The Dawn of a New Storm: Shoaib Akhtar’s Arrival on the Grand Stage

The year 1998 did not merely mark a season in Pakistan cricket; it marked a recalibration of identity.

For nearly a decade, Pakistan’s fast-bowling mythology had revolved around two initials: W & W. Wasim Akram and Waqar Younis were not just strike bowlers, they were a doctrine. Reverse swing weaponized. Yorkers perfected. New-ball hostility institutionalized. Together, they defined Pakistan’s cricketing self-image in the 1990s: aggressive, unpredictable, lethal.

By 1998, however, time had begun its quiet erosion.

Wasim’s body bore the memory of relentless workloads. Injuries interrupted rhythm; off-field controversies blurred authority. Waqar, once the destroyer-in-chief of the early 1990s, no longer operated at unbroken high voltage. His pace had dipped marginally, but at elite level, marginal decline becomes visible vulnerability. The yorker that once found toes unerringly now occasionally drifted. The aura remained—but aura without execution is fragile currency.

Pakistan stood at a crossroads familiar to sporting dynasties: how long does loyalty outweigh renewal?

Wasim’s Return and the Burden of Decision

When Wasim Akram reclaimed the captaincy from Aamir Sohail in late 1998, he inherited more than tactical responsibility. He inherited transition.

The impending tour of India amplified the stakes. India–Pakistan cricket is never isolated from politics; it is layered with memory and nationalism. For the first time, Indian crowds would witness the fabled “Two Ws” operating together on Indian soil, confronting the era’s defining batsman, Sachin Tendulkar.

Wasim responded like a craftsman rediscovering sharpness. His angles were clever, his wrist position immaculate, his control of reverse swing theatrical yet precise. He bowled like a leader reasserting relevance.

Waqar struggled.

Apart from one spirited burst in Chennai, his spells lacked sustained menace. The ball did not hurry batsmen as it once had. The intimidation factor, so central to his early career, felt diluted. Against a technically disciplined Indian lineup, slight imprecision was punished.

Pakistan’s dilemma sharpened: sentiment versus ruthlessness.

The Dropping of a Legend

By the time the teams arrived in Kolkata for the inaugural Asian Test Championship match, Wasim faced a decision that would define the moment.

Dropping Waqar Younis was not merely a selection call. It was symbolic rupture. Few fast bowlers had shaped Pakistan’s cricketing imagination like him. Yet Pakistan’s cricket culture, for all its emotional volatility, has historically been unsentimental in pursuit of advantage.

Waqar was left out.

In his place emerged a name spoken more in whispers than headlines: Shoaib Akhtar.

The Wild Card

Shoaib was not a finished product. He was velocity personified.

Within domestic circuits and Pakistan A tours, stories preceded him: curfew breaches, restless nights abroad, club cricket in Ireland punctuated by Dublin slang and pub folklore. He was a maverick temperament housed inside a sprinter’s body.

But beneath the theatrics lay something elemental, extreme pace.

In Durban earlier in 1998, he had produced a spell that dismantled South Africa and hinted at international consequence. Comparisons with Allan Donald were inevitable. Wasim himself acknowledged the distinction bluntly: Waqar, at his peak, matched the pace, but Shoaib’s bouncer was quicker.

Raw pace changes geometry. It shortens reaction time. It destabilizes technique. It creates doubt before skill intervenes.

At Eden Gardens, doubt would arrive at 150 kilometres per hour.

Eden Gardens: Theatre and Tremor

Kolkata’s Eden Gardens is less stadium than amphitheatre. Ninety thousand voices do not watch; they judge.

On the first evening, Shoaib offered a preview, removing VVS Laxman with a searing inswinger that hinted at late movement and higher gears. It was a warning shot, not yet the earthquake.

The earthquake arrived the following afternoon.

India, steady at 147 for two, appeared in control. Rahul Dravid and Sadagoppan Ramesh were methodical, reducing Pakistan’s modest 185 to manageable arithmetic. Drinks were taken. Rhythm paused.

Session breaks often reset neurological tempo. Wasim sensed the moment and turned to volatility.

Shoaib ran in.

The first delivery to Dravid was full, angling in before tailing viciously. Dravid, a technician of rare calibration, brought his bat down, but pace defeats perfection when it arrives half a fraction early. Leg stump uprooted.

