasan’s all-round genius. But that dream will remain unfulfilled. Richie Benaud, the maestro of cricket commentary, is no longer among us.  

Death, that inevitable and unyielding truth, has silenced a voice that shaped my love for the game. Yet, in the echoes of his words and the memories of those vibrant broadcasts, Richie Benaud remains eternal. Cricket may have lost its voice, but for those of us who grew up with him, he will forever be the melody that made the game immortal. 

Thank You

Faisal Caesar 

Grant Elliott’s Eden Park Masterpiece: A Night of Passion, Pain, and Glory

On a night charged with passion and tension, Grant Elliott etched his name into cricketing folklore with an innings that will resonate through the ages. Amid scenes of unparalleled intensity at Auckland’s Eden Park, the South Africa-born Elliott delivered a performance of extraordinary composure and resolve, propelling his adopted nation, New Zealand, into their first-ever World Cup final.

With five runs needed off two deliveries, Elliott stood alone against Dale Steyn, one of the most fearsome fast bowlers of his generation. The equation was simple yet monumental: four runs would suffice due to New Zealand’s superior group-stage finish, but the pressure was immeasurable. What followed was a moment of pure theatre. A limping Steyn charged in, defiant despite his injury, and Elliott, calm amid the storm, pulled the ball high over mid-on. The crowd erupted as New Zealand’s dream journey extended to Melbourne, while South Africa’s players crumbled in anguish, their World Cup hopes shattered once more.

A Match for the Ages

This semi-final was no ordinary contest; it was an epic that transcended the game itself. The stakes were immense, with neither side having ever reached a World Cup final. Rain had truncated the match to 43 overs per side, heightening the drama. What unfolded was a rollercoaster of emotions, a battle of two evenly matched teams trading blow for blow in pursuit of cricketing immortality.

New Zealand’s pursuit of 298 was ignited by their talismanic captain, Brendon McCullum, whose audacious assault on South Africa’s premier bowlers defied belief. McCullum’s 22-ball fifty, featuring breathtaking strokes against Steyn and Vernon Philander, transformed the chase from a daunting task into a run-a-ball equation. Yet, as quickly as he blazed, McCullum perished, pulling Morne Morkel to mid-on. His departure left New Zealand vulnerable, and when Kane Williamson and Martin Guptill followed, the semi-final seemed destined to remain New Zealand’s glass ceiling.

Elliott and Anderson: A Partnership of Resolve

Enter Grant Elliott and Corey Anderson, two contrasting characters united by a shared determination. Their 103-run partnership was a masterclass in calculated aggression and calm under pressure. Anderson, typically a power hitter, curbed his instincts to play a composed innings, while Elliott blended timing, placement, and innovation to keep the required rate within reach.

Even so, South Africa had their chances. Anderson was gifted a reprieve on 33 when Rilee Rossouw’s errant throw denied AB de Villiers a run-out opportunity. The missed chance loomed large as the pair continued to chip away at the target.

When Anderson finally holed out for 58, the match tightened once more. Luke Ronchi’s dismissal shortly after left New Zealand needing 29 off 17 balls. Daniel Vettori joined Elliott, and the stage was set for a nerve-shredding finale.

The Final Act

The penultimate over brought high drama as Elliott’s top edge towards the deep square leg resulted in a collision between Farhaan Behardien and JP Duminy, sparing Elliott’s wicket. The reprieve proved decisive.

With 12 required off the final over, Steyn’s injury added another layer of complexity. Vettori, ever the wily veteran, squeezed a boundary behind square off the second ball, narrowing the equation. A quick single followed, returning the strike to Elliott. Then came the moment that will forever define his career: a clean, authoritative strike over mid-on, sealing victory and sending Eden Park into delirium.

Agony and Ecstasy

For South Africa, the pain was palpable. Players slumped to the ground, tears flowing freely as they grappled with another heartbreaking exit. De Villiers, du Plessis, and Morkel were inconsolable, their dreams dashed in the cruellest of fashions.

"We left it all out on the field," de Villiers said, his voice heavy with emotion. "It’s obviously painful. We’re gutted." There was no attempt to mask the pain with bravado. South Africa had fought valiantly, but the margins between victory and defeat had proved too fine.

The spectre of the Duckworth-Lewis method loomed over the match, with some questioning whether the revised target of 298 in 43 overs was fair given South Africa’s momentum before the rain. David Miller’s blistering 18-ball 49 and de Villiers’ unbeaten 65 had propelled South Africa to a formidable total, but the lingering "what ifs" of an uninterrupted innings will remain.

Elliott’s Moment of Glory

For Elliott, the victory was bittersweet. His match-winning knock of 84 not out was the culmination of years of hard work and perseverance, yet it came at the expense of the country of his birth. In a gesture of sportsmanship reminiscent of Andrew Flintoff consoling Brett Lee in 2005, Elliott extended a hand to the devastated Steyn—a moment that epitomized the spirit of cricket.

Reflecting on his decisive strike, Elliott admitted to feeling the weight of the occasion. "I really did feel the pressure," he said. "I had two balls to try and take us home. I knew four runs would do it because a tie was as good as a win. But I think we probably left it a little late, to be honest. It was stressful towards the end."

A Game to Remember

This match was more than just a semi-final; it was a celebration of cricket’s ability to evoke raw emotion and showcase the human spirit. For New Zealand, it was a moment of unbridled joy, a testament to their resilience and belief. For South Africa, it was another chapter in their World Cup heartbreak, a reminder of the fine margins that separate triumph from despair.

As the dust settled on Eden Park, one thing was certain: cricket had been the ultimate winner. The echoes of Elliott’s winning shot and the contrasting scenes of jubilation and heartbreak will linger long in the memory, a poignant reminder of why this sport continues to captivate millions around the world.

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar