- #FarewellCricket #WellPlayedGreenShits
Since as far back as I can recall, what has consistently been testing the collective intellect of this nation has been the perennial question of which team must beat which other (and by what margin) for Pakistan to qualify for the semi-final of a cricket tournament. The nation has, over the years, become something of an expert at such calculations. Of course, Pakistan would go on to lose the semi-final in question, but that’s neither here nor there.
I started following cricket in 1984. For the benefit of the newer generations, the ODIs invariably proceeded as follows: whether batting first or last, we would start the innings determined to preserve wickets even if it meant that the run rate remained on the lower side. The hope being to make up for it of course, with wickets in hand, by ‘hitting fours and sixes’ in the last ten overs or so. After thirty overs however, the scorecard would typically read 98/5 – the run rate being low exactly as planned but far too many wickets lost to be able to hit all those boundaries at the end. The pattern would be repeated match after match after match. Yet, it would never occur to the ‘think tank’ that the batsmen simply lacked the temperament and the ability to score steadily, so the team might be better off if the batsmen were encouraged to play their strokes before they inevitably succumbed (which was a matter of time).
If it sounds familiar to those who only started following cricket, say, five years ago, it’s because we are still playing the same brand of cricket in 2018. And it still hasn’t occurred to the ‘think tank’ that the batsmen lack the temperament and the ability to score steadily: they either have the first or the last gear with nothing in between. Back in the ‘80s most teams played like this, which meant that we won some matches and lost some. In 2018, we are probably the only team still stuck in the ‘80s, and things have come to the point where it’s an achievement to beat Afghanistan. The abject surrenders to Bangladesh are also habitual now, although the latest of these mercifully averted a straight third defeat to India inside a span of ten days.
Traditionally there have been two major problems with Pakistani batsmen: they can’t bat first; and they can’t bat last. Since the ODI format to date allows only the two possibilities (batting first or last), Pakistan, from time immemorial, has been starting most tournaments in such a manner that two matches into the event half the nation can be found on the prayer mat, and the rest reduced to figuring out which nation must beat which other for Pakistan to sneak its way into the semis.
Traditionally there have been two major problems with Pakistani batsmen: they can’t bat first; and they can’t bat last. Since the ODI format to date allows only the two possibilities (batting first or last), Pakistan, from time immemorial, has been starting most tournaments in such a manner that two matches into the event half the nation can be found on the prayer mat
It all comes down to intent, or lack thereof. The Pakistani definition of ‘preserving wickets’ has always been playing dot balls ad-infinitum, building pressure on your own team owing to the low run-rate, and encouraging the opposition to bowl and field more and more aggressively by not punishing even the bad delivery. This is followed by – you guessed it – losing wickets in groups. This, as an art form, was given a fresh lease of life by Misbah-ul-Haq, who destroyed many a promising career by forcing his young charges to curb their attacking instincts and to emulate his ‘responsible’ batsmanship. From 2012 through early 2017, only the mighty Zimbabweans and the West Indians played more dot balls than Pakistan. The solution of course is batsmen with the ability to hit the gaps, scoring five an over without having to resort to ugly hoicks in addition to the capability of hitting boundaries when needed. Since we were never blessed with this species – and it seems that’s not about to change any time soon – our best bet is to let the batsmen play their natural, instinctive game.
Anybody who has followed our cricket for any length of time must have observed that whenever the Pakistanis are batting, the ball suddenly appears to: a) stop coming on to the bat, or b) start moving prodigiously in the air or off the seam, or c) exhibit extreme variations in bounce, or d) do two or more of the above. (Miraculously, none of it happens when it’s the other team’s turn to bat.) My hair dresser explains the strange phenomenon by claiming that in cricket it’s either your day or it isn’t. This, of course, is a variant of the good old ‘cricket by chance’ adage that was very popular in the ‘80s and before. With due respect to the coiffeur whom I trust completely in all matters pertaining to my crowning glory, I beg to disagree. I am inclined to the view that your day or not, block-block-block-block-hit is a particularly stupid way to play cricket.
It had been widely hoped that Pakistan would finally bid adieu to the 1980s’ brand of cricket when Misbah finally called it a day. Alas, that didn’t come to pass. My brother now suspects that that may not happen until the retirement of the last player who shared the dressing room with Misbah. That could take the best part of another decade, but I am not much fussed any more: for I have finally renounced cricket. In its stead I have taken up following croquet, a sport which I find excellent for my nerves as well as my temper.