Hassan Cheema

In a way, you could compare the cricket coach to the director of football in European club football. On one hand are the traditionalists who argue that all power should reside with the current leader (the captain in cricket, the manager in football), and on the other are those inspired by events beyond their national borders and the borders of their sport. This traditionalists-versus-modernists debate often results in trenches being drawn with no room for conciliation, as is so often the case with arguments in the Twitter age. And thus the crux of the argument remains.

There exist different types of coaches within cricket, although it is almost impossible to quantify their value. If Roy Hibbert sits out the last play of the game, we know that it is Frank Vogel who is to be blamed. If Barcelona have a lower possession percentage and higher shots-to-goals under Tito Vilanova than they did under Pep Guardiola, we know who is responsible for this change. But if Pakistan continue to play in a certain way, do we blame the coach, the selection committee or the captain?

It's not that he didn't achieve much - after all, he finished with more Test wickets than any spinner in Pakistan's history - but how he did it. Somehow, one gets the feeling, that even if his career had wound up in different circumstances, there would not have been much celebration and nostalgia.

His likely sporting end calls to mind not just his own achievements and failings, but that of his generation. Pakistan's love affair with inexperienced youth reached its zenith in 1992, when a team comprising the likes of Inzamam-ul-Haq, Aamer Sohail and Moin Khan (each of whom had played less than 15 ODIs before the tournament started) walked off the MCG as world champions. It reinforced the national team's belief in inducting players far before they were ready, almost to save them from the much-maligned domestic first-class scene.

Afridi, whose tete-a-tete with Ijaz Butt recently made the headlines, is an unusual case. He was celebrated at the start of his career as the epitome of all that is Pakistani. His crests and troughs have mirrored those of the national team. But for perhaps the first time in a decade, his place is up for question. Excluding matches against Bangladesh, Zimbabwe and the Associate nations, he only has six double-figure scores in his last 18 matches. But then, his batting has always been like a cheesy pick-up line - you're always surprised when it succeeds. More worryingly, though, during this period he has a bowling average over 100.

While Afridi has forever been the team's mistress, forgiven his misdemeanours, Misbah is the dutiful wife, whose every failure is frowned upon. He has been stuck with the nickname "tuk tuk", a result of his defensive style, though his career has been far more nuanced than that would suggest. And unlike Afridi's bowling graph - a bell curve - Misbah's career can be separated into four distinct phases.