The sound was abrupt. The crowd inhaled.

Next ball: Tendulkar.

In India, Tendulkar’s walk to the crease is ceremonial. The stadium rose in collective affirmation. He adjusted his guard, composed, contained.

Shoaib did not reduce his stride.

The ball was full again, but this time reversing late, almost insolently. Tendulkar shaped to drive, trusting length. The ball curved inward at the last possible instant. Middle stump lay displaced.

For a moment, Eden Gardens fell into disbelieving silence.

Two deliveries. Two pillars.

It was not just a double strike; it was symbolic dethronement. The established order breached by velocity.

Hostility as Statement

The theatre did not end there. When captain Mohammad Azharuddin arrived, Shoaib’s response was primal, a steep bouncer crashing into the helmet. This was not swing artistry; this was intimidation.

By spell’s end, his figures read 4 for 71. Yet statistics understate seismic effect.

He had done something rare: shifted psychological balance within minutes. India’s dominance had evaporated. Pakistan’s belief reawakened. The crowd’s certainty fractured.

The Changing of Pace

In the stands sat Waqar Younis, architect of toe-crushing yorkers, pioneer of reverse swing carnage. He had once been the future disrupting elders.

Now he witnessed his own succession.

Transitions in sport are rarely ceremonial. They are abrupt, sometimes brutal. At Eden Gardens, Pakistan’s fast-bowling lineage pivoted from craft refined to force unleashed.

Shoaib Akhtar was not the polished strategist Wasim was. He was not yet the clinical destroyer Waqar had been. He was volatility, ambition, speed without ceiling.

His career would oscillate, brilliance intertwined with controversy, injury, disciplinary questions. But that afternoon in Kolkata distilled his essence: when rhythm aligned with aggression, he was unplayable.

Beyond the Spell

The dropping of Waqar was not an indictment of greatness past. It was acknowledgment of time’s inevitability.

Pakistan cricket, historically allergic to gradual transition, prefers rupture. It discards gently declining giants and gambles on raw extremes. Sometimes recklessly. Occasionally prophetically.

In Kolkata, the gamble paid.

Cricket had not simply discovered a fast bowler. It had rediscovered fear.

And Pakistan, standing between fading legend and untested velocity, had chosen the storm.

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar 

A Battle of Brilliance and Resilience: The Story of Turner’s Defiance and Rowe’s Glory

Test cricket, at its finest, is a game of shifting tides, a contest where moments of brilliance, errors in judgment, and sheer resilience dictate the outcome. The encounter between New Zealand and the West Indies in this unforgettable match was precisely such a spectacle—one defined by astonishing individual performances, tactical lapses, and the indomitable spirit of survival.

At the centre of this remarkable drama stood Glenn Turner, whose unbeaten 223 saved New Zealand from what had appeared to be an inescapable defeat. His innings, played with measured precision and unwavering determination, was the cornerstone upon which New Zealand built their survival. The significance of his knock was magnified by the dire situation his team faced. At 108 for five in reply to the West Indies’ colossal 508 for four declared, New Zealand was teetering on the brink. It was then that Turner, with the steadfast support of Wadsworth, embarked on an innings that would be remembered as one of the greatest acts of defiance in Test history.

The Rise of a Star: Lawrence Rowe’s Phenomenal Debut

Before Turner’s heroics could take shape, the match belonged to one man—Lawrence Rowe. Making his Test debut, Rowe delivered an extraordinary performance, etching his name in cricketing folklore with a majestic 214 in the first innings and an unbeaten 100 in the second. In doing so, he became the first batsman ever to score twin centuries on debut. His batting was an exhibition of elegance and composure, a seamless blend of technical mastery and West Indian flair. Unlike many of his Caribbean contemporaries, Rowe played with a compact technique, his bat rarely straying far from his pad, ensuring minimal risk while capitalizing on scoring opportunities.

Rowe’s innings was not a flash of audacity but a methodical dismantling of the New Zealand attack. His hunger for runs was evident as he built partnerships, first with Fredericks, whose aggressive strokeplay complemented Rowe’s solidity. Their second-wicket partnership of 269 set the foundation for the West Indies' dominant total. Fredericks, despite offering three difficult chances, punished the bowlers with a flurry of square drives and cuts, reaching his first Test century in four and three-quarter hours.

