Players' gain, Pakistan's loss

	Pakistan deserves better, but it will not get it © AFP Enlarge

Right at this moment in some parallel universe, South Africa are gearing up to play Sri Lanka at the Gaddafi Stadium in Lahore. Only 24 hours ago Australia, finally lured to Pakistan for the first time in a decade, were taking on the hosts in the teeming militarised metropolis of Rawalpindi. Tomorrow it's England's turn, as Kevin Pietersen's reinvigorated one-day outfit seeks a measure of vengeance against the New Zealanders who dumped them out of the World Cup in 2007, then beat them at home and away this year.

Sure enough, in that parallel universe, the Champions Trophy, the competition that time forgot, is moving into its second round of matches. In years gone by, this tournament has been the least loved A-list event on the calendar, not least by England, who treated the last (pre-Ashes) edition in India in 2006 with unmitigated contempt. And yet, on this occasion, the gratitude and welcome with which the tournament would have been received in cricket-starved Pakistan might even have managed to convince one or two sceptical tourists of its subtle merits, not to mention render all fallacious talk of security risks utterly redundant.

But of course that parallel universe does not exist, and so instead international cricket is enjoying one of its longest hiatuses in living memory. From Australia's victory over Bangladesh on September 6 until Australia and India contest the first Test in Bangalore on October 9, not a single international over will be bowled anywhere in the world. Taken in isolation, of course, that is an excuse to rejoice - the players have been crying out for a rest for years (so too, in all likelihood, the fans), so any excuse to shrivel from view for a month was bound to be embraced, even if it came only as a result of a scheduling glitch. But the players' gain is Pakistan's terrible loss.

Some players, in fact, were so ready to down tools they did so before they were permitted. Andrew Symonds might not have been quite so demob-happy had the tournament he helped win in 2006 been next up on Australia's agenda, but as soon as it was gone, so too was his resolve even to feign an interest in the day job. Pietersen, the personification of England's modern-day player power, was angling for a withdrawal long before he was given the captaincy - at which point his stance didn't soften, only the voracity of his public pronouncements.

Like the competitively honed creatures that they are, the players sensed a weakness, and they went for it mercilessly. They wanted a break in their never-ending calendar, and quite rightly so, but not one that would jeopardise their unparalleled earning powers. They saw in a little-loved tournament in a little-loved country the perfect combination to bend and abuse. The tournament never stood a chance, and nor does it have any hope of a revival in 2009. It is destined to go the way of the Australia v Rest of the World Super Series in 2005, with the subtle distinction that whereas Pakistan desperately needed this particular ICC event to go ahead, four years ago the newly Ashes-defeated Australians needed the Super Series like a dog to go home and kick.

Pakistan have not played a Test match in the whole of 2008, and their last home ODI against non-Asian opponents came in October 2007, when South Africa beat them in the series decider in Lahore. A country that, for the first 50 years of its existence was consistently mightier than its Indian neighbours and which came close to challenging West Indies' hegemony in the 1980s is now as much of a pariah in sporting terms as it has long been politically. It is a grossly unjust situation that offers no prospect of a happy resolution. Instead Pakistan is braced for another interminable period in the international wilderness, compounded by the IPL's cherry-picking of the best available talent.

The country deserves better, but it will not get it. Pakistan's popular perception has been shafted in recent months by political violence, but even before the death of Benazir Bhutto last December, its status as a cricket destination was hanging on the largesse of its international colleagues. India, once tolerated at best by visiting nations, is now fawned upon shamelessly by savvy superstars who recognise the brevity of their athletic prime and the value of being seen to be seen in such a red-hot marketplace. Pakistan, by contrast, is regarded as India without the assets. A hot, dusty, foreign hellhole where you can't even get a drink, for God's sake - let alone a billion-rupee contract.

The perception is wrong on so many counts. Pakistan is a beautiful land whose people, forget the stereotypes, are as gentle and hospitable as it is possible to encounter. The wild anger that seems to erupt among the populace with alarming and erratic frequency is triggered only by the perception of injustice - the sort of injustice that has provoked one of the Pakistan board members to denounce Australia's cricketers as "lily-livered cowards" for agreeing to tour India in spite of the recent Delhi bombings. The double standards are as clear as day, yet impotent rage can serve no purpose but to further alienate former allies who no longer want to know.

Touring Pakistan has never been an easy experience. Ever since the War on Terror began in earnest, players have felt obliged to stay cocooned in gilded cages such as the Pearl Continental Hotel in Lahore, never daring to venture out for fear of what might lie beyond their prison walls. It is a mistake on the part of the clique of "security experts" whose presence (aside from deterring autograph hunters and, in the case of one particularly hirsute Aussie, inspiring moustache-growing contests) seems only to ramp up paranoia among the players.

Despite all the ill-will towards Pakistan, England toured the country in 2005-06 without a flicker of an issue (save for an unfortunate moment in Faisalabad when a gas canister exploded on the boundary's edge). So too, more to the point, did South Africa 11 months ago, when the political situation was markedly more volatile than it is at present. Had the prospect of the Champions Trophy been even moderately appetising, the teams would have made the journey, no questions asked. The fact that is wasn't - and hasn't ever been since its inception in the mid-1990s - has caused more damage to Pakistan cricket than a meek, unilateral boycott could ever have done.

International cricket will die of neglect if this pattern carries on. Zimbabwe is already a basket case; West Indies is relying on Allen Stanford to kiss it back to life. Many of Bangladesh's senior players, who have never yet been invited on a full tour of India in spite of playing them in the country's maiden Test in November 2000, have given up hope of ascending to the big time, and have instead sold their souls to the Indian Cricket League. Don't be surprised if a raft of Pakistanis follow suit. The Champions Trophy may have been detested as a competition, but right now, no one feels quite as detested as its jilted host.