Game Changer - Shahid Afridi

175 Pages·2019·2.628 MB·English

by  Shahid Afridi, Wajahat S. Khan

To the women who have made us.
To the men who have led us.
To the enemies who have hardened us.
To the friends who have trusted us.
And to the game changers who will follow us.
Contents
Foreword
Preface
Introduction
1. Taking a Stance
2. In the Beginning, Just War and Cricket
3. School Cricket, Minus the School
4. The Karachi Cricket Cult
5. Dreams, Street Cred and a Brutal Wake-Up Call
6. All the World Is a Stock Market
7. A First, a Trial, Then Another First
8. The Insomniac’s Dream Debut
9. The Quest Begins
10. Pathan vs Hindustan
11. Threats and Treats, Indian and Homegrown
12. Ignominy in England
13. Decline
14. The Comeback King
15. Awkward and Oval
16. The Boy and Bob
17. Skipper, Victim, Soldier, Terror
18. The Strain of Command
19. Captaincy and Chaos
20. Palace Intrigues
21. Trials and Liars
22. Players, Power and Fratricide
23. Batting India Is Battling India
24. Sledging, Tampering and the Unforgettables
25. Visualization, Health and Adaptability
26. Shortchanging Pakistan
27. India 2.0
28. The Dry Talent Pipeline
29. Predictable Unpredictability
30. Temperament, Truth and Leadership
31. The Lost Kingdom
32. Politics Ain’t for Pathans
33. Soldiering on
34. Fun, Fans and Fanatics
35. A Tardy Ending
36. Happiness, Faith and Doubt
37. The Second Innings
38. Naya Pakistan, Purana Lala
Notes
Index
Photographic Inserts
Acknowledgements
About the Book
About the Author
FOREWORD
LIKE ALL great discoveries, it started with a need.
We were in a tri-series in Kenya in 1996. Mushtaq Ahmed, our dependable World Cup
champion leg spinner, was injured. So here we were, stuck in Africa, in dire need of a leggie, and
in comes this kid, kind of chubby but straight-edged and quiet. None of us had heard of him
before.
The selectors had picked him with some sense of hope. They said he was all right. We were
like, ‘Okay, sure … why not? He might work out.’ But at the time, he was an unknown resource.
Almost unnoticeable.
When he arrived in Nairobi and began bowling in the nets, I remember he came at us hard
and fast. He had variety. He was a teenager, very agile. I remember he had a solid googly, a good
faster one, and could change it up quite effortlessly. Instinctively, his bowling was less Mushtaq
Ahmed and more Anil Kumble. Could have been taller, I remember telling myself.
Then came the time for him to bat. It was beginning to get dark. There wasn’t much light left.
He was the only one who hadn’t batted. We were in a hurry to get back to the hotel. It wouldn’t
have been a major loss – bowlers never got to bat much in the nets in those days. What the hell, I
thought, and asked him to pad up.
What happened next didn’t let us make it to the hotel in time. First, I started bowling him leg-
breaks. I was firmly dispatched. Next, Waqar (Younis) started bowling off-breaks to him. His
deliveries too were smacked, viciously. Then, both Waqar and I tried bowling at him with a short
run-up. Both of us were sent packing.
I was still sceptical. Clearly this was a tuqqa, a lucky strike. So we took longer run-ups and
came hard at him. The kid just kept hitting us all over. The harder we came at him, the more
confidently he struck the ball. Not once did he seem to flinch. Nor did he break into a sweat. He
hit us for sixes in the dark, like he had night vision or something. Soon I decided to call it off.
This was getting embarrassing.
The next day I told him to pad up early. This time, right from ball one, Waqar and I came at
him with a full run-up. But the kid was relentless. He hit us harder than he had the previous
evening. I remember thinking that the sort of shots he was hammering, had it not been for the
nets, the ball would have gone out of the stadium.
It was on that day in the nets that it became clear to me: there was talent. This boy had the
potential to go places.
But then news came in of my father having suffered a heart attack. As I was packing to fly
back to Lahore, I suggested to Saeed Anwar, who was to captain in my absence, to let the kid bat
up the order.
It was just a suggestion. Saeed knew what he was doing. I didn’t know that a casual suggestion
would make history. Back in Lahore, I heard the news before I actually saw that famous match
against Sri Lanka. I read about it in the papers the morning after. That afternoon, I actually saw
the damn innings.
It was the stuff of legend: a quick-fire 37-ball century for the ages. That too in 1996, a time
when even 230 was considered a defendable total.
Later that night, I saw the innings again. I knew Shahid Afridi was here to stay.
But let’s be honest. I didn’t discover Afridi. He would have made it anyway. Although I knew
that he had what we Lahoris call pharak, the spark. That’s why I took him under my wing.
Afridi was a shy boy when he started. He wasn’t the abrasive, tough guy you see today. He was
like any average teenager, a bit awkward. It’s not difficult to imagine why. Think about it. The
Pakistan line-up he was exposed to at the beginning – Waqar Younis, Saleem Malik, Ramiz Raja,
Ijaz Ahmed, Saeed Anwar … He probably had our posters in his room. And then, just like that,
he was among us. It would have been a difficult transition for anyone.
I soon realized that he needed a confidence boost. So I took him on as a project. I started
taking him with me to meet folks. I began polishing him, making him come along to dinners and
events. I’ve always believed that if you’re a confident person yourself, it starts showing in your
line of work too. Shahid Afridi, the teenager, needed that affirmation.
