This year’s IPL had everything: explosive starts (think of Adam Gilchrist) nail-biting finishes (Shane Warne), match-changing innings (Yusuf Pathan), unlikely hat-tricks (Yuvraj Singh), redemption (Bangalore), tragedy (Kolkata) and comedy (er, Kolkata again). Everything a spectator could ask for. Everything, that is, except Pakistanis.
There was no Sohail Tanvir, last year’s bowler of the tournament, to help the Rajasthan Royals defend their title. There was no Shahid Afridi to accompany the Deccan Chargers on their road to glory. There was no Misbah-ul-Haq to cause controversy at home by playing for Bangalore - a team owned by a liquor baron.
As a Pakistan cricket fan, I felt this absence. Indeed, I felt something lacking in the tournament as a whole, something more than a nationalistic wish to see my country represented. Although the tournament had everything, with much outstanding cricket in all departments of the game, I couldn’t help but cast my mind back to last year’s ICL tournament and think, somehow, that was more fun.
I realise that this comment will invite accusations of patriotic bias. As will my opinions on the omission of a team from Pakistan in the Champions League.
Last year’s ICL Champions were the Lahore Badshahs, captained by Inzamam-ul-Haq and featuring an exclusively Pakistani team. While I do not deny the thrill of seeing Pakistanis play such wonderful cricket - Imran Nazir with his master-blasting, Rana Naved with his bag full of tricks - my fondness for the ICL extends beyond cheering for my countrymen.
It seems odd when remembering that the ICL preceded the IPL. Within weeks of Kapil Dev’s announcement of the new league, a panicked BCCI announced an ‘official’ version. The IPL was born. Subsequently the ICL has had a maverick status: shunned by the authorities, unorthodox and independent, home to outcasts and outlaws. Perhaps it is this that explains its appeal.
The IPL too often feels an overly commercial, corporate venture - for that is what it is. It is true that the ICL was also created for financial rather than purely cricketing reasons; however, the spirit of play does not seem have been trumped by the big bucks. One does not feel constantly bombarded by brands.
While watching the IPL it’s difficult not to see dollar signs all over the pitch. The players are certainly committed, but nobody believes they’re fighting for the pride of, say, Bangalore or Mohali. There are several young Indians for whom the tournament is an opportunity to make their names, but for the majority of IPL players - international players secure in their teams or great players who have retired with distinction - there are few question marks over their professional abilities.
Perhaps that’s why the Badshahs were such compelling viewing: old-timers still with a point to prove, young players discarded by their country, and even a few faces who were never given a proper run in the national team. Individually, they were playing for more than their paycheck. Collectively, they were representing Pakistan.
And it is this factor which makes me conclude that, while the 20/20 format is set to thrive, it it only has the capacity to truly engage our spirits on the international level - at least for the time being. Professional duty and mercenary obligations are one thing; playing for something higher, something beyond, is quite another: indeed, it's the real thing.
