The mullet. What was it about that particular haircut? It seems the eighties was the golden age of this annoying style. From Glen Hoddle to Chris Waddle in football and from Imran Khan to Abdul Qadir, the mullet reigned supreme. I still remember watching Qadir bowl with his long hair and twirling arms.

The mullet. What was it about that particular haircut? It seems the eighties was the golden age of this annoying style. From Glen Hoddle to Chris Waddle in football and from Imran Khan to Abdul Qadir, the mullet reigned supreme. I still remember watching Qadir bowl with his long hair and twirling arms. Looking back now im sure he kept the haircut to magnify his mystique. Of course Qadir did get rid of it and went to a shorter version during the 1987 World Cup. Half the Pakistani Bowling attack had mullets. Wasim’s was the biggest. A giant nest of hair that flapped around in the wind when he was bowling. I always hated that giant nest. Luckily in the late eighties the mullet was put to bed for ever. During this time the Pakistan cricket team also put to bed many myths and challenges they faced. The myth that Asian players would never really amount to much when compared to their western colleagues. Or the fact that they were mercurial but never consistent enough to win major accolades. The late eighties and all the way into the nineties put paid to that theory. Imrans streetfighters made sure the world would never forget the day they strode onto the field and put attacks to the sword. Even the mighty Malcolm Marshall wasn’t spared. Akrams six against him in Australia was like a bazooka being fired by a five year old. It was seen as impossible in Pakistan to hit Marshall for anything beyond a few three’s or the odd four. A six? Never. That shot itself sums up the attitude that Imran engendered in the team. Never say die and play like you play on the streets. Never fear and fight to the end.

Street cricket in Pakistan has always been the breeding ground for our future stars. From Wasim to Shoaib. From Razaaq to Tanvir. They have all played tape ball street cricket at some point. The rivalry, the bragging rights, the teenaged machismo that accompanied the spectacle was always refreshing and endearing. The attitudes developed in the streets are brought onto the professional field too. As a Pakistani player you want to hit the ball harder and farther than anyone and you want those stumps to go cartwheeling a mile behind. Pace, power, aggression. The by words for street cricket. You won’t find nudges around the corner or orthodox cover drives here. Its hard, aggressive and enthusiastic cricket. That’s not to say a smart nuggety cricketer cant make a mark, its just you wont be known in the “muhallahs” or revered across the district. Fame, fortune and popularity can all come if youre a top street cricketer. Coming into a professional environment from such a background can have its downsides though. Adjusting to the hard ball, playing and running with pads on can be hard for a youngster used to wearing shalwar kameez while bashing the ball into the stratosphere. Those that have come to terms with the disparity have never looked back. They brought the flair of the street to the game played on quiet old boy village greens on Sundays. When Imrans streetfighters started hitting their straps, the world of cricket suddenly started taking notice.

After the events of Sharjah in 1986, the Pakistan team were injected with real belief. A purpose and method was developing and Imran was the driving force. Leading from the front came naturally to the man from Mianwali. A Pathan from a respectable family, Imran was starting to instil a fire in the team. Youngsters were drafted in from nowhere and a strategy was developed. Imran started using Qadir aggressively as an attacking option rather than a stock spinner. Players were encouraged to play aggressively and go for the kill if it presented itself. There were no shrinking violets in this dressing room. The attitude developed and the wins started coming. Imran always believed, to be the best you had to beat the best. In the eighties no one was better than the West Indies. But before the Windies were to be conquered other opponents lay in wait. None more challenging than the Indians in their own backyard.
Imrans streetfighters were to embark on a character building trip that would culminate in the ultimate date with destiny. Bangalore 1987 gets forgotten in this new age of Indian dominated smash and grab cricket but it was a watershed for Pakistan. Imrans streetfighters fought like tigers and defeated the old enemy at their own game: spin.

I always wondered how Tauseef used to get that afro into a nice round shape and always thought Iqbal Qasim was just too old to be running around a cricket field. Bangalore 87 shut me up for good. Never again would I look at our two venerable spinners as mere sideshows to the bigger stars! This, the first Pakistani tour to India since the 70’s and Pakistan had never ever won a series in their neighbour’s backyard. The Indians still had some great players in their side and were heavily favoured to beat a young Pakistani side. Imran took three spinners on the trip and the plan was to play all three in the test matches with Wasim and Imran doing the fast bowling donkey work. India were expected to play the spinners better than the visitors and so seemed to have the edge. With players like Vengsarkar, Gavasker and Azharuddin some thought it a foregone conclusion that the Pakistani’s would be heavily defeated and sent home crying. Maninder Singh was the fearsome spinner who had many a Pakistani pundit quaking in their boots.

By the time the final test in Bangalore began, amazingly, the series was still all square. Pakistan, as was to be a familiar pattern during this era, had defied all the odds and were still fighting. Test cricket in those days was a little different. Teams were happy to bat all day and make 200-3, invariably the flat pancake pitches in the subcontinent led to many a drawn series. Politics made sure that matches with the old enemy had a better chance of ending in a draw than most others. But Bangalore was to be different. A spinner’s paradise with Maninder ready to eat Pakistani batsman curry, I can still remember watching the final few days on a black and white tv at my grandmas house. It was March and we had school holidays. Watching the blurry telecast was exhilarating. The match began in frantic fashion with Pakistan losing a heap of wickets and before we knew it they were all out for a paltry 116. maninder had ate his curry and had seconds. 7-27 and the fighting rear guards in the previous two test matches had taken their toll. It seemed the streetfighters journey would be ending in defeat. “kya bakqaas sifarshi hay yay Rizwan uz zaman” , “kacha khilari hay Rameez”, yes the ringing endorsements of our team by my father still live in my brain. It was grim stuff. Imran had decided to drop Qadir after the first few tests as the Indians had clearly gotten the better of the leggie. A twin spin attack with Tauseef and Iqbal qasim was brought in and India were given a taste of their own medicine. Tauseef ran through the top order after a promising start. The Indians were not going to have it completely their own way. The streetfighters were fighting back.

The Indians were given a real taste of their own medicine. The spins twins tore through their batting like hot knives through butter with Vengsarker the only one offering any real resistance. Imran’s gamble of playing spin was working. The home team were eventually out for a paltry 146 but that still gave them a slender lead. Afterall the Pakistanis had to bat next and the way the pitch was it wasn’t going to be any easier. Imrans confidence in Rizwan uz zaman was so high that he sent Miandad in to bat as an opener. My dad just chuckled at the sifarshi incompetence within our cricket structure. Amazingly the “kacha khilari” Rameez hung about and played a reasonable knock of 47 while everyone else tried to contribute as best they could. Ultimately Maninder and Shastri took 7 wickets between them and we were all out for a modest 249. India needed 221 and it was not going to be a foregone conclusion. I sat mesmerised wondering if we could do it. Finally beating the ld enemy in their backyard was a dream for all of us. The Khan was about to make it all come true. Of course Gavasker had other ideas and almost took the game from us but the spin twins again struck. Akram removed his bunny Srikkanth and then Amarnath in quick succession. The Indians were now under real pressure. On came the spinners. Iqbal with his portly rhythmic action claimed 4 wickets while tauseef took 4 too. There was a brief moment when Azhar and sunny almost took the game from us. But I had faith. The khan would not let me down would he? Wickets began to tumble, the crowds screamed then jeered, how could they lose this? Kiyamat aaj nahi ai gi kya?

Unfortunatley for them, Kiyamat just turned up on time and in form. I still remember the commentators screaming like little girls. After all we were almost out of overs and the light wasn’t great. Could the streetfighters do it? Could they change history? Tauseef decided to oblige. “Aur bowled kur diya” that’s about all I remember from that last over, I distinctly remember Roger Binny getting bowled after playing a silly afridiesque hoik. After that it’s a blur!..the next thing I recall is Imran raising that trophy high and the commentators going mad!! I sat their staring at the screen, wondering if this was for real. I mean we just beat Maninders lot. He was supposed to make mince meat of us. Yet the irony was not lost on all of us. The spin kings had been beaten by their own weapon. Imrans streetfighters had come of age, and the world was about to get a taste of the passion of the streets head on.