Khalid Hossain

And decades later, that mischievous prince remains. He plays with the singular, pure focus of a child with a ball at his feet, bringing an ethereal beauty and grace back to a hyper-mechanised sport.

It’s basic math. A World Cup rolls around every four years. The arrival of a firstborn happens exactly once.

Aside from the Messi incident, the referees have made their uncompromising statement.

They do not score goals, track back, or understand the offside law, rendering them only slightly less tactically confused than Spain and Portugal’s midfield.

The proof of Messi-De Paul’s telepathic alchemy manifested beautifully on Wednesday morning as the lights of Kansas City illuminated screens across the world.

Mandatory three-minute hydration breaks, introduced by FIFA to combat summer heat across North America, now take place around the 22nd minute of each half and have become one of the tournament’s most contentious talking points.

In a physically exhausting tournament, a single accurate cross toward a dominant striker may become more valuable than a beautifully constructed twenty-pass sequence.

As always, though, the World Cup’s enduring appeal extends beyond the favourites, residing in the stories surrounding the underdogs and newcomers.

The tragedy of Bangladesh women’s football is that it evolves despite the system, not because of it.

Her journey back has unfolded between nursery routines, rehab sessions, and match points, guided by the quiet resolve that only a life changed so deeply can bring.

It would be easy to begin with cliches: underdogs, fairy tales, David and Goliath. However, the story of Bangladesh women’s football in 2025 refuses the comfort of familiar labels.

Since March 2025, Hamza has managed the improbable and unthinkable, doing so with a style and spirit that has turned an entire era mythic.

As Bangladesh players celebrated the win, it felt as though two eras quietly touched hands.

Even Doctor Strange, who had traversed timelines to find a comparable wicket, concluded that no other pitch came close to such dark perfection.

When fandom turns sport into an opiate for the masses, an escape for collective frustration rather than a celebration of craft, it’s the image of the nation itself that takes the hit in the long run.

She comes from Barisal, from a home where cricket wasn’t supposed to be a daughter’s dream.

Bangladesh could not have asked for a better start to their ICC Women’s World Cup campaign. Fast bowler Marufa Akter, already making a name as the Tigresses’ firebrand, pegged Pakistan on the backfoot from the onset at Colombo’s R Premadasa Stadium on Thursday.

Bangladesh cricket, in particular, must take note.

Once again, Bangladeshi cricket lovers fell under the spell of supporting the Tigers -- creatures whose body stripes were, some say, stitched by He Who Shall Not Be Named.

No politics, no boycotts, just pure cricket: the kind that creates drama, stirs emotions, and keeps fans -- old and new -- coming back for more.