The Enigma of Mushfiqur Rahim’s Captaincy: A Study in Stubbornness

On October 4, 2017, ESPNcricinfo’s South African correspondent, Firdose Moonda, painted a vivid picture of the Bloemfontein pitch ahead of the second Test between South Africa and Bangladesh. Photographs showed a verdant strip, indistinguishable from the outfield, sparking speculation of a pace-friendly track. By the time of the toss, however, the reality was starkly different. Persistent rain had kept the pitch under covers, and what emerged was a dry surface, devoid of the anticipated grass and bounce. It was, as South African captain Faf du Plessis quipped, “a very normal cricket wicket,” ideal for batting first. 

Yet, Mushfiqur Rahim, leading Bangladesh, defied conventional wisdom and chose to field first—a decision that raised eyebrows and evoked ridicule. Du Plessis, with a smirk, encapsulated the incredulity of the moment, remarking, “Nine times out of 10, you bat first.” What followed was a masterclass in poor decision-making and flawed execution, an episode emblematic of Mushfiqur’s troubled captaincy. 

The Repetition of Errors 

Cricket, at its highest level, demands adaptability and a willingness to learn from past mistakes. Yet, Mushfiqur Rahim’s tenure as captain often seemed like a case study in the refusal to evolve. His decisions at Bloemfontein mirrored the errors made just days earlier at Potchefstroom. The toss decision, the defensive field placements, and the chaotic use of bowlers—all pointed to a captain who either lacked awareness or stubbornly resisted the lessons of experience. 

The decision to field first was perplexing enough, but the execution compounded the problem. Mustafizur Rahman, operating with the breeze from the Loch Logan End, was given a defensive field with only two slips and a leg slip—a placement that forced him to bowl on the middle and leg stump, allowing Dean Elgar to score with ease. Subashis Roy, after conceding 15 runs in a single over, was inexplicably replaced by part-time medium-pacer Soumya Sarkar within the first five overs—a move that defied logic on the opening morning of a Test match. By the 10th over, Mushfiqur had already cycled through four bowlers, a pattern more befitting of a club-level game than international cricket. 

Defensive Fields and Aggressive Bowlers 

Even when the Bangladeshi pacers found rhythm post-lunch, Mushfiqur’s defensive field placements undermined their efforts. The aggressive intent of Mustafizur, Rubel Hossain, and Subashis Roy was neutralized by a captain who seemed more intent on damage control than wicket-taking. South Africa’s batsmen, untroubled by the lack of attacking fields, treated the session as a leisurely outing, accumulating runs with ease. 

This recurring pattern of defensive captaincy not only frustrated the bowlers but also highlighted a deeper issue: Mushfiqur’s inability to trust his players and his own instincts. In Test cricket, bold decisions often yield the greatest rewards, but Mushfiqur seemed trapped in a cycle of indecision and fear. 

The Psychological Barrier 

Why does Mushfiqur persist with these flawed strategies? Psychology offers a potential explanation. Experts describe a phenomenon known as choice-supportive bias, where individuals rationalize their decisions post hoc, attributing positive qualities to their choices while downplaying their faults. Mushfiqur’s repeated justifications for his decisions—often couched in emotional or weakly logical terms—suggest a deep-seated reluctance to acknowledge mistakes. 

This bias is further compounded by a tendency to avoid discomfort. Admitting to errors is inherently unpleasant, but it is also the first step toward growth. Mushfiqur’s refusal to confront his missteps creates a self-perpetuating loop: flawed decisions lead to poor outcomes, which are then rationalized, ensuring the cycle continues. 

A Case Study in Leadership 

Mushfiqur’s captaincy offers a fascinating case study for leadership and behavioral psychology. His steadfast adherence to flawed strategies, even in the face of repeated failures, underscores the importance of adaptability and self-awareness in leadership. Neuroscientists and psychologists might find in him a rare subject to study the mechanisms of stubbornness and the barriers to learning from failure. 

For Bangladesh cricket, however, this is no academic exercise. Leadership at the international level is not just about tactics; it is about inspiring confidence, fostering trust, and making decisions that maximize the team’s potential. Mushfiqur’s struggles as captain suggest a disconnect between his role and his natural inclinations—a gap that has often left Bangladesh adrift in critical moments. 