Yet, despite Rowe’s initial invincibility, his subsequent struggles in the series raised questions about his temperament rather than his technique. His debut, however, remained an unparalleled feat—one that, for a brief moment, seemed destined to define the match entirely.

New Zealand’s Struggles and Sobers’ Tactical Lapses

Facing a massive first-innings total, New Zealand's response was shaky. The West Indian pacers made early inroads before Holford, the leg-spinner, exploited the fragile middle order. At 108 for five, the game seemed lost, the visitors staring at an inevitable defeat. It was here that the first cracks in the West Indian strategy emerged.

Turner, despite his early struggles, found himself with an opportunity. A crucial moment came when Carew dropped him at extra cover off Gibbs when he had made just 47. It was a costly miss, one that allowed Turner to anchor the innings with increasing authority. His batting was a masterclass in crisis management—showing an impeccable technique against both pace and spin, blending patience with intent.

He found an unlikely ally in Wadsworth, a wicketkeeper-batsman with a modest highest Test score of 21. The two formed a formidable partnership of 220 runs, effectively negating the West Indian bowling attack. Turner expertly shielded Wadsworth from undue pressure, while Wadsworth himself rose to the occasion with great composure and a straight bat. The significance of their partnership was amplified by the fact that it came against a staggering nine different bowlers—evidence of Sobers’ increasingly desperate search for a breakthrough.

Garfield Sobers, one of the game’s most astute captains, made crucial errors in handling his resources. He failed to restrict Turner’s exposure to the strike, allowing New Zealand to escape from a seemingly hopeless situation. Even more puzzling was his underutilization of Holford, whose leg spin had troubled the New Zealanders earlier in the innings. These miscalculations contributed significantly to New Zealand keeping the first-innings deficit to just 122 runs.

The Final Act: Tension, Grit, and Survival

With a modest lead, the West Indies sought quick runs in their second innings to force a declaration. Rowe, continuing his golden debut, finished unbeaten on 100. However, Sobers' delay in declaring—likely to allow Rowe to reach his milestone—meant New Zealand had a fighting chance to bat out the final day.

The last act of the match was fraught with tension. Holford struck again, dismissing Dowling and Turner in quick succession just after lunch. With the key man gone, a West Indian victory seemed imminent. But just as Turner had done in the first innings, Burgess rose to the occasion, counterattacking with a spirited century. His innings, marked by aggressive strokeplay and determination, ensured that New Zealand would not succumb to the pressure. In the end, they survived, salvaging a draw from what had once looked like a certain defeat.

A Match Defined by What Could Have Been

This Test match was a testament to the unpredictable nature of cricket. The West Indies, dominant for long stretches, were ultimately undone by crucial lapses—Carew’s dropped catch, Sobers’ tactical miscalculations, and the inability to break Turner and Wadsworth’s defiant stand. New Zealand, on the other hand, demonstrated immense character, with Turner’s 223 not out standing as one of the great backs-to-the-wall innings in Test history.

While Rowe's record-breaking debut was the statistical highlight, Turner’s innings was the defining narrative—a story of perseverance, technique, and unyielding spirit against overwhelming odds. This game, rich in individual brilliance and fluctuating fortunes, remains a classic reminder of why Test cricket is the ultimate test of skill, strategy, and temperament.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar 

Why India Keeps Winning - And Why Pakistan Keeps Falling Short

In every clash between India and Pakistan, emotion arrives long before strategy. Narratives inflate, hype grows louder, and millions wait for another chapter in cricket’s most emotionally charged rivalry. Yet when the contest begins, the same uncomfortable question returns with remarkable regularity: why does India keep winning?

The simplest answer is also the hardest for many fans to accept, because Pakistan repeatedly loses its composure when the stakes rise.

Recent encounters have often felt less like battles between equals and more like lessons in control. Pakistan’s batting, particularly in the top and middle order, has too frequently looked impatient and reckless, as if the occasion overwhelms the plan. Rash strokes, hurried decisions, and a disregard for match context turn pressure games into self-inflicted collapses. Against a side like India, such errors are not just mistakes; they are invitations to defeat.

Modern cricket, even in the shortest formats, is not built on blind aggression. The best T20 innings emerge from technical clarity, intelligent strike rotation, and controlled risk-taking. India consistently shows that balance. Pakistan, too often, abandons it.

