Avast, ye Poms!

Dear English cricket wallah,

I would say "Dear Sir" but the only Sir among you is that Beefy Botham, who must be having your mad cow problem. We Pakistanis know you only gave the sirhood to that rump because he says the utmost bad things about our mothers-in-law. After all, as a cricketer he was just a white man's Imran Khan. And all those long walks he does for charity - what's the big deal, I also take the stroll every day. Just this morning I went half a kilometre without rest and nobody calls me Sir (apart from my driver and cook and teaboy and shoe-shiner and everybody at the office, okay everybody calls me Sir, but sometimes, you know, sometimes I think they don't say it with enough sincerity, you know? Maybe I'm being too much the paranoid). Also, let it be noted that your pretend tough guy, Sir Ian, does not have to contend with the unforgiving Lahore sun.

Ah yes: The Sun. That red-horned devil. That arch-conspirator. That enemy of truth, justice and the good honest bookies of the Eastern world. Why these saucy scribblers have such problem with us, I do not know. As I have said, they should be looking inwards, looking into the dodgy dealings of you Britishers first, no? I mean, that is the honourable action to take. You limeys have a nice phrase for this, something like "Don't throw stones in glass houses", and I have my own about "When the bullets hit the bus, duck the responsibility." All good people have phrases and standards they live by and you should learn some lessons from our example.

We at the Pakistan Cricket Board are the first to ask the tough questions. Just last night I asked myself if I should have seekh kebab or behari kebab. I agonised and it was very tough but I persevered because the truth must be got at so we can start anew with a clean conscience and good faith. (If you are interested, I decided to have both.)

Now, I don't know who is reading this, if it is the captain, Andy Pandy Straussy, or my counterpunter Giles Clerk. Maybe it is that David Collier who you say is some sort of executive. Ha ha ha, "executive". Pull the other one! You make me laugh with your pretend-professional positions. We all know Collier sahib is only there because he is brothers or uncle of your middle-order player Paul Collier, who by the way, is just a white man's Abdul Razzaq. No doubt all this Collywolly does is sip chai for a few wafty hours in the afternoon and fart around with his chums talking about the good old days, falling over playing air cricket, and then going off on what gits the Indians are before taking their call and saying, "Yes, Mr Pawar, excellent idea as always." Ah yes, the responsibilities of a cricket man of action. It is a tough life but somebody has to do it and as everybody knows I am a Somebody. And being a Somebody means you never have to say you're sorry.

So, English, I am in contempt of your threats to take me to court! Everybody knows you are against the Pakistanis. Everybody knows you spend all your time dreaming up schemes to destroy us. Everybody knows: me, Yawar Saeed, our esteemed High Commissioner to the UK, and presumably Leonard Cohen. Your latest tactic is to accuse me of accusing you of very bad accusations. But where is your evidence? Once again I am seeing the Britisher fall short of his supposed ideals. I believe in "innocent until proven guilty". I also believe the burden of proof is on the accuser. I also believe the accuser is biased. I also believe bias is wrong. I also believe I am not wrong. And therefore I am right. (I am very logical. If only I had studied law I could have been Chief Justice of Pakistan. I coulda been a contender.)

Finally, I hear rumours you will no longer invite Pakistan to play neutral series in England. I always told people the English don't know hospitality, they have no manners. Here is my evidence: you are guilty as charged! But frankly, go suck a lemon, we don't need you. As the guardian of Pakistan cricket, I can tell you that my great country's cricket is in safe hands. I will point the way. I will cradle it like an innocent baby. I will stick up my middle finger. I will wash our cricket squeaky clean. Under my watch we will finally be rid of all you enemies, leeches and tall seam bowlers who expose our batsmen's inadequate technique against the rising ball outside off stump. Oh, what a glorious future that will be. Pakistan Zindabad!

Yours unapologetically, ungraciously and unwittingly, and totally sincerely,

Mr Chairman of the Board (but you can call me Sir), Ijaz Butt