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No more character in cricket
Posted by Sohaib Alvi on 04 9th, 2010 |
The love triangle came full circle and perished under its own weight. Two countries and its citizens were brought to the brink by three idiots who ultimately declared that ‘all is well’ and walked away to their dark secrets. And Islamic edicts were mauled by armchair analysts ranging from those who may never have read the Quran and Hadith, to the scholarly who gave sweeping statements that varied in their intensity.
At the end of the day, the Shoaib-Sania-Ayesha/Maha debacle was yet another incident involving a Pakistani cricketer getting himself into a jam and embarrassing the country. Not that the cricket team should be blamed entirely for maligning our name, or what’s left of it – that crown is worn by the king and his courtiers.
Still, it must be said that Shoaib Malik could have handled this situation differently. Once it turned out that Ayesha was the one on the other end of the line during his telephonic affair, all Malik had to do was state that he had been deceived, express sorrow at the misunderstanding, and accede to Ayesha’s request for a divorce. A signed paper is just a signed paper if there are to be no consequences whatsoever. As such, it was always a win-win situation for Malik. No stories need have come out of the situation, no exposes about nights spent at hotels, no unnecessary innuendos about a decade-old relationship.
But it seems our cricketers have become so arrogant that Malik never thought of ending the issue with the other woman quietly, when all she wanted was a separation.
This lack of discretion, which indicates a disregard for family, fans, and the national image, saddens me the most. Mind you, I’m not surprised, just plain saddened. Our cricketers, once titled ambassadors of goodwill, have become cowboys roaming the Wild West, shooting at first sight and not even bothering to bury the dead.
Much as I avoid saying it for fear of being labeled discriminatory or elitist, the behaviour of our cricketers nowadays has to do with education and upbringing. (Let me be on the record here that I grew up in a lower-middle-class family, though I was lucky enough to have educated, principled, and ethical parents and good teachers.)
I think it’s time to admit that transgressions and indiscretions have become too common in Pakistani cricket, both on and off the field, by both cricketers and the management. Yes, there have been indiscretions in the past as well, some of a serious nature, but these were restricted to the odd clown. Right up to the 1970s, the majority of the cricket coterie comprised Majid, Sadiq, Zaheer, Asif, Mushtaq Mohammad, Wasim Raja, Saleem Altaf, Asif Masood, Intikhab Alam, Wasim Bari, Pervez Sajjad, Iqbal Qasim, Haroon Rasheed, etc.
A few of them may or may not have had their questionable moments, but they were all essentially family men; in other words, decent chaps, presentable on and off the field. They played cricket while attending university and continuing to listen to their elders. The team in their time had character when it wore the green and gold.
There were, of course, odd fellows such as Sarfraz, Illyas, and Aftab Gul, but they were a minority, negligible like the family truant among a large family.
In the 1980s and 1990s, things began to change. More entrants to the game arrived having played hokey from school. Early money meant less time to become mature and worldly wise. With money came more cricket; more cricket meant less time at home; more frequent tours in seductive societies meant easy access to drugs, girls, and quick cash.
I believe our cricketers’ character changed in the year 1976, when the team stood as one and defied the management over pay. The year Packer hatched plans for breakaway cricket that made our cricketers aware of their true worth and marketing potential. The year Imran Khan and Javed Miandad became role models without meaning to, making teenagers leave books for bats, fascinated with the world of glamour and opportunity that the duo represented. Miandad broke the mould by mysteriously eloping while the world searched for him for more than two days, and Khan was photographed at Ascot with the rich, famous, and glamorous. Our cricketers had stepped out in the open.
Ironically, Miandad and Khan led Pakistan cricket to great heights, individually and collectively. But in the process, the fabric of self-regulation was torn to bits. The two most brilliant, talented, and charismatic players led private lives that influenced a generation that did not have the strong mental discipline and family foundation that they had. What was left was taken care of by the modalities of offshore cricket, where the pitch was a sidelight as big boys played off it. Disco lights and starry nights prevailed.
By end of the 1990s, we saw most of our cricketers, still brilliant as ever in the art of bowling and batting, living lives of moral degradation, steeped in the world of sex, lies, and drugs. The family man with high morals had become the minority in the team.
There were many incidents: at Granada, four of our more famous names were allegedly busted for drugs; in Johannesburg, the busted up bodies of two cricketers who claimed to have been mugged outside their hotel, but were seen being thrown out of a nightclub. On both occasions, a Test match was delayed by a day. In Zimbabwe, there were revelations of match fixing; across the world our cricketers were caught ball tampering more often than others.
Today, we are paying for the cowardly, selfish management of those times that failed to fire the offenders when they were still a minority. Today, relatively uneducated, arrogant, young people, who believe they know what is best for them, make their own marriages over the internet with a pretty face. No need for back ground or character checks. After all, how can they go wrong when they earn in seven figures, are chased for autographs, move in a circle that hails them for their independence and antics, and consider conservative influences as archaic.
Perhaps they are not to blame, since the system around them has become morally corrupt. The only hope for the future is that the PCB runs a finishing school where every aspiring national cricketer is given a six-month course in values and ethics. But before that, we have to have a similar finishing school for the PCB management and their elders.
Sohaib Alvi has been a cricket writer since 1979, and has edited The Cricketer International (UK) Asian Edition. He also has 25 years’ top management experience and now works as a strategic and marketing consultant.
