Lalaland
A tale on the cult following of Shahid Afridi from the lens of functionalism and postcolonialism
Imagine unclaimed territory somewhere in the Caribbean and for whatever reason, Shahid Afridi decides to purchase it, establishing his own country as a monarch where he is king.
Let’s call it Lalaland, not to be confused with Damien Chazelle’s award-winning 2016 film La la Land.
It sounds more like an amusement park than a country doesn’t it?
Afridi’s career was most certainly quite the rollercoaster ride for Pakistan fans that provided more top thrills than the Top Thrill Dragster itself both on and off the field, but for our purposes, Lalaland is a country.
More specifically, an island in the Caribbean east of Saint Lucia so visits to his good friend Darren Sammy and vice versa are far from an inconvenience for both parties.
It is also a convenience for the citizens of Lalaland, most of whom are arduous Afridi fans and as a result of both his and Sammy’s time in Peshawar Zalmi playing in the Pakistan Super League (PSL), are also big fans of the two-time T20 World Cup winning captain.
And just like any other country in the Caribbean, Lalaland’s economy is built on tourism, and we find ourselves in this country as fellow tourists.
Lalaland rolls off the tongue very nicely, but the same can’t be said for Afridi’s career.
And yet, he’s a cultural phenomenon in Pakistan.
It was common to see people walking around the bazaars and streets of Pakistan wearing fan replica 2011 World Cup jerseys with his name and jersey number at the back and playing gully cricket wearing them when Afridi was still internationally active.
He’d also be the main point of discussion for primary school children when the topic was cricket, copying his iconic signature starman celebration, with aspirations to represent Pakistan when they grow up and ferociously slog every ball just like Afridi.
In the 2017 short documentary Boom Boom Shahid Afridi, there is a brief clip of Pakistan fans in the stands leaving after he was dismissed early yet again for the umpteenth time.
The cult following he amassed is one that is best dubbed as Afridinism.
To be seen as your team’s last ray of hope in the eyes of most of the country and be a big crowd-puller, you’d typically associate such qualities with a T20I average of 30 and a strike rate of about 150 for example.
But in Afridi’s case, his T20I average was 17.92 striking at 150 odd across 99 matches.
He scored 4 fifties in his T20I career, 3 of which came in 2009, and 2 of them came in the 2009 T20 World Cup semi-final and final against South Africa and Sri Lanka respectively.
And yet for many in Pakistan, he was the face of the country during his international playing days, their go-to crisis man.
The question now becomes how and why.
Many will tell say that you aren’t truly successful if you don’t have haters, and Afridi certainly had a lot more than most players considered all-time greats. But to what degree are both hate and love justified?
As they say, human beings are very curious creatures, which is why we find ourselves in Lalaland as tourists in search of the answer, to satisfy our curiosity.
One route we can take is one with sociological regulations: functionalism.
The Routledge Handbook of the Sociology of Sport defines functionalism as “the theory that all aspects of a society serve a function and are necessary for the survival of that society” and that “the value of a social system stems from its functionality.”
In the context of team sports, it means that all the players who make up the playing XI’s composition are equally important; there are no one or two superheroes to save the day that the team is formed around or cling their hopes on.
From the functionalist perspective, all players are replaceable irrespective of the skillset and experience so as long as every player plays within the system.
This serves as an extension to the basic premise of the functionalist perspective: people, social institutions, social systems, and nearly every aspect of society are evaluated according to their functionality.
It can further be extended to what functionalists commonly point out; when players agree to play “within a system”, they do so at the expense of their own individual style of play for the sake of the team.
The functionalist thesis equilibrium allows for a smoothly running system that can function at peak levels even when a first-choice player falls to injury since the backup player is meant to be an exact like-for-like replacement.
Also aligned with functionalist theory is Talcott Parson’s social action theory, which involves two essential components: the actor and the act. The actor is viewed as a human individual and the most reducible component of a social system, whose purpose/function is to strive and attain a goal, which in sports is obviously to win.
The theory also functions as an implication of the sport cliché, “it’s better to win ugly than to lose pretty”, in that any victory, even a dull one is preferred over an entertaining defeat, going back to the founding principle of the functionalist theory.
The social action theory also states that the actor needs to be aware that because the social system seeks stability in equilibrium, it requires (or desires) that the said actor work within the given structured framework.
However, the functionalist theory is widely criticized for how conservative it is in nature, and that in the process of seeking equilibrium, it ignores conflict.
People do not agree with all the values and beliefs of the dominant society in any given country, and unless one lives under a dictatorship, it is perfectly acceptable.
And thankfully for us, Lalaland is not one, so we don’t have to worry about a public hanging for questioning the validity of King Afridi’s cult hero status.
Critics say that the functionalist theory fails to acknowledge socio-economic inequalities that lead to different perspectives of the social system.
In sports, it translates to critics saying the team suffers from functional fixedness, meaning players and management are unable and unwilling to bring in fresh perspectives and think outside the box since it would mean defying the system set in place.
But in Afridi’s case, the Routledge Handbook definition is thrown out the window.
In his meteoric rise to stardom, Afridinism bore fruit. The functionalist perspective was Afridinism, where the team functioned only if Afridi did.
Under this thinking, the other 10 players in the team are completely irrelevant, are of no value, and are not in the equation.
