The Shadows of Perth: A Tale of Lost Opportunities and Narrow Margins

By the time the 1992 World Cup began, the Indian cricket team bore the scars of a gruelling Australian summer. A humiliating Test series defeat followed by a lacklustre showing in the tri-series had left the squad battered in body and spirit. The team was a patchwork of fading veterans and unseasoned youngsters, led by a captain struggling for form. Even their dark, almost-black jerseys seemed to mirror the sombre mood of a side navigating through the twilight of a dismal campaign. 

Yet, as they stepped onto the sunlit turf of the WACA in Perth to face England, there was a flicker of hope. Cricket, after all, has a way of offering redemption. The fresh morning air carried a sense of renewal, and for a brief moment, the Indian team looked ready to script a new chapter. 

The Early Drama: A Game of What-Ifs

The match began with promise as Manoj Prabhakar and Kapil Dev bowled probing spells. The legendary Kapil, even in the twilight of his career, rekindled memories of his prime by dismissing Ian Botham in a mini-duel that had once defined cricketing rivalries. But as is often the case in cricket, small moments can tilt the scales. 

In the very first over, Kiran More spilt a straightforward catch off Graham Gooch. Two years earlier, at Lord’s, More had dropped Gooch, who went on to score a monumental 333. This time, Gooch "only" made 51, but the reprieve set the tone for a day riddled with missed opportunities. 

Robin Smith’s Masterclass

Enter Robin Smith, a batsman with the ferocity of a hurricane and the precision of a surgeon. Smith dismantled India’s attack with a breathtaking display of power and elegance. His drives thundered through the covers, and his pulls soared into the stands, leaving bowlers and fielders alike in disarray. 

The early discipline of Kapil and Prabhakar was undone as Javagal Srinath and Subroto Banerjee leaked runs. Ravi Shastri’s left-arm spin, which once turned the tide in tight games, was met with disdain as Smith sent the ball sailing over the longest boundaries of the WACA. Smith’s 91 off 100 balls was a masterclass in counterattacking batting, a knock that seemed to propel England towards an unassailable total. 

Yet, India clawed their way back. Sachin Tendulkar, with the guile and maturity of a seasoned campaigner, bowled ten overs of immaculate control. The lower order faltered against his accuracy, and England, from a position of strength at 197 for 3, stuttered to 236 for 9. It was a competitive total, but far less than what Smith’s brilliance had promised. 

A Response Rooted in Nostalgia

India’s reply began with an echo of the past. Ravi Shastri and Krishnamachari Srikkanth, once a formidable opening pair, took the field. But time had dulled their edges. Shastri’s scoring range was shackled by a pronounced shuffle, while Srikkanth’s trademark audacity was undermined by inconsistency. 

The duo added 63 runs, but the pace was pedestrian. Srikkanth’s dismissal caught off a mistimed hit, brought Mohammad Azharuddin to the crease. The captain’s struggles continued as Dermot Reeve produced a peach of a delivery to dismiss him first ball. 

The Spark of Genius: Tendulkar’s Brilliance

Then came Tendulkar. Barely out of his teens, the prodigy dazzled with strokes that defied his age and the conditions. A flat-batted pull off Phil DeFreitas, a straight drive past the sight screen, and a late cut off Phil Tufnell showcased his genius. With Shastri anchoring the other end, Tendulkar looked poised to take India home. 

But cricket is a cruel game. Just as the tide seemed to turn, Ian Botham, the wily veteran, struck. A delivery that nipped away found the edge of Tendulkar’s bat, and Alec Stewart completed the catch. Tendulkar’s 35 was a glimpse of greatness, but it left India exposed. 

The Collapse and the Last Stand

What followed was chaos. Kambli nicked Botham to slip. Shastri, after a laborious 57, was run out in a bizarre mix-up. Kapil Dev, India’s most experienced campaigner, succumbed to an ill-advised slog. From 149 for 5, India crumbled to 201 for 9. 

