Six wickets, no runs: The myth and math of Saim Ayub

Kuldeep Yadav's place in the Indian T20I side is not under threat, and neither was Junaid Siddique's while UAE scrambled to keep themselves alive in the Asia Cup. The very idea that these men, so integral to their team, would find their presence in it a matter of contention is bizarre. They are, after all, the two leading wicket-takers in the tournament.

They are also the only two players to have dismissed more batters than Saim Ayub, and yet the role he plays, or shouldn't play, within the Pakistan setup is a matter of recent national obsession. It's got to do with the powerplay, you assume? And then you look at what he's done in the powerplay, and you're left scratching your head again.

In those all-important first six overs, Ayub has taken five wickets with his weird interpretation of mystery/carrom bowling; just two bowlers have more across all 20 overs this tournament, let alone the first six. He averages 5.60 for each of those wickets, and while going ever harder with the bat within that period is now firmly in vogue, it hasn't happened much while Ayub has sent down his overs - his economy rate, too, is just 5.60. That, for context, is 0.23 runs better than Jasprit Bumrah in the powerplay, who he has three more wickets than in this phase. Only three men - all fast bowlers - have superior powerplay economy rates to Ayub, and none have been as prolific at making those crucial early breakthroughs.

Yeah, yeah, that's not what you mean, of course. It's that other powerplay, when Ayub has bat in hand, that you really want to talk about. What that demonstrates - aside from a clear argument for the notion that taking on more responsibility only means there's a greater chance you'll be blamed for something - is how deceptive falling in love with the idea of a player than the reality staring you in the face can be.

Ayub made his international debut in 2023, but it was early 2024 when that idea began to take hold in Pakistani minds. It was a game at Eden Park, a minuscule boundary and a flat pitch. An NZC employee walked into the press room and said they were optimistic the attendance would exceed 20,000 for the first time in a cricket game that season, but it was the many orders of magnitude more watching in the small hours in Pakistan upon whom the game would have a more resonant effect.

Chasing 227, Pakistan had pushed Babar Azam down the order to give Ayub license to attack, and attack he did. In eight balls, he would smash 27 runs, including his now-signature no look scoop, which he executed off Matt Henry with right leg raised almost parallel to the ground like a figure skater's finishing routine (Then he got into a mix-up with Mohammad Rizwan, ran himself out and Pakistan lost, of course, because ultimately, we're still talking about Pakistan cricket).

But in Pakistan, introducing an elegant, aggressive, left-handed opener is akin to toying with the emotions of unrequited lovers who have never quite managed to get over Saeed Anwar's departure. Pakistan poured all their faith into Ayub as their T20 opener and saviour even as he outscored that 8-ball Eden Park effort just twice in the next 14 innings; 44 matches in, that innings still accounts for almost 16% of his first over T20I runs.

Cricket analyst Jarrod Kimber pointed out the curiosity about Ayub the opener, is he doesn't quite like opening the batting, with eight first-over dismissals in 29 innings. But Ayub's early jitters do not appear to go away when the ball isn't hard or swinging. Over a (much smaller) sample size, the only two innings where he came in to bat outside the first five overs both produced ducks. Indeed, while brief peaks in form have been followed by long troughs, Ayub's T20I career remains stochastic; his last 11 innings have produced four ducks and three of his four career half-centuries.

The idea of Ayub, of course, is that one day, on a big occasion, his talent will overwhelm his innate flaws and limitations, and he will win a match for Pakistan that they would otherwise have lost. It is that, and not his recent wizardry with the ball, that has kept Pakistan's otherwise trigger-happy selectors persisting with him, and fans in that state of flux where frustration is briefly suspended in favour of hope when he comes out to bat.

In that sense, he is perhaps not quite so different from Shahid Afridi, who birthed the idea of blind hope despite all evidence to the contrary. Ayub is skipping through Afridi's career stages on fast forward. In fewer than half of Afridi's innings, he already has as many T20I ducks (eight) and as many T20I half-centuries (four). His average is only a couple of runs higher than Afridi's, and just like Afridi began to call himself a bowling allrounder to take pressure off the runs he wasn't scoring, Ayub's primary skill in this Asia Cup is what he's doing with the ball rather than when he has bat in hand.

When these two sides played last week, he took all three Indian wickets that fell, his turn off the pitch either side deceiving both Shubman Gill and Tilak Verma. His tally is now six wickets and no runs, but he is the bowler that Salman Agha invariably turns to for a breakthrough in the powerplay, usually as early as the second over. That is the profile of an integral player for any T20I side, not one whose involvement is contingent on the runs Pakistan need but aren't getting, from Ayub or anyone else.

And, as far as blind hope goes, few Pakistan supporters forget that two of Afridi's four T20I half-centuries came in the semi-final and final of the only T20 World Cup Pakistan ever won.