India vs. Zimbabwe, Hero Cup, 1993: A Day of Chaos, Drama, and a Fitting Stalemate in Indore

When the Indian cricket team arrived in Indore for their clash against Zimbabwe, they might have expected a routine encounter, yet what transpired both on and off the field was anything but ordinary. A single day's practice was all they were afforded before the match, and even that was marred by organizational blunders. Team captain Mohammad Azharuddin and middle-order batsman Pravin Amre arrived late for practice, only to be denied entry by the local police. Confusion reigned as the two players tried to negotiate their way past an unyielding security cordon. Only after some convincing did they gain access, but the incident left Azhar fuming. His frustration boiled over when he took his anger out on photographers, verbally chastising them before ordering the security to disperse the crowd. The tension in the air was palpable, setting the tone for what would become an unforgettable game.

Off the field, chaos of a different kind unfolded. As reported by The Indian Express, opportunistic policemen were making a quick buck by charging eager fans for entry into the stadium. For those unwilling to endure the serpentine queues for tickets, there was a more convenient—albeit illicit—alternative. At Rs 50 for a pavilion seat and Rs 10 for a spot in the stands, spectators were willing to pay a premium for hassle-free access. This parallel economy flourished under the very noses of law enforcement, underscoring the deep-rooted issues of corruption in the administration of the game.

But the true drama played out on the field. With Kapil Dev having relinquished his role as India’s premier all-rounder, the mantle had passed to Manoj Prabhakar. The responsibility of opening the innings alongside WV Raman also fell upon him after Zimbabwe’s stand-in captain Andy Flower put India in to bat.

The Indian Innings – A Story of Struggle, Tactical Moves and Resilience

Raman, struggling for form with scores of 0 and 4 in the tournament, was retained despite Navjot Sidhu’s injury. His poor run continued as he was dismissed for a duck by David Brain, immediately putting India on the back foot. However, what followed was a partnership of patience and determination. Vinod Kambli, a man often mentioned in the same breath as Sachin Tendulkar in those days, joined Prabhakar to steady the innings. The duo proceeded cautiously, putting together 122 runs before Kambli fell to the off-breaks of Stephen Peall for a 96-ball 55. His innings was marked by an unusually restrained approach, hitting just one boundary.

Then came a curious tactical move from Azhar. Instead of sending himself, Tendulkar, or Amre to capitalize on the platform, he promoted Vijay Yadav. It was a decision that left many baffled, for if a big hitter was needed, was Yadav truly the best option over someone like Kapil Dev? The experiment backfired spectacularly—Yadav lasted just two balls before attempting a wild heave and getting dismissed for a duck.

Azhar finally came in to join Prabhakar, rotating the strike efficiently and keeping the scoreboard ticking with well-placed singles. Prabhakar, nearing a century, decided to take the attack to Peall but perished in the process, stumped after a well-crafted 91 off 126 balls. His innings, while invaluable, lacked acceleration, a factor that may have cost India some crucial runs in the final overs. Tendulkar, ever the aggressor, played a cameo—smashing a brisk 24 off just 16 balls before falling to Heath Streak. Azhar, shifting into slog mode, finished with an unbeaten 54 off 56 balls, including four boundaries and a six. India closed at 248 for 5—a competitive total given the era and considering their perfect 10-0 record against Zimbabwe in ODIs.

The Zimbabwean Response – A Story of Grit

However, Zimbabwe had come prepared. Dropping Mark Dekker for Grant Flower seemed a logical move, but it backfired. Grant, opening with his elder brother Andy, misread a Prabhakar delivery and was bowled early. Things worsened when Alistair Campbell, attempting an ambitious leg glance off Javagal Srinath, was bowled by sheer pace. At 23 for 2, Zimbabwe seemed in trouble.

Then came Dave Houghton, the veteran warhorse, to inject some stability. Azhar, sensing the need for a breakthrough, rotated his bowlers. First Tendulkar, then Kapil, but Houghton was undeterred. His counterattack featured three crisp boundaries and a towering six off Kapil. But just as he looked set for a match-defining knock, Kapil struck back, trapping him LBW just after the first drinks break. At 67 for 3, the match was finely poised.

