Part 1: The shot that shook the world As I sit and watch the snow fall on a cold frosty morning in good old England, I realise how much I miss waking up in the early hours to eagerly turn on the TV and watch Pakistan play some much touted superior team. Will they be 30 for 6 or 100 for 1? Or will the opposition be 200 odd for 1?

As I sit and watch the snow fall on a cold frosty morning in good old England, I realise how much I miss waking up in the early hours to eagerly turn on the TV and watch Pakistan play some much touted superior team. Will they be 30 for 6 or 100 for 1? Or will the opposition be 200 odd for 1? And as I try to come to terms with a year without cricket my thoughts take me back to a more innocent time in Pakistan where I spent some of my formative years. A time, when stress meant forgetting your school exercise book and getting a thrashing from the teacher. Or getting out on a duck while your friend next door made 50 odd. Oh the joys of childhood. There was one other joy that used to fill our small immature hearts in those days of course and that was watching Pakistan take on and thrash the best the cricket world could throw at us. West indies? Pah!, 50 odd all out thank you very much! England? Abdul Qadir zindabaad*! Australia? We made Kim Hughes cry! And then there was India. The nation would rejoice at the numerous victories we would ratchet up against our friendly neighbours. However it wasn’t all like that when I first started watching this great game. Well not until one fateful day in 1986 when everything changed forever.

Before that great day in Sharjah, Pakistan were considered to be good in patches but not world beaters. An emerging team that was in the shadow of our more domineering neighbours. A place that was horrible to tour and a people that seemed alien to most. With the emergence of Imran Khan however this perception was changing. A tour to England in 1982 was deemed one of the more successful in recent years. Mohsin Khan’s Lords double hundred and Imran’s wickets were highlights. The emergence of an arm twirling, leg spinning enigma known as Qadir was also turning heads. And then there was Miandad. A young street fighting, quick witted cricketer who had emerged as a talented 19 year old in the late 70’s. A hundred on debut against New Zealand got peoples attention and by 1986 he was the mainstay of the batting. If someone could be chosen to bat for your life then Miandad would be pretty high on that list.

I remember it was a sleepy April day and the final was eagerly anticipated. I was living in Karachi at the time but Sharjah didn’t feel all that far away for some reason. Kapil Dev was strutting around like an aristocrat, Shastri always had that Bollywood air about him and Gavasker was touted as the best batsmen in the world outside of the West Indies. In 1983 this very team had shocked the world and won the world cup beating the formidable West Indies and were expected to steam roller over an inferior Pakistan side. They had already beaten Pakistan in a recent World Series tournament in Australia and were expected to repeat the feat here. The Indian masses expected another triumph, after all these were the world cup heroes of ’83.

To be honest I don’t remember too much of India’s innings except the fact we seemed to be having problems getting any of their openers out until Srikkanth was dismissed. They were a hundred odd for 1 and we were staring down the barrel. The Khan fought back and with Akram, managed to get some wickets. However in those days a score of 245 was the equivalent of 300 now! Here we go again I thought. Another Australia!! As always our openers never seemed to fill me with confidence( and never have) and they came and went. Then old Rameez came out to bat, with my Dads “yay to kacha khilari hay” wringing in my ears I watched as our team fell apart. Yet Miandad was still there. Nudging , nurdling his way through and when Malik joined him it looked like Pakistan were going to achieve something. Yet Malik was dismissed and suddenly all the pressure went back on the diminutive Karachi batsman. The over’s ticked away, Imran came in, skipped over his bat(watch the match to see what I mean), hit a few shots and was also back into the pavilion!. Soon we were down to the last few overs. By now I was in full ‘dua’mode. Many Pakistani youngsters are probably familiar with this phase. It’s when you have lost almost all hope in your team and only Allah (swt) and his angels can intervene. The hands came up and I was praying. “Cmon Miandad don’t let us down” “Please Allah! Pakistan jeet jai!!Please I’ll be a good boy from now on” and so forth. Well Zulqarnain decided to be a hero and was dismissed with a few runs left. Tauseef Ahmed came out to bat and lets just say McGrath is Viv compared to Tauseef! With Sharma now steaming in I thought it was all over but somehow, only God knows how, Tauseef managed that fateful single to the other end. I still remember old Blowers in the commentary box “4 runs required Sharma comes in to bowl, Miandad on strike and it’s a sixxxx…arghhhhhhhhh”. That’s all I remember as the stadium went bezerk and the camera focussed on Miandad running down the pitch like a crazed Bull with a bat and poor Tauseef getting a baton in the head for his efforts! Pandemonium!

One thing I always loved about Sharjah cricket was the various fans the TV camera would focus on. In this instance my wrath was directed at a particular Indian female fan in white who seemed to jump around every time a Pakistani wicket would go down. “Grr” I thought “you just wait annoying Indian fan in white, we’ll show you”. Sure enough the camera panned over after Miandad hit that six. I got my wish. The lady in white had a sullen crest fallen look to her and I was jumping up and down like a crazy person. Pakistan Zindabaad! Pakistan Zindabaad! The Indians looked liked someone had hit them with a lightening bolt. I doubt the aristocrats ever recovered from that blow. It took a diminutive young “Mumbai ka larka” almost twenty years to partially exorcise that day from the Indian Psyche. And what a day it was! Pakistan had finally won a trophy and we had beaten the world cup holders and our old enemy to do it. Everything changed from that day onwards. I think the lady in white probably still cries thinking about that one shot! Miandad became a legend and his Miandad Servis trainers were every where to be seen. “Vo Chakka” changed the way we saw our team and changed every hope and aspiration we had for our cricketers. The expectations grew and the team rose to the challenge. That’s another story, but I’ll never forget the day the street-fighter singlehandly smashed his way into the history books and made us believe we could beat anyone, even the aristocrats from next door!



Coming soon part 2: The Streetfighting Years (pak tour of eng 87,shakoor rana incident and 87 world cup)