I captained him for 10 years or so, on and off. We became very fond of each other, of course.
But I do wonder if we made him perform what we had hired him for: a quick-fire leggie in the
team. I know that he has regrets about how his skill sets were not utilized properly.
But here’s the reality. In Pakistan cricket, we don’t do the whole personal psyche thing. We
don’t think about what the other person is thinking. We are not proactive. Imran Khan was. But
he was Imran Khan. There’s never been – and there may never be – anyone like him.
Unfortunately, by the time Afridi dug his roots in the Pakistan side, a crisis of confidence had
developed not only in the team but also in my captaincy, a role that was assigned to me
sporadically. He should have had more confident people around him to shape and chisel and
hone him. But he did not. He was unlucky that way. Also, he was so young. He got too much
attention. There was too much happening, too soon, for him.
Some of us stood up for him. I remember having an argument with the selectors prior to the
1999 tour of India. I wanted him in the squad, the selectors did not. Eventually, I put my foot
down – I knew he was a match winner – and said that I would rather resign from the post of
captain if Afridi didn’t make it to the Test squad. The selectors finally gave in. Afridi proved
himself: in the first Test, he smashed 144. He badgered the hell out of India. He became a
sensation all over again. I stood redeemed.
But had Afridi known about his own talent, he could have been so much more. He was
constantly missing the confidence to settle down. He needed someone to tell him, ‘Pathan, you
have so much already. Now fix your technique and see the places you can go.’ That’s what was
missing.
To become great, you need self-confidence. He had what it took for any World XI to have his
name. I don’t like comparing the eras, but the 1990s were very difficult for a player like Afridi. It
was tough to open the way he did, to hit like he did. Every opponent team had three pacers who
could top speeds of 150 km/hr. It wasn’t a walk in the park to have the sort of strike rate he
introduced to the game.
But his reflexes, his hand–eye coordination, his natural flair and aggression – it was
unbelievable. It was also very frustrating for us, the way he could move, just pick the ball and
scoop it – either out of the park or right into the hands of mid-on. Yes, he struggled in the Test
era, but once the age of T20s began, there was no looking back. It was a format tailormade for
him.
Afridi wasn’t limited by any means. But he limited himself. At the international level, if you
believe that you don’t have what it takes, then you will not produce what is required of you. You
need to believe in yourself. You have to set boundaries: ‘I will leave the short ball, I will defend
outside off stump.’ You must follow the basic rules. Afridi, it was proved over time, is just
human.
I didn’t approve of his starts and stops. For example, the way he quit captaincy in 2010 after
leading Pakistan in just one Test. It showed that he hadn’t thought the plan through. Today, if
you want to be a known quantity, you must be someone who’s in it for the long-term.
But no matter what Afridi has achieved and despite his retirement from the Pakistan side,
stadiums fill up for him even today when he plays limited-overs formats. He is an impact player.
A cricketer for any era. He is a star. I wasn’t sure about his charisma in the early days, though. By
1999, I realized it was there. The aura around him was building.
I remember a match against Zimbabwe. We had a packed stadium in Peshawar. Absolutely
chock-a-block. There were more people outside the stadium than there were inside. The crowd
was going nuts, screaming his name. He came in, pulled a high one, it came off his glove and he
was caught, first ball. The crowd went nuts and attempted to break the gates – they wanted him
to have another go. They said it was a ‘try ball’, like it was a street match. The cops had to come in
with water cannons and tear gas. It’s remarkable that Afridi had that star power just a couple of
years into the Pakistan team.
The crucial thing about Afridi is that everything he does and doesn’t do works. Sure, he’s got
an image. He’s a fit guy. He’s got the looks. And I’m so proud of the work he’s done for the
Shahid Afridi Foundation.
But you don’t just become a star. You must be aware of what’s going on around you too. I
tried to learn. I still do. You live it up, sure, but you have to know your stuff too.
Was he easy to lead? Yes. Was he there when the team needed him? Yes. Was he up for taking
the pressure? Yes. Up for any tough fielding position? Always. No hesitation. Not even for a
moment. Afridi was as brave as a warrior. He is one of the strongest men I’ve known. It’s been
said that he has a problem with authority. Fine, but only with authority which is not worth
respecting. You have to know his psyche to lead him. He is not stubborn at all. You must know
what you’re dealing with. If he respects you, he will put his life on the firing line for you.
Sure, it was a treat to have him, and I enjoyed leading him. I took it as a challenge. Saqlain
Mushtaq, Abdul Razzaq, Azhar Mahmood, Shoaib Akhtar, Shahid Afridi – when all of them were
in the same playing eleven, especially in the shorter format, it made the Pakistan team invincible.
But as a captain, nobody kept me on edge more than Afridi did. One couldn’t even go to the
loo when he was playing in the middle. That’s because he could change any game, anytime. He
was and will remain a game changer.
Wasim Akram