Andy Waller kept Zimbabwe in the hunt with a fluent 33, but when he slashed at a Tendulkar delivery and was caught at gully, the tide shifted once more. The decisive blow came when Andy Flower, the glue holding Zimbabwe’s innings together, attempted an ill-advised slog off Rajesh Chauhan and was stumped for 52. At 143 for 5, India seemed firmly in control.

The Drama

But the match was far from over. Young Guy Whittall joined Ali Omarshah, and the duo launched a stunning counterattack. Their rapid 54-run partnership in just nine overs not only reduced the required runs by half but also ensured the run rate remained manageable. Meanwhile, India’s fielding imploded. Raman, in particular, had a dreadful day, drawing boos from the Indore crowd. Azhar himself lamented the shoddy fielding, later writing in his Indian Express column: “I’ve seen poor performances, but this was shocking. If Zimbabwe could adapt to the conditions, why couldn’t we? If we keep fielding like this, we’ll need to score 350 every match just to account for the fielding errors.”

Srinath, however, turned the game on its head in one sensational over. First, Omarshah fell to a lifter, playing it straight to Chauhan. Then, Whittall, stepping out to attack, was run out in a moment of sheer brilliance from Srinath himself. When Brain edged one to Azhar at slip, Zimbabwe had slumped to 212 for 8. India had one foot over the finish line.

Yet, Zimbabwe refused to surrender. Streak, though not yet the all-rounder he would become, showed glimpses of his fighting spirit. Peall, surprisingly, took the lead, audaciously pulling Srinath for a boundary. The equation narrowed—12 needed off 8 balls.

The climax was a nerve-wracking blur. A mix-up between Kapil and Kumble allowed an easy catch to go down, giving Zimbabwe three crucial runs. Peall was dismissed, bringing last man John Rennie to the crease with 10 needed off the final over.

Prabhakar, India’s most trusted death bowler, was given the responsibility. He held his nerve despite a tense few deliveries. Zimbabwe needed four off two balls. Rennie managed to get a boundary, bringing it down to two off the last ball.

Prabhakar produced a perfect yorker. Rennie somehow dug it out, scampering for a single. Streak, turning for a desperate second, fell short of his ground. Indore had witnessed a tie—only the third in ODI history at the time.

In the end, no side emerged victorious, yet neither felt defeated. It was a game that encapsulated cricket’s unpredictability, where fortunes swung wildly until the very last moment. As players left the field, it was clear: this match would not be forgotten anytime soon.

 Thank You

Faisal Caesar

Brazil Rediscovers Its Footballing Soul? But Carlo Ancelotti’s True Test Begins Now

For much of this World Cup cycle, Brazil appeared adrift—an aristocratic footballing nation wandering without direction. Interim coaches rotated like temporary caretakers, defensive faults grew into structural fissures, and constant lineup changes left the team searching for an identity that never arrived. The Seleção, once synonymous with clarity and joy, seemed reduced to improvisation and confusion.

Seven months before the World Cup, that narrative has begun to change. Under Carlo Ancelotti, Brazil has not yet become the finished article. But at last, it looks like a team that remembers what it wants to be.

The 2–0 victory over Senegal in London was more than a friendly win. It was a statement of intent. Against a side unbeaten in 26 matches, Brazil showed order, ambition, and—most importantly—an emerging identity. For a team that had spent months stumbling through tactical uncertainty, the performance offered the rare gift of optimism.

Ancelotti’s Early Blueprint: Structure Before Stardust

Ancelotti has led Brazil through only seven matches, yet the contours of his influence are already visible. His first achievement has been to restore structure to a team long consumed by chaos.

Before his arrival, Brazil conceded goals in six of seven games. Under the Italian, they have allowed almost none—exceptions coming in a half played at altitude in Bolivia and a weakened second half against Japan. The shift is not cosmetic; it is foundational.

Several key adjustments explain this transformation:

Casemiro’s return provided steel and serenity in front of the back line.

Marking systems became coherent, whether pressing high, organizing in a mid-block, or defending deep.

