Nine-hundred-and-fifty people walked through the Gabba gates before the first over was bowled.
There wasn't the swimming pool, bikini, Hawaiian-shirted, beery-party atmosphere that had set the scene for the first three days of the Test. The eye-watering confetti pattern of the seats, meant to give the illusion of greater numbers but hidden by actual people from day one to three, was now revealed.
The fans hadn't paid to enter: why would anyone pay to see a few overs, a couple of Pakistan wickets and a quick victory for the home side?
A hundred and eight runs to win. Surely it may as well have been 1008. 100,008. A million and eight.
****
Asad Shafiq and Yasir Shah start quietly and solidly, Shafiq trying to keep the strike when Mitchell Starc, in particular, is bowling. The countdown is on.
A hundred runs to win.
A trickle of Pakistan fans, clad in green and bearing flags, have started to arrive. Some are families, cousins passing children around and chattering in Urdu. Others are on their own, or with a mate or two. But they all come to the same place.
There is Rohan, from Lahore. He only arrived in Australia a few weeks earlier, here to study in Brisbane. The last time he saw Pakistan play was nine years ago in Karachi, when he was 14 years old.
The chanting starts in earnest: Pakistan zindabad! For the players, this must be like playing in the UAE, their home that isn't a home: a huge stadium, virtually empty, echoing with the cries from a small pocket of noisy green loyalty.
Yasir, with a top Test score of 30 to his name, crouches and waits as Starc steams in and spears a yorker at his toes. Yasir jams his bat down just in time. Another yorker, another jam.
The fans know this is about survival; Bear Grylls should probably be out in the middle. They know Yasir needs all the help he can get. They scream at Starc as he runs in, "No ball! No ball!" As if they can, by shouting, force his foot to overstep.
Josh Hazlewood is next. He bowls wide to Shafiq, who slashes through the covers for four.
They jump to their feet. Maybe they don't all really believe yet, truly believe that their team can pull off the most preposterous chase in all of Test history. But they are starting to.
Drinks are called. Eight-four runs to win.
A family sits in the middle of the small crowd, all in green shirts with their names printed across the back. The father, Faisal. Next to him a young girl picks up a flag. She's wearing green sunglasses with the Pakistan moon. As she stands on the chair her name becomes visible. Hidayah. Her tiny Mini-Me sister, Mahdiyya, smiles and claps as Hidayah starts the chanting, her young, clear voice ringing around the stands and out to the players in the middle. Pakistan zindabad!
Nathan Lyon comes on to bowl. "Come on Garry," they cry. Then laugh.
Across the ground, a single Australian attempts the "Aussie, Aussie, Aussie" call. It sounds lonely and a little pathetic, so the Pakistan fans take it up. They'll cheer for both sets of fans.
Yasir almost edges Lyon to Peter Handscomb at short leg. There's a collective intake of breath so sharp it seems all the air has been sucked out of the Gabba. Yasir safely sweeps the next ball for a single and the air is released. The countdown now comes after every run.
"Only 73! Only 73!"
Smith sends Hansdcomb to field at third man, directly in front of Little Pakistan. It almost seems like a punishment for not taking the catch. Handscomb is greeted with a rousing rendition of "Dil Dil Pakistan". It's a song that's ubiquitous at any cricket match involving Pakistan. Now, just weeks after the death of the iconic pop singer Junaid Jamshed, who made it famous, it evokes an added poignancy.
Mani is singing along. He's originally from Multan but has lived in the Australian capital, Canberra, where he umpires in a local competition, for five years. He's never seen Pakistan play and he is beyond nervous.
The fans have now become celebrities. The television crews arrive. "Ian Healy, zindabad!" The radio crews and photographers follow. There are jeers for Starc when he shapes to throw the ball back at Yasir. There are cheers when Yasir responds by nudging another single. Jeers and cheers all round. Mani and Rohan shake hands. They've never met but they share a bond and could be about to share in history.
Fifty-three runs to win.
Omair has been standing on his seat, leading the singing. He was born in Australia and lives in Sydney but his parents hail from Karachi. Lyon leaps full stretch in an attempt to take a ball that flies past him, and lands face-down. He stays there. Omair also goes down. He drums the seat with jittery hands. Every exhale is a gust of pure tension. "I can't do this. I can't do this."
Yasir is rapped on the pads and Hazlewood appeals. The the umpire's finger rises and so do the hands of the fans as they clutch their heads. Mani turns away and mutters, "He didn't offer a shot. He didn't offer a shot." He can't look at the big screen as Yasir calls for the DRS, but his neighbours do, all on their feet, all on edge. When the cheers go up for the not-out call, Mani shakes his head. He's too anxious to celebrate.
But the calls for a no-ball have disappeared. There's no need for them. Shafiq and Shah have got this. Now they all believe.
Forty-one runs to win.
Starc. A bouncer. Shafiq. Warner.
It happens so quickly and this time there is no review, no chance, no reprieve. There isn't even time to inhale. A few seconds of disbelief and then they are on their feet again. Shafiq removes his helmet and looks to the sky in despair and then raises his bat to Little Pakistan. "You're a hero. You're a hero," they reply.
They rouse once more for Rahat Ali. He squirts out a single. "Rahat for president!"
Forty runs to win.
And then it's over. Quickly and inexplicably. As the bails flash in the sunlight and Yasir is caught flailing out of his crease, no one seems to believe it could end this way. Even though they started the day barely believing it could be this close.
Two thousand five hundred and ninety-three people are now in the Gabba. They haven't paid of course. Why would anyone pay to see a few overs, a couple of Pakistan wickets and a quick victory for the home side?
The fans in Little Pakistan combine their chants. "Aussie Aussie Aussie! Pakistan zindabad!"
"So close," says Mani, as he leaves his new friends. "Maybe… in Melbourne."