The Way Forward 

To move forward, Mushfiqur must first confront the truth of his own fallibility. Mistakes, while inevitable, are only valuable if they lead to growth. A captain who cannot learn from the past is a liability to his team, no matter how skilled he may be as a player. 

For Bangladesh cricket, the lesson is equally clear: leadership is not just about seniority or individual talent but about the ability to adapt, inspire, and make sound decisions under pressure. As the team continues its journey on the global stage, it must prioritize leaders who embody these qualities, ensuring that the lessons of Bloemfontein are not lost to history. 

Thank You

Faisal Caesar 

The Evolution of Cricket: A Battle Between Tradition and Modernity

In 2002, as the Benson & Hedges Cup—one of England's cherished one-day competitions—faded into history, the England and Wales Cricket Board (ECB) found itself at a crossroads. Seeking innovation to rejuvenate dwindling audiences, ECB marketing manager Stuart Robertson proposed a bold experiment: a 20-over-a-side contest. The concept, narrowly approved by county chairmen in an 11-7 vote, heralded the birth of Twenty20 cricket. On June 13, 2003, this radical format made its debut in the Twenty20 Cup, signaling the dawn of a new era. 

For a purist, the rationale behind this innovation was perplexing. Cricket, long celebrated as a game of patience, strategy, and gradual crescendo, seemed to be veering away from its essence. Test matches and One-Day Internationals (ODIs) had for decades captivated audiences with their intricate narratives. Yet, the emergence of T20 suggested an underlying dissatisfaction—a belief that cricket needed a shorter, more electrifying variant to capture the imagination of modern audiences. 

Initially, T20 found its footing within England, but its appeal soon transcended borders. Australia and Pakistan were early adopters, but it was India—the sport’s economic epicenter—that remained aloof. That indifference ended in 2007, when the inaugural ICC World Twenty20 final unfolded in Johannesburg. Misbah-ul-Haq’s ill-fated scoop off Joginder Sharma sealed Pakistan’s defeat, and MS Dhoni’s jubilant hoisting of the trophy ignited a paradigm shift in Indian cricket. What had been viewed as a novelty now became a revelation. 

The Indian Revolution: T20 Finds Its Spiritual Home 

India’s victory in the 2007 World Twenty20 was more than a triumph; it was a catalyst. The Board of Control for Cricket in India (BCCI), long a bastion of conservatism, quickly recognized the potential of T20 as a commercial juggernaut. In 2008, the Indian Premier League (IPL) was born—a dazzling amalgam of cricket and entertainment, complete with celebrity endorsements, team franchises, and a carnival-like atmosphere. 

The IPL’s immediate success was unparalleled. Advertisers flocked, audiences swelled, and cricket found itself reimagined as a spectacle. Yet, beneath the glitz lay a deeper concern: the erosion of cricket’s soul. Test cricket, the format where legends are forged and cricket’s artistry is most evident, began to fade into the background. The nuanced battles of attrition that defined Test cricket were overshadowed by the fireworks of T20. 

The IPL’s model proved infectious. Leagues inspired by its formula sprang up across the globe—the Big Bash League in Australia, the Caribbean Premier League, the Pakistan Super League, and the Bangladesh Premier League. Each promised instant gratification, glamour, and lucrative opportunities for players. For traditionalists, this shift was bittersweet. Modernization was inevitable, but the commercialization of the sport raised questions about its long-term impact. 

The Cost of Brevity 

By the 2010s, T20 cricket had monopolized the calendar, shaping a generation of players whose techniques prioritized power over precision. The artistry of constructing an innings or outwitting a batsman over long spells gave way to an urgency that often lacked depth. Cricket’s once-revered traditions became casualties of this transformation, as players and fans gravitated toward the format’s immediacy and spectacle. 

Yet, T20’s meteoric rise brought with it a darker underbelly. The format’s brevity and unpredictability created fertile ground for corruption. As early as 2009, Lord Condon, the former head of the Anti-Corruption and Security Unit (ACSU), warned of the risks. Match-fixing, once challenging to orchestrate in the complexity of Test cricket, found a new haven in T20, where games were decided in a matter of overs, and stakes were amplified by massive viewership. 

The Threat of T10: A Step Too Far? 

As if T20 weren’t condensed enough, the advent of T10 cricket introduced an even shorter format, promising matches completed within 90 minutes. With cricket legends like Virender Sehwag, Chris Gayle, and Shahid Afridi endorsing the format, T10 gained traction. But this reduction raised existential questions: when does innovation become degradation? 