Full-back choices emphasized defensive intelligence, especially the deployment of Éder Militão on the right.

Militão’s reintroduction as a full-back, the most notable tweak against Senegal, strengthened the defensive structure and added aerial presence. More importantly, it symbolized Ancelotti’s pragmatism—an insistence on balance over spectacle.

Liberating the Attack: Talent Aligned With Purpose

The other half of Ancelotti’s early success lies in maximizing the individual talent that Brazil had previously failed to harness.

Vinícius Júnior, for instance, is beginning to resemble his Real Madrid self. Freed from excessive defensive duties and allowed to attack from narrower starting positions, Vini has rediscovered his danger. His partnership with Rodrygo—cultivated on Spanish nights—has finally crossed the ocean.

And then there is Estêvão, the teenager whose rise feels inevitable. With four goals in six appearances, he has turned Brazil’s right flank into his personal stage. Once a prospect, he is fast becoming a pillar.

The match against Senegal showcased a front line liberated by Ancelotti’s clarity. Brazil exchanged only 299 passes, a statistic that reveals the match’s true character: vertical, incisive, and fearless.

A Performance Built on Courage and Coordination

What made the win particularly revealing was Brazil’s pressing approach. Ancelotti’s plan was bold: defend with individual duels across the pitch, trusting that intensity and coordination would suffocate Senegal’s build-up.

This was not merely a tactical choice; it was a cultural reset.

- Vini and Estêvão hunted Senegal’s centre-backs.

- Bruno Guimarães stepped high as an auxiliary playmaker.

- Militão pressed forward with confidence.

- The central defenders squared up to Sadio Mané and Ismaïla Sarr without hesitation.

The effect was immediate. Senegal struggled to find passing options, lost possession in dangerous zones, and faced wave after wave of Brazilian attacks. Cunha hit the post. Vini forced multiple saves. Rodrygo came close. And when Casemiro crafted the sequence leading to Estêvão’s opener, it felt like a symbolic passing of the torch—a veteran clearing a path for Brazil’s future.

But Beneath the Revival Lie Uncomfortable Questions

An editorial must celebrate progress, but it must also interrogate it. And Brazil’s revival, promising as it is, carries its own uncertainties.

Can a two-man midfield withstand elite opposition?

Casemiro and Bruno Guimarães excel in transition-heavy games. But opponents with superior central occupation may expose them.

Should Ancelotti experiment or stabilize?

With few friendlies before the World Cup, every tactical shift carries both potential insight and potential disruption.

Who is the number 9?

Brazil lacks a clear, physical centre-forward for matches that demand one.

Is Alex Sandro the permanent solution at left-back?

Reliable, yes—undisputed, no.

Where does Raphinha fit upon return?

Brazil’s “good problem,” but a real dilemma nonetheless.

These questions do not diminish Brazil’s progress; they define the path ahead.

The Awakening of a Sleeping Giant

Carlo Ancelotti has not yet made Brazil a champion, but he has made them coherent. He has replaced anxiety with structure, confusion with clarity, and improvisation with identity. In just a few months, he has given the Seleção what it lacked most: a heartbeat.

The victory over Senegal was the most complete performance of this cycle. It was also a reminder that Brazil’s resurgence is a beginning, not an endpoint.

Football’s greatest nations are not judged by early promise but by their ability to sustain it. The World Cup is approaching quickly, indifferent to Brazil’s period of rediscovery.

For now, though, the fog has lifted. The road ahead is visible.

Whether this path leads to genuine contention or merely to another cycle of unfulfilled hope will depend on how Ancelotti navigates the dilemmas that await.

Brazil has rediscovered its footballing soul. The question now is whether it can protect it.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar

Eden Gardens, Uneven Heartbeat: A Test Match That Exposed the Soul of Two Teams

Ultimately, Eden Gardens did not host a Test match.

It staged a morality play.

The cricket was merely the script—uneven, unpredictable, occasionally unfair—performed on a surface that behaved like a fickle deity. Across three astonishing days, the pitch peeled, gasped, kicked, died, spat and sulked; fast bowlers roared like it was Johannesburg, spinners prospered like it was Kanpur, and batters flinched like it was Lahore 1987.

