A shaft of light bursting through storm clouds
THE world depends on vibrations. Each particle in a solid vibrates, packed together, moving in harmony, a primal force of existence. Now imagine twenty thousand Pakistan fans jumping, bouncing, waving flags, banging drums, blowing horns and whistles, singing, and generally going crazy to ‘Dil Dil Pakistan’, and you have some idea how Pakistan supporters shook Trent Bridge to its foundations. For one night only, Nottingham was a Pakistani city.
The supporters had every reason to celebrate. It wasn’t just that Younis Khan’s team beat the mighty South Africans, pretenders to Australia’s crown, it was the manner of victory that was uplifting. Pakistan played with passion, pride, they attacked South Africa, and — most importantly — they played without fear.
This was how it always used to be. When Imran Khan changed the mentality of Pakistan’s cricketers in the early 1980s, he gave them the confidence to risk everything for victory. That philosophy endured under Wasim Akram, Imran’s disciple, but was lost in the introspective days of Inzamam-ul Haq’s leadership.
A decade of decline and fall since the 1999 World Cup has seen Pakistan become a sideshow on the international scene. Teams don’t visit Pakistan, and don’t especially want us to visit them. Outside Pakistan our players aren’t mentioned on television commentary or in newspaper articles. The wonderful cricketers of Pakistan’s past are rarely remembered or celebrated.
How did we come to this, a major cricketing nation with stars worthy of lighting up any night sky? Security issues have played a major part and so has the merry-go-round of buffoons that masquerades under the title of the Pakistan Cricket Board. Perhaps, like Inzamam, too many of us chose introspection while the world moved on.
My heart, though, wants this tournament to be a watershed. A shambolic caterpillar start has metamorphosed into a dazzling butterfly, whose fluttering wings are sending
ripples, nay hurricanes, of delight through Pakistanis around the globe.
After years of bad, worse, and apocalyptic news, our fellows finally have something joyous to cling onto, memories that bring an unannounced smile to our faces, and help us greet our brothers and sisters with a warmer welcome.
The wise old heads of sport say that winning a semi-final is a greater pleasure than winning the final itself. You savour the victorious moments that have gone before and indulge your imagination in the delights to come. A final is sweet in triumph but always tinged with the bitter taste of the end of the campaign, memories banked and no more to come.
A decade ago, it would have been hard to imagine that a Twenty20 tournament would matter so much to Pakistan. Younis Khan’s team is not the strongest in the world, nor is it the best Pakistan side of recent years. But this World Cup is already a triumph, a shaft of light bursting through storm clouds.
Younis has succeeded by showing his men how to be brave again. Uppermost in his mind is what this tournament means for his country’s citizens and their disrupted lives. It hangs over him like a dark cloud, a second one to go with the dark cloud of Bob Woolmer’s death.
All of this is hidden behind a veil of insane grinning and tongue-twisting rhetoric, but bravery and responsibility are exactly the attributes that fans have been desperate to see from their team.
Pakistan may well lose on Sunday, Twenty20 cricket is part skill part fortune, but in my book they have already won the most important battle, the battle to lift the hearts of 200 million Pakistanis around the world.
Fun and pride are back on the agenda.
The supporters had every reason to celebrate. It wasn’t just that Younis Khan’s team beat the mighty South Africans, pretenders to Australia’s crown, it was the manner of victory that was uplifting. Pakistan played with passion, pride, they attacked South Africa, and — most importantly — they played without fear.
This was how it always used to be. When Imran Khan changed the mentality of Pakistan’s cricketers in the early 1980s, he gave them the confidence to risk everything for victory. That philosophy endured under Wasim Akram, Imran’s disciple, but was lost in the introspective days of Inzamam-ul Haq’s leadership.
A decade of decline and fall since the 1999 World Cup has seen Pakistan become a sideshow on the international scene. Teams don’t visit Pakistan, and don’t especially want us to visit them. Outside Pakistan our players aren’t mentioned on television commentary or in newspaper articles. The wonderful cricketers of Pakistan’s past are rarely remembered or celebrated.
How did we come to this, a major cricketing nation with stars worthy of lighting up any night sky? Security issues have played a major part and so has the merry-go-round of buffoons that masquerades under the title of the Pakistan Cricket Board. Perhaps, like Inzamam, too many of us chose introspection while the world moved on.
My heart, though, wants this tournament to be a watershed. A shambolic caterpillar start has metamorphosed into a dazzling butterfly, whose fluttering wings are sending
ripples, nay hurricanes, of delight through Pakistanis around the globe.
After years of bad, worse, and apocalyptic news, our fellows finally have something joyous to cling onto, memories that bring an unannounced smile to our faces, and help us greet our brothers and sisters with a warmer welcome.
The wise old heads of sport say that winning a semi-final is a greater pleasure than winning the final itself. You savour the victorious moments that have gone before and indulge your imagination in the delights to come. A final is sweet in triumph but always tinged with the bitter taste of the end of the campaign, memories banked and no more to come.
A decade ago, it would have been hard to imagine that a Twenty20 tournament would matter so much to Pakistan. Younis Khan’s team is not the strongest in the world, nor is it the best Pakistan side of recent years. But this World Cup is already a triumph, a shaft of light bursting through storm clouds.
Younis has succeeded by showing his men how to be brave again. Uppermost in his mind is what this tournament means for his country’s citizens and their disrupted lives. It hangs over him like a dark cloud, a second one to go with the dark cloud of Bob Woolmer’s death.
All of this is hidden behind a veil of insane grinning and tongue-twisting rhetoric, but bravery and responsibility are exactly the attributes that fans have been desperate to see from their team.
Pakistan may well lose on Sunday, Twenty20 cricket is part skill part fortune, but in my book they have already won the most important battle, the battle to lift the hearts of 200 million Pakistanis around the world.
Fun and pride are back on the agenda.
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