Anil Kumble’s Historic Ten-Wicket Haul: A Masterclass in Leg-Spin

Cricket is a game of moments, fleeting yet eternal, etched in history by acts of brilliance that defy probability. On February 7, 1999, at the Feroz Shah Kotla in Delhi, Anil Kumble orchestrated one such moment, inscribing his name alongside England’s Jim Laker as only the second bowler to claim all ten wickets in a Test innings. His figures of 10 for 74 in Pakistan’s second innings were the stuff of legend, a testament to relentless accuracy, unwavering resolve, and the intricate artistry of leg-spin bowling. 

This was more than just a personal milestone; it was a victory of immense significance for India. Not since the 1979-80 series had India triumphed over Pakistan in a Test match, and the win in Delhi allowed them to square the series. Yet, despite the broader context, it was Kumble’s spellbinding performance that dominated the narrative, transforming a routine Test match into an immortal chapter of cricketing folklore. 

The Setup: A Battle on a Treacherous Pitch 

The match itself unfolded on a pitch scarred by past events, vandalism by fundamentalists a month earlier had necessitated hasty repairs, leaving the surface unpredictable. Batting was a challenge, but India made the most of their first use of the wicket, posting 252 in their first innings, aided by Pakistan’s generosity in the field, four crucial catches went down, three of them reprieving India's top scorers. Kumble had already sensed the pitch's potential, teasing out hints of grip and turn that would later fuel his historic rampage. 

Pakistan’s reply was modest, a mere 172, with Kumble already exerting his influence. But India’s second innings ensured the visitors were left with a near-impossible target of 420. Opener Sadagoppan Ramesh’s composed 96 and a crucial 100-run stand between Sourav Ganguly and Javagal Srinath allowed India to stretch their lead significantly. Wasim Akram briefly stole the limelight by surpassing Imran Khan’s record of 362 Test wickets for Pakistan, but his milestone was soon eclipsed by the looming storm that was Kumble. 

The Collapse: Kumble’s Spell of a Lifetime 

Pakistan, needing only a draw to win the series, had started with promise. Saeed Anwar and Shahid Afridi negotiated the early overs effectively, guiding Pakistan to 101 without loss. The chase, however, was never a realistic prospect; survival was the goal. But survival, on this day, was an impossible dream. 

Kumble had bowled six wicketless overs in the morning, operating from the Football Stand End. It was after lunch, from the Pavilion End, that the magic began. 

Afridi was the first to go, caught behind attempting a hesitant dab outside off-stump. His reluctance to depart was evident, lingering in protest at what he deemed an erroneous decision by home umpire Jayaprakash. But there was no reprieve, and Pakistan’s collapse had begun. 

Ijaz Ahmed followed immediately, trapping lbw on the front foot. Inzamam-ul-Haq averted the hat-trick but soon succumbed, dragging an inside edge onto his stumps. In quick succession, Mohammad Yousuf (lbw), Moin Khan (caught low in the slips), and Anwar (bat-pad at short leg) perished, reducing Pakistan to a dire 128 for six. In the span of 44 balls, Kumble had taken six wickets for just 15 runs. It was at this moment that he dared to believe in the improbable, taking all ten wickets in an innings. 

The dream, however, encountered resistance. Salim Malik and Wasim Akram held firm, stitching together a 58-run partnership that threatened to deny Kumble his place in history. But patience and persistence are the virtues of a great leg-spinner, and Kumble had both in abundance. 

The breakthrough came after tea. Malik, attempting a pull, misjudged the bounce and lost his stumps. Mushtaq Ahmed fended a rising delivery to gully. Saqlain Mushtaq was pinned lbw next ball, leaving just one wicket between Kumble and Eternity. 

Azharuddin, India’s captain, sensed history in the making and privately instructed Srinath to avoid taking a wicket, ensuring Kumble had every chance to claim the final scalp. The script played out perfectly. Wasim Akram, having defied India for 90 minutes, finally succumbed, top-edging a short-leg catch to VVS Laxman. The moment had arrived. Kumble, arms aloft, was swarmed by his teammates and carried off the field, the hero of an unforgettable day. 