And inside this carnival of chaos, South Africa achieved something they had not done in 15 years: win a Test in India.

But the result is almost secondary.

What this match really revealed were truths each team has tried hard to avoid.

This wasn’t simply a Test match.

It was an X-ray.

India: When Mastery Meets a Mirror

India arrived with a plan that looked modern and brave: six bowlers, Washington Sundar at No. 3, and spin depth bordering on excess. They spoke of balanced pitches and “good cricket wickets” after New Zealand's loss in the series last year. They claimed they wanted conditions that stretched their batters, not pampered their spinners.

Then the Test began—and the surface betrayed that rhetoric almost instantly.

Bumrah the Great Leveller

Day one belonged to Jasprit Bumrah, the only constant in India’s rapidly shifting cricketing identity. His 16th Test five-for was a study in predation: the late swing to Ryan Rickelton, the sharp lift to Aiden Markram, the relentless nip-backers that forced South Africa back into the kind of hesitation that haunts teams touring India.

He gave India a luxury lead-in: South Africa shot out for 159, the kind of number that historically seals the visiting side’s fate.

But for all Bumrah’s brilliance, India were soon reminded that you cannot win a Test on reputation alone.

A Batting Line-up That Looked Confused, Not Helpless

Rahul, Washington and Jadeja all scored between 27 and 39.

They all looked good.

They all got out the moment the pitch whispered a dark secret.

That is the story of unstable surfaces—not collapses, but illusions.

India’s batters were competent, but not confident. They grafted, but did not adapt. When Harmer arrived with the skillset of a man who has spent a decade refining himself, India’s batting order melted in single digits.

If day one showed India at their best, day two showed a team living on the memory of their best.

South Africa: The Team That Came Prepared for Spin and Won Through Something Stranger

South Africa did not win because the pitch turned.

They won because they learned to live with its indecision sooner.

And they won because Simon Harmer, the spin bowler once discarded as a symbol of South Africa’s 2015 humiliation, returned like a craftsman who had spent nine long years sharpening his chisels.

Harmer: A Career in Three Acts

The Harmer of 2015 was a domestic success story thrust into the Ashwin-Jadeja inferno.

The Harmer of 2022 was a pandemic stand-in.

The Harmer of 2025 is a man who has bowled more overs on imperfect surfaces than some international spinners do in a lifetime.

His 4 for 30 in the first innings was not an outburst—it was a thesis.

Fuller lengths, subtle pace variations, attacking the stumps, and most importantly, the courage to bowl the ball that *doesn’t* turn on a turning wicket.

That is the mark of mastery.

Washington Sundar, Dhruv Jurel, Ravindra Jadeja—each fell because Harmer beat them in the mind before he beat them on the pitch.

Bavuma’s Resistance: A Half-Century Worth a Hundred

If Harmer dragged South Africa back into the match, Bavuma gave them the belief they could win it.

His 50—on a pitch that treated batting techniques like suggestions rather than rules—was a masterclass in stubbornness. More than the runs, it was the serenity: the sweep shot that returned as a conversation with fate, the forward presses that looked like acts of faith, the calm when everything around him frayed.

In the end, he was the only batter on either side who looked capable of playing old-fashioned Test innings.

The Collapse That Defined Everything

India needed 124.

They made 93.

Two of the most revealing numbers in recent Indian cricket.

Why India Lost From a Winnable Position

1. Tactical indecision

Axar Patel opening the bowling on the third morning was not a move—it was a confession of confusion.

Washington Sundar, selected as a third spinner, did not bowl a single over in the second innings.

That alone could fill a press conference.

2. Panic, disguised as proactive captaincy

   Pant cycled through bowlers like a man trying to guess a password.

   Fields changed without purpose.

   Reviews bordered on desperation.

3. A pitch that demanded clarity rewarded only one team

India’s spinners tried too much.

South Africa’s spinners tried enough.

4. Jansen and Harmer: Thunder and Thread

Jansen’s opening bursts exposed the pitch’s early-morning treachery.