T10 threatens to strip cricket of its very identity. What was once a test of skill, endurance, and strategy risks becoming mere entertainment—a show devoid of the qualities that made cricket unique. The allure of quick money and endorsements increasingly draws players away from Test cricket, the format where true greatness is etched. Shakib Al Hasan’s decision to prioritize T10 over a Test series exemplifies this troubling trend. 

The Existential Crossroads 

Cricket now stands at a precarious juncture. The balance between tradition and modernity is tilting alarmingly toward instant gratification. While T20 and its derivatives have expanded cricket’s global reach, they have also diluted its essence. Test cricket, the pinnacle of the sport, faces an uncertain future as players and audiences shift their loyalties. 

The legacy of cricket’s greats—WG Grace, Don Bradman, Garfield Sobers—was built on the foundations of Test cricket. To lose this format would be to sever cricket from its roots, reducing it to a fleeting spectacle rather than a battle of skill, discipline, and endurance. 

As William Pollard aptly observed, “The arrogance of success is to think that what you did yesterday will be sufficient for tomorrow.” Cricket must evolve, but not at the cost of its soul. The global cricketing community must guard against excess, preserving the balance that has long made the sport a masterpiece. Without Test cricket, and perhaps even ODIs, cricket risks becoming unrecognizable—a game of lights and fireworks, but devoid of its enduring spirit. 

Thank You

Faisal Caesar 

Sri Lanka’s Revival: A Victory Against the Odds

When Kumar Sangakkara bid farewell to international cricket, Sri Lanka entered a phase of uncertainty—a familiar yet daunting period of transition. While the emergence of new talents offered glimpses of hope, the results on the field painted a grim picture. Defeats piled up, and the once-proud cricketing nation found itself struggling to stay competitive. Transition, a term often used to soften the blow of such setbacks, began to wear thin as humiliations became more frequent. 

The nadir came when Sri Lanka succumbed to low-ranked teams, sides that barely played active cricket. These losses were not just defeats but symbolic of a deeper malaise. A heavy thrashing on home soil without putting up even a semblance of resistance amplified fears that Sri Lanka might be heading down the same path as the West Indies—a cricketing powerhouse unable to navigate the void left by its legends. 

What Sri Lankan cricket desperately needed was a spark, a morale-boosting victory to reignite belief and uplift a team searching for its identity. The question, however, was when and where that spark would come. 

A Test of Resolve in Abu Dhabi 

The first Test against Pakistan in Abu Dhabi seemed poised to deliver yet another blow to Sri Lanka’s fragile confidence. Chasing a modest 136 on the final day, Pakistan appeared to be in control. Yasir Shah had spun a web around Sri Lanka earlier, and the hosts seemed destined to cruise to victory. 

But Test cricket, as always, had other ideas. Its beauty lies in its unpredictability, and when Pakistan is involved, drama is never far away. 

Enter Rangana Herath, the veteran spinner whose guile and perseverance epitomized Sri Lankan cricket’s fighting spirit. With Pakistan’s top and middle order crumbling under pressure, Herath turned the game on its head. From a position of comfort, Pakistan spiraled into chaos, losing ten wickets on the final day—a collapse that has become alarmingly familiar for them in recent years.  

Since 2016, Pakistan has lost ten wickets in a fourth-innings chase on five occasions, with another instance where nine fell in quick succession. This vulnerability on the final day, reminiscent of Bangladesh’s struggles, once again reared its head. 

The Significance of Victory 

For Sri Lanka, this was more than just a win; it was a moment of catharsis. After months of despair and self-doubt, they had orchestrated one of the most dramatic comebacks in recent Test history. The victory in Abu Dhabi not only ended a streak of disappointments but also provided a much-needed injection of confidence to a team in transition. 

Herath’s spell symbolized resilience, a reminder of what Sri Lanka could achieve when they combined skill with belief. It was a performance that harkened back to the glory days, offering a glimmer of hope that the future might not be as bleak as it once seemed. 

A Triumph for Test Cricket 

This victory was not just important for Sri Lanka but for Test cricket itself. In an era where the longest format often finds itself overshadowed by the glitz of T20 leagues, such dramatic turnarounds reaffirm its unique charm. The sight of a team clawing its way back from the brink, defying the odds to script an improbable win, is what keeps the format alive and cherished. 

Sri Lanka’s triumph serves as a reminder that transitions, while painful, can also be transformative. It is never easy to replace legends, but moments like these show that the road to recovery is paved with resilience and belief. For Sri Lanka, the win in Abu Dhabi was not just a victory; it was a statement—a declaration that they still belong among the elite. 

In the grander narrative of cricket, this victory was a beacon of hope, a testament to the enduring spirit of the game.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar 

Fearsome Heights: The Evolution of Fast Bowling from the Caribbean to the Transvaal

 In the golden age of fast bowling, the West Indies unleashed a battery of towering pacemen who not only terrorized batsmen but also captivated spectators with their raw power and imposing presence. Joel Garner, standing at a staggering 6'8", bowled with a windmill-like action that seemed to summon tempests. His expressionless visage after each delivery was as chilling as his toe-crushing yorkers. Garner didn’t need theatrics; his very existence on the pitch was a nightmare personified. If one were to imagine him with wings and fangs, he’d be the perfect casting choice for a Dracula movie. 

Then came Curtly Ambrose, the 6'7" Antiguan colossus whose piercing glare and menacing aura could make even the bravest batsmen wilt. The fifth Test at Perth in 1993 remains etched in memory—not just for his fiery spells but for the sheer terror he exuded. His red eyes and steam-like intensity gave him the demeanour of a predator stalking its prey, ready to deliver the final blow with a snorter aimed at the ribs. 

For fans of fast bowling, these "Eiffel Tower" pacemen were the ultimate thrill—unpredictable, unrelenting, and unforgettable. 

The Gentle Giant from Transvaal 

Fast forward to the modern era, and the fearsome archetype found an unlikely outlier in Morne Morkel. At 6'5", Morkel had the physique of a destroyer but the demeanour of a gentleman. With his disarming smile and boy-next-door charm, he seemed more likely to offer you a cup of tea than a searing bouncer. 

Yet, beneath the calm exterior lay a predator of a different kind. Morkel’s journey began humbly, bowling to Jacques Kallis in the nets as a nervous youngster. Ray Jennings, his mentor, introduced him to South Africa’s finest, and Kallis immediately saw the potential. “He should be playing for South Africa,” Kallis remarked. Three years later, Morkel was sharing the dressing room with the great all-rounder, and the rest is history. 

For much of his career, Morkel lived in the shadow of Dale Steyn, whose fiery temperament and devastating spells often stole the limelight. Morkel’s Achilles’ heel—a chronic issue with overstepping—also undermined his reputation. Yet, when the stars aligned, Morkel’s spells were symphonies of destruction, and the world witnessed the quiet giant transform into a panther on the hunt. 

The Panther Awakens: Potchefstroom 

Day 4 of the first Test at Potchefstroom was a stage set for Morkel to remind the world of his prowess. Under gloomy skies, the Bangladesh batsmen faced a predator in full flight. 

His opening delivery was a harbinger of doom—a full-length ball angled in from wide off the crease, swinging late at 140 km/h. Tamim Iqbal managed to defend it, but the unease was palpable. Morkel’s run-up was smooth, his grip on the red cherry firm, and his intensity unmistakable. 

The fourth ball of the over was a masterpiece. Wide off the crease, Morkel delivered a length ball that deviated sharply, sneaking past Tamim’s defences to rattle the stumps. It was the kind of delivery that would have tested even the greatest—be it Viv Richards or Don Bradman. 

Mominul Haque, fresh off a strong performance, was the next victim. Another length ball, delivered with precision, thudded into his pads before he could decide whether to move forward or back. The umpire’s finger went up, and Mominul walked off, a picture of disbelief. 

Bangladesh captain Mushfiqur Rahim was then undone by a nip-backer that shattered his stumps. However, fortune intervened as Morkel had overstepped—his 14th no-ball in Test cricket. The no-ball curse cut short what could have been a career-defining spell. Soon after, a thigh strain forced Morkel off the field, and the Bangladesh batsmen heaved a collective sigh of relief. 

Aggression Redefined 

“Aggression with the ball is being able to bowl at 90mph for an entire day in a Test match, to have good body language, and even if you are leaking runs, never show the batsman that he is on top of you,” Morkel once said in an interview. At Potchefstroom, he embodied this ethos. His spell was a masterclass in controlled aggression—precise, unrelenting, and devastating. 

