“When the match is over, the players will meet all of you. For now, please step aside and wait.”
When the security guard stationed at Karachi’s Bakhtiyari Youth Centre said this in a booming voice, all the spectators gathered around the players moved a little farther away. I was one of them.
This was sometime after 1992. Pakistan had just won the World Cup, and cricket fever had reached its peak across the country. Cricketers were not merely famous; they were genuine superstars.
Whenever my teammates and I at the club found out that a member of the Pakistan team was going to be at the KCCA Stadium or any nearby ground, we would immediately head there. That day at the Youth Centre, when the match ended, Aaqib Javed and Aamer Sohail, who were playing for Allied Bank, came out to meet their fans.
A Pathan gentleman standing there was telling everyone: “If you want a picture, I’ll charge you ten rupees. Come back here in a week and collect it.”
I asked him to take my picture with Aaqib and Aamer Sohail. I still have both photographs. Every day, when I look at them, I am reminded of my past.
Back then, the crowds that came to watch domestic matches were so large that today you do not even see such numbers at Test matches. In those days, all eleven members of the Pakistan team were stars. Today, apart from Babar Azam, hardly anyone seems to be widely recognised.
Even Babar’s own performances have been far from what they once were. He has not scored a Test century for four years, yet people continue to think, “If not Babar, then who?”
Look at where we have come from. We were once winners of the ODI and T20 World Cups and the Champions Trophy. Today, we lose even to a team like the United States. Bangladesh, a team we once used to mock, has beaten us at home and then invited us to their own country and defeated us there as well.
The consequence is that cricket fans in the country are rapidly disappearing. Stop ten people at random today and ask them whom Pakistan are playing, and perhaps only one or two will know.
We used to say about hockey that nobody even knew the captain’s name. Now ask someone to name all eleven members of the Pakistan cricket team and offer them an iPhone for getting it right; even then, perhaps only five or six names would come to mind.
The decline of cricket in Pakistan cannot be blamed solely on the current board. Its foundations were laid much earlier.
The biggest damage was caused by moving away from first-class cricket. These days, the headlines are saying, “Babar Azam to play domestic cricket after seven years.”
But come on—what favour is he doing? Playing cricket is his job.
When you begin to consider yourself a superstar and abandon the foundation on which your career was built, this is what happens to our players. Our national team probably plays only four or five Tests a year, perhaps a few more. Yet many players make their way into the Test side on the basis of their performances in T20 cricket.
Then, when they face Test cricket, they cannot even see the ball properly. And while bowling, after just four overs they are gasping for breath and shouting, “Water, water!” like desperate travellers lost in the desert under a scorching sun.
Now even the PCB’s patience appears to have run out, and the authorities have begun taking a tougher line. If a player does not play domestic cricket, he will neither receive a central contract nor be considered for national selection.
In the past, if a player had even a little performance to his name, he could pressure the board and secure the kind of remuneration he wanted. They are no longer in a position to do even that.
That is why you are now seeing some of the biggest names in domestic cricket. Yet nobody is going to the grounds to watch them.
Why aren’t people queuing up to meet them? Why is nobody stepping forward for a selfie or an autograph?
If the cricketers look honestly into their own hearts, they will find the answer easily.
There was a time when people would wait for hours just to catch a glimpse of Babar Azam. When he returned from England, nobody even went to the airport to meet him. He quietly got into a car and went home. A video of the incident is also available on social media.
Cricketers will have to earn back their respect.
And they do not need to spend money on social media for that. The solution is simple: perform on the field. Win matches for Pakistan, and these same people will once again follow you everywhere.
A few poor performances can be understood. But this decline has now stretched over years. Fans have begun to feel that this team is not going to win anyway, so why waste their time following it?
Cricket has always brought the entire Pakistani nation together. It has also played a role in giving Pakistan a positive image around the world. Today, instead of envy and admiration, foreigners sometimes express sympathy.
Is this really the story you want to tell your grandchildren when you grow old?
“Son, look at this picture. We won this title.”
And they respond in amazement:
“This must be an AI-generated picture. Or wait—our cricket team actually won a World Cup once? Wow!”
It is much like today, when you tell children that Pakistan’s hockey team has won the World Cup four times, the most by any team and they think you must be joking.
Our story is not over yet. Pakistan can rise again in cricket.
But simply blaming the board will achieve nothing. The PCB, current players, former cricketers, officials and the media must all play their positive part.
Cricket is the “bread and butter” for all of us. We must not allow it to be destroyed.
The decline came because of mistakes. Now we must play our part in such a way that the glory returns.
Otherwise, our story too will disappear from the pages of history.