Harmer exploited its spiritual uncertainty.

India had two world-class spinners, a third in the XI, and one of the best fast bowlers in history.

South Africa had one world-class fast bowler injured, two spinners, including one reborn, and a collective that understood their limitations.

Only one side used their resources fully.

The Pitch: Villain, Equaliser, or Revelation?

This strip at Eden Gardens will be debated for months.

It was unpredictable but not random.

It demanded courage but punished ambition.

It rewarded precision but offered no margin.

It was, in short, the perfect mirror.

India looked at it and saw their tactical inconsistencies.

South Africa looked at it and saw a chance to rewrite history.

And that may be the greatest irony: India wanted balanced pitches after last year’s New Zealand defeat.

Instead, they got the kind of surface that balanced the match so violently, it levelled them.

What This Test Really Means

This result does not tell us India are weak.

It tells us they are in transition.

It does not tell us South Africa are dominant.

It tells us they remember how to fight.

But above everything else, it tells us that Test cricket, when stripped of predictability and comfort, is still the most revealing format in sport. It exposes technique, temperament and tactical courage—all in a single session.

At Eden Gardens, it exposed two teams:

India, who must confront the gap between planning and execution.

South Africa, who rediscovered an identity built not on bravado but on craftsmanship.

Above all, it reminded us why we watch Test cricket:

Not for fairness.

Not for perfection.

But for the beauty of struggle.

In that sense, the match was not a shock.

It was a masterpiece.

Thank You

Faisal Caeasr

The Lillee-Miandad Clash: A Test of Tempers and Test Cricket’s Spirit

Cricket, often idealized as a stage for grace and sportsmanship, has not been immune to moments of discord that tarnish its image. Among these, the infamous confrontation between Dennis Lillee and Javed Miandad during the first Test of Pakistan’s 1981 tour of Australia remains one of the sport’s most vivid and controversial episodes—a tale of collision, both physical and cultural, that tested the spirit of the game.

Setting the Stage: A Tense Beginning

Javed Miandad arrived in Australia as Pakistan’s newly appointed captain, leading a team fractured by internal discord. Senior players questioned his authority, and Wisden observed that he lacked the full support of his squad. Facing an Australian side brimming with confidence and spearheaded by the fiery Dennis Lillee, Miandad’s leadership was under immediate scrutiny.

The opening Test in Perth unfolded dramatically. On a moist, bowler-friendly pitch, Pakistan skittled Australia for 180, only to be routed themselves for a paltry 62, courtesy of Lillee’s devastating 5 for 18 and Terry Alderman’s 4 for 36. Chasing an improbable 543 to win, Pakistan began their second innings with little hope. The tension on the field was palpable, and the seeds of confrontation were sown as Miandad walked in to bat.

The Collision: Sparks Ignite in Perth

The incident that would define the match—and perhaps the tour—occurred 40 minutes before tea on the fourth day. Miandad turned Lillee behind square for a single, but as he completed the run, the two collided. Eyewitness accounts largely agree that Lillee initiated contact, seemingly moving into Miandad’s path deliberately. What followed remains a matter of dispute.

According to Lillee’s version, Miandad hurled abuses at him, prompting Lillee to respond in kind. Miandad, however, claimed that Lillee blocked his way and then kicked him. Tempers flared as Lillee turned to confront Miandad, who raised his bat above his head in a gesture that seemed to threaten physical retaliation. The image of umpire Tony Crafter stepping between the two, restraining Lillee as Miandad brandished his bat like a warrior’s weapon, was broadcast around the globe, capturing the undignified spectacle in its full intensity.

A Media Frenzy: Divided Opinions

The fallout was immediate and fierce. Australian media lambasted Lillee’s behaviour, calling for his suspension. Former Australian captain Bob Simpson described the incident as "the most disgraceful thing I have seen on a cricket field," while Keith Miller demanded Lillee be banned for the rest of the season. Ian Chappell likened Lillee’s actions to those of "a spoiled, angry child."

Yet within the Australian camp, the narrative diverged. Greg Chappell, the captain, defended Lillee, suggesting the incident was a deliberate provocation by Pakistan to entrap his star bowler. This defence, perceived as jingoistic and dismissive of Lillee’s culpability, only fueled public outrage.

Pakistan’s manager, Ijaz Butt, was equally vocal, accusing Lillee of persistent taunting throughout the match. He declared that Lillee’s antics were unbecoming of a Test cricketer and hinted that Pakistan might abandon the tour if no punitive action was taken.

Justice or Theater? The Aftermath

The initial punishment—a fine of A$200 imposed by Lillee’s teammates—was widely condemned as lenient. Even the officiating umpires protested. The Australian Cricket Board (ACB), under mounting pressure, convened a hearing and reduced the fine to A$120 while imposing a two-match ban. Critics noted the ban conveniently excluded Test matches, sidelining Lillee only for two minor one-day internationals.

For his part, Lillee issued a carefully worded apology, but only for his reaction, maintaining that he had been provoked. Miandad dismissed the apology as insincere, reiterating that Lillee’s actions had been deliberate and unsporting.

A Cloud Over the Tourhe tension lingered, casting a shadow over the series. Australia won the second Test convincingly, with Lillee dismissing Miandad in both innings, a symbolic triumph in their personal battle. Pakistan salvaged pride with an emphatic innings victory in the final Test, but the series remained overshadowed by the Perth incident.

Legacy of the Incident

Decades later, the Lillee-Miandad confrontation remains a symbol of cricket’s capacity for drama and discord. Both players, icons of their era, continued to debate their innocence long after their careers ended. Over time, they reportedly reconciled, yet their clash endures as a cautionary tale about the volatility of emotions in high-stakes sports.

While the game survived the scandal, the incident exposed flaws in cricket’s governance, particularly the inadequacy of disciplinary mechanisms. It also highlighted the cultural tensions that often underpinned matches between subcontinental and Western teams—a dynamic that would only begin to shift with the advent of neutral umpires and more stringent codes of conduct.

In the end, the Lillee-Miandad saga serves as a stark reminder of cricket’s dual nature: a game capable of inspiring both nobility and ignominy, played not by paragons of virtue but by humans prone to passion, pride, and error.

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar 

A Test of Nerves: England’s Collapse and Pakistan’s Grit

Cricket has a way of exposing not just talent, but temperament. It does not simply reward dominance; it tests resilience, punishes lapses, and, at times, delivers verdicts that defy logic. In Multan, under a sky heavy with expectation, England—a team that had conquered the mighty Australians—found themselves unravelling in a Test match they had controlled for four days. 

Victory had seemed inevitable. And yet, as the dust settled on the final afternoon, it was Pakistan, the side so often labelled as mercurial, that stood victorious by 22 runs. The vanquished, stunned and disbelieving, could only ponder how a match seemingly in their grasp had slipped through their fingers. 

A Collapse That Defied Explanation

The morning of the final day dawned with England needing 198 to win—an achievable target on a surface that had offered little demons. At 64 for one, they were well on their way. But then, in a passage of play that will be etched in memory as one of England’s most inexplicable implosions, they lost five wickets in the space of ten overs. 

Suddenly, 101 for six loomed on the scoreboard. The once assured pursuit had turned into a desperate salvage operation. This was not a case of unplayable deliveries or a deteriorating pitch conspiring against them. It was something far simpler: lapses in judgment, reckless aggression where patience was required, and a collective loss of nerve. 

So often in the previous year, England had wrung out victories from tight situations. This time, the vice had tightened around them. 

Trescothick’s Burden and England’s Early Promise

With Michael Vaughan absent due to a knee injury, Marcus Trescothick was entrusted with leading England. His captaincy had been questioned before the match, but any doubts were swiftly silenced by his actions with the bat. In a performance of sheer dominance, he crafted a magnificent 193—an innings so commanding that it towered over every other contribution in the match. 

Yet, unknown to most at the time, Trescothick was carrying a private anguish. His father-in-law lay critically injured in a Bristol hospital after a severe accident. The weight of that crisis, coupled with the demands of leading his country, made his innings all the more remarkable. 

