Another year, another cricket world cup – this time the T20 kind. In a land that is as unpredictable as the cricket itself, the highs are higher than the Himalayas and the lows are lower than the bottom of the Arabian sea! Thus, Pakistan cricket is a tapestry woven with huge talent, relatable heroism, baffling collapses, and enough drama to put a Hitchcockian thriller to shame. In that, our team is shrouded in mystery – capable of being giant slayers in one instance but then tripping over their shoelaces the next.
All in the name of keeping the amusement going. Since the dawn of the dinosaurs, the common refrain attached to our team is “being mercurial”. A soft way of saying that they are as unpredictable as the official price list in a Sunday bazaar.
One would think that the heart and soul of Pakistani cricket is the team itself. And one couldn’t be more wrong! This accolade goes to the hallowed halls of the selection committee. The ruling corridors of power pale in comparison to the shenanigans that go on in these sacred premises.
Talking about the selection committee is akin to addressing the elephant in the dressing room; oversized, slow, and outdated. Here men with fine tastes and even finer moustaches use their vague cricketing knowledge and archaic playing criteria to pick a team that can melt quicker than butter in the shadow of a flame. The logic used is similar to what a rickshaw driver would use at high noon in Raja Bazaar – a hint of instinct, a dash o.
