The following scene takes place in the office of the chairman Pakistan Cricket Board (PCB). It is January 2014, and he has been selected (not elected) for the position after a process that required the intervention of the courts, the Election Commission and even the prime minister himself. It was not easy but incentives were made available from the sports development fund.

The man has been kind enough to come early that day for the interview, allowing for a couple of hours before he goes for lunch with the Russian ambassador. Apparently, there has been some last minute hiccup with the MoU to be signed by him with the Russian Federation to buy $32.7 million worth of the Czar’s private car collection, a steal considering their significance to history; they were the first items to be vandalised by the Bolsheviks. The step-nephew of the PM wants it desperately, and the ministry of culture has already paid the full amount. Now it appears the burnt tyres were not included in the amount and require an extra $1.5 million.

“These Russians,” he tells me, waving a finger at my face, “had a chemistry professor draft the terms. His only qualification is that he is the former jail mate of the current minister of climate change, who has final authority over the sale. I mean, how on earth are these two Commies qualified to manage this deal? You’d think it would be vetted by the ministry of health.”

With a wave of his hand, he dismisses it, only to have a butler dressed in black pants, crisp white shirt with a bow tie, a waistcoat and a suit jacket appear: “You called, Sir?”

“No, no … but OK might as well arrange for some tea,” says the Chairman. He turns to me and with a wink says: “His great-great grandfather served Lord Buttockworth when he was commissioner of the Northern Areas and bowled to him on Sunday afternoons. Can’t hire anyone without proper connections to cricket, you know.”

With that he leans back into the solid mahogany, leather-upholstered sofa resting his hand on a glossy lacquer finish hand rest. Pulling on a Cohiba Behike cigar he looks at me and says: “So what is it you wish to ask me?”

“What do you think qualifies you for this position?” I ask him up front.

“Look, I’ve been very fond of this game and can’t understand why it is not managed well here. When I was growing up in Sweden (my father was ambassador there), I would travel every summer to England. I’m the only Pakistani to watch Bradman bat no less than seven times.

“When I was specialising in gastroenterology in New Mexico I closely followed the Pakistan Railways side in the Patron’s Trophy. Throughout my career in which I commanded the National Guards on the Pishin border for 15 years, then several years in the foreign service in Congo, heading the media wing of the government under BB Sahiba and finally as special advisor on aviation to the President I would be frustrated at cricket’s decline in this country. Now PM Sahib has given me full authority to use my experience in sorting out this mess we’ve landed into.”

He looks intensely as I ask what the selection policy of the Pakistan cricket team is, and what the strategy is to select the 14-member squad for the forthcoming World Twenty20. After a long puff he puts the cigar down and says: “Look, I don’t believe in taking out any insurance policy in case we choose the wrong squad. I am here to select the best of the best, fitter, faster and more motivated than the last team that was picked by that marine engineer before me who couldn’t tell a cross from a header when watching a cricket match.”

I don’t bother about pursuing the strategy part and ask him what the PCB intends to do about bringing foreign teams to play in Pakistan. Seeing the sparkle in his eye, I know he has already come up with a plan. “Look,” he says, “I’ve sent out about 20 of our under-12 cricketers to this central African country I can’t name yet. They are from the academy my brother-in-law runs near the Iranian border where our real talent is. I’m giving him $12 million to make sure they get the best diet of dry fruits from the farm he runs in Gilgit. In about six to seven years these guys will form a national cricket team because no one else plays cricket there. Around that time a rebel group friendly to us will take over the government,” he continues excitedly lowering his voice and with a wink adds: “It’s been arranged.”

He leans back again and continues: “The country’s cricket team then announces a tour of Pakistan,” and concludes triumphantly: “Even India won’t be able to stop them because we’re the ones exporting bananas to the Africans.”

I am clearly overawed at this visionary plan which has absolutely no chance of anything going wrong. He nods proudly as I half say to myself: “And so we shall have a foreign team visiting us, say around 2021.”

“Have you identified any new extraordinary talent coming up?” I ask him.

He places his cigar in the Waterford Crystal ashtray and says half dismissingly: “You may not know this fellow by the name of Zulfiqar Babar. I saw him three years ago playing for the Pakistan U-19 and asked the chairman at the time as to why in heavens he’s not opening our bowling at the speed at which he bowls? You know what he answered? You know?” and without waiting for my acknowledgement of ignorance recounts: “He said ‘we are saving him till the ICC approves Pakistan’s request for grassy pitches for ODI’s.’ You’d think he was confident of succeeding where India hasn’t.”

“Tell me Sir,” I put forward my next question, “Everyone is asking why you have assigned a special trainer to Rahat Ali only, alongside the Pakistani physio for the rest of the team.”

“Look, Rahat is our future asset,” he emphasises. “I have watched him since he was a toddler and taken him under my wing. I flew especially to New York to interview this specialist. He’s an expert with a local archery team there. But to make sure the $35,000 we are paying him for his two-week stint is worth it, I’ve assigned my son to train alongside Rahat and do all the drills and exercises as well. If my son can improve his bowling in his five-over spells I’ll know the American is doing a good job otherwise I won’t renew his contract. After all its PCB money here and I have to be careful.”

“Why did you appoint Shan Masood as captain in all formats?” I question.

“Did you see him answer Michael Atherton?” he replies excitedly. “He did our country proud with his perfect English in a London accent and everyone forgot we’d lost all three Tests by an innings. He made the nation proud in what is the toughest part of the five-day game: the post match interview of the captain. He may not get runs but he sure can carry the nation’s image on his shoulders. Salman Butt raised our image tremendously after Inzamam ruined it but now we have Shan and Umar Amin to talk to the Brit commentators.”

“How are you ensuring that Pakistan cricket stays free of fixing?” I ask.

“Easy,” he claims. “I flew in all the major bookies from Dubai and Mumbai and introduced them to all our cricketers. Now they know who they are and can’t say afterwards that they thought these guys were promotion agents. I’ve told them that if I personally ever catch them in a car park talking to these crooks, I will fine them 10pc of their match fee. I think they’ve got the message.”

“How do you explain the loss of Rs1.3 billion last year as you were in the Governing Board and served as head of the Finance Committee?” I put to him bluntly.

“I’ve already formed an enquiry committee under me to look into that. We’ve hired a foreign consultant specialising in taxation who’ll spend the next six months travelling to every major city to see where we paid extra taxes. But let me tell you the only reason is that ugly ruin of a stand,” he points at the incomplete structure across the field. “The previous management spent Rs500 million on it without a tender process.”

“So have you filed a complaint against the man responsible?” I ask.

“I’ve done better than that. I’ve phoned this friend of mine in the CM Secretariat,” he says banging his fist on the arm rest. “The previous CEO, a former high-ranking civil servant of Lahore from 1997 to 1999, is now CM Sahib’s son-in-law’s business partner in the construction business that has the contract for redevelopment of Margalla Hills. It’s less cheap as both are based in Islamabad. I only stay there four days a week to look after my small 30-acre farm in Chak Shahzad.”

“They say the PCB is overstaffed,” I put to him straight up.

“I think so too,” he nods and continues: “I’ve hired this management university as consultant as there was no time for a tender notice and I want quick action. My other son teaches there so he kept their fees down to Rs2.9 million for their two-week study. But we’ve already identified that we are carrying excess ground and maintenance staff in the stadiums we own. I won’t be waiting for the report as time is money.”

“Also,” he points out, “I’ve told all my 23 directors not to hire separate Audis when we go to ICC meetings and only I will stay in the Burj Khalifa suite from now on and reduce my daily allowance to $2,500. As a further sacrifice I’ve decided to travel business class for six months until we have enough money for me to resume my first class travel.”

“Why aren’t we producing quality cricketers?” I ask.

“My question exactly to my Director International Cricket,” he says, well prepared for the answer. “So he and I are travelling to Melbourne to visit all their academies and will also talk to some guy there called Kerry Packer as to how he reformed the Australian first class cricket. In about three weeks we hope to come up with the right solution. Then from mid February I will be spending another six weeks in England watching the standard of their domestic game and get some tips from there. I’ve invited Giles Clarke to a weekend in Monte Carlo to go over what he has been doing. It’s too cold in Scotland for a constructive discussion.”

As I get up to beg leave the Chairman insists I have tea with him. He escorts me to the large dining hall behind his office suite. A table has been laid out for two; compete with napkins and silver crockery. The Chairman feels delighted in offering me, pointing to a tray of finely cut tuna sandwiches and another of half dozen white truffles. “I had planned on ordering some fresh prawns. But I’m setting an example here of cost cutting,” he tells me as one of the butler’s assistant pours fresh pomegranate juice for us. “After all, disparity begins at home doesn’t it?”

The writer is a business consultant and a former CEO and board member. He is an author and cricket writer by choice for over 30 years and has served as editor of the Asian edition of The Cricketer International, UK.