The real showpiece
Twenty-20 has found a spiritual home in Pakistan, says Osman Samiuddin
Osman Samiuddin
03-May-2005
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Tradition be damned. Traditionally, in Pakistan, fewer fans than players turn up to watch domestic cricket. Traditionally, domestic players with little hope of breaking into the national set-up garner little acclaim and less financial security. Traditionally, national-team stars don't turn up for domestic matches. Tradition also says the Twenty20 format is frivolous and trivialises cricket. Last Saturday night, 30,000 people inside Lahore's Gaddafi Stadium, around 5000 to 10,000 outside it and many, many more in front of their televisions spat at tradition.
If Lord's is the spiritual home of traditional
cricket, then in Pakistan Twenty20 has found a spiritual
home. Millions of youngsters play eight-over, ten-over
games throughout the country on roads, gallis,
apartment complexes, on the beaches. Pakistan has
traditionally excelled in six-a-side and double-wicket
tournaments. This is the format in which Pakistani
players are bred - a quick smash-and-grab and on with
your life. Nobody, players or fans, have time for
anything more. Shahid Afridi, despite playing a
solitary group game, is Twenty20. Four overs here, a
couple of wickets and catches there and an obnoxious
30 off 10 balls to finish; short, simple and
effective. Just like the format.
So should such a big turnout have been a surprise?
Yes, considering there were only three players
involved in the final who had played for Pakistan, and
that Lahore weren't playing. And yes, given the
Pakistani fan. Nobody is sure why attendances are so
low in Pakistan. But at least we now know if you keep
it short enough and make enough noise about it - the
tournament was preceded by a marketing blitz with ads
in newspapers, on radio and even on billboards - then
you might get somewhere.
During the final, there was chaos; clearly no-one had
expected so many people to turn up, and the police could do
little against so many. As it is the 3000 or so policemen
only turned up as late reinforcements; after
15,000 people had turned up on Friday, the city
administration had to make hasty arrangements for the
final.
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But the chaos was of a heartening sort, the kind
nobody, certainly in the PCB, would have minded too
much. Chairs were ripped out, small bonfires were lit
and a mild pitch invasion followed the final ball - but
hey, this was domestic cricket. Having not had anyone
occupy seats for an eternity, just having them ripped
out by over-enthusiastic supporters is a perverse
blessing. The organisers had to cancel a concert by
local popster Abrar-ul-Haq - not exactly Atomic Kitten
- immediately after the final because they feared a
stampede by those waiting outside. But as Faisalabad
Wolves bullied, retreated, panicked and finally
scraped through against the Karachi Dolphins by two
wickets off the penultimate delivery of the
tournament, the crowd had already been thoroughly
entertained over six days.
Even though the final may have lacked stars, plenty
had already turned out, which like the crowds, just
doesn't happen. Shoaib Akhtar, captain at last, if,
alas, only of the Rawalpindi Rams, began proceedings by
taking more wickets (five) than he bowled overs (four). Umar
Gul, three stress fractures of the back behind him,
returned looking fit and dangerous, and picked up four
against the Hawks of Hyderabad. Shabbir Ahmed also
reappeared, although not half as incisively. Salman
Butt, Yasir Hameed, Taufeeq Umar, Yousuf Youhana,
Abdul Razzaq, Kamran Akmal all played. Even the
commentators, usually ex-cricketers as incoherent as
they are excitable, were stars - Rameez Raja, Sanjay
Manjrekar, Wasim Akram and Waqar Younis comprising a
veritable who's who of subcontinental broadcasting.
And precisely because the format is so intrinsically
Pakistani, it wouldn't have been right had there not
been some controversy. So Shoaib Malik duly obliged
with a protest gesture to match any. One ex-cricketer
asked, meekly, why he couldn't have used a banner. But
as much as the stars, it was also an opportunity for
lesser-known players to bask and introduce themselves
to the public.
Saeed Ajmal, player of the match in the final for his
three wickets, said Faisalabad were visibly nervous during
the climax of their run-chase because they had never
played in front of such a big crowd before. Stocky,
powerful and with minimal care for reputations, Asif
Hussein, also of Faisalabad, was adjudged best batsman
of the tournament. Few who saw his outrageous 49-ball,
83-run dismissal of the Akhtar-led Rams bowling attack
would argue, and fewer still who saw his 57 off 40
balls against the Lahore Eagles two days later. Just
to make sure, he made a sedate 36-ball 37 in the
final.
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Unknown spinners, who were generally successful,
bizarrely resembled Saqlain Mushtaq, none more so than Karachi
Dolphins' Haaris Ayaz, who so nearly bowled the
perfect final over of the tournament. And they not
only tasted the limelight, they tasted moolah too. The
player award in the final was Rs 50,000 (nearly US$1000) - the highest ever in Pakistan - and the team
award Rs 300,000. Additionally, players got money for
sixes, wickets and even maidens. Even the head curator,
Mohammad Bashir, was financially recognised for his
services.
The PCB is keen to make this a permanent fixture in
the domestic calendar, with ABN-AMRO committed to at
least three years. And with TV in place, this could become
the holiest of cash cows and the greatest PR tool for the
local game. Next year, Karachi has been suggested
tentatively as a venue, although the PCB may have to
tinker logistically. The entire tournament was played
in one city and all but three matches on one pitch,
with three matches taking place on one pitch in one
day regularly.
As part of the PCB's broader vision to revamp the
domestic game then, there is no arguing the success of
the tournament. By finding a long-term sponsor, a
willing broadcaster, some aggressive marketing and
lots of fans, the PCB has already broken an unhealthy
tradition of many years. Even the Quaid-e-Azam Trophy
final - the four-day showpiece for traditionalists and
purists - attracted its largest crowd in years this
season. But in a season of breaking tradition, it is
only fitting that Twenty20 should become the real
showpiece.
Osman Samiuddin is a freelance journalist based in Karachi