With defeat looming, Banerjee and Srinath launched a fearless counterattack. Banerjee’s clean striking and Srinath’s powerful hits brought India tantalizingly close. The equation boiled down to 11 runs off the final over. 

But as often happens in such moments, hope gave way to heartbreak. Srinath charged down the wicket and was stumped, leaving Banerjee stranded and fuming. The margin of defeat was nine runs, but the match was a tapestry of missed chances and squandered opportunities. 

A Game of Narrow Margins

The story of this game lies not just in the scorecard but in its countless "what-ifs." What if More had held on to Gooch’s catch? What if the bowlers had maintained their discipline in the middle overs? What if Tendulkar or Kapil had stayed longer? 

In the end, it was Ian Botham, the ageing warrior, who had the last laugh. His spell in the middle overs and his final act of brilliance sealed the game for England. For India, the match was a microcosm of their campaign—flashes of brilliance overshadowed by lapses in execution. 

As the players walked off the field, the shadows of Perth seemed to mirror the mood of the Indian team: weary, reflective, and wondering what might have been.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar 

Tactical Brilliance at Eden Park: How Crowe's Innovation Toppled the Defending Champions

As co-hosts of the 1992 Cricket World Cup, Australia entered the tournament with an air of invincibility. They were the defending champions, having crushed India 4-0 in a Test series and dominated the Benson & Hedges tournament at home against India and the West Indies. Despite a rare setback in the Caribbean, Australian cricket was on an upward trajectory. With the tournament being held in their backyard, they were among the firm favourites.

New Zealand, the other co-hosts, found themselves in a contrasting position. Their legendary cricketer, Richard Hadlee, had retired, leaving a void in the team. Fresh off a string of losses against England at home, New Zealand were not seen as serious contenders. Yet, as Martin Crowe won the toss and chose to bat at Eden Park, the stage was set for an unexpected spectacle.

A Bold Strategy and Crowe's Masterclass

Crowe made a surprising decision by leaving out Danny Morrison, their premier strike bowler, in favor of a more unorthodox bowling lineup. Dipak Patel, an off-spinner, was included alongside three medium-pacers—Willie Watson, Gavin Larsen, and Chris Harris—and an all-rounder, Chris Cairns. On paper, it seemed a fragile attack, but Crowe had a plan.

New Zealand’s innings began shakily as McDermott bowled John Wright with his first legitimate delivery, and the top order struggled against the early bounce. However, Ken Rutherford and Crowe stabilized the innings with a gritty 118-run partnership. Crowe, battling a knee injury, showcased his brilliance with a century laced with precision pulls and elegant drives. Rutherford, playing a supporting role, contributed 57 runs off 71 balls before being run out by Mark Waugh’s sharp fielding.

The latter part of New Zealand’s innings saw cameos from Harris, Ian Smith, and Cairns, adding valuable runs. Crowe’s unbeaten 100 from 134 balls guided New Zealand to a competitive total of 248 for 6. Eden Park’s small boundaries made the target achievable, but the pitch’s nuances and New Zealand’s fielding prowess hinted at a challenging chase.

An Innovative Bowling Approach

Australia began their reply with David Boon and Geoff Marsh, both seasoned campaigners. Crowe, however, had an ace up his sleeve. In a move that stunned spectators and players alike, he handed the new ball to Patel, an off-spinner. Patel’s seven-over spell for just 19 runs set the tone for the match, frustrating the Australian openers and disrupting their rhythm.

While Cairns proved expensive, conceding 30 runs in four overs, Crowe’s tactical brilliance emerged as he rotated his medium-pacers. Watson, Larsen, and Harris bowled with impeccable accuracy, exploiting the small ground and denying Australia easy boundaries. The fielding unit, one of the best in the world, complemented the bowlers’ efforts.

The Australian Resistance

Boon and Marsh provided a steady start, adding 62 runs for the opening stand. However, Marsh’s dismissal to Larsen’s sharp delivery triggered a series of strategic moves from Crowe. Dean Jones and Allan Border attempted to stabilize the innings, but New Zealand’s bowlers tightened the noose. Border’s mistimed shot off Cairns and Mark Waugh’s LBW dismissal to Larsen left Australia struggling at 104 for 3 in the 28th over.

