At first, it would seem flippant to liken cricket’s stereotypical traditionalist, W.G. Grace, with arguably its biggest maverick, S.K. Afridi – or Shahid, Lala or Boom Boom, as we know him best.
Besides both dabbling in the precious commodities of runs and wickets, their approaches to the sport could not be more contrasting. But while their ideologies and styles have few similarities, Grace and Afridi were given a trait to leave almost anyone who has wielded a blade or fired a cherry perpetually envious: the ability to draw huge crowds and captivate them without fail.
“They have come to watch me bat, not you umpire,” Grace supposedly quipped after refusing to amble back to the pavilion, despite clearly being out in a minor game way back when. The truth is sketchy, but the legend so perfect and believable that it’s etched into cricketing gospel. Fans came to watch Grace entertain in the same way they have rocked up to see Afridi dazzle for two decades.
The difference now is that due to those pesky things known as rules, out means out – there’s no encore or hostile takeover waiting in the wings. When Boom Boom goes bust the show is over and his legions of fans often slink off home. The lure Grace had and Afridi has is the same.
Madcap batter, shrewd spinner
Afridi has proven so intoxicating for the simple reason that we are still clueless of what to expect. When he saunters to the wicket with his indomitable swag, a team and a nation holds its collected breath. He is unmoulded, ragged and blessed with the same youthful inexperience he had 20 years ago.
An Afridi innings is either laden with beautiful, bombastic shot-making, or tarnished by the ugliest of brainless hacks, sometimes coming on his first delivery. Whether his side is in a position of power or peril, his attitude is the same. It’s Afridi’s way or the highway - it always ever has been.
The crazy batting episodes that have defined his career make it easy to forget his significant accomplishments as a bowler. In fact, despite the razzmatazz, theatre and attention his batting has bought, even Afridi himself recognises his subtle effectiveness with the ball is his most valuable asset. He has typified what we have come to expect from a one-day spinner, whose objective is to suppress and choke batsmen in the middle overs.
In his 398 ODIs, he snared 395 wickets at a tick over 4.6 runs per over, while his T20I career has yielded a wicket per match at under 6.6 runs per over. In an era where economy rates supersede averages, Afridi has shone brightly.
Then consider his leadership. Whether he’s been captain or not, over the past few years Afridi has shown a passionate commitment to Pakistan’s youth while in the field. He’s geed them up, handed advice to the bowlers and acted as a well-intentioned - albeit sometimes unreliable - talisman. Afridi espouses in himself what Pakistan teams have for decades: burning desire and flair that is thwarted only by inconsistency.
Such a gushing appraisal would have you assume that he is cemented in all Pakistani hearts as a hero – but only half of the story has been told. The reality is that Afridi is one of the most polarising figures not just in Pakistani cricket, but in world cricket. Like most geniuses, his troubles have regularly trumped his talent.
From pirouetting on pitches to biting cricket balls, Afridi’s capacity to carve out a maddening moment has never ceased to amaze. The first incident occurred after a gas cylinder blew up in a Test between England and Pakistan in November 2005. The briefly scary moment allowed an opportunistic Afridi to work his spikes into the rough patches of a pitch he would soon be bowling on. He was caught in the act.
The second took place just over four years later when the all-rounder decided it was time for a bite to eat – or, as everybody else saw it, ball tampering. He was, unsurprisingly, caught again. With the all-seeing eyes of the TV cameras, how on earth did he think he could get away with either?
These head-in-hands moments make it tough to paint Afridi as the perfect role model. Would you advise a budding youngster to adopt his mindset? Certainly not. Or recommended that they study the technicalities of his batting? Most definitely not. Afridi is like the girl your mother warned you about: fraught with danger yet undeniably beguiling. And anyway, who wants the perfect role model?
How Afridi won the World Twenty20
While Afridi has flattered to deceive too many times to secure a spot among the sport’s greatest, it was his ardent involvement that gave Pakistan their biggest triumph since 1992. Pakistan’s turnaround in the 2009 World T20 coincided with Afridi’s.
In their first game of the event against England, he and his team were utterly hopeless. He failed with the ball before totally mistiming a slug to mid-on, as Pakistan were defeated by 48 runs at The Oval. It was a dark day for both Afridi and country, but just a fortnight later and a few miles north at Lord’s, they revelled in deserved glory.
None of it would have been possible without Boom Boom. He put his bowling boots on against the Netherlands in his next outing, nabbing four wickets for 11, before taking that catch for the ages versus New Zealand, a match which began the rumblings in Afridi’s temperamental batting engine.
An uncharacteristically calm knock of 51 against South Africa on a tough semi-final pitch at Trent Bridge, set the foundations for a vital bowling performance. He sent Herschelle Gibbs and AB de Villiers packing and gave away just 16 in his four overs as Pakistan narrowly defended 149, sending a hyped crowd into delirium.
In truth, the final felt more of a coronation than a contest. A spritely 17-year-old Mohammad Amir dislodged the World Cup’s star, Sri Lanka’s Tillakaratne Dilshan in the first over, as they skidded to 32-4. Afridi was tight once more with the ball and shepherded his side to the title with an unbeaten 54.
For a man so often criticised for his wild style, those few weeks in England showed him at his brilliant best – cool, calm and collected, yet still Shahid Afridi. Younis Khan was that team’s captain on the scoresheet, but Afridi was the de facto leader on the field.
The end of an era
Barring a change of heart – and with his knack for unretiring, perhaps we shouldn’t rule it out completely – Afridi will hang up his international jersey after this year’s World T20. With his departure, we shall see the end of another career from the previous generation; there are few left now, even the seemingly irremovable Shivnarine Chanderpaul has been uprooted.
Afridi has received varying amounts of scorn for not passing the baton onto up-and-comers earlier. The accusation that he has hogged the limelight holds some weight, but in international cricket, 36 has become the new 26. T20 is the only format he still plies his trade in, and with his all-round, game-changing faculties, he remains worthy of being in Pakistan’s 11, at least for a little longer.
In 1996, Afridi’s first international act was to blitz a 37-ball ODI century, a world record that lasted more than 17 years. From that minute onwards, it was clear he was going to be box office He has frustrated, he has infuriated and he has, on occasions, embarrassed. But he has also delighted, thrilled and, sometimes, even delivered. Modern sport is sanitised, its players bereft of uniqueness. But there will be another Shahid Afridi, and we should cherish every moment he has left.
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