Try explaining Pakistan cricket to a newcomer – the second-largest population of cricket fans in the world, but with an ostensibly terrible infrastructure that makes it profoundly unsuitable to success at international level. The same Pakistan that shook the world with their World Cup win 20 years ago. The same Pakistan that turned cricket upside-down with a spot-fixing scandal.
This is cricket, the Pakistan way. For years, Pakistan has been a lightning rod for controversy within the cricketing fraternity, a country of cricketing juxtapositions. A country where politics and religion divide, and cricket unites.
Put simply, Pakistan cricket is chaos in flux.
There is a splendid uncertainty unlike any other team in cricket’s history. Naivety is at the heart of its cricket, leading to a simmering volatility. For fans, this is an irresistible combination, a fatal attraction that sucks in the most hardened neutral.
The best example of Pakistan’s chaos is, of course, Shahid Afridi. Though a senior statesman in terms of sheer experience, he is impulsive and incorrigible. Afridi is a Pathan by heritage, a fact often used as a way to either rationalise or justify his most irrational behaviour. His consistent disappointments are punctuated with periods of virtuoso brilliance, and, as a result, fans retain faith in him. Again, this is hardly unique in international cricket: Indian fans would call it the ‘Rohit Sharma Syndrome’.
In 2009, Afridi was Pakistan’s star player as they won the World T20. Yet, months later, Afridi said: “I shouldn’t have done it. It just happened. I was trying to help my bowlers and win a match, one match.”
This was in response to video evidence that found Afridi guilty of ball-tampering – by putting a cricket ball in his mouth, gnawing at its seam, and then casually tossing it back to the bowler.
The same man who inspired Pakistan’s greatest limited-overs success since 1992 is also the same man who, as a child, you imagine teachers would scold for running with scissors.
It is unlikely that Afridi would have played over 400 international matches in any team other than Pakistan. To this day, he continues to get himself out with the same, ill-advised caveman slogs that pre-date Glenn Maxwell by well over a decade. And, to this day, he excites and infuriates.
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“I’ve said it many times that everybody remembers the last shot of the WT20, but nobody remembers who brought Pakistan to the end.” – Misbah-ul-Haq
We take it as a given that Pakistan are uncoachable in the traditional sense. There are myriad external and internal factors that can knock even the most competent coach and captain sideways. Political interference, favouritism and fickleness from the media are present in many countries, yet they are all dialled up a notch in Pakistan. Highly regarded coaches and captains have tried, and more often than not failed, to exert control over this disparate group.
In stark contrast to Afridi, Misbah could have been mistaken for milquetoast with an MBA. If it was an act of divine intervention to freakishly guide Misbah’s paddle-sweep into the hands of Sreesanth in 2007, then seven years later, it was a fittingly karmic rebalancing of the universe for the same man to smash records. Misbah has attracted more unfair criticism than one man should endure, often for a perception that he was batting too slowly in a team where he couldn’t trust the batsmen around him (paging: Shivnarine Chanderpaul). Misbah has been a professional scapegoat for the last few years, taking so much flak that he must have felt like the only sane man in the asylum.
In what must go down as one of cricket’s greatest feats of man-management, Misbah has guided Pakistan through a period of on-field prosperity, and a lack of off-field controversies. He recognised that a hands-off approach works best with Pakistan, allowing plenty of room for his players to breathe.
This is not, however, a novel strategy for Pakistan. In 1999, before their World Cup semi-final at Old Trafford, Pakistan went on a team outing to Alton Towers instead of holding a training session. A fairly common occurrence in Pakistan cricket – and no, I’m not referring to Inzamam-ul-Haq on the log flume. Eyebrow-raising unorthodoxy, shoulder-shruggingly effective.
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At some point, masochism became an ingrained part of the Pakistan fan’s identity. Post-mortems of numerous unthinkable collapses have taken on a ritualistic nature. No longer a forum for venting, but an examination of a fan’s inner contentedness. How quickly can you make peace with Pakistan?
These days, chaos is no longer lamented. It is embraced, all part of Pakistan’s joie de vivre. Pakistan are the antidote to sterilised, factory-line cricketers.
In Afridi and Misbah, we have polar opposite characters, and through this near-comical contrast, it’s easy to see why so many Pakistan fans are in an abusive relationship with their team. Afridi is the hope, the let-down, the pay-off. Misbah is the expectation.
“In October, Pakistan summoned our incredulity as they lost to Australia in an ODI by two runs. Weeks later, they had thrashed Australia in a Test series, and Misbah had equalled Sir Viv Richards’ record for that fastest-ever Test century.
Perhaps the true fruit of Pakistan cricket. In its unpredictability lies its greatest glory.”
Nishant Joshi's article in Wisden India
http://www.wisdenindia.com/cricket-article/pakistan-cricket-making-peace-chaos/134230
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