Tom Moody, promoted to accelerate the scoring, fell to Latham’s slower delivery. With the asking rate climbing, Steve Waugh and Boon launched a counterattack. Boon brought up his century with a mix of aggression and composure, while Waugh’s six over the straight boundary rekindled Australian hopes. However, Larsen’s brilliance in his follow-through ended Waugh’s resistance, and the momentum shifted decisively.

The Final Collapse

The turning point came when Healy’s ambitious attempt for a second run resulted in Boon’s run-out, courtesy of Harris’s pinpoint throw. The Australian tail crumbled under pressure, losing their last five wickets for just 12 runs in 17 balls. Harris’s athleticism and Watson’s precision sealed a memorable 37-run victory for New Zealand.

A Strategic Triumph

New Zealand’s victory was not merely a result of individual brilliance but a testament to Crowe’s innovative captaincy. By relying on medium-paced bowlers and disciplined fielding, he redefined the art of defending totals on small grounds. The win marked a turning point in the World Cup, showcasing the importance of adaptability and strategy in cricket.

For Australia, the loss was a wake-up call. Despite their star-studded lineup, they underestimated the value of tactical acumen and team cohesion. The match at Eden Park remains a classic example of how cricket’s nuances can overturn expectations and deliver unforgettable moments.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar

Roberto Baggio: A Portrait of Genius, Tragedy, and Redemption

The mullet, the number ten, and the echoing cries of "É fino di Baggio" from the terraces—these are the enduring images of Il Divin Codino. Roberto Baggio was more than a footballer; he was a paradox, a figure of both fragility and defiance, as ethereal as he was tenacious. Few could have foreseen his revival after numerous physical and psychological tribulations. And yet, there he stood—eight years after terrifying the legendary defensive duo of Paolo Maldini and Franco Baresi at the San Siro—drifting beyond Juventus’ Ciro Ferrara with effortless grace, meeting Andrea Pirlo’s exquisite through ball with a touch that bordered on the divine.

That moment was a microcosm of Baggio’s career. Not merely a goal, but a symphony of movement and instinct. He did not simply evade defenders; he rendered them obsolete. He did not merely deceive Edwin van der Sar; he humiliated him. The Dutchman, a future four-time Premier League champion, was left stranded, much like so many before him. Perhaps Nikos Dabizas should count himself fortunate.

All of it—his artistry, his defiance, his unyielding spirit—finds its perfect accompaniment in Dancing by Elisa, a song that encapsulates his career: majestic yet rugged, poetic yet visceral. Italy knew him as Il Divino Codino, the Divine Ponytail, but beneath the aesthetic brilliance lay the soul of a warrior.

The Rise and the Fall—A Career Nearly Lost

Baggio’s journey began in the unassuming surroundings of Vicenza, where, as a luminous 16-year-old, he promised something Italian football had long been craving: fantasia. Not since Gianni Rivera had Italy seen a player capable of awakening stadiums with a flick of his boot, a shift of his balance, an irreverent disdain for defensive structure.

Yet, just as his ascent began, fate intervened.

They say childbirth is the most excruciating pain one can experience, but those who have ruptured an anterior cruciate ligament may contest that claim. The pop of torn cartilage, the collapse of a promising career before it had truly begun—Baggio, at 18, faced his first great battle. An allergy to painkillers ensured he felt every agonizing stitch—120 in total—as doctors pieced his knee back together. Their prognosis was bleak: he would never play again.

But football has a way of defying medicine.

Eighteen months later, against all logic, he returned—not in obscurity, but in grandeur. In the cauldron of the Stadio San Paolo, he found the bottom right corner with a shot that silenced 70,000 Neapolitans, including a certain Diego Maradona. The Argentine had conquered the world just months prior, yet here, in his own arena, he was momentarily eclipsed by a man who had been in a wheelchair when Maradona lifted the World Cup.

