From Collapse to Redemption: The Making of Rhodes’ Maiden Century

For much of the final afternoon, Sri Lanka seemed destined to script a historic victory in their inaugural Test against South Africa. The tourists, teetering at 138 for six—still a daunting 226 runs adrift with three hours remaining—appeared broken in both resolve and technique. Yet, from this precarious stage, Jonty Rhodes, hitherto uncertain and unconvincing in his brief Test career, constructed an innings of defiance and artistry. Supported by the lower order’s quiet resistance, he reached his maiden century, an act of survival that transformed the contest into a meditation on endurance itself.

The seeds of this drama had been sown even before a ball was bowled. On inspecting the Galle pitch the previous day, the South Africans misread its temperament. Expecting a treacherous turn, they invested in spin by awarding debuts to Pat Symcox and Clive Eksteen, leaving out the seam-bowling all-rounder Brian McMillan. Sri Lanka, too, adjusted their hand—introducing keeper Pubudu Dassanayake and left-arm spinner Don Anurasiri Wijetunge—believing the toss they won would dictate the narrative. But it was not spin but pace, raw and searching, that dictated Sri Lanka’s first innings. Allan Donald’s removal of Hathurusinghe for a solitary run epitomized the torment; only the composure of Mahanama, the brio of Ranatunga, and the near-elegance of Tillekeratne—who fell agonizingly short of a century—offered resistance.

South Africa’s reply mirrored the host’s unease. Seam, not spin, again shaped the tale. After a steady beginning, the tourists succumbed dramatically to the second new ball, collapsing in a flurry of wickets. Symcox’s belligerent strokeplay delayed the inevitable, but when he struck twice in his first over with the ball, Sri Lanka held the advantage, leading by 90 at stumps.

The following day brought a passage of cricket that lingers as the match’s aesthetic high point: a partnership of 121 in just 103 minutes between Aravinda de Silva and Ranatunga. Their contrasting styles—De Silva’s effortless strokes and Ranatunga’s muscular improvisation—wove together a tapestry of command and flair. Ranatunga’s eventual 131, laced with 18 fours and a six, carried statistical significance as well: he became the first Sri Lankan to surpass 2,500 Test runs. Yet even his achievement was marred by controversy, for television replays suggested a missed opportunity when Cronje nearly caught a return ball while Ranatunga was still on 58.

The declaration, bold in intent, set South Africa 365 to win in 115 overs—a target rendered quixotic by a deteriorating surface. Early wickets confirmed the improbability of pursuit; Hudson, Cronje, and Wessels fell cheaply, and the final day seemed destined to crown Sri Lanka with a famous win. Even as Cook and Cullinan mounted dogged resistance, six wickets down became the scent of blood in Sri Lankan nostrils. Victory beckoned.

But cricket, in its cruellest and most beautiful form, often rewards not dominance but defiance. Rhodes, stepping beyond his previous reputation as a fielder of brilliance but a batsman of fragility, unveiled the innings of his life. His supple footwork, subtle manipulation of length, and quiet mastery of time itself frustrated Sri Lanka’s spinners. Symcox offered 76 minutes of belligerent company, Eksteen defended with monk-like patience for another ninety, but it was Rhodes’ four-and-a-quarter hours of unbroken concentration that turned a lost cause into a salvaged draw. His 101 not out, peppered with 14 fours and a solitary six, was less an innings than a statement: that survival, too, can be a form of triumph.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar

A Trial by Fire in Multan: Pakistan’s Triumph and Bangladesh’s Reckoning

Setting the Stage

The Multan Cricket Stadium, newly inaugurated as Test cricket’s 81st venue, welcomed Bangladesh with hope and Pakistan with expectation. For Bangladesh, it was a chance to avoid defeat in their fourth Test; for Pakistan, a homecoming wrapped in the fervour of returning Test cricket to Multan after two decades. Yet, by the third morning, the contest had turned into a study in extremes — Pakistan’s dominance illuminating Bangladesh’s frailties. What unfolded was one of the heaviest defeats in Test history, raising sharp questions about the International Cricket Council’s haste in granting Bangladesh Test status.