Reflections: A Legacy Cemented 

Kumble, ever the humble statesman, downplayed his achievement. "No one dreams of taking ten wickets in an innings, because you can't," he admitted. Yet, he had done the impossible, executing his craft with precision on a deteriorating surface. He acknowledged the conditions had aided his cause, the variable bounce made pulling and cutting treacherous, but ultimately, it was his skill and consistency that had overwhelmed Pakistan’s batting. 

Even as Kumble basked in the adulation, another figure in the stands bore witness to a rare déjà vu. Richard Stokes, an English businessman, had seen Jim Laker claim all ten wickets at Old Trafford in 1956. Fate had conspired to gift him another slice of cricketing history, this time on his birthday. 

 For Indian cricket, the match was more than just a victory; it was a symbol of resilience, a reminder of the magic the sport can produce. And for Kumble, it was the defining moment of a career that would ultimately cement his place among the greatest spinners the game has ever known.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar 

The Centre of Gravity: Amla in the Spotlight

As they settled into their seats for the press conference, Jacques Kallis was insistent. Hashim Amla had to sit in the middle, flanked by the senior pro himself and the media manager. “The man who makes 250 deserves that,” Kallis quipped with a grin, a moment that felt less like banter and more like a coronation.

Days earlier, Graeme Smith had lamented India’s loss of Rahul Dravid and VVS Laxman, not for mere runs, but for the serenity they imparted under duress. How fitting it would have been if Smith had also cast a glance inward and acknowledged that in Kallis and Amla, South Africa possessed precisely such calm sentinels. When South Africa’s innings lay in tatters at 6 for 2, it was these two who constructed a monument of 500-plus, brick by painstaking brick.

Kallis: Architect at the Edge of Perfection

Much was expected of Kallis, especially on the second morning. For decades, he has been cricket’s embodiment of method and granite, a builder of rescue acts as if by muscle memory. And yet on a pitch starting to writhe under the spell of Indian spinners, he fell short of a long-awaited double-century, undone by a mix of caution and cunning turn.

Ever the stoic, Kallis dismissed the idea of sleepless nights. But the question lingered, had the maestro, so often the bedrock, been momentarily unnerved by the prospect of crossing an unbreached threshold?

Amla: The Silent Conqueror

If Kallis was the grand old oak, then Amla was the river that ran alongside, silent yet irresistible. Where Kallis fell, Amla pressed on, undistracted by the loss of his seasoned partner. First with AB de Villiers, then with Mark Boucher, he shepherded South Africa into ever more commanding pastures.

This was no ordinary innings. It was a vigil that spanned more than 11 hours, punctuated by spells of trial. Amit Mishra and Harbhajan Singh found a devilish turn, repeatedly challenging Amla’s outside edge. Against Mishra alone, he eked out just 34 runs off 139 balls, a statistic that would seem damning, were it not a testament to his refusal to gift a wicket.

“There were tough parts: the reverse swing, the spinners,” Amla would say later, a craftsman humbly reviewing his blueprint. “Mishra beat the bat many, many times, but you don’t look back and sigh.”

From Exile to Exemplar

How stark the contrast from Amla’s first tentative steps on Indian soil in 2004-05, when he mustered 24 and 2, burdened by external whispers of being a “quota player” and internal doubts yet unresolved. By the time of the 2008 tour, his blade began answering questions his heart had long wrestled with, compiling 307 runs at an imposing average.

Now secure not just in place but in spirit, Amla arrived as a batsman on merit, his race no longer an asterisk, but merely a footnote to a story of unflinching evolution.

The Praise Chorus

“He’s come a long way since last time in India,” Kallis remarked, speaking not just as a teammate but as someone grateful for Amla’s steadying influence. While Kallis spoke, Amla sat head bowed—mirroring his posture at the crease, a portrait of humility.