The impact was instant. Fiorentina legend Miguel Montuori declared, "More productive than Maradona; he is, without doubt, the best number ten in the league." Hyperbole? Perhaps. But what was undeniable was that Italy had witnessed something beyond conventional brilliance. They had seen a resurrection.

A Player Beyond Definition

Baggio was many things—a fantasista, a trequartista, a mezzapunta, a rifinitore. His role was debated, his position ever-fluid. Michel Platini, himself a master of the playmaking arts, described him as a “nine and a half”—neither a pure striker nor a traditional number ten, but something in between, something uniquely his own.

His gift was his multiplicity. He was a creator and a finisher, a conductor and a soloist. He could orchestrate play with his vision, dissecting defences with laser-like precision, yet he could just as easily dispatch them himself with an impudent flick, a feint, a shift in balance that rendered markers irrelevant.

Comfortable with both feet, despite his natural right-sided preference, he dribbled with a hypnotic rhythm, often initiating movement with his left before seamlessly switching to his right. He was not physically imposing, nor dominant in the air, but his movement, acceleration, and agility allowed him to slip through defensive lines with the grace of a ballet dancer.

His dribbling, arguably among the greatest of all time, was an art form. Balance, close control, and an uncanny awareness of space gave him an ability few possessed—he did not merely beat defenders; he rewrote their understanding of positioning. Tricks, feints, body swerves—each movement was calculated, each deception preordained.

Zico once described him as "technically flawless," while Gianluigi Buffon, in his autobiography, hailed Baggio’s touch as "unique." Even Arrigo Sacchi, whose rigid tactical systems often clashed with Baggio’s free-spirited genius, could not deny his artistry: "Baggio is creativity, flair, unpredictability, intuition, harmony."

The Burden of a Missed Penalty

And yet, despite all this, history often attempts to reduce Baggio to a single moment—the missed penalty in the 1994 World Cup final.

It is a tragic oversimplification.

Yes, the image of Baggio, hands on hips, eyes lost in despair after his shot soared over Cláudio Taffarel’s goal, remains indelible. But to confine his legacy to that miss is to misunderstand the man. Without Baggio, Italy would never have reached that final. His performances in the knockout stages—goals against Nigeria, Spain, and Bulgaria—were acts of individual brilliance, dragging an otherwise uninspired Azzurri side to the brink of glory.

His response to heartbreak was quintessential Baggio. He rebounded, winning the Scudetto with Juventus in 1995 and repeating the feat with AC Milan in 1996. He never allowed a single moment—no matter how monumental—to define him.

The Forgotten Genius?

Roberto Baggio retired with 276 goals and 111 assists in 605 appearances. He won the Ballon d’Or in 1994, secured league titles with Juventus and Milan, and remains fourth in FIFA’s 1999 poll of the greatest players of the century. And yet, curiously, he is often omitted from discussions of the all-time greats.

Perhaps it is because he existed in the twilight between eras—too late to be venerated like Maradona, too early to be enshrined with Messi and Ronaldo. Perhaps it is because his story is one of heartbreak as much as triumph, a career that always seemed to battle forces beyond his control.

But those who watched him, those who felt the breathless anticipation whenever he received the ball, know the truth.

Baggio was not simply a great footballer. He was a footballing poet, an artist whose canvas was the pitch, whose brushstrokes were dribbles, and whose verses were goals.

Il Divino Codino was, and always will be, eternal.

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar 

An Analytical Reflection on Bangladesh's Test Performance in Hyderabad

When Bangladesh faced India on Indian soil for the first time in their Test cricket history, expectations soared. Fans and critics alike hoped for a resolute performance from the Tigers, one befitting the subcontinental conditions. Yet, as the final whistle blew, it was a lopsided victory for the hosts. While some in Bangladesh’s cricket fraternity chose to spotlight perceived positives, a deeper look reveals glaring shortcomings that demand urgent introspection. 