Bangladesh’s Faltering Beginnings

The visitors’ optimism was short-lived. Skipper Naimur Rahman chose to bat on a surface expected to take turn, but his side’s lack of technique and patience was soon exposed. Within 41.1 overs — barely two sessions — they were dismissed for 134. Coincidence became cruelty when their second innings consumed the same number of overs, though yielding 14 more runs. Habibul Bashar, with a composed 56 not out, alone offered resistance, his effort a solitary beacon in otherwise cavalier batting.

Pakistan’s Batting Masterclass

If Bangladesh’s innings revealed fragility, Pakistan’s response embodied exuberance. They amassed 546 for three declared at a dazzling 4.75 runs an over, striking 82 boundaries in a display that bordered on the theatrical. Saeed Anwar, fluent and destructive, crossed 4,000 Test runs while racing to 101. His partner, the debutant Taufeeq Umar, etched his name in history as Pakistan’s eighth batsman to score a century on debut.

Inzamam-ul-Haq, the local hero, fulfilled a childhood dream with a century in front of his home crowd, though dehydration forced him to retire. From there, Yousuf Youhana and Abdul Razzaq turned the spectacle into a race for glory — both storming to centuries, their unbroken partnership of 165 an exhibition of command. Four of the five centuries were scored in a single day, a statistical feat that elevated the performance into the annals of Test cricket.

The Bowling Symphony: Spin and Pace in Concert

If Pakistan’s batsmen were overwhelmed with artistry, their bowlers dismantled Bangladesh with ruthless efficiency. Danish Kaneria, still in the infancy of his career, spun webs with bounce and guile, taking six wickets in each innings for just 94 runs. Ten dismissals fell to close-in catches, four pouched by Younis Khan, who set a record for a substitute fielder. Waqar Younis contributed with a fiery spell of 4 for 19, while even debutant Shoaib Malik chipped in with two wickets.

Bangladesh’s second innings — beginning with a mountain to climb — collapsed under the twin pressure of Kaneria’s spin and Waqar’s pace. Bashar again fought with dignity, but his defiance was lonely. The team folded for 148, and the inevitable innings-and-264-run defeat was sealed within two and a half days.

 Records and Rarities

This match was not merely lopsided; it was historically significant.

Five Centuries in One Innings: Pakistan’s 546 for three is the lowest total to include five hundreds, eclipsing the West Indies’ 550 with four in 1982–83.

Left-Handed Landmarks: For the first time in Test history, both left-handed openers — Anwar and Taufeeq — scored centuries in the same innings.

Twin Century Partnerships for the Same Wicket: Youhana was central to two unbroken century stands for the fourth wicket, a unique feat.

Centuries on Debut in Successive Tests: Taufeeq Umar’s hundred in Multan was mirrored the very next day in Colombo by Sri Lanka’s T.T. Samaraweera — a quirky coincidence in Test lore.

A Match Shadowed by Tragedy

Yet amid the celebrations, the occasion was darkened by personal grief. Saeed Anwar, whose century had opened the floodgates, learned of the death of his young daughter, Bismah, during the match. His quiet exit from the contest lent the triumph a sombre undertone — a reminder that cricket’s ecstasies are never far from life’s sorrows.

Lessons and Legacies

For Pakistan, the match was both a statement of strength and a glimpse of the future: Kaneria’s rise as a genuine spin threat, Umar’s promising debut, and a batting order overflowing with confidence. For Bangladesh, it was a stark confrontation with reality. Their elevation to Test cricket was intended to accelerate development, but the gulf in skill and temperament suggested a premature leap.