“He’s a fantastic guy to bat with,” Kallis continued, voice rising. “People wrote him off early. The tough character he is, he proved them wrong. He’ll score a lot of runs for South Africa in crucial moments.”

Gary Kirsten, once Amla’s mentor in Pretoria and now India’s coach, added his voice: “I knew the time would come when he’d get big hundreds for his country. He knows how to bat for long periods. Full credit.”

Amla’s own words bore the equilibrium of a man who sees beyond personal milestones: “Scoring a maiden double on Indian soil is momentous, but more important was putting the team in the best position.”

Redemption Arcs and Parallel Journeys

It’s curious how cricket weaves parallel threads. Just as England remained a nemesis for Kallis—save for brief interludes of brilliance—so too had early England tours been harsh on Amla. The English pacemen in 2004-05 tore into him before he could anchor himself, and the cynics’ whispers grew louder.

Being dropped after Newlands might have been the most serendipitous wound. Instead of being crushed by subsequent Australian annihilations, he returned to domestic cricket, polished his technique, and came back to international cricket not with hesitation, but hunger. The 149 against New Zealand was the start; what followed was a blossoming that no critic could deny.

Shifting Foundations: Amla Frees Kallis

In the last two years, Amla’s rise has been exponential, five centuries in 22 Tests, averaging over 50. This solidity at No. 3 liberated Kallis, who now attacked with a daring rarely permitted before. Once the implacable cornerstone like India’s Dravid, Kallis could now be more cavalier, assured that the house wouldn’t collapse if he fell.

So it was in Australia, when South Africa chased down improbable targets, with Amla playing second fiddle to Smith. Freed from stereotype, Kallis began scoring faster, his strike-rate leaping by seven runs per hundred balls since that tour.

The Partnership That Resurrected South Africa

When they came together at 6 for 2 against India, South Africa teetered. Ashwell Prince was unlucky, Smith outsmarted by Zaheer. Slowly, Kallis and Amla revived the innings, Kallis with authoritative drives, Amla content to rotate strike.

As Kallis found fluency, fields scattered, singles multiplied, and even India’s wily Harbhajan went without a maiden—proof, as Kepler Wessels observed, of “exceptional concentration and impeccable shot selection.”

Amla’s Inning: Discipline Embodied

Amla’s half-century consumed 132 balls; his century came with increased decisiveness, taking only 72 more. While there were edges, fleeting alarms, mostly it was an innings of immaculate judgement. He scored 55, 45, and 38 in the day’s three sessions—remarkably even outputs that never left partners stranded. Facing 473 deliveries, he allowed those after him 556, a distribution born of selfless discipline.

His was an innings without a dominant area, cover-drives stepped out to spinners, pulls to dispatch pace. When his double-century arrived, it was via a classical cover-drive, a flourish that was both signature and summary.

Epilogue: The Quiet Storm

So ended a masterclass that was less a storm than a tide, persistent, patient, ultimately unstoppable. Where Kallis missed another personal summit, Amla ascended, the highest South African scorer on Indian soil. Even on a pitch ageing faster than its days, he held firm, ensuring South Africa’s grasp was iron-clad.

Amla’s knock was not merely an aggregation of runs but a literary epic, one written with strokes that spoke of fortitude, rebuttals to prejudice, and above all, an enduring love for the art of batting long, hard, and beautifully.

It set the tone for an epic victory. 

Thank You

Faisal Caesar 

Aminul Islam’s Necessary Stand

The Bangladesh Cricket Board (BCB), under the leadership of Aminul Islam, has taken a decisive and long-overdue step to protect the integrity of Bangladesh cricket. Under the new framework, media access to the national team will be strictly regulated, limited to match days, official press conferences, formally invited events, and designated practice sessions as communicated by the board.

Predictably, this move has triggered outrage from sections of the Bangladeshi sports media. But outrage was inevitable. Because this decision does not merely restrict access, it dismantles an ecosystem of entitlement, manipulation, and long-standing media excess.

What the New Rules Say and Why They Matter

According to reports from Star News, the BCB formally informed the Bangladesh Sports Press Association (BSPA) that:

Media accreditation will be issued only to outlets registered under Bangladesh’s ICT Ministry

Unlicensed YouTubers and TikTokers will be barred from unrestricted access

The BSPA has rejected the decision outright

The backlash was instant. Yet, from the perspective of professionalism and national interest, this is one of the most productive decisions the BCB has taken in years.

The Rot of the “Open Access” Era

For over a decade, particularly during what many now describe as a fascist era, Bangladesh’s sports journalism ceased to resemble journalism at all. Cricket venues became open playgrounds where certain media personalities functioned less like reporters and more like personal aides, image managers, and ideological mouthpieces for powerful players and political interests.

This culture insulted journalism itself.

Journalists followed players into dressing rooms, hotels, and private spaces. Sensitive team information leaked freely. Cult figures were manufactured to distract public scrutiny. Syndicates emerged, quietly, gradually, until Bangladesh cricket began to decay from within. The damage was not sudden; it was necrotic. Slow. Internal. Devastating.

A Media With No Moral Authority

Bangladesh’s mainstream media has no credibility left to lecture institutions about ethics. The nation has watched how these outlets behaved over the last 15 years, how they aligned themselves with authoritarian power, how they reshaped narratives overnight after 2024, and how they continue to serve foreign interests while attempting to destabilize domestic institutions to resurrect discredited politics.

This is not speculation. It is record.

No one understands this better than Aminul Islam. He has lived through it, from inside the system. His decision is not impulsive. It is corrective.

Why Aminul Islam Refuses to Bend

Whether it was the Mustafizur Rahman issue, the T20 World Cup controversies, or now media access restrictions, Aminul Islam has remained firm. That firmness is precisely what irritates the media.

Instead of acknowledging the need for reform, they have chosen to attack the man enforcing it.

That tells us everything.

The Hathurusingha Parallel: Media Versus Authority

The current backlash mirrors an older pattern. During the Bangladesh–South Africa series, reports from Prothom Alo highlighted how the national team, under head coach Chandika Hathurusingha, restricted media access, conducted closed training sessions, and declined interviews.

Hathurusingha has faced relentless hostility from sections of Bangladeshi sports journalism since 2014, despite transforming Bangladesh into a competitive international side. Players like Shakib Al Hasan, Tamim Iqbal, and Mahmudullah Riyad have consistently backed his methods. Yet the media preferred to label him “autocratic” and “rude.”

Why?

Because he refused to play their game.

A coach enforcing discipline, privacy, and professionalism threatens a media culture built on proximity, gossip, and leverage.

Journalism or Superiority Complex?

The deeper issue is entitlement. A section of Bangladesh’s sports media believes access is a right, not a privilege. When denied, retaliation follows: twisted quotes, hostile headlines, character assassination.

We have seen this with administrators, players, and coaches alike. Nazmul Hassan’s comments, Mushfiqur Rahim’s silences, Soumya Sarkar and Liton Das avoiding certain journalists, all were weaponized into narratives of crisis.

One must ask honestly: what has this media contributed to Bangladesh cricket beyond noise?

There are excellent journalists in Bangladesh, but they are drowned out by those who lack technical knowledge, ethical discipline, and professional restraint.

The Syndicate Culture Must End

The unhealthy intimacy between certain journalists and powerful cricketers created a media-player syndicate that thrived on access and manipulation. This culture distorted public discourse, destabilized team environments, and undermined coaches, from Heath Streak to Thilan Samaraweera.

Aminul Islam’s intervention directly challenges this structure.

That is why it hurts.

This Is Leadership, Not Suppression

A free press does not mean an unaccountable press.

Aminul Islam’s decision is not anti-media; it is anti-corruption, anti-manipulation, and pro-professionalism. Bangladesh cricket cannot progress while being held hostage by entitlement masquerading as journalism.

The media had years to reform itself. It chose not to.

Now the institution has stepped in.