A Batting Mirage on a Perfect Track

The Hyderabad pitch, a batsman’s haven, bore little resemblance to the challenging seaming and swinging tracks of New Zealand or the spin-friendly cauldrons in India’s domestic circuit. On such a benign surface, the onus lay heavily on the Bangladeshi batsmen to show resilience, focus, and technical proficiency. Yet, the top order faltered spectacularly. 

Soumya Sarkar, Mominul Haque, and Mahmudullah Riyad, touted as pillars of the team, were undone by Umesh Yadav’s reverse swing. To their credit, Umesh and Ishant Sharma exhibited skilful bowling, yet the Bangladeshi batsmen’s inability to adapt was evident. Playing expansive strokes instead of grinding it out underscored a lack of Test-match temperament—a lesson they’ve seemingly ignored despite their extensive experience. 

Mushfiqur Rahim’s century and Mehedi Hasan Miraz’s spirited resistance deserve applause. However, these performances were isolated sparks in an otherwise dark tunnel of inconsistency. It is troubling that even after 17 years of Test cricket, Bangladesh’s batsmen remain prone to throwing away wickets after settling in, a cardinal sin in the game’s longest format. 

Fitness: The Lingering Achilles’ Heel

Fitness and athleticism are non-negotiable in modern cricket, especially in the grind of five-day matches. On day one, Taskin Ahmed and Kamrul Islam showcased promise in their opening spells, but their intensity waned as the game progressed. The fielding effort mirrored this decline, with players visibly fatigued and struggling to maintain energy levels.

In stark contrast stood Virat Kohli’s men, epitomizing the virtues of supreme fitness and unyielding concentration. The difference wasn’t just in skill but in preparation and physical conditioning—an area where Bangladesh continues to lag. 

Fielding and Tactical Discipline: A Persistent Woe

Sloppy fielding, ill-timed reviews, and lapses in bowling discipline remain thorns in Bangladesh’s Test cricket journey. These aren’t new issues; they’ve plagued the team for years. Yet, little evidence suggests consistent efforts to rectify these recurring errors. 

For instance, the frivolous use of reviews, including the perplexing bat-pad appeal involving Taskin Ahmed, reflected a lack of strategic awareness. Such moments undermine the team's credibility and hand the opposition easy victories. 

Beyond the Numbers: The Problem with Celebrating Mediocrity

It is tempting to view Bangladesh’s ability to stretch the match to the fifth day and face over 100 overs in each innings as signs of progress. Indeed, when juxtaposed with teams like South Africa and New Zealand, who succumbed earlier on tougher tracks, this achievement might seem noteworthy. But comparisons of this nature are both misleading and dangerous. 

Test cricket is not merely about survival; it is about dominating key moments. Bangladesh’s defensive mindset, veiled under the guise of resilience, betrays a deeper problem—a lack of ambition. Surviving five days without posing a genuine threat to the opposition is not a triumph; it is a stark reminder of stagnation. 

A Call for Urgent Introspection

The narrative that Bangladesh "plays few Test matches" no longer holds water. After 17 years, the Tigers have had ample opportunities to hone their skills and adapt to the rigors of red-ball cricket. The question isn’t whether they are playing enough Tests but whether they are genuinely committed to excelling in the format. 

Progress demands hard questions: 

- Are players equipped with the technical skills to counter diverse challenges? 

- Is there a robust system in place to groom players for the demands of Test cricket? 

- How much emphasis does the team place on fitness, fielding, and mental fortitude? 

Conclusion: A Path Forward

Bangladesh’s performance in Hyderabad was a mixed bag. While individual moments of brilliance offered hope, the broader picture exposed fundamental flaws. Rather than bask in the glow of modest achievements, Bangladesh must focus on building a culture of excellence, discipline, and professionalism in Test cricket. 

Only by addressing these issues head-on can the Tigers transform from spirited participants into formidable contenders on the global stage. The journey is arduous, but the destination is well worth the effort.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar 

Tostao: The Cerebral Genius of Brazilian Football

Eduardo Gonçalves de Andrade, affectionately known as Tostão (meaning "little coin"), was more than just a footballer; he symbolised intelligence, creativity, and technical mastery in the beautiful game. A left-footed maestro with an unparalleled understanding of the sport, Tostão was regarded as one of the finest players of his generation, often considered the best Brazilian footballer of the late 1960s alongside Pelé, and even compared to Johan Cruyff as one of the world’s greatest talents in the early 1970s.