Multan, with its scorching heat and fervent crowds, staged not only a contest but also a metaphor: Pakistan’s cricket blossomed under the sun, while Bangladesh wilted in its glare. The innings defeat, emphatic and historic, was both a celebration of Pakistani brilliance and an urgent call for Bangladesh to rebuild if they were to claim a place among the serious nations of Test cricket.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar

The Birth of the Ashes: A Match That Shook English Cricket

In cricket, as in life, statistics can be misleading. Numbers can paint a picture of dominance, but they cannot capture the spirit of a contest. Before England and Australia met at The Oval in 1882, the records left little doubt: the home side was superior. Every English batsman had a higher first-class average than his Australian counterpart. England’s two leading bowlers were statistically more effective than Australia’s best. Given these apparent advantages, the prospect of an Australian victory seemed remote. 

Yet, cricket is a game of moments—of sudden collapses, individual brilliance, and the psychological battle waged in the mind as much as on the pitch. What transpired in this match was more than an unexpected result; it was a defining moment in the history of the sport. The shock of England’s defeat would lead to the birth of the greatest rivalry in cricket—the Ashes. 

Day One: The Early Struggles

The match began under overcast skies, with Australian captain Billy Murdoch winning the toss and electing to bat. The decision, while reasonable, quickly seemed a miscalculation. England’s bowlers, led by Peate and Barlow, exploited the conditions superbly, extracting movement off the pitch and troubling the Australian batsmen from the outset. 

Hugh Massie, attempting to assert himself, fell early—clean bowled by a yorker. Murdoch followed soon after, chopping a delivery onto his stumps. One by one, Australia’s batting order crumbled. Charles Bannerman, the hero of Australia’s first-ever Test match in 1877, fought hard but was eventually undone by Grace’s brilliance at point. The scoreboard told a bleak tale—30 for five. 

The middle order fared no better. Only a brief resistance from Tom Garrett and George Bonnor added some respectability to the total. When the final wicket fell at 63, England’s dominance seemed absolute. Their bowlers had done their job with ruthless efficiency. Now, their batsmen merely had to assert their class. 

The First Shock: Spofforth’s First Spell

England’s response began confidently. W.G. Grace, the legendary figure who bestrode the game like a colossus, walked out with Richard Barlow, looking every bit the master. The early exchanges seemed to confirm the expected script. Despite an early loss—Grace bowled for 13—Barlow and Lucas built a steady platform. 

However, lurking at the top of his mark was a man determined to change the course of history—Frederick "The Demon" Spofforth. He had been inconsolable after the previous Test, where Australia lost a match they should have won. "This time," he had declared, "I will not let England win." 

With England cruising at 50 for two, Spofforth struck. Ulyett, attempting an aggressive shot, was stumped. Lucas fell soon after, caught at the wicket. One run later, Studd was bowled by a near-unplayable delivery. Panic set in as England, having lost three wickets for four runs, suddenly found themselves under pressure. 

Lyttelton and Read tried to steady the innings, but the psychological tide had turned. The Australians were in full voice, their energy and determination palpable. When Lyttelton was caught at the wicket and Barnes was bowled soon after, the unthinkable became reality—England had collapsed to 101, a lead of just 38. 

Massie’s Counterattack

If England’s collapse was shocking, what followed was even more stunning. In their second innings, Australia needed to erase the 38-run deficit before they could think of setting a target. The key question was whether their fragile batting order could withstand England’s bowlers a second time. 

Hugh Massie answered that question with a display of batting that left the crowd in astonishment. Where his teammates had faltered in the first innings, he attacked with fearless aggression. Finding gaps with precision and dispatching loose deliveries to the boundary, he raced to 50 in under an hour—an astonishing rate for the time. 

His innings of 55, featuring nine boundaries, not only wiped out England’s lead but also gave Australia a fighting chance. His dismissal, bowled by Steel, finally gave England some respite, but the damage had been done. Australia dismissed for 122, had given themselves something to defend. 

England required a mere 85 runs to win. The target seemed laughably low. Yet, standing between them and victory was the man who had already altered the match once—Spofforth. 

The Collapse That Shook England

The moment had arrived for Spofforth to fulfil his vow. With the ball in hand, he unleashed a spell of bowling that would enter cricketing folklore. 

Hornby, attempting to drive, saw his off-stump rattled. Next ball, Barlow suffered the same fate. In a matter of minutes, England were 15 for two, and the tension in the air was palpable. 

Grace, ever the anchor, attempted to restore order alongside Ulyett. A brief resurgence saw the score reach 51, and it seemed England had regained control. But then came another twist—Ulyett fell to a stunning catch at the wicket. Soon after, Grace himself was caught at mid-off, his typically unshakable presence removed from the field. 

At 66 for five, England still needed just 19 runs with half their side intact. Yet Spofforth was relentless. 

Lucas was bowled. Steel fell almost immediately, lured into a return catch. Read, under immense pressure, was clean bowled first ball. The Oval fell silent. 

At 75 for eight, England still needed ten runs to win. Barnes and Studd inched towards the target, but Barnes, attempting to fend off a rising delivery, gloved a catch. England’s last hope lay with Peate, the final man in. With nerves fraying, Peate attempted an attacking shot, sending the ball to square leg for two. The tension was unbearable. 

Then, with the next delivery, Spofforth struck. The stumps were shattered. Peate was bowled. Australia had won by seven runs. 

The Aftermath: The Birth of the Ashes

The crowd at The Oval was stunned. England, superior on paper, had succumbed to the relentless will of Spofforth and the audacious brilliance of Massie. The sporting world was left to reckon with one of the most astonishing turnarounds in history. 

The defeat stung so deeply that the following day, a mock obituary appeared in *The Sporting Times*: 

"In affectionate remembrance of English cricket, which died at The Oval on 29th August 1882. Deeply lamented by a large circle of sorrowing friends and acquaintances. R.I.P. N.B.—The body will be cremated, and the ashes taken to Australia."

Thus, the legend of the Ashes was born. 

The match remains one of cricket’s greatest contests—a reminder that statistics and logic often falter in the face of determination, self-belief, and the unpredictable magic of the game. 

Even today, the echoes of that historic encounter reverberate every time England and Australia take the field to battle for the urn. 

Thank You

Faisal Caesar 

Ashes 1989, The Oval: A Study in English Disintegration and Australian Resurgence

An autumnal hush fell upon Kennington’s historic Oval, its faded skies and lengthening shadows befitting the final chapter of England’s cricketing humiliation in the 1989 Ashes. As bad light cut short the final act with more than 20 overs remaining, it was less an interruption than a mercy—symbolic curtain drawn on a season defined by injury, indecision, and irrelevance.

This was not simply a defeat but an unravelling. England, captained by the increasingly beleaguered David Gower, had staggered through the series with all the coherence of a side groping for identity. His appointment, 146 days earlier under the hopeful gaze of newly instated chairman Ted Dexter, had been billed as a renaissance. Instead, it ended in a damp squib of uncertainty. Gower, rather than resign, chose to "reflect," while Dexter, in a moment that baffled a nation wearied by defeat, declared with theatrical self-assurance: “I am not aware of any mistakes I've made.”

Selection Chaos: A Reflection of a Larger Collapse

Injury had become a running motif for England, both metaphorically and literally. The final Test mirrored the chaos that had plagued the entire summer. Devon Malcolm’s back gave way, DeFreitas limped off with a torn hamstring, Angus Fraser’s knee faltered, and Phil deFreitas defected to the rebel tour to South Africa before even bowling a ball. England, flailing for options, called up Kent’s Dean Igglesden for a debut, while Derek Pringle was summoned once more into the fire. Nasser Hussain was discarded without a chance, and John Stephenson—a stoic county performer—was handed a late cap. This revolving door took England’s player count for the series to 29, second only to the infamous 30 used during the 1921 Ashes whitewash. 

Meanwhile, Australia needed none of this churn. Unchanged for the fifth consecutive match, they watched England’s chaos from a distance, confident and composed under the leadership of the calculating Allan Border.