For Bangladesh, it was a harsh lesson in the unforgiving nature of Test cricket. For Morkel, it was a reminder of his enduring brilliance. While he may lack the theatrical menace of Garner or Ambrose, Morkel’s spells carry a quiet ferocity that is no less effective. 

The gentle giant from Transvaal proved that he doesn’t need red eyes or fearsome glares to haunt batsmen. When the panther is on the prowl, even the bravest find themselves in disarray.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar 

Mominul Haque: Rediscovering the Art of Resilience

Once heralded as Bangladesh cricket’s brightest Test prospect, Mominul Haque found himself grappling with an alarming slump in form that nearly erased him from the national conversation. From averaging an impressive 51.17 in 2014, his numbers plummeted to 36.86 in 2015, 23.50 in 2016, and 28.25 in 2017. This downward spiral culminated in his exclusion from the 14-man squad for the Test series against Australia, a decision that sent ripples through Bangladesh’s cricketing fraternity.

The backlash from fans and journalists was swift and severe. At the press conference, chief selector Minhajul Abedin faced intense scrutiny but remained composed. "Mominul made just one fifty in the last six innings. He was dropped because of his form," he asserted, adding, “Others are ahead of him based on current performance.” Despite the controversy, Mominul’s fortunes shifted dramatically. An eye infection sidelined Mosaddek Hossain, and following intervention from BCB President Nazmul Hassan, Mominul was drafted back into the squad.

However, the comeback was far from triumphant. In the second Test, batting at his favoured number four in the first innings, he showed flashes of his old self before faltering. An uncharacteristic stint at number eight in the second innings only magnified his struggles. Critics sharpened their knives, and questions loomed over his place in the squad.

A Test of Character: South Africa Beckons

With a drawn series against Australia behind them, Bangladesh faced an intimidating tour to South Africa. For Mominul, it was a chance to prove he belonged at the highest level. The challenge was daunting, as Morne Morkel and Kagiso Rabada unleashed a barrage of pace and aggression. When Imrul Kayes departed early, Mominul was thrust into the fray at number three—a position where his average of 38.14 hardly inspired confidence.

Faced with adversity, Mominul drew upon the lessons of a previous encounter against New Zealand, where he had counterattacked to rescue his team from 8 for 2. This time, he chose a different path. Eschewing his natural flair, he opted for patience and discipline. The result? A gritty 77 that spoke volumes about his determination to adapt and evolve.

Technical Evolution: Breaking Down the Knock

Mominul’s innings was more than just a display of resilience; it was a masterclass in adapting technique under pressure. 

Occupying the Crease

Understanding his precarious form, Mominul prioritized survival over flamboyance. Early nerves were evident, but his resolve to spend time at the crease allowed him to regain rhythm. With each passing over, his confidence grew, and he began to craft his innings with measured precision.

Straightening the Bat Path

A significant flaw in Mominul’s recent technique had been the angle of his bat during defence. On Day 2, his bat came down toward the second slip, disrupting his balance and leaving gaps between the bat and pad. By Day 3, these issues had been rectified. His straight bat and improved alignment enabled him to time his drives exquisitely, anchoring the innings with authority.

Masterful Footwork

Keshav Maharaj, South Africa’s wily spinner, posed a formidable challenge with his variations. Mominul’s response was a lesson in footwork. Dancing down the track, he disrupted Maharaj’s length and used his supple wrists to convert threatening deliveries into scoring opportunities.

Back Foot Trigger

On South African pitches, the initial trigger movement often dictates success. Mominul mirrored the techniques of greats like Sachin Tendulkar and Brian Lara, whose backward movement allowed them to play late and under their eyes. This adjustment was instrumental in countering Rabada and Morkel’s pace and bounce.

Redemption and the Road Ahead

Mominul’s knock was a beacon of hope—not only for him but for Bangladesh cricket. In rediscovering his form, he reminded selectors, critics, and fans of his immense value to the team. For the Tigers, consistency at the top order is a necessity, not a luxury. Mominul’s resurgence could be the spark that reignites his career and strengthens Bangladesh’s Test aspirations.

While one knock doesn’t silence critics, it can shift the narrative. Mominul Haque’s innings was not just a score on the board; it was a statement—a testament to grit, adaptability, and the unyielding spirit of a player unwilling to fade away.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar