As I warmed my chair to watch the Roland Garros final, I was warned by my Rafa crazed wife that dinner would only be served if Rafael Nadal went on to win a record 9th French Open title in his 5th consecutive bid. No man in history has comparable success or has dominated a single surface as has the 'King of Clay'. Novak Djokovic too was gunning for a career Grand Slam.

The scoreline stood at one set a piece going into the third, but the body language of the two players suggested that there was now a clear favourite. Nadal was on his way to win his 14th Grand Slam, only three shy of Roger Federer’s record 17. Djokovic said that beating Rafa at the French Open was not just the most difficult thing to do in Tennis, but perhaps in the entire sporting world; Nadal now has a 66 -1 Win/Loss record in his 10 years at the Parisian Slam.

As my wife ecstatically celebrated, I too was happy to witness a feat that might survive the test of time, and I was also relieved that dinner would finally be laid. During our meal we discussed how Rafa’s dominance and his aura of invincibility on red dirt bore a stark resemblance to a Pakistani legend that graced the squash courts and ruled them for over a decade; we reminisced the era of Jahangir Khan.

From 1981 to 1986, Jahangir was unbeaten in all competitive play. He won 555 consecutive matches, the longest winning streak by any athlete in any top level professional sport. He won ten consecutive British Open (the Wimbledon equivalent) championships, remaining unbeaten at squash’s most prestigious tournament between 1982 and 1991. Jahangir was, and for many will always be, the undisputed 'King of Squash'.

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Unfortunately, the air that Jahangir created in the world of squash did not translate into the national stardom one would have expected or hoped for. I personally grew up playing squash and tennis at a club in Karachi that Jahangir sometimes visited, but he was always found in the Billiard Room and never at the squash courts. I seldom saw people stopping and asking for autographs or taking pictures with the legend. I now realise, I don’t have them either, next time though, I will make sure I intrude his stride and get one of each.

This brings us to a grave question that desperately begs to be answered by the Pakistani public. Why did a man of Jahangir Khan’s stature receive such mellow national celebrity status and relatively less popularity than his achievements and accolades warranted?

One can reason that squash is not a big sport; the cash flow does not allow the glitter and in Pakistan, glamour, it seems, is reserved for its only one true sporting passion: cricket. While all of the above could provide rational to the lack of fame or fortune for great Pakistani sportsmen, the rabbit hole is a lot deeper.

For many years, Pakistan produced the most talented and skilled stock of hockey and squash players in the world, but the lack of larger than life heroes has meant a dearth of aspiring followers. Economic non-viability and shortage (or mishandling) of resources has deprived sports its fare share and halted its progress, but it is the absence of inspiration for the Pakistani youth that has jolted its foundation and become the core of the prevailing quagmire.

Posters of Jahangir and Jansher Khan, or Samiullah and Kalimullah are from bedroom walls of the past. An entire generation in Pakistan has grown up without idolising a star from the sports Pakistan once ruled, many kids of today have never picked up a hockey stick or a squash racquet in their life. While squash and hockey are on an extremely slippery downward curve, cricketers too have lost the fan fare they once enjoyed. Sadly, instead of glorifying the players, the administrators have contributed in decimating the stardom of its most important asset.

The most recent victim of reproach at the hands of the authorities was Younis Khan who was initially demoted to a “B” category contract by the Pakistan Cricket Board (PCB). With a Test batting average of 51.92 and 23 hundreds, Younis ranks among the best batsmen the country has ever produced. He captained Pakistan in all forms of the game and led the team to a glorious World T20 championship. According to reliable sources, a disappointed and dejected Younis had decided not to sign the contract, even if it jeopardized his future with the Pakistani team.

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The legacy of Younis Khan goes beyond statistics and numbers. Not as talented as his peers Inzamam-ul-Haq and Mohammad Yousuf, he has been able to achieve as much, and even more on certain accounts. He was one of the few who maintained a clean slate in a team rife with corruption and politics. He belonged to a small group of Pakistani cricketers of his era that went without a blemish on their integrity or accusations of disrupting team spirit.

Younis should have become the corner stone for a generation of cricketers to follow, the symbol of hard work, honesty and perseverance. Instead of being decorated with badges and medals of honour, he was made to look like an old man trying to cling onto a cricket contract at the twilight of his career, and more embarrassingly his self esteem.

What message was the PCB giving out to young cricketers? Who would want to be the next Younis Khan, if he was portrayed as a struggling, unsatisfied man trying to fight for his basic rights?

The decision of Najam Sethi to reverse the atrocious call on Younis Khan’s contract was much needed and has been welcomed by the entire cricket fraternity. Most importantly, Sethi is putting in place a clause that will automatically award an "A" category contract to any player that has represented Pakistan in over 300 matches and captained in all three formats.

PCB for once has taken a step in the right direction. Organisations, institutions and countries work most efficiently when there are adequate functional systems in place, and not through the whimsical accord of the powers that control them at a given time. With this new clause in PCB’s contractual framework, the chances of such mistakes being repeated should diminish.

In a recent lash out at the Pakistani public who apparently misbehaved on social media, Wasim Akram said he had a job in India and could not come to Pakistan to sell “amrood” (Guava), clarifying that he was a patriotic Pakistani. It is a tragedy for Pakistan that someone who should have been a national treasure needs to come on TV and explain which side of the border his loyalties remain. It is the job of the entire country to develop and maintain a climate where stars understand their responsibilities and they receive public love and respect in return. But far too often in Pakistan, both fail to maintain that balance.

While Nadal was recently named as the adopted son of Madrid, the highest honour given by the city hall in the Spanish capital, the Karachi Building Control Authority (KBCA) has sealed the newly-built Jahangir Khan Sports Complex on Kashmir Road in Karachi. For right or for wrong, the Pakistani legend is sadly an accused outlaw in his own country and the Spanish maestro is their most adored hero.

Dreadfully, the Pakistani hockey team has also failed to qualify for the World Cup for the first time in its history.

The Pakistani government, media, corporations, institutions, and the civil society have failed to build systems or create an environment that could have nurtured and popularised national heroes. In fact, these stakeholders often play a part in defaming, slandering and marginalising the country’s most prized possessions; the damage of which is far reaching and beyond mathematical calculation.

There are some things money can’t buy; national pride, the psyche of an entire country and inspiration that can alter social fabric. A hundred thousand rupees more or less on a cricket contract are of little significance because there is no price tag that can absorb the emotions of millions who aspire to adorn national colours.

Respect cannot be expected if one is not willing to offer any. And if Pakistan wants its sporting culture to regain its lost glory, the Green Blazer has to hold the reverence it inherently desires.