Taylor’s Symphony and Border’s Baton

Australia’s decision to bat first—confusingly relayed to the crowd—proved prophetic. On a dry, straw-tinted pitch, Mark Taylor once again composed a masterpiece. His 839-run haul across the series placed him behind only Bradman and Hammond in Test history—a testament not just to form but to fortitude. England’s opening salvos were parried with ease. Though Taylor eventually succumbed to a rare misjudgment, and Boon fell shortly after, Border and Dean Jones amassed a dazzling 176-run partnership. Jones, vibrant and vengeful, raced to a century off 119 balls, showcasing the fearless edge that had redefined this Australian side.

On the second morning, a flicker of defiance illuminated England’s fielders. Capel, with the first ball of the day, lured Border into a miscued leg-side glance. Jones followed, caught superbly by Gower, and Waugh was bowled off the inside edge. Pringle’s four wickets were a rare reward, but even this ‘fightback’ only served to delay the inevitable. Australia’s 468 still loomed large, underpinned by a run-a-ball 44 from Healy that epitomised the tourists’ relentless tempo.

England’s Hollow Resistance

The reply began with calamity—Gooch lbw to Alderman in the first over—and staggered through moments of promise and collapse. Stephenson and Atherton resisted gallantly, but Alderman, himself battling bronchial illness and needing oxygen off the field, returned with a spell of surgical precision. By lunch on Day 3, he had dismantled England’s spine, raising his series tally to 38 wickets—18 of them lbw, a damning statistic of English technical failings.

Gower, seemingly reprieved by the elements, played with the grace of a man unburdened at last, compiling a stylish 79 before succumbing to a leg-side waft. It was Neil Foster Small, not the star names, who offered England their most spirited resistance, facing 135 balls for a career-best 59 and sharing a crucial ninth-wicket stand with Cook that avoided the follow-on.

A Declaration of Intent

Leading by 183 on the first innings, Australia batted with assurance. Taylor continued his golden series, and by the close of Day 4, the lead stretched to 270. On the final morning, Border delayed his declaration until lunch—some thought indulgently—before setting England 403 in four sessions. It was both a challenge and a statement: a finishing blow with psychological weight.

England stumbled to 67 for 4 by tea, again flinching at Alderman and Lawson. But as the light dimmed and the gloaming settled in, Robin Smith emerged from the shadows. The South African-born batsman carved an unbeaten 77 with fearless intent, reaching fifty in just 66 balls, ensuring the summer ended not with the roar of triumph but the sigh of missed chances.

Legacy of the Fall

Australia’s 4-0 triumph was not just a victory; it was a revival. Border’s men had come to England dismissed as transitional and toothless, yet left as tactically sharp, mentally superior, and ruthlessly professional. Their consistency, unity, and clarity of role contrasted starkly with England’s shapeless ensemble cast.

The 1989 Ashes became a historical fulcrum—a moment when the two cricketing nations swapped fates. England would spend the next decade in perennial rebuilding. Australia, meanwhile, would march into an era of dominance that made this tour feel less like a series and more like the prologue to an empire.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar

A Test of Grit: Asif Iqbal’s Dazzling Defiance at The Oval, 1967

Cricket, as they say, is a game of glorious uncertainties. Nowhere was this more evident than on a fateful August afternoon at The Oval in 1967, when Pakistan, teetering on the precipice of an innings defeat, found an unexpected hero in Asif Iqbal. It was a day when resilience took the form of audacity, and a young batsman—batting at No. 9—turned the tide of humiliation into a spectacle of defiance.

Prelude to a Crisis

Pakistan’s tour of England had already been fraught with challenges, and the third Test at The Oval was proving to be no exception. England, under Brian Close’s leadership, took the field first and swiftly dismantled Pakistan’s batting lineup for a modest 216. The only resistance came from Mushtaq Mohammad’s composed 66, with cameos from Saeed Ahmed and Asif himself. But those contributions were inadequate against a disciplined English attack, with Geoff Arnold’s five-wicket haul and Ken Higgs’ incisive three wickets leaving Pakistan with little to celebrate.

England, in response, flexed their batting muscle. Ken Barrington, a man who made batting seem like a sacred art, compiled an imperious 142—his 19th Test century and third in as many matches against Pakistan. In doing so, he etched his name in history as the only player to have scored centuries on every Test ground in England. His knock, laden with crisp drives and an impenetrable defence against short-pitched bowling, formed the backbone of England’s formidable 440. Pakistan’s bowlers toiled, but the lead of 224 loomed large.

