Cricket in Pakistan: A sad question mark

A recent picture of Jinnah Stadium

Sitting in the confines of the Lord’s media centre, packed to the rafters with assorted media men from all around the globe following the newly revitalised New Zealand Test team playing against a notoriously troubled England.

Watching an Emirates A380 fly by as the cricket itself isn’t as riveting as one would have thought (it was day two, OK!). A dull, lifeless, flat wicket, producing the odd bit of lateral movement if the bowler was lucky enough to land in the rough.

My mind starts to wander to my first — and only — time watching live international cricket in Pakistan; strangely enough against New Zealand. This was nearly 20 years ago in 1996 — when teams more or less happily toured Pakistan and the only cause for fear was the opposition umpire and Pakistan’s two speed kings Wasim Akram and Waqar Younis at their peak.

So I took a trip, my trip was going to coincide with a local Pakistan ODI game against the visiting Kiwis, my first chance to see live cricket in Pakistan. An uncle of mine knew I was hankering after this and kindly handed over his press accreditation. No photo ID in those days — good thing too given my own cherubic and folically challenged facial features at the time as my uncle was the spitting image of the ferociously mustachioed Indian all-rounder Kapil Dev.

The carnival that is cricket in Pakistan

The morning of the match I made my way to the Jinnah stadium. (You have to realise everything in Pakistan is named after leaders past and present. Possibly a policy somewhat lacking in imagination. Imagine if they were to rename a British Test ground after various former PMs. Stick to carmakers and electricity groups.)

I was wearing my official Pakistan tracksuit, one which made me feel a wee bit special as it was only released to a limited number of people. That feeling of euphoria and uniqueness wasn’t to last too long. No one had told me it was easier to get into Fort Knox than a Pakistan cricket ground on match day. I showed my pass to the policeman at the media entrance and was kindly and most respectfully told, “Get lost [person of questionable parentage],” which is about the most polite translation I can give of the original Punjabi.

I might have got off easy. Elsewhere the police were baton-charging people with tickets, and those without were trying to leapfrog the walls, in some cases successfully, to get in the ground. But I wanted to get in legally-ish, and at least some of the police were apologising on behalf of their overzealous colleagues. In the distance I saw what could be my chance of actually getting through; I spotted the New Zealand player Mark Greatbatch who wasn’t playing. I went over to him and asked if he could call one of my friends on the Pakistan team as I was being hassled by the police even though I had my relatively (in more ways than one) legitimate form of entry.

Within two minutes, a then-beardless Mushtaq Ahmed came down and recognised me. We had played a few friendly games of cricket together in England. He was kind enough to get me into the ground and informed the police that I was his friend and should be treated with respect and courtesy. Result!

Till Pakistanis have air in their lungs

I was escorted to my seat by a magistrate who happened to be a steward on this particular day. He only went and placed me next to the policeman who had earlier so kindly told me so politely to get lost! The police even bought me lunch.

Test matches didn’t interest the paying public even then, when T20 wasn’t even a glint in a cash-seeking fixture secretary’s eye. The people wanted massive sixes or wickets being shattered by extreme pace on demand. No patience. What they got was the elegant Saeed Anwar making a stand of 177 with his fellow opener Zahoor Elahi.

New Zealand were set a target of 277. (This was the match when the scorers had a fit of kenniptions and no one really knows exactly what anyone scored). But what stays in the mind is the noise and atmosphere — especially when Wasim or Waqar bowled. I remember Chris Cairns hitting Saqlain Mushtaq for the biggest six I have ever seen, then being skittled by the same bowler with a beautiful off cutter the very next ball.

To this day that is the only one-day match I ever saw in Pakistan, and definitely an experience I am never going to forgot.

Unfortunately, all the cricket-loving public of Pakistan have missed out on that experience for the last six years until Zimbabwe came along amid presidential-style security in 2015.

Cricket a thing of a present in Pakistan? Well the flow of wind and the speedy nature of the time will surely tell us but I give you this, Pakistani soil says: If our flag is more than just cloth and ink and is a universally recognized symbol that stands for peace, and freedom; opur craze for cricket is much much deeper, screaming at us and arguing that it loves us more than we would ever love it. and people will continue to live with that until they have air in their lungs.