A Team Running on Reputation

The deeper problem lies beyond individual matches. Pakistan cricket increasingly appears to run on reputation rather than performance. The aura remains powerful, the marketing louder than ever, but substance rarely survives the biggest moments. Players become symbols before they become consistent match-winners.

Take Babar Azam, arguably the face of modern Pakistan cricket. Gifted and elegant, he is widely praised for his technique, yet the criticism grows louder when the pressure rises against elite opposition. His career reflects the central frustration of this era: undeniable talent, but not enough defining performances on the biggest stages. The gap between narrative and output feels wider than ever.

The Structural Problem Beneath the Surface

The issue is not simply about one player or one series. Cricketing cultures are built over decades, and historically, that foundation was Test cricket. Test cricket develops patience, decision-making, and technical discipline, qualities that naturally strengthen performance in shorter formats.

Pakistan, however, appears increasingly seduced by the quick rewards of franchise T20 cricket: instant fame, rapid financial gain, and constant media attention. Ironically, even in the format they prioritize, consistency remains elusive. The shortcut has not produced excellence; it has produced fragility.

India’s success is therefore not accidental. It reflects systems, depth, preparation, and a culture that rewards adaptability under pressure. Pakistan’s failures feel more self-authored, born from tactical impatience, misplaced priorities, and an overreliance on raw talent without structural discipline.

Remembering an Older Standard

Pakistan cricket once thrived on players who rose under pressure rather than shrinking from it. Ijaz Ahmed may not have been the most celebrated name of his era, but he repeatedly produced match-winning innings against the strongest sides, Australia, the West Indies of the 1980s and 1990s, England, and India. He was underrated, yet reliable when it mattered most.

That comparison inevitably raises difficult questions about the current generation. Pakistan today has stars, but fewer proven big-moment performers.

Heroes, Hype, and the Burden of Expectation

In the subcontinent, cricket is more than a sport; it is a cultural identity. Media narratives create heroes, crowds rally behind them, and expectations grow enormous. Those who justify that faith become icons like Imran Khan, Sachin Tendulkar, Virat Kohli, Wasim Akram, or Waqar Younis, players whose performances matched the mythology.

But hype without consistent performance eventually becomes a burden. When perception outruns results, criticism grows inevitable. Modern Pakistan cricket often feels trapped in that cycle: star narratives created early, but performances that struggle to sustain them.

The Rivalry Deserves Better

India’s dominance is not a mystery. It is the product of systems, patience, and composure under pressure. Pakistan’s repeated stumbles are not due to a lack of talent, but a lack of clarity, tactical, structural, and cultural.

Until Pakistan rediscovers patience, respects the long game, and rebuilds its identity from the ground up, the pattern is unlikely to change: massive hype, rising expectation, and familiar disappointment against teams that treat pressure as an ally rather than an enemy.

The rivalry deserves better. Cricket deserves better.

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar 

Melbourne 1960-61: Two Runs, One Extra, and a Series for Eternity

Late on the afternoon of February 15, 1961, when Valentine’s delivery beat both bat and wicket-keeper, the ball disappeared not into the scorebook but into history. It was swallowed by a surging crowd as they poured onto the Melbourne Cricket Ground, while MacKay and Martin ran through the winning stroke. The series, fittingly, ended not in quiet resolution but in tumult, an epic concluding in confusion, noise, and irrepressible emotion.

The decisive drama unfolded when Australia, chasing 258, stood at 254 for seven. Grout late-cut Valentine; the off bail fell. Alexander, behind the stumps, did not follow the ball’s path but instead pointed emphatically at the broken wicket. The batsmen ran two. At the bowler’s end, umpire Egar crossed to confer with Hoy at square leg. Their verdict: Grout not out. What dislodged the bail remains conjecture, but the runs were irrevocable. At that stage of the contest, their value defied arithmetic.

The ruling stirred hostility among the 41,186 spectators, though the mood soon shifted as the game accelerated towards its denouement. Grout fell next without addition, and at the same total, the West Indies spurned a straightforward chance. That single lapse allowed Martin to level the scores. Then came the final extra—the smallest of margins deciding the greatest of contests.

The beginning, appropriately, mirrored the end. Rain had fallen two days earlier, and conventional wisdom dictated that the side winning the toss would bat. Richie Benaud, however, chose audacity over orthodoxy. In heavy air, with Wes Hall looming, he asked the West Indies to bat. The decision sent a murmur through the crowd. Davidson, expected to vindicate his captain, found little assistance. Instead, spin dominated. Except Kanhai and Sobers, the West Indian batsmen were unsettled, and at 252 for eight at stumps on the first day Australia had little reason for complaint.

Saturday brought renewal. A world-record crowd of 90,800 watched McDonald at the height of his powers and Simpson in his prime stitch together an opening stand of 146, the finest opening partnership of the series. Yet cricket remained cruelly balanced. By stumps Australia were 236 for six, their lead a modest 57.

Until then, the match had entertained rather than enthralled. Monday changed that rhythm. Sobers and Gibbs spun a tightening web, ensnaring batsmen one by one, including Harvey, who had earlier strained a leg muscle chasing Kanhai. Australia leaned heavily on the muscular defiance of Burge to finish 64 ahead. Sobers’ spell was monumental. Opening with the new ball, bowling through morning and beyond, he delivered 41 overs in a single, relentless effort. His figures, five for 120 from 44 overs, were testimony not merely to skill but to endurance.

The deficit failed to discourage the West Indies. If anything, it sharpened their resolve. Smith hooked Mission’s second ball for six, and with Hunte raced to fifty in minutes. Kanhai’s strokeplay scattered fieldsmen and restored equilibrium. By the close of the third day, the West Indies were 62 ahead with eight wickets in hand.

Australia fought back with customary tenacity, but once again encountered resistance of equal steel in Alexander, who continued his remarkable sequence of half-centuries. For two and a half hours, he defied the attack before Davidson finally broke through. That dismissal, followed by Hall being caught behind, took Davidson’s tally to 33 wickets for the series. Grout, despite a damaged wrist, completed four catches on the day, equalling the record of 23 dismissals in a rubber.

So came the final act: Australia needing 258. Simpson began with ferocity, scoring 24 from his first ten balls, 18 of them in a single over. He remained the axis of the chase, unflustered as spin later sowed chaos. More than any other, he embodied Australia’s resolve on the final day of a series destined for immortality.

An extra day had been agreed in advance to prevent a stalemate. It proved unnecessary. Enterprise, courage, error, and brilliance compressed the contest into one last afternoon, and cricket was richer for it.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar

A Battle of Resilience and Brilliance: Pakistan’s Triumph Against the Odds

Cricket, particularly in its limited-overs format, thrives on moments of brilliance—spells of disciplined bowling, masterful batting, and dramatic momentum shifts. This contest between Pakistan and South Africa was a prime example of how the game can turn on its head within moments. From a precarious start to a record-breaking partnership, and from a well-paced chase to a sudden collapse, the match was a rollercoaster ride that kept players and spectators alike on the edge of their seats. 

South Africa’s Early Domination: A Trial by Pace 

The contest began with a fierce demonstration of fast bowling from South Africa’s renowned pace duo, Allan Donald and Fanie de Villiers. Exploiting the conditions with precision and relentless aggression, they struck early blows, immediately putting Pakistan’s batting lineup under pressure. 

The visitors struggled to settle into any rhythm, losing wickets in quick succession as Donald and De Villiers extracted movement off the pitch and tested the batsmen with sharp bounce. Pakistan’s top order crumbled, unable to withstand the disciplined and hostile bowling attack. At this stage, their innings seemed to be in disarray, with survival taking precedence over run-scoring. 

However, one-day cricket often finds its greatest narratives in moments of resistance, and Pakistan’s fightback came in the form of a crucial fourth-wicket partnership—one that not only rescued their innings but also etched itself into the record books. 

Javed Miandad: The Master of Crisis

At a time when Pakistan desperately needed stability, Javed Miandad and Asif Mujtaba took charge, embarking on a 165-run partnership—Pakistan’s highest for the fourth wicket in one-day internationals at the time. 

Miandad, known for his adaptability and unmatched cricketing intelligence, approached his innings with caution. His first fifty came off 103 balls, a testament to both the challenging conditions and his resolve to anchor the innings. While his initial approach was defensive, it was never passive—he absorbed pressure, rotated the strike, and ensured that Pakistan did not suffer a collapse. 

