Run Out

MAY 2001 - There is much to find fault with General Musharraf’s recent comment that “politicians have played their innings – they have played useless innings, getting out at zero. They should stay at home.” This is not at all accurate, as most of us know.

Of our recent politicians, Mian Nawaz Sharif, whose bat was slightly heavier than his mandate, one can hardly say that he played a useless innings. He actually played a lot of innings, some in the cricket field of Lahore Gymkhana and far more in the drawing rooms of Model Town and at his various plush establishments in Lahore and other cities of the country. We must also include the various exciting innings he played in the Prime Minister’s Secretariat and in the plush environs of the Prime Minister’s House. Mushahid Hussain can verify this. In case you have difficulty recalling who this gentleman is, he was a former trooper in Mian Sahib’s camp and on a recent walk in the hash-powered lanes of Islamabad, has rediscovered democracy and is wearing pristine white cricket gear hoping to get a nod from the new selectors. No, Mian Sahib played many memorable knocks. If one recalls accurately, he was playing a very important innings in fading light on a balmy October evening less than two years ago, where he mixed up his batting averages and PIA flight schedules that led to all kinds of complications.

Not a single innings Mian Sahib played can ever be termed a failure. Take the Lahore Gymkhana outings. Mian Sahib became the only Prime Minister of a country who preferred to stay away from his government’s capital. This was also because it took him quite a while to tell the difference between Lahore and Islamabad because the cuisine was the same – that was because the cooks were the same. Other distinctions were lost in the aromas of the PM specials that were served to all who dined with the big man after every innings. He jetted into Lahore and went straight to the hallowed ground; he would have preferred his 737 to land next to the cricket pitch but the pilots said it might be slightly difficult. The Punjab bureaucracy ordered lollipops by the hundreds and there was an ordinance in force signed by his gray eminence which forbade dismissing the Prime Minister while he was batting. Mian Sahib was quite understandably under the same impression on 12th October when he told his General to take a hike. As the batsman, he called the shots and was therefore, slightly miffed when the General had other ideas. Having never been dismissed while batting except for a mix up between the wickets with Farooq Leghari (a ran bad runner between wickets) and then having the mortification of watching the dreaded index finger go up, Mian Sahib only understood winning. When he was given run out he walked back muttering about dictation – no one quite understood what he meant since he had never aspired to be a steno. Eventuality, breaking through the smog of mediocrity that engulfed his regime endlessly, a little portion of reality dawned on Mian Sahib. To have a good game plan it was just as important to have a good umpire, one who was on your side all the time, a principle he was able to apply freely selecting ministers, generals, admirals and judges. Also naib tehsildars, patwaris, SHOs and other pillars of Pakistan’s society that have elevated our country to the lofty heights it now occupies.

Mian Sahib was an attacking batsman and whenever he was in doubt, it was experts like Mushahid Hussain who coached Mian Sahib into playing on the front foot and taking the ball on the rise. Since no one was allowed to catch any of the lofted shots Mian Sahib played, he never got out once he got in. It was the same guiding light that saw him through his heavy days in Islamabad, where between meals and happy snacks, he guided the fortunes of the 140 million sods whose only fault was that they were born in this strange country – a biological tragedy of epic proportions. Mian Sahib was able to tackle any bowling attack and when he couldn’t understand things – which was rather often, he would seek fresh guidance from a country known for its great cricketing traditions- Saudi Arabia. In between, there was always Bill as in Clinton to pay homage to and between huge mouthfulls of Big Macs, learn the fine art of hooking the opposition over the ropes. It of course didn’t matter that Bill had as much knowledge of cricket as Mian Sahib had of French literature, but a whack is a whack and the opposition is the same bunch of miserable losers anywhere in the world. A look at the scorecard of Mian’s innings will establish that he made many centuries here and abroad and many of his great innings are still shrouded in mystery.

And although BB was not a master blaster, she was no wimp with the ball. She could twirl it and wreak havoc on a wicket that offered help. To guide her, there was the master coach, the moustache tweaker from Sindh who was so good at piling he totals that there was often no need for high-powered computers to do the calculations. He was able to invent a new system of scoring where whatever was the result of the game, he still emerged as the largest winner with the largest winnings. These he was able to invest in charitable projects and in support of good, humanitarian causes around the world. The Rockwood Estate for the Mentally Disabled was just one such glorious institute. There were more and while BB was stroking the ball to all corners of the land or simply scuttling the opposition out again and again, hubby was keeping tabs and what a wonderful job he did of it. They were the most deadly duo the world had ever seen. Some wrongly associated them with Bonnie & Clyde, two of the great cricketers produced by the Americans, but over here, we were never in doubt as to their talent for amassing runs and making the country follow in and face innings defeats one after another. Of course, like Mian Sahib who came in one down, she too had her favourite side and many were the stars who flocked to be in her team, practicing hard at things she loved best – the art of flattery (which always gets you somewhere, take it from me) and bold sycophancy tinged with liberal doses of money-making and money-grabbing ideas.

The good general is not a great cricketer but he plays tennis with his ADC and one assumes that now and then the ADC is allowed to win a point or two and is also under strict instructions not to double fault constantly just to please the CE. Hopefully, the CE will not be tempted to take up cricket because he might find it just too tempting to ever give up again.