And for once, Bangladesh cricket is better for it.

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar 

When Cricket Becomes a Dictatorship: Nasser Hussain Calls Out India’s Power Play

Cricket has always carried a moral mythology. It was meant to be the Gentleman’s Game, a sport where rivalry ended at the boundary rope and politics stopped at the pavilion door. That mythology is now collapsing. And when Nasser Hussain publicly questions the selective morality of global cricket governance, it is not an off-hand remark, it is an indictment.

Hussain’s intervention exposes an uncomfortable truth: international cricket is no longer governed by rules, reciprocity, or sporting ethics. It is governed by money, leverage, and fear. And at the center of this imbalance sits the Indian cricket establishment, operating with the confidence of a regime that knows it cannot be challenged.

What Nasser Hussain Really Said (and Why It Matters)

Hussain’s critique is devastating precisely because it is simple. He asks the question everyone in cricket whispers but no institution dares to confront:

Would the ICC ever punish India the way it punishes others?

By raising this hypothetical, Hussain unmasks the double standards of the International Cricket Council. Bangladesh and Pakistan face swift disciplinary consequences. India, by contrast, enjoys negotiated exceptions, “neutral venues,” and moral exemptions.

This is not leadership. It is immunity.

The IPL as a Political Weapon

The most chilling example is the quiet removal of Mustafizur Rahman from Kolkata Knight Riders. This was not an injury call. It was not a cricketing decision. It was a signal.

When a domestic franchise league becomes an instrument of geopolitical pressure, cricket crosses a red line. Players stop being professionals and become hostages to national mood swings. Hussain rightly identifies this as the moment when sport gave way to coercion.

In any democratic sporting order, a legally contracted international player cannot be removed because of diplomatic discomfort. In cricket’s current ecosystem, however, Indian domestic politics now outranks international sporting law.

The Illusion of “Cricket Diplomacy”

For decades, India projected cricket as a bridge, between nations, cultures, and conflicts. Today, that bridge has become a checkpoint.

Refused handshakes. Avoided trophy ceremonies. Matches cancelled not by weather or logistics, but by ideology. What Hussain calls “depressing” is in fact something more serious: the normalization of hostility inside the dressing room.

Cricket diplomacy once softened borders. Indian cricket now hardens them.

Power Without Responsibility

The Board of Control for Cricket in India, the Board of Control for Cricket in India, commands unparalleled financial power. With that power should come stewardship. Instead, it has produced domination without accountability.

The consequences are self-defeating:

Commercial erosion: No India–Pakistan rivalry means no global spectacle. Everyone loses.

Sporting insecurity: If Mustafizur can be discarded overnight, no overseas player is safe.

Moral decay: The message is clear, compliance is rewarded, independence is punished.

This is not hegemony with vision. It is control without consequence.

The ICC’s Moral Collapse

The ICC’s role in this drama is the most damning of all. By enforcing rules rigidly on weaker boards while bending endlessly for India, as seen repeatedly in tournament arrangements like the Asia Cup, the ICC has forfeited its claim to neutrality.

A governing body that cannot govern its most powerful member is not a regulator. It is a subcontractor.

In practice, global cricket now operates on an unspoken hierarchy: some members are equal, but one member is indispensable.

A Lonely Empire at the Top

If cricket continues down this road, India may well stand alone at the summit, financially dominant, politically unchecked, and competitively isolated. But it will be a hollow peak.

The beauty of cricket lies in its pluralism: Bangladesh’s rise, Pakistan’s unpredictability, the shared chaos of rivalry. Strip those away, and the game becomes a closed circuit, loud, lucrative, and spiritually empty.

Nasser Hussain did not attack India. He defended cricket.

The real question now is whether the game still has the courage to defend itself.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar 

When England Mistook Conditions for Excuses: Christchurch 1984 and the Cost of Arrogance

There are defeats that expose technical flaws, and then there are defeats that expose culture. England’s collapse at Christchurch in 1984 belonged firmly to the latter category. Bowled out cheaply twice on a pitch that demanded discipline rather than bravado, England did not merely lose a Test match, they revealed a mindset unprepared for a changing cricketing order.

At the center of that reckoning stood Richard Hadlee, a cricketer whose greatness England neither fully respected nor adequately planned for. By the end of the match, Hadlee had scored a brutal 99 and taken eight wickets for 44, orchestrating an innings victory that still resonates as one of New Zealand’s most emphatic statements of self-belief.

The First Misreading: Bowling Without Thoughts

England lost this Test on the first day, long before the scorecards became humiliating. After New Zealand won the toss, England’s bowlers responded not with patience but with impulse. On a pitch that offered swing and seam, they chose aggression without control, long-hops, half-volleys, and an obsession with bounce.

The advice attributed to Ian Botham,“bounce them all,”was less strategy than reflex. It reflected an England side still clinging to intimidation as a default mode, even when conditions demanded restraint. The result was predictable: New Zealand raced to 307 at more than four an over, aided by 42 boundaries that told a story of excess rather than enterprise.

Hadlee’s 99 was not an act of reckless hitting; it was punishment. He merely accepted what was offered. England bowled as though reputation might substitute for execution. It did not.

The Illusion of a “Bad Pitch”

In the days that followed, the pitch became England’s preferred alibi. It cracked. It moved. It was “dangerous.” But this explanation collapses under scrutiny. New Zealand did not self-destruct on it. They adapted. England did not.

When Bob Willis shortened his run-up and focused on line and length, he immediately became more effective. The lesson was there, written plainly. England as a collective chose not to read it.

The pitch did not force England to pad up to straight balls, nor did it compel reckless shot selection or mental retreat. Those were decisions, born of doubt, seeded by early fear, and magnified by a refusal to recalibrate.

The Psychological Crack

The decisive moment did not come via a wicket, but through hesitation. When David Gower padded up to a Hadlee delivery that was never missing the stumps, it sent a tremor through the dressing room. That single lapse of judgment did more damage than any ball that beat the bat.

By stumps on the second day, England were 53 for 7. Skill had been undermined by uncertainty. Technique by mistrust. This was not a batting collapse caused by violence; it was one caused by erosion.

A Team That Knew Who It Was

New Zealand, by contrast, were a side secure in their identity. Under Geoff Howarth, they did not overthink the contest. They trusted preparation, exploited conditions, and backed Hadlee with seamers who understood their roles, Ewen Chatfield, Lance Cairns, and the recalled Stephen Boock, whose selection spoke to quiet confidence rather than desperation.

This was a New Zealand team no longer content to compete politely. The underdog mentality had hardened into expectation. England, still viewing New Zealand as plucky rather than potent, paid for that miscalculation.

Follow-On, Followed by Inevitable Collapse

When England were forced to follow on, the outcome felt less like a possibility than a formality. Hadlee removed senior players with ruthless efficiency. Mike Gatting and Botham departed for ducks. Resistance was fleeting, almost embarrassed.

To be bowled out for around 100 twice on that surface was not an accident. It was evidence of a side that had mentally conceded long before the final wicket fell. 

Beyond Conditions: A Judgment on Attitude

Hadlee was correct to dismiss England’s post-match explanations. You cannot blame a pitch for boundary catches, run-outs, or padded-up lbws. You cannot blame conditions for lack of focus. England were not unlucky; they were out-thought and out-prepared.

This match mattered because it marked a shift. New Zealand were no longer content to be measured by England’s expectations. They imposed their own. England, meanwhile, were caught between eras—experienced, talented, but culturally adrift.

Respect, or Be Ruined

Christchurch 1984 endures not because England were bowled out cheaply, but because they were exposed intellectually. Cricket, especially away from home, punishes those who rely on instinct when insight is required.

New Zealand respected conditions. England resisted them. Hadlee mastered them.

And in that difference lay one of the most comprehensive defeats England have ever suffered, one that could not be explained away, only learned from.

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar