“It’s just a World Cup so you have to take the heat somehow,” Ramiz Raja told the BBC’s Test Match Special after England’s comfortable 93-run victory in Bengaluru had put the full stop on a disastrous Pakistan campaign. “The problem with this team is it has the potential to play modern-day cricket but they have been a bit shy and timid with their approach.”
Of course, having been Pakistan Cricket Board (PCB) chairman as recently as last year, Raja had to be diplomatic with his choice of words. But here’s a reality check. ‘Shy and timid’ pretty much describes Pakistan’s entire World Cup history in the 21st century. Only old-school romantics who actually stopped watching the game decades ago were surprised when they stumbled out of semi-final contention. A dismal record of one semi-final in the last six World Cups doesn’t lie. In that time, India, Australia and New Zealand have reached the last four on five occasions each. South Africa and Sri Lanka have done it thrice. Pakistan are part of cricket’s 50-over elite only when it comes to nostalgia, and not on-field reality.
Raja, more than anyone, could tell you how steep the decline has been. Kapil Dev and his unfancied side may have won the World Cup in 1983, but for much of that decade – and either side of it – West Indies against Pakistan was cricket’s El Clasico. Whatever the format, Pakistan tended to have the varied bowling resources and the mercurial batting to take on one of the strongest teams that the world of sport has ever seen.
Even when India beat Pakistan to win the World Championship of Cricket in Melbourne in 1985, it was Pakistan that knocked West Indies out in the semi-final, with Raja and Qasim Omar to the fore. Going even further back, the very first World Cup may have turned out very differently but for an incredible tenth-wicket partnership of 64 between Deryck Murray and Andy Roberts that took West Indies, the eventual winners, to victory against Pakistan.
In seven World Cups in the 20th century, Pakistan won one (1992), reached another final (1999) and were semi-finalists on three other occasions. In the new millennium, they have losing records against Australia (11-39), India (21-28), England (15-29), South Africa (20-33) and New Zealand (30-32). The slide into irrelevance didn’t begin yesterday. It’s been a long time coming.
This, by the way, is not opinion, but cold, brutal fact. You can’t run and hide when the numbers slap you in the face like that. There are no off-field excuses either. Injuries afflict every team. If it was Naseem Shah for Pakistan, then it was Anrich Nortje for South Africa, and Hardik Pandya for India. Yet, those two teams are preparing for semi-finals instead of crying in a corner.
And despite the idiotic words uttered by the current PCB chairman on the eve of the team’s departure, India was hardly a dushman mulk. Except for the game against India in Ahmedabad, when the home support came to the fore, Pakistan enjoyed plenty of support wherever they went, even though few of their own fans were granted visas to travel. The players’ own statements about Indian hospitality reflect that. On the RevSportz platform alone, you can see Bashir Chacha, Pakistan super fan, and Shahid Hashmi, respected senior journalist, talking of the warmth of the Indian experience.
Of the five games Pakistan lost in this World Cup, only the defeat to South Africa was close. The others were proper hammerings, with none more sobering than the manner in which Afghanistan waltzed to a target of 283. If you watch discussion shows on Pakistani TV, like the excellent Pavilion on A Sports, there is plenty of clear-eyed analysis on what has gone wrong. Unfortunately, fish rot from the head, and as long as opportunists and chancers with nothing to commend them but political connections take the PCB on the road to ruin, this sorry narrative is not going to change.
The lousiest excuse to come out of Pakistan’s awful tournament was Mickey Arthur talking of Dil Dil Pakistan not being played in Ahmedabad. Long-suffering fans are unlikely to be fooled by such attempts at deflection. The collective Dil is broken, and those responsible have no answers.