A Collapse Foretold

If there was any hope of a spirited fightback, it was soon extinguished by Higgs’ relentless spell with the new ball. The Oval pitch, though still decent for batting, became a graveyard for Pakistan’s top order. Mohammad Ilyas perished for 1. Saeed Ahmed and Majid Khan fell for ducks. Wasim Bari briefly flickered before departing for 12. Ghulam Abbas, tasked with absorbing the onslaught, managed only a four-ball duck. The Mohammad brothers—Hanif and Mushtaq—were Pakistan’s last hope, but when they too succumbed, Pakistan stood at 53 for 7. The prospect of a humiliating innings defeat loomed ever closer.

At 65 for 8, Pakistan were still 159 runs adrift of making England bat again. The contest seemed over. Spectators anticipated a swift finish, and perhaps some had already begun planning their early exits. But then, the unexpected happened.

The Resurrection: Asif Iqbal’s Daring Dance

Cricket’s scriptwriters had they existed, could not have drafted a more dramatic twist. Asif Iqbal, a batsman of nimble footwork and fearless intent, found himself in the company of the dogged Intikhab Alam. Where others had faltered under the weight of England’s dominance, Asif saw an opportunity—if not to salvage the match, then at least to reclaim some pride.

What followed was a masterclass in counter-attacking cricket. Asif, unshackled by the situation, unfurled a breathtaking array of strokes. His hooks were dismissive, his drives authoritative. With each passing over, his confidence grew, and with it, England’s stranglehold on the game loosened. Ken Higgs, the destroyer of Pakistan’s top order, suddenly found himself helpless. The same bowler who had scythed through the batting lineup was now being treated with disdain—five boundaries in two overs rendering him ineffective.

Intikhab, at the other end, provided the perfect foil. Where Asif blazed, he anchored. Where Asif attacked, he absorbed. Together, they orchestrated a partnership that defied both logic and expectation.

The Oval, once hushed in anticipation of a swift Pakistan demise, now crackled with excitement. The Pakistani contingent in the stands, subdued for much of the match, erupted with joy as Asif galloped towards his century. The moment he reached three figures, the ground transformed into a festival. Hundreds of ecstatic Pakistani supporters stormed the field, lifting their hero onto their shoulders. The game came to a standstill as the police intervened to rescue Asif from his well-meaning but overzealous admirers. Bruised and battered, but grinning, he returned to the crease—his mission far from over.

Close Calls Time on Brilliance

By the time the ninth-wicket stand reached 190, a world record at the time, Pakistan had improbably eked out a lead. Asif’s innings, a spectacular 146 off just 190 balls, was punctuated with 21 boundaries and two sixes. But every fairytale must have an ending, and it was England’s captain, Brian Close, who wrote it.

In a moment of captaincy genius, Close introduced himself into the attack. A short off-break from round the wicket lured Asif out of his crease, and Alan Knott completed a sharp stumping. The fightback had ended, but not before Asif had carved his name into cricketing folklore.

Intikhab followed soon after for a valiant 51, and Pakistan’s innings closed at 203—just 31 runs ahead. The lead was never likely to trouble England, who romped home by eight wickets. Yet, the final margin was of little consequence.

A Legacy Etched in Time

Asif Iqbal’s innings was more than just a statistical marvel; it was a statement. It was proof that even in the face of imminent defeat, cricket allows for moments of individual brilliance that transcend the result. His 146 remains the highest score by a batsman at No. 9, a record that stood for over three decades until Pat Symcox bettered it in 1998.

More than half a century later, Asif’s innings still glows in the annals of cricketing history—not merely for the numbers, but for the spirit it embodied. The spirit of defiance. The refusal to bow. The belief that, even when all seems lost, there is always a way forward.

And so, in the summer of 1967, on a ground far from home, Asif Iqbal did not just play a great innings—he authored a legend.

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar