There's a scene in Friends where the struggling actor Joey goes into a colleague's room to steal a trophy for an award he believed should have been his. When asked if he really wanted an award he didn't win, he memorably responded: "No, I want an award I did win, but nobody's giving me any of those!"
Shan Masood, Babar Azam, or Pakistan, for that matter, were getting none of those awards. They might have felt in with a chance when it did matter in their first innings, South Africa having demonstrated how flat the Cape Town pitch was. Just two months earlier, England had provided Pakistan with a blueprint of how to go about such a second innings, responding to Pakistan's 556 with 827/7 - the fourth-highest Test score in history. They ended up winning by an innings.
But Masood fell in the opening salvo of a fiery evening spell from South Africa, and though Babar's grit carried him through it and on to a second successive half-century, he would gift Kwena Maphaka his first Test wicket to a strangle down leg side. With the pitch at its flattest, even under overcast skies, Pakistan were producing ways of giving away wickets South Africa didn't even seem to be hunting for.
Mohammad Rizwan, the man who'd combined with Babar for a 98-run fourth wicket stand, suddenly forgot he wasn't Rishabh Pant when he hared down the pitch like an aggravated rhino to Wiaan Mulder. When he chopped the ball back onto his stumps, you couldn't help wonder what Sunil Gavaskar might have made of it.
With Pakistan losing their last five wickets for 50 runs, the only questions that remained were: would South Africa enforce the follow-on, and would South Africa finish the game on Sunday?
The first question was answered soon enough; Masood and Babar were back out there. The placidity of the surface may have made you assume they had never really left since they opened in the first innings. Pakistan were 414 runs behind; if there had been a follow-on to the follow-on, South Africa would have retained the right to enforce that, too. The Test had entered that odd phase cricket sometimes does when the point of playing the sport - finding out the winner - has been satisfied, and yet the sport continues to be played.
Masood knows of the pressure that hangs over him; he was appointed at the start of this World Test Championship cycle, and Pakistan will finish it close to the bottom of the table. The concerns around his batting haven't really been dispelled; he averaged almost exactly the same as captain as he did without the armband until this innings. Pakistan will, unsurprisingly, reevaluate at the end of this cycle.
But when there's pressure all the time, it can begin to lose its power. After all, Masood knows there are adjustments he will never be able to make, critics he will never satisfy, members of the PCB he will never win over, perceptions he will never shed. At this stage, perhaps he doesn't need to. He has had a 12-year international career, scored a fourth-innings hundred in Pakistan's highest chase, top-scored for Pakistan in a World Cup final, and captained Pakistan's Test side.
He has a family deeply invested who can sometimes live or die by every ball he faces; his father sometimes gets so worked up watching him go after a ball he will exclaim out loud for the benefit of whoever's in earshot: "Chorh dey beta, last ball hai (Let it go, son, it's the last ball).' It is hardly a tale of pathos and missed opportunity, no matter what happens from here.
But Masood's career has been defined by not letting go, so it'd make little sense to start now. He has been dropped at least half a dozen times since he made his debut in 2013 - of Pakistan's 88 Tests since, he has played just 40. It wasn't until half a decade into his career that he got a run longer than three straight matches, when Pakistan were last here in South Africa. While out of the team, he scored enough List A runs to briefly burrow his way into the ODI side, and enough T20 runs to wrangle a place in the 2022 T20 World Cup squad. He has done precisely the opposite of letting go.
That, of course, is truer in a literal sense in this twilight (though with Masood, who can really work out career stages) phase of his Test career. He would let go just 11 of the 166 balls he faced in this second innings. He knew, despite Pakistan having frittered the game away in the first half of the day, that this was a pitch that still offered relatively easy runs. South Africa had already been out in the field for over 54 overs, only enforcing the follow-on in the slightly greedy hope they could wrap it up on day three. And Masood knows better than to take Test match runs for granted when they're offered up as readily as this.
This innings won't be defined by its belligerence; his strike rate, ultimately, was lower than Babar's. It might not even be defined at all; after all, centuries in follow-on defeats do not enter lore too often. But for a man whose decision-making has so often come under the microscope, Masood may look back fondly at how every shot appeared to be the right one. South Africa were often too straight, and he put it away without getting greedy; the flick fetched him more runs than any other shot, but they came at less than a run per two balls. Even when South Africa went full or short and Masood's scoring rate ticked up, it wasn't especially wild, three cover-driven fours, another two clipped through the onside, and three pulls he made sure he kept down. His control percentage across the day was 86.7.
Late on a rather cool day at Newlands with the sun disappearing behind the clouds that had begun to shroud Table Mountain, Marco Jansen went too full, and Masood clipped him deftly to long-on. There was an understated fist-pump and a raised hand to the heavens. Babar and Masood shared a bashful embrace, more formal than it was personal. There was even an attempt at a closer intimacy as Babar's hand rested briefly on his captain's helmet. Like two acquaintances whom experience has taught to let the past go, they may have been ready to start with a clean slate again.
The moment came and went soon. Two Jansen deliveries later, Babar slashed at a wide one, and got a thick edge that carried straight to gully. It was the second time in the day he had stood rooted to the spot in disgust at the shot he'd played. Chorh detay beta, last few balls hain.