In his latest article, written exclusively for PakPassion.net, Saad Shafqat analyses the career of Mohammad Sami and attempts to explain the reasons behind Sami’s inability to achieve greatness despite having ample opportunities.

A neurologist by training, Dr. Saad Shafqat first rose to fame as the author of Javed Miandad’s autobiography, “The Cutting Edge”. Since then, he has written numerous analytical pieces which are published in many reputable publications, on many aspects of Pakistani cricket and is generally recognized as one of the top commentators on this subject in Pakistan.

In his latest article, written exclusively for PakPassion.net, Saad analyses the career of Mohammad Sami and attempts to explain the reasons behind Sami’s inability to achieve greatness despite having ample opportunities.

 

"The Many Lives of Mohammad Sami" : Saad Shafqat
21st June, 2012

It is said that a cat has nine lives. Mohammad Sami is no cat, but his opportunities for rejuvenation have seemingly been no less numerous. Since making his international debut in March 2001, he has been in and out of the Pakistan side like a rickshaw swerving through busy Karachi traffic. The debut itself – a Test against New Zealand in Auckland – was promising enough, as Sami took 3 for 70 in the first innings and a spell-binding five-for in the second innings. Pakistan won by 299 runs and Sami was declared man of the match.

Lofty beginnings often make for productive careers, but Sami’s subsequent trajectory has sadly been an inexorable slide. He has so far played 35 Tests for a jaw-dropping bowling average of 52.57, in addition to 85 ODIs (average 28.52) and 5 T20Is (average 14.60). Since his entry into international cricket, he has participated in only 37% of Tests, 30% of ODIs, and 20% of T20Is played by Pakistan over this period. That match award on debut didn’t prove too auspicious either. In all these years, Sami has won only two more, the last in December 2003.

Back when he first earned national selection, Sami was being viewed as a new-ball partner alongside Shoaib Akhtar, and even a potential future heir to Pakistan’s hallowed fast-bowling dynasty. But if you track his cumulative Test bowling average and strike rate through time, it paints a despairing picture. Perhaps unique among skilled professionals, Sami has been getting worse with experience. His average had stayed in the 30s during his first eight Tests but since then has gradually ballooned upwards, eventually surpassing 50 after his 32nd Test. His strike rate, hovering around the 60s during his initial few Tests, has risen to 87.4. These are not respectable figures. Even worse, they are continuing to rise.

As a comparison to Sami, take Umar Gul. Also a seam specialist, he has played a similar number of Tests (43) over more or less the same period (since August 2003). Gul’s Test bowling average peaked at 35.54 after his 32nd Test and has gradually been brought down to its current figure of 32.47. His strike rate has held steady for most of his career, and is currently 56.40. These numbers are genuinely impressive and stack up favorably against some of Gul’s leading contemporaries. England’s top strike bowler Jimmy Anderson, for example, has a current Test bowling average of 30.05 and a strike rate of 57.20.

Yet despite all these alarm bells, Sami keeps getting recalled to the national side. The usual triggers are one or more eye-catching performances during the domestic season. This time around, Sami also shone brightly in the Bangladesh Premier League. But re-entry on the basis of domestic success is only one piece of the puzzle. The major reason behind Sami’s perpetual attraction for selectors is more visceral. It is simply his ability to generate pace.

Indeed, Sami’s speed can get furious and scorching. He routinely gets into the high 140s, and has even been clocked at over 150 km per hour on several occasions. When he gets it right, the results are spectacular – batsmen hopping and jumping, stumps uprooted and flying, wicket-keepers pushed onto tip-toes as they collect balls at chest height and rub their hands afterwards to soothe the pain of impact. These are captivating sights that keep us hooked and asking for more.

The problem is that success as an international fast bowler is about a great deal more than just pure pace. You have to keep the batsman guessing, which requires variation of pace and movement. You need to be accurate and bowl according to a well thought-out plan and a strategically placed field. You have to be highly disciplined about length and direction. You need a comprehensive grasp of the state of the pitch as well as the wind and weather conditions. And you have to get inside the batsman’s mind to defeat him in the head.

By these criteria, Sami’s deficiencies are many, and they badly offset his talent for pace. He is incapable of bowling a disguised slower ball, and most of his seam movement appears unintentional. He seldom appears to be executing a plan. You get the feeling he just runs in and delivers the ball with stubborn single-mindedness, hoping for something exciting. He gives the impression that rather than forcing things to happen, he is just hoping that something will happen. Most disappointing, his mental repertoire appears impoverished. Ultimately, the difference between a blank-shooter like Sami and penetrating bowlers like Gul and Anderson is that Sami has not learned the fine skill of wicket-taking, which at core is a complex psychological art.

In a sense, Sami’s career has played out like a cruel tragedy. Speed has masked his foibles, and it has deceived the selectors as well as the fans again and again. Despite proximity and access to some of the greatest fast bowlers that the sport of cricket has ever known, including Wasim Akram and Waqar Younis with whom his career overlapped in its initial two years, Sami has absorbed little. A long series of well-meaning coaches and captains have also tried to help him improve, but to little avail.

If there is one moment that best captures all this futility, it is probably the time when Sami’s lack of success managed to stir even as mighty a personage as Imran Khan. Early in 2006, Pakistan’s greatest living cricket legend decided that enough was enough, and he would personally tutor Mohammad Sami in the art of taking wickets. At the appointed hour, Sami showed up at the National Cricket Academy in Lahore, and Imran, cutting a smart and commanding pose in crisp shalwar-kameez, shiny Peshawari sandals, and a tracksuit pullover, began his lesson with grave gestures and a stern manner. Sami listened obediently, but his eyes were distant and confused. It was a look that said, “Skipper, I just don’t get it.”