Jaded Times

OCTOBER 2003 - There was a time when the advent of a test match, be it a five-day affair or a one-day circus, triggered off an air of charged excitement in the city. There was intense speculation on what was going to be the outcome of the match, who was going to be playing and who was going to be sidelined. The names and track records of every single player were known and their strengths and weakness were matters of common debate. At the hotel and that usually meant the larger one on The Mall, there was more speculation in the air and arrival of the usual suspects created further excitement. Of course nothing quite like that happens now. I was at the hotel last night, the eve of the first one day with the South Africans and other than some very cheap people in very expensive automobiles and the usual gaggle of fat and ugly aunties loaded with gold, the place was dead. The black-clad gun toting security was crawling out of the woodworks. For each guest meandering about there seemed to be an equivalent number of the so-called elite force. What’s so elite about it?

For one thing, Omer Kureshi is not in town and hasn’t been for many months now. Neither is Iftikhar Ahmed and Chisty Mujahid is not on my book since he chose to become a part of this current cricket board. Q who would invariably show up from London is nowhere in sight. He may still show up but more likely in the stadium. The great Farooq Mazhar with his booming voice is long gone and with him have gone many other things that a Lahore test match brought to life. Shafqat Rana who invariably had something to do with any team that was visiting his city is probably investing his time and talent on the golfing course and when I asked my old friend Shahzad Humayun the cricket commentator, if he was going to see the match he snorted and asked me if I had lost my head. In Omer’s room at the hotel, long before the sun had gone down, there would be feverish debates raging. The group whose nomenclature changed faster than a chemistry practical in progress, would have just returned from an inspection of the Gaddafi Stadium wicket and the controversies would unfold at the speed of sound. There would be constant knocks at the door as people would come and go while discussions on everything under the sun, but most importantly the match tomorrow, would continue uninterrupted. To add spice and rib-cracking humour to the proceedings, Aftab Gul would show up and there couldn’t be a dull moment after that. The side to represent Pakistan would be under intense discussion and every nuance of the game ahead was subjected to the most searching inspection. It was not a test match that was really under review – it was more a way of life, a passion for a sport that had consumed the lives of those who now sat in the fading afternoon light and exchanged opinions. All that is gone. There will be a match tomorrow and that will be that.

What has robbed cricket of its great glow? Is it money, is it television, is it the constant surgical procedures through which our game has been put by men who really have little knowledge or vision to manage the game or is everyone old and senile and the game has passed on to a younger, crass and commercially-savvy set of people, players and administrators alike? Of course things change and they do but why must that inevitably mean, at least in our part of the world that they change for the worst? Omer is in Karachi and Farooq Mazhar’s sister won’t be sending the fabulous lunch she would produce like clockwork that would feed most of the press box and then some more. The other colourful characters who played leading roles in the balcony upstairs are not there anymore, but look at what we have for replacements? Instead of the stories and theories that flew in the air more like a disturbed swarm of bees with just as much bite, there is silence and general indifference. It is another match and while our new stewards will be out there decked out in their suits or casuals, lording it over their new domain, the special essence that a Lahore test evoked is as dead as the beach at Karachi.

Television viewing does not create cricketing culture and folklore. It is born and nurtured by the crowds at the grounds. It has always been so and even in countries where television has made inroads, the paying public has still arrived at the grounds in good numbers. It is here that stories are made, that the common language of cricketing passion is enriched and it is here that the game remains alive. There was a time – and no it was not in the time of Attila the Hun, when television came on in the host city after the tea break. The idea was to give people the incentive to go and watch the match. I recall for years, watching Channel 9 and hearing Benaud or Greig say that Perth viewers were now joining in and that was after tea and the match was in Perth. There was a similar ruling here but with the mass production of graveyard wickets that one board after another created so as not to lose matches and their jobs, cricket began to bleed to death and the first signs were the increasingly empty stadiums - and I refuse to use the plural of stadium because it just doesn’t sound right. 9 to 5 TV coverage was only a matter of time. I have no idea which happened first but the results were the same. Empty grounds and too many policemen. TV rights have brought in hefty sums of money to the boards who negotiate every inch of the way, but what has it done to the match-watching crowds here is a question that deserves a thorough and independent enquiry. There are many of us who think that this inordinate switching to TV has killed the game and we may have a few good youngsters showing up and playing a good knock but it is to a distant, uninvolved and cold crowd that they are showing their talent. In the ground, as Imran Khan observed cynically, there are only policemen and a dog. And given the fact that the level of security mounted for the South African team has passed all realms of common sense, one can only visualize that Gaddafi Stadium will look more like a Moharram gathering than a cricket test. And which player in the world can feel good, hooking a ball for an imperious four to square leg and hearing the faint, distant clapping of his teammates?

Are these jaded times or is it that change is hard to accept, particularly when it seems to be tardy and cheap? The sad story of gold-wash medallions that were given to the remnants of the 1952 Pakistan side to India have already appeared in the press – and now there is a wordy denial from the board. We are told that even Olympic medals are not real gold and that I confess has added to my meager knowledge of such profound subjects, but the argument that while cheques were made out, they were cancelled since the ‘1992 team had not been given any cheques either’ deserves ridicule. Can one make a more stupid statement? Can one ask what other things were given to that team which have also been given to the 1952 squad? And how can you compare the earnings of the 1992 squad with those of the 1952 one? And why not give them real gold medallions? Is the board short on cash? And why not honour the families of those who were in the team but are now gone? We all know that families pay a great price when their children play cricket at an international level. I cannot imagine a ceremony which honours the 1952 squad and yet omits A.H.Kardar (he would have strictly forbidden Shahid to receive the cheque), Maqsood Ahmed or Nazar Mohammad. But then again, we are probably victims of time warps and since this is the new age of mankind, it makes perfect sense to have your Chief Selector and your Chief Executive also doubling up as sports commentators commenting on the very players they have chosen in the first place. Absolutely nothing wrong with that. It is just another sign of the times. Omer – stay away from Gaddafi Stadium. The ghouls have taken it over.