When our once underrated and censured and now victorious Test skipper Misbah-ul-Haq received the prestigious Test mace from the ICC Chief Executive Dave Richardson at the Gaddafi Stadium Lahore, he said that winning the coveted title of the number one Test team in the world (now relinquished to India) was like winning the World Cup. It showed how much success in Test matches in England meant to him and his team. Sadly, a majority of cricket fans in Pakistan would never share the same sentiment. For them, triumph in Test matches can never match the proud moment of lifting the limited overs World Cup trophy.

The question remains: Is Test cricket popular in Pakistan? In July this year, the excitement after the success of Pakistan in the opening Test of the series against England at the home of cricket — Lord’s — momentarily made one fall for the false belief that it is. But a lapse in performance of the national team in the second (Old Trafford) and third (Edgbaston) Test matches brought things back to ‘normal’.

Pakistan’s recent success at Lord’s had such a short life that a Test defeat at Old Trafford made the whole euphoria of the opening Test — along with its ‘push-up celebration’ — subside in no time. On the other hand, one doesn’t see the popularity of the T20 format declining in Pakistan in spite of its team standing, which is currently languishing at the seventh spot in the world T20 rankings. One of the reasons for this could be that Pakistan is the birth place of T20 cricket which perhaps originated with some other name in the late 1970s in this part of the world. Or perhaps it’s just the more conusmer-friendly format.  

Playing Test matches in deserted stadiums in the UAE is nothing new for Pakistan’s cricketers. Even before our home cricket went ‘away’, attendance at Test matches, considered ‘real’ cricket, was as grim as death in Pakistan

One can understand that Test cricket was never meant to be in ‘vogue’, but the indubitable fact remains that it has a cult following all over the world. Test cricket is like Jazz & Blues music, always competing with limited overs cricket (pop music). Test (Jazz & Blues) cannot challenge the popularity of T20 (pop music) but the latter cannot challenge the former in quality.

At any given day, Test match audiences we easily outnumbered by the limited overs cricket, especially T20 format which is the most admired format of them all. But the ‘cult’ followers and the administration in countries like Australia, England and India try their best to keep Test match cricket alive in their respective countries.

Over the past 20 years or so, in Pakistan, Test cricket has been weeping quietly like a neglected child. It took ages for the Pakistan Cricket Board to understand that most of the Test matches all around the globe start on Thursdays for a reason. PCB is perhaps the only cricket board which has scheduled Test matches on Mondays or Tuesdays in the past, not sparing a thought for the fact that weekends bring maximum viewership and spectators to the ground.

Perhaps it is the word ‘Test’, which doesn’t tickle our fancy. We are people in a hurry, we like to get on with the things. A five-day Test is a bit too long for our liking. And there is always a possibility of a drawn match, which is not a ‘result’, if you ask us. Patience has never been our strongest virtue. As a nation we abhor planning. Most of our cricketers act before they think, unlike others who do things slightly differently. And the so-called ‘talented’ Umar Akmal was the prime example of that. Who can forget the shot he played in the Sydney Test in 2010. He could have taken his country’s ship to the shore but instead he chose to jump into the water midway through.

Asad Shafiq’s popularity or lack of it appropriately reflects how much the nation values Test cricket. Asad, perhaps the most gifted and technically sound batsman among the ‘younger’ lot in Pakistan cricket, is almost an unknown entity in the country. If you look at his Test statistics (39.11 batting average), they are as good as Virat Kohli’s (45.56 batting average), but again, we don’t consider Test record to judge the standing of a player. Asad and Sarfraz both hail from Karachi. Hypothetically, if they both visit some shopping mall in the city together, how is the crowd going to react? No points for guessing, people will go mad after seeing Sarfraz. And Asad would be seen having a quiet conversation with a solitary old man in a corner.

Talking about crowd pullers? There is no bigger name than Shahid Afridi in Pakistan cricket. The man knew how to “smash bang wallop” (as Sir Geoffrey Boycott once said about T20 cricket). And that was pretty much good enough for us to award him with superstar status and for him to rule our cricket world for almost 20 years.

It took us six years or more and the tour to England to finally acknowledge the feats and services of Misbah-ul-Haq’s Test team for the country. It is the British media which highlighted Misbah’s achievements on a larger scale which made the mainstream electronic media in Pakistan follow suit. It was astonishing to see a 15 seconds tribute paid to him after the Lord’s Test on one of the local news channels. Ironically, the same channel was instrumental in making his life miserable by making jokes on his style of playing (read: ‘tuk tuk’).

It only happens in Pakistan cricket that a player is selected or allowed to make a comeback in the Test side on the basis of his performance in the domestic T20 tournament — another example of how much importance is given to the longer version of the game in this country. Players with exceptional talent, performing season after season in first-class domestic cricket often fail to attract the attention of selectors. Numerous players who could have become accomplished Test players have faded into oblivion this way. Naeemuddin, Asif Zakir and Tabish Khan are just a few current examples.

Another unfortunate example which immediately comes to mind is Fawad Alam. It is hard to believe that he scored 168 runs in his debut Test against Sri Lanka in Colombo in July 2009 and played his last Test against New Zealand in Dunedin also in November 2009. He hasn’t played a single Test in the last seven years. His Test average is 41.66. That’s how we destroy our potential Test talent.

Over the past 20 years or so, in Pakistan, Test cricket has been weeping quietly like a neglected child. It took ages for the Pakistan Cricket Board to understand that most of the Test matches all around the globe start on Thursdays for a reason.

To play Test matches in deserted stadiums in the UAE is nothing new for Pakistan cricketers. Even before our home cricket went ‘away’ the attendance in Test matches played in Pakistan was as grim as death. The regional associations were always eager to stage an ODI rather than a Test match because it meant more revenue for them. The ‘big’ associations such as Karachi City Cricket Association (KCCA) and Lahore City Cricket Association (LCCA) had to share the bulk of the ‘burden’ by staging a Test match. At times the reluctant hosts had to host two Test matches in one season, if two international teams visited this part of the world. Of course, the associations were compensated by being allotted the same numbers of ODIs.

Unlike the legendary Sunil Gavaskar from India, one has never heard of someone getting inspired by Hanif Mohammad’s batting style in Pakistan. Yes, everyone gave him respect and placed him on the highest pedestal but no batsman ever tried to follow him the way they followed Javed Miandad. Javed was cheeky, a street smart ‘rebel’, and aggressive — just like his countrymen. The batting styles of Hanif in the past and Misbah-ul-haq in the current times almost defied national instinct.

Misbah isn’t the first one to be labeled ‘tuk tuk’ (blocker). In the 1980s there was a time when ODIs started to overshadow Test cricket and Asanka Gurusinha of Sri Lanka (way before Sanath Jayasuriya’s days) became the role model of every left-handed boy playing street cricket in Pakistan. In those days anyone who played two balls on the trot in a perfect, textbook defensive manner, drew chants of “Oye Mudassar!” referring to former Test player Mudassar Nazar, or “Oye Shoaib!” recalling former Test player Shoaib Mohammad, from his team mates.

Aggressive batsmen have always subjugated the minds of cricket fans in Pakistan. A friend remembers, as a young boy, watching in awe a rookie left-hander’s flicking of the wrist for a six (à la Gurusinha) in one of the street night matches on a humid Karachi evening in 1990. “After the match that rookie was never called by his real name,” says the friend. We had one guy called Gurusinha living in our block from then on.”

The writer tweets @CaughtAtPoint

Published in Dawn, Sunday Magazine, October 23rd, 2016