Posted by Sohaib Alvi on 04 9th, 2010 |
The love triangle came full circle and perished under its own weight. Two countries and its citizens were brought to the brink by three idiots who ultimately declared that ‘all is well’ and walked away to their dark secrets. And Islamic edicts were mauled by armchair analysts ranging from those who may never have read the Quran and Hadith, to the scholarly who gave sweeping statements that varied in their intensity.
At the end of the day, the Shoaib-Sania-Ayesha/Maha debacle was yet another incident involving a Pakistani cricketer getting himself into a jam and embarrassing the country. Not that the cricket team should be blamed entirely for maligning our name, or what’s left of it – that crown is worn by the king and his courtiers.
Still, it must be said that Shoaib Malik could have handled this situation differently. Once it turned out that Ayesha was the one on the other end of the line during his telephonic affair, all Malik had to do was state that he had been deceived, express sorrow at the misunderstanding, and accede to Ayesha’s request for a divorce. A signed paper is just a signed paper if there are to be no consequences whatsoever. As such, it was always a win-win situation for Malik. No stories need have come out of the situation, no exposes about nights spent at hotels, no unnecessary innuendos about a decade-old relationship.
But it seems our cricketers have become so arrogant that Malik never thought of ending the issue with the other woman quietly, when all she wanted was a separation.
This lack of discretion, which indicates a disregard for family, fans, and the national image, saddens me the most. Mind you, I’m not surprised, just plain saddened. Our cricketers, once titled ambassadors of goodwill, have become cowboys roaming the Wild West, shooting at first sight and not even bothering to bury the dead.
Much as I avoid saying it for fear of being labeled discriminatory or elitist, the behaviour of our cricketers nowadays has to do with education and upbringing. (Let me be on the record here that I grew up in a lower-middle-class family, though I was lucky enough to have educated, principled, and ethical parents and good teachers.)
I think it’s time to admit that transgressions and indiscretions have become too common in Pakistani cricket, both on and off the field, by both cricketers and the management. Yes, there have been indiscretions in the past as well, some of a serious nature, but these were restricted to the odd clown. Right up to the 1970s, the majority of the cricket coterie comprised Majid, Sadiq, Zaheer, Asif, Mushtaq Mohammad, Wasim Raja, Saleem Altaf, Asif Masood, Intikhab Alam, Wasim Bari, Pervez Sajjad, Iqbal Qasim, Haroon Rasheed, etc.
A few of them may or may not have had their questionable moments, but they were all essentially family men; in other words, decent chaps, presentable on and off the field. They played cricket while attending university and continuing to listen to their elders. The team in their time had character when it wore the green and gold.
There were, of course, odd fellows such as Sarfraz, Illyas, and Aftab Gul, but they were a minority, negligible like the family truant among a large family.
In the 1980s and 1990s, things began to change. More entrants to the game arrived having played hokey from school. Early money meant less time to become mature and worldly wise. With money came more cricket; more cricket meant less time at home; more frequent tours in seductive societies meant easy access to drugs, girls, and quick cash.
I believe our cricketers’ character changed in the year 1976, when the team stood as one and defied the management over pay. The year Packer hatched plans for breakaway cricket that made our cricketers aware of their true worth and marketing potential. The year Imran Khan and Javed Miandad became role models without meaning to, making teenagers leave books for bats, fascinated with the world of glamour and opportunity that the duo represented. Miandad broke the mould by mysteriously eloping while the world searched for him for more than two days, and Khan was photographed at Ascot with the rich, famous, and glamorous. Our cricketers had stepped out in the open.
Ironically, Miandad and Khan led Pakistan cricket to great heights, individually and collectively. But in the process, the fabric of self-regulation was torn to bits. The two most brilliant, talented, and charismatic players led private lives that influenced a generation that did not have the strong mental discipline and family foundation that they had. What was left was taken care of by the modalities of offshore cricket, where the pitch was a sidelight as big boys played off it. Disco lights and starry nights prevailed.
By end of the 1990s, we saw most of our cricketers, still brilliant as ever in the art of bowling and batting, living lives of moral degradation, steeped in the world of sex, lies, and drugs. The family man with high morals had become the minority in the team.
There were many incidents: at Granada, four of our more famous names were allegedly busted for drugs; in Johannesburg, the busted up bodies of two cricketers who claimed to have been mugged outside their hotel, but were seen being thrown out of a nightclub. On both occasions, a Test match was delayed by a day. In Zimbabwe, there were revelations of match fixing; across the world our cricketers were caught ball tampering more often than others.
Today, we are paying for the cowardly, selfish management of those times that failed to fire the offenders when they were still a minority. Today, relatively uneducated, arrogant, young people, who believe they know what is best for them, make their own marriages over the internet with a pretty face. No need for back ground or character checks. After all, how can they go wrong when they earn in seven figures, are chased for autographs, move in a circle that hails them for their independence and antics, and consider conservative influences as archaic.
Perhaps they are not to blame, since the system around them has become morally corrupt. The only hope for the future is that the PCB runs a finishing school where every aspiring national cricketer is given a six-month course in values and ethics. But before that, we have to have a similar finishing school for the PCB management and their elders.
Sohaib Alvi has been a cricket writer since 1979, and has edited The Cricketer International (UK) Asian Edition. He also has 25 years’ top management experience and now works as a strategic and marketing consultant.
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