A Prodigy from Belo Horizonte

Born in Belo Horizonte, Minas Gerais, Tostão’s journey into football was marked by precocity and prodigious talent. Legend has it that as a six-year-old, he scored an astonishing 47 goals in a single school match, a feat that hinted at his destiny. By the age of 15, he had already made his professional debut for América Mineiro and soon returned to Cruzeiro, the club where he had started his youth career.

Though initially a central midfielder, Tostão’s knack for finding the net became evident as he claimed the Campeonato Mineiro’s top-scorer title thrice, beginning in 1966. By the time he left Cruzeiro, he had amassed 249 goals, becoming the club’s all-time leading scorer—a testament to his extraordinary ability to adapt and excel.

The 1970 World Cup: Tostão’s Defining Moment

Tostão’s legacy is forever intertwined with Brazil’s triumph at the 1970 FIFA World Cup, widely regarded as one of the greatest teams in football history. Improvised as a forward, he seamlessly adapted to the role, forming a telepathic partnership with Pelé. Despite his modest stature and lack of physicality, Tostão’s intelligence, vision, and impeccable timing in the penalty area made him indispensable.

During the tournament, he scored twice and assisted four goals, embodying the fluidity and creativity of Brazil’s attack. His role as a precursor to the modern false 9 was revolutionary; while deployed as a centre-forward on paper, he often dropped deep to link play, create space, and orchestrate attacks. His movement off the ball disoriented defenders, allowing teammates to flourish in the chaos he created.

A Career Cut Tragically Short

Despite his brilliance, Tostão’s career was marred by misfortune. In 1969, during a match against Corinthians, he suffered a detached retina after being struck in the face by the ball. Although corrective surgery allowed him to continue playing, the injury lingered ominously in the background.

In 1972, Tostão signed with Vasco da Gama for a record fee, but his resurgence was short-lived. At just 27, his vision problems resurfaced, forcing him into premature retirement despite further attempts at surgical correction. His departure from the game robbed football of one of its most cerebral talents, a player whose prime years could have redefined the sport further.

The Player Behind the Numbers

Tostão was not a player defined by raw physical attributes or spectacular long-range goals. Instead, his game was built on intelligence, anticipation, and technical excellence. A predominantly left-footed player, he was renowned for his balance, dribbling, and creativity. His ability to read the game, deliver precise passes, and execute intricate plays elevated him above his contemporaries.

He was a versatile attacker, capable of operating as a second striker, attacking midfielder, left winger, or even an out-and-out forward. His tireless work rate and selflessness made him a team player in every sense, often dropping deep to retrieve the ball and initiate attacks. Despite his lack of aerial prowess or explosive pace, Tostão’s cerebral approach to the game allowed him to outthink and outmanoeuvre opponents.

A New Chapter: From Footballer to Healer

After his retirement, Tostão turned away from the limelight, weary of the fame that football had brought him. He pursued a career in medicine, becoming a doctor—a decision that reflected his intellectual depth and desire to contribute to society beyond the pitch.

Yet, the pull of football proved irresistible. Tostão eventually returned to the game, not as a player but as a journalist and pundit. His analytical mind and eloquence made him a respected voice in Brazilian football, offering insights that reflected his profound understanding of the sport.

Legacy of a Genius

Tostão’s story is one of brilliance, resilience, and reinvention. While his career was tragically cut short, his impact on football endures. He was a player who redefined roles, a thinker who elevated the game, and a symbol of how intelligence and creativity can triumph over physical limitations.

Though his time on the pitch was brief, Tostão’s legacy as one of Brazil’s greatest footballers remains undiminished. His contributions to the legendary 1970 World Cup team and his pioneering role as a false 9 continue to inspire, reminding us that the true essence of football lies in the mind as much as in the body.

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar