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On my way to watch a match at Lord’s recently, I was reminded of the moment when I fell in love with the cricket writing of the late Omar Kureishi. In the 1980s, when Kureishi was writing on these very pages a column that he would later compile into a best-selling memoir, he would occasionally bring up cricket. It seemed natural that, being a noted commentator and an admired cricket scribe, each one of his columns would touch upon cricket, but Kureishi’s relationship with the sport was far too subtle for that.
Most of his columns were reminiscences of famous friends, of which Kureishi had many, and of life lived in the more interesting corridors of Pakistani society. There were also frequent references to his family members, including his accomplished father and his talented brothers. It was written in a clipped conversational style, peppered with wit and wisdom that you never tired of.
Yet every now and then he would indulge one or two cricket memories, and for cricket lovers that would be a real treat. In the column I am referring to, Kureishi related events from an afternoon during an English summer.
It was a fine Sunday and the sun was out over London. Kureishi met his friend and fellow commentator Iftikhar Ahmed for lunch at Hyde Park and then they took the train to Cambridge to see Majid Khan, who was playing for the university. Arriving at Fenners (the Cambridge University cricket ground) in good time, they found a cosy bench and settled in. As Kureishi relates it, Majid proved to be a good host. He scored a century that day.
Circumstances and fate being what they are, my own version of this outing was steered away from Fenners to Lord’s. The match was Middlesex versus Sussex, and the occasion was a domestic preliminary-round Twenty20 clash. The Pakistani player on display was Rana Naveedul Hasan, who seemed right at home in the Sussex side.
Accompanied by my cricket-mad sister and my 11-year-old son who is starting to discover cricket, we went wearing our Pakistan ODI shirts and found good seats in the Mound Stand. Whenever Rana appeared to look in our direction, we did our best to attract his attention, but did not succeed. Perhaps we weren’t loud enough. It is also possible that the scantily-clad cheerleaders performing in front of our stand prevented Rana from noticing anything else.
It is hard to say whether he was a good host or not. He did hit his first ball for six, but then got out cheaply. And he took a couple of wickets but was also expensive. Regardless, it was great pleasure to watch him and cheer for him.
Sussex won, and my companions and I found ourselves high-fiving each other as if Pakistan had won. Considering this was just an insignificant domestic encounter, the match was superbly attended. The members stand was full, as were most of the other stands, with the stadium overall being probably three-fourths full. The weather was clear but turned chilly and windy. In keeping with the Twenty20 mood, people ate and drank with abandon, and chatted and cheered loudly.
It was surprising to see such enthusiasm, because cricket almost seems to be a marginal sport in England today. It is buried deep in the newspapers and there are hardly any references to it in mainstream society. In schools it is far less popular than football, which draws hordes. You can't even watch cricket on regular TV and must pay extra for a special cable package, which is a sure sign of falling viewership.
Even in a shop like Lillywhites, the iconic sports store, cricket seems relegated to minority status.
The so-called cricket floor has a few bats and balls but most of the displays are dominated by equipment for a range of racket sports. On a trip to Foyle’s, a popular bookstore in central London, cricket books were easy to find, but the inventory was dwarfed by volumes on football and golf. I browsed that area for a good hour or so one afternoon, but did not see a single person approach the cricket section.
If you meet an Australian or a South African, once they find out you’re from Pakistan they will bring up cricket. This is because cricket is very much an alpha sport in both nations. No such luck with the English.
I considered myself lucky when I finally came across someone who spontaneously brought up cricket. He happened to be a retired pensioner living on a farm, and his favourite cricket memories were of stoic batting resistance from the likes of Geoff Boycott and Brian Close. In between long and thoughtful puffs on his tobacco pipe, he recounted Close’s fabled 48 bruises sustained in a rearguard against the West Indies.
The paradox of searching for cricket in England and finding it hidden in nooks and crannies is that their team is still very much a top side. Clearly, what little cricket the English do play, they play with dedication and discipline.
Compared with the sports’ celebrated dominance in places like India and Pakistan, cricket in England appears to have an almost vestigial presence. Yet they fill their stadiums more or less to capacity, are currently world champions in Twenty20, and are odds-on favourites to become the number one Test team in the world.
The reasons for this are rooted in systematic governance, rigorous methods, diligent application, and honesty of effort. There are lessons here for cricket lovers everywhere. Certainly, there is much in this for Pakistan cricket to try and emulate.