As the innings progressed, Miandad shifted gears seamlessly. His strokes grew more confident, his running between the wickets sharper, and his ability to manipulate the field became increasingly evident. His innings wasn’t just about survival—it was about setting the foundation for a competitive total. 

The Grand Finish

The final over provided a fitting climax to Miandad’s masterful knock. With his century within reach, he stepped up the aggression. He reached the milestone with a calculated flourish, bringing up his hundred in the final over before launching a stunning lofted six off De Villiers—a stroke that epitomized his ability to control the narrative even under intense pressure. 

However, his innings ended dramatically when he was run out off the last ball for a magnificent 107 off 145 deliveries. Though he could not finish unbeaten, his innings had lifted Pakistan to a competitive total—one that their bowlers could now defend. 

South Africa’s Chase: A Confident Start

With a rain-adjusted target in front of them, South Africa began their chase with assurance. Their batting lineup, bolstered by the likes of Hansie Cronje and Jonty Rhodes, seemed well-equipped to handle the challenge. 

Andrew Hudson and Kepler Wessels laid the foundation, constructing a fluent 101-run opening partnership that appeared to have put the match beyond Pakistan’s reach. Their approach was measured yet assertive, rotating the strike effectively while dispatching loose deliveries to the boundary. 

Even when Pakistan managed to break the opening stand, South Africa’s grip on the game remained firm. Cronje and Rhodes then took charge, putting together a brisk 69-run partnership in just nine overs, seemingly steering their team toward a comfortable victory. At 159 for one, with just 50 runs needed and plenty of overs in hand, South Africa appeared to be cruising toward a routine win. 

But just as the game seemed to be slipping away from Pakistan, one moment of brilliance turned the contest on its head. 

The Turning Point: The Magic of Wasim Akram

Great players thrive under pressure, and Wasim Akram—one of the greatest fast bowlers the game has ever seen—chose the perfect moment to showcase his brilliance. 

With South Africa seemingly in control, Akram produced a delivery of sheer class. A lethal yorker crashed into Cronje’s stumps, breaking the dangerous partnership and shifting the momentum instantly. 

From that moment on, Akram unleashed a spell of fast bowling that would go down in history. Known for his ability to bowl with searing pace, reverse swing, and impeccable accuracy, he delivered a masterclass in death-over bowling. 

His deliveries skidded, swung, and seamed, leaving the South African batsmen clueless. He mixed his lengths expertly, alternating between unplayable yorkers and well-directed short balls, ensuring that no batsman could settle. 

The Collapse: South Africa’s Stunning Downfall

The impact of Akram’s spell was immediate and catastrophic for South Africa. Wickets began tumbling in quick succession, and what once seemed like a comfortable chase turned into a nightmare for the hosts. 

As panic set in, the chaos spread beyond just the bowling. Three reckless run-outs further compounded South Africa’s misery, as miscommunication and desperate attempts to steal singles led to unnecessary dismissals. 

From 159 for one, South Africa’s innings unravelled completely, crumbling in a matter of overs. Pakistan, once on the brink of defeat, had seized control of the match in spectacular fashion. 

The Aftermath: A Victory for the Ages

By the time the dust settled, Pakistan had pulled off an incredible turnaround. The match that had seemed lost was now etched in history as a thrilling triumph. 

- Miandad’s innings showcased the importance of experience, adaptability, and calculated aggression. 

- Akram’s spell demonstrated the power of high-quality fast bowling and the impact one bowler can have on a game’s outcome. 

- Pakistan’s resilience underlined the unpredictability of cricket—where even the most hopeless situations can be reversed through moments of individual brilliance. 

For South Africa, the loss was a bitter one. They had dominated for large portions of the game, only to falter at the most crucial juncture. It was a painful reminder that cricket, more than any other sport, can be decided in a matter of minutes. 

Conclusion: A Match to Remember 

This contest wasn’t just about the numbers on the scorecard—it was about the essence of one-day cricket. It highlighted the power of momentum shifts, the importance of composure under pressure, and the sheer unpredictability that makes cricket such a thrilling sport. 

For Pakistan, the victory was one of the most memorable in ODI history. For South Africa, it was a lesson in never taking victory for granted. And for cricket fans, it was yet another reminder that no game is won until the last ball is bowled.

 Thank You

Faisal Caesar