But this year there is no home cricket season to speak of. Yes, the Quaid-i-Azam Trophy is still underway and the domestic season is in full swing, but this does not slake the thirst of the besotted. The domestic season is the kitchen where the feast of international cricket gets prepared. But this year there is no feast.

The real season this year is the season of sorrow. If people are hunched over radios, it is because they are listening to news about where peace was shattered today and how many more innocent lives were killed. When you drive by National Stadium, there is only the usual Karachi bustle, with no traffic jam to speak of and no crowd within miles. The one uniformed guard manning the gate is so disenchanted with life that he barely looks at you and somehow manages to wave you through without moving a muscle.

In this pitiful vacuum, the mind fills with memories from happier days. There has always been great festivity and flavour to the home cricket season and it was about this time of year when it erupted in full bloom. Fixtures and venues were committed to memory. Articles about visiting teams and players were clipped from the daily sports pages and from the latest issue of The Cricketer Pakistan. Tickets were bought or, if you had some influence, match passes were lobbied for.

At 10 o'clock sharp every morning, the airwaves came alive with the snap and crackle of commentary. The unforgettable Omar Kureishi greeted listeners with a tidy salam and a sharp good morning. The wind, weather, and state of the pitch would be discussed. If it was an ODI or the start of a Test match, he would begin by announcing the playing-11s. On other Test match days, he would summarise the overnight match situation. Next would come the field placement — a rhythmic chant that immediately lulled you into solace and comfort.

The playing surface would glisten in the sun with early morning dew. Imran would be at the top of his bowling mark, rubbing the ball vigorously on his trousers. The visiting batsman would survey the field and settle into his stance. Like a cheetah hunting prey, Imran would crouch and take off. The camera panned to the crowd, a sea of shalwar kameez in pastel shades, excitedly roaring into a crescendo. Then the delivery — pitching short of a length, it would fly over the stumps. Bari would jump smartly on his toes and collect the ball. From the slips, Majid and Zaheer would clap in approval and voice encouragement. At forward short-leg, Miandad would utter a few unprintable words to unnerve the batsman.

In later years, the names changed but the atmosphere and excitement remained the same. It would be Shoaib Akhtar or Umar Gul steaming in, the ball would still fly over the stumps, Akmal would collect it more or less smartly, and in the slips Inzamam and Younis would yell their support. As the bowler walked back, the crowd would catch its breath, preparing for the next roar.

To be honest, this season's matches relocated to the UAE have not been a bad substitute. We would have loved to see those games played in Peshawar or Multan, but for now Abu Dhabi and Dubai will also do nicely. The time difference is modest. The conditions are almost subcontinental, and the crowd support is fantastic. When the camera pans, you see the same sea of shalwar kameez in the same pastel shades that you would have seen in Peshawar or Multan. Even the props are identical. At one point, I spotted a man pushing a bicycle with a used and beaten look that could only have been acquired in Pakistani streets. He was walking with a friend. They seemed to be enjoying each other's company and looked the part. It was lovely to see, almost as lovely as the heart-warming concerts by Abrarul Haq and Strings that preceded the two Twenty20 internationals.

By the time you read this, the first Test between Pakistan and New Zealand at Dunedin will be over. Even the most careful prediction models break down in the face of Pakistan cricket's volatility, so it is impossible to project what will happen. Historically, Pakistan has done well in New Zealand, with eight wins and four losses from 24 Tests, which comprise six series wins (including Pakistan's first-ever overseas Test series victory, under Intikhab Alam in 1973). This remarkable record came about because of a far more disciplined Pakistani batting line-up, and a far weaker New Zealand bowling side, than we have today. Ultimately, the current contest will come down to whether Pakistan's brittle batting can cope with the sideways movement expected under New Zealand conditions.

As always, the mind says one thing and the heart another. Logic dictates that Pakistan will find themselves in hot water in Dunedin, and you will be left with no option but to scream at the top of your lungs and pull out your hair. Perhaps it won't be that bad and we will have won. But should the predictable come to pass, my suggestion is to scream violently and scream often. It may not influence the fortunes of our team, but it will help pacify your inner demons, and it might even scare off a suicide bomber or two.