From boycotts that weren’t to referees fired but still officiating, Pakistan cricket’s latest drama proves once more that when we insist sport and politics don’t mix, the result is neither cricket nor politics — just farce.
I have a standing theory that the Pakistani way of problem-solving is throwing things at the problem and hoping something sticks. Which might be why we, as a nation, have such a preoccupation with fast bowling. It might also explain whatever has transpired since the Pakistan-India match last Sunday.
As has been the case for much of the past few years, this past subcontinental encounter was about nearly everything but the cricket. It just so happened that this time, it was about an actual war.
After years of using jang jargon to describe a rivalry that was increasingly leaning towards turning into an arm-wrestling contest between an ant and a gorilla, this was it. Broadcasters would finally get to have their cake to eat: a giant one shaped like a Pakistan-India cricket match, frosted with even more geopolitical context than before.
The broadcasters had hit the jackpot. Pakistan fans would probably just hit themselves in distress.
As it turns out, however, there is little that nationalistic fervour can do in the way of a skill deficit. Simply put, Pakistan were outplayed. Whatever impetus the team took from the conflict onto the pitch didn’t translate into better shot-selection, or particularly incisive bowling, or fielding that would make you want to take your head out of your hands.
But really, it shouldn’t have, because that’s what everyone says: that there is no place for politics in sports. By that logic, it is healthy for none of the war baggage to have added any more gravity to the type of cricket Pakistan plays against India.
Because sports and politics don’t mix. Not at all.
That is, if you ignore the fact that each team represents a nation-state, which is a fundamentally political category. And that being complicit in certain conflicts gets nations barred from competing in sporting events, or have their flags obscured.
You also have to disregard the Pakistan Cricket Board chairman being the interior minister of the country. And that the one captain to win the country the World Cup ended up as its prime minister (ended up in several places, for that matter).
India-Pakistan, especially, is a rivalry without a political bone in its body. The heads of state sitting in on Test matches to placate heated relations was just an excuse for a party. The suspension and release and re-suspension of bilateral cricket between the two based on national tensions was just an instance of two friends being unable to decide where to go for dinner. The little seismic wave of inconvenience that erupts whenever there is a tournament about to be played in India or Pakistan is just a pre-emptive cure for boredom.
So, really, it shouldn’t weigh down heavily on anyone that Pakistan lost a first on-field encounter after the war.
However, there is a moment of rupture in every story. Sometimes it’s a handshake. Here, it was the lack thereof.
When the Indian cricket team refused to shake hands with the Pakistani players, already lined up with their arms outstretched, and closed the doors to their dressing room, and when the captain paid tribute to the Indian armed forces in the post-match interview, it shook up the nice, apolitical arrangement we had going on for all these years.
There is something else to be said here, about how the consequences of sportsmanship being rationed off or withdrawn should be non-negotiable. However, it shouldn’t require an investigation committee to be set up to condemn it. But I digress.
Of course, the running sentiment here is to remember that politics has no place in cricket. The correct course of action after such disrespect ensues is to take the least political way out of it.
But registering a complaint against the source of the disrespect (the players themselves) would be too on the nose. Being apolitical requires a certain tactical deftness, a certain prowess in beating about the bush.
Other things that should be taken into account: such as how asking for a normal day when it comes to cricket in Pakistan is like asking for wine at a milk shop.
In protest, the captain did not attend the post-match presentation. After sifting through a list of possible culprits — the Indian management, board, players — the needle landed, for some reason, on the match referee: Andy Pycroft. Pycroft was reportedly the one who had told Salman Ali Agha that there was to be no handshake between the two captains at the toss, which PCB found to be a breach of the ICC’s code of conduct regulations.
Dying on the referee hill, Pakistan declared that unless Pycroft was not removed, Pakistan would not play the next game against the UAE. ICC denied the appeal; Pakistan cancelled the pre-match press conference on Tuesday.
What ensued then was a battle between space, time and the millions of dollars Pakistan were apparently set to lose.
On Wednesday afternoon, we found ourselves just as confused as we did on Sunday evening. While the players had trained the night before, a directive from the chairman rang loud — the players were not to leave the hotel. Pakistan were boycotting. Maybe. Possibly. There was to be a press conference soon.
In Lahore, the past and present of the PCB assembled — Mohsin Naqvi, Ramiz Raja and Najam Sethi convened to work out a solution. The criteria for making it to this convention remain unclear, and we do not yet know why Zaka Ashraf was snubbed. There was to be a press conference very, very soon.
Pycroft was to be the match referee — he was already present at the venue — as were the UAE players, who might not have been told that there was a party going on.
There was a smidgen of a press conference, which announced that the start of the match was to be delayed. Pycroft exited the venue and had seemingly been evicted from his officiating duties. Except he wasn’t, because there was no one to officiate the game. So, after all that had transpired and evaporated over the past three days, the PCB had to settle for what they were after all along: a verbal apology from a match official. There was to be a game!
Just so we were sure what had happened, the PCB uploaded a muted video of Andy Pycroft in talks with the captain and head coach. He could have been discussing the weather, for all we know. But he was still the match referee. Pakistan would still play.
So, at the end, this was the cost of being political in sport: one hour of delay, several more of drama. The match — that Pakistan had to win at all costs — was secondary, and for a good chunk of it, it looked like the players treated it as such.
All of this is not to say that Pakistan acted irrationally — not entirely, anyway. It is just to say that the insistence on breaching politics from sports has led to politics weaving itself in, in a far more inconvenient and painfully boisterous way than ever before. It now involves teams trying to make statements to show power that end up defeating the purpose of both sport and politics.
Sport will always be political, inherently. This does not mean that teams should not shake hands, or that teams carry a copy of the constitution down to the field, or that teams should decide on a whim if they are feeling political or not. It does mean, however, that expressions of political opinion, like Usman Khawaja’s pro-Palestine messaging on his shoes, or a team’s captain thanking his armed forces after a match, need to be treated consistently.
Reprimanding some and not others, or choosing which messages are more acceptable for cricket, ultimately leads to the same politicisation of the sport that everyone is trying so keenly to avoid. Once the sport is prioritised on-field, ultimately, by setting aside the personal opinions of players, or the financial influence of certain sporting bodies, the politics might just take care of themselves.
Pakistan is set to play India again on Sunday. Pakistan has cancelled a press conference again, and hired a sports psychologist mid-tour. What is to become of everything else, remains to be seen.