His 305-ball vigil, laced with 20 fours and two soaring sixes off Danish Kaneria, was a masterclass in control. When he was finally dismissed just after lunch on the third day, England had a lead of 144—substantial, yet not insurmountable. The score could have been far greater; they had been 251 for two before squandering opportunities in a way that would prove costly. 

Pakistan’s fielding—rusty from a lack of Test cricket since June—had gifted them 22 no-balls and several lapses. But there were no such allowances when Pakistan came out to bat again. 

Pakistan’s Fightback: The Captain’s Composure and a Turning Point

Pakistan’s second innings was a study in contrast. While England’s discipline in the field remained intact, Salman Butt and Inzamam-ul-Haq, two batsmen of different generations, set about ensuring Pakistan clawed back into the contest. 

Butt’s batting was built on self-awareness. He understood his strengths, played within his limits, and worked the gaps with quiet precision. At the other end, Inzamam, ever the enigma, cut an unmistakable figure. Even in the rising heat, he refused to take the field without his signature sleeveless sweater—a curious contradiction for a man whose strokeplay was all silk and ease. 

And then, with the game hanging in delicate balance, the second new ball changed everything. 

Hoggard, England’s tireless workhorse, sent down his second delivery with the fresh cherry and found Inzamam’s pad in front of the stumps. The Pakistan captain, so often their rock in troubled waters, was gone. Panic set in. 

Flintoff, sensing blood, pounced. He removed two more in rapid succession. Harmison, inconsistent but always a threat, claimed the final two. Pakistan had been blown away in a flurry of wickets, their innings folding at 341. 

The target for England? 198. 

A Chase That Became a Nightmare

On a Multan pitch that still bore no treachery, England’s path to victory seemed straightforward. Even after losing Trescothick late on the fourth evening, they resumed the final morning in a position of strength at 64 for one. 

And then, the recklessness began. 

Ian Bell, patient in the first innings, threw away his wicket in a misguided attempt to dominate Kaneria. He was the first of three wickets to fall in the space of eight balls. 

The collapse sent ripples of anxiety through the England camp, but they still had their power hitters in Flintoff and Pietersen. Surely, one of them would stand up? 

Flintoff’s response was cavalier—too much so. In a moment of impetuous abandon, he launched into a wild heave that found the hands of deep midwicket. It was not the shot of a man trying to win a Test match, but of one caught between instinct and responsibility. 

Pietersen, England’s talisman throughout the Ashes, flailed at a delivery he had no business chasing. The edge was inevitable. The English dressing room, which had exuded confidence hours earlier, was now a study in disbelief. 

The last semblance of hope came in the form of Geraint Jones. He fought valiantly, bringing England within 32 runs of victory before Shoaib Akhtar—a rejuvenated force in the second innings—produced a devastating delivery that crashed into his stumps via bat and pad. 

Ten balls later, it was over. 

A Lesson in Test Cricket’s Cruelty

As Pakistan celebrated, England were left to reflect on a bitter truth—one bad hour can undo four days of dominance. 

For Pakistan, this was a victory carved from resilience and opportunism. They had not been the superior side for the majority of the match, but they had seized the decisive moments. Inzamam, ever the reluctant warrior, had marshalled his team with quiet authority. Kaneria had learned from his first innings and struck when it mattered. Shoaib Akhtar had risen to the occasion in his second spell. 

For England, it was a humbling reminder that even the most well-drilled unit can succumb to pressure. They had carried the aura of Ashes conquerors into this series, but in Multan, they encountered a team that refused to bow. 

The defeat stung all the more because of its suddenness. There was no slow disintegration, no drawn-out battle of attrition—just an hour of madness that turned an expected victory into a painful lesson. 

As they walked off, England’s players wore the look of a team that knew they had let something slip. Pakistan, so often cast as the unpredictable ones, had instead been the side that held their nerve. 

In the end, it was a reminder of why Test cricket remains the purest form of the game. It does not simply reward skill—it rewards composure. And in Multan, it was Pakistan who had more of it when it mattered most.

 Thank You

Faisal Caesar