He became the irreplaceable superhero the team was formed around, the actor who was the irreducible component of the Pakistan cricket team and was the one responsible for keeping the equilibrium in Parson’s theory stable.
It didn’t matter how frequently Afridi would be dismissed the following delivery after a first-ball six, his fans’ faith in him was still intact because of how strong the conviction was of the Pakistani people who saw Afridi in this light.
American psychologist Carl Rogers would say that this is a classic case of unconditional acceptance, a prime principle of the humanistic approach he was one of the founders of, an approach that emphasizes looking at the uniqueness of each individual, and Afridi certainly was unique at that.
But it wasn’t as if Afridi himself wanted this to necessarily happen per se, it was by design.
Pakistan team manager and former Islamabad United team manager Rehan-ul-Haq says that this stems from the country’s obsession with match-winners.
“This idea of an all-rounder, especially someone who can change the game in a space of one over is very Afridi,” says Rehan.
“Pakistan’s obsession with match-winners, that kind of cricketer stems from Afridi. Without Afridi, Pakistan might not have dominated the early years of T20 cricket & might not have been a top T20I team. His influence is there for all to see, in his generation & beyond.”
But just like his fans, he too felt one of the emotions Afridi instilled in them: belief.
“I can never get over how Afridi made me feel, especially when he came into bat. Only 1 batter can make you feel anxious, nervous, worried, confident, [and] arrogant at the same time. He filled you with anxiety, yet with hope. The feeling of watching Afridi is very Pakistani, living in this country you are always anxious yet you always have some hope.”
Afridi’s international career spanned two decades from 1996 to 2016, throughout which both the Pakistan team and his career were plagued by a disease exclusive only to South Asian cricket boards: politics. It was the kryptonite of the team, the bane of its existence.
It ranged from group politics within the dressing room with players wanting certain players ousted from the team, internal politics of the members of the Pakistan Cricket Board (PCB), to the chairman eagerly waiting to dispose of the next captain who became too powerful.
A prime example of all of this in motion was Pakistan’s infamous 2003 World Cup campaign, where they suffered a group stage rout and were only able to defeat Namibia and Netherlands.
Many Pakistan fans share the sentiment that it was a collection of 11 individuals bearing the flag of their motherland in that World Cup and not a team, complete defiance of what the functionalist perspective stands for.
In the following edition in 2007, Pakistan were at the receiving end of a 3-wicket iconic upset against Ireland which meant they couldn’t advance to the Super 8s, and again the same sentiments were echoed.
In a way, the Pakistan team of then also represented what the country’s political system was and still is today: completely dysfunctional.
When budding politicians seek to challenge the status quo and enact reforms for the greater good, they often face difficult choices. Some may ultimately succumb to the harsh realities of politics, while others may be bought off by those higher up the food chain in order to maintain the status quo.
It’s like innocent children growing up who want to make the world a happy place for everyone to live in when they’re older, a utopia, unbeknownst to how cruel and dark the world really is outside the comfort of their bubble. You’re better off doing something else, kid.
But for his proponents, Afridi was the budding politician who would go against the status quo and not be bought off, the innocent child growing up who would make the world a happy place for everyone to live in.
He was their rainbow hiding in the dark clouds politics had shrouded Pakistan’s cricket with, a rainbow that would shine through and bring joy to a population of millions who were and continue to have very few things to be happy for by bringing glory to Pakistan’s name against arch-rivals India and bring home ICC trophies.
Afridi’s playing style of “see ball hit ball” every delivery to Afridinism proponents is what Bernie Sanders is to American college students with his promise of free college and canceling student loan debt: their savior.
Like American college students, his believers cannot exactly be blamed for throwing their weight behind Afridi as the sole miracle maker of Pakistan at the time. Just like Bernie, what Afridi brought to the table with his batting was completely unheard of.
Sure there were players like Sir Viv Richards, Michael Bevan, and Lance Klusener who batted aggressively unlike the vast majority of players in their time, but Afridi’s approach to aggressive batting was none other at the time, as if it were a Pakistani fast bowler who knew how to hold a bat.
He didn’t care what the delivery was, he wanted to smash it, unable to control his urge like its testosterone.
And when it came off back then, it was a sight like none other. Just ask the commentators broadcasting the then-fastest ODI century: they had never before seen such hitting.
Or you can fast forward a decade later to his Faisalabad 2006 knock when Dean Jones said “they won’t see better hitting like that for a long, long time.”
At the end of Afridi’s Man of the Match interview in the Kanpur 2005 ODI where he smashed a 102 striking at 221.73, in response to a sarcastic remark of Ravi Shastri to not meet too many coaches and change his style, he said the coaches will have to try to not talk to him too much.
Prior to this, he said he wanted to play “positive cricket,” and it was a brand of positive cricket that many Pakistan fans thought of as one that would make their trophy cabinet more filled than Australia’s.
The success rate was still very miniscule by Kanpur 2005, but the fact there was one in the first place was more than enough for a generation of Pakistan fans to strongly believe in every match, due to knocks such as Nairobi 1996, Chennai 1998, Lahore 2006 and Faisalabad 2006.
The miniscule success rate would bestow Pakistan with what it continues to be known as: an unpredictable team. And as Mark Nicholas said during his Hobart 2005 cameo, it’s a shame the Afridi talent is so inconsistent.
Such knocks came in irregular intervals; not even Afridi himself know when he would turn up let alone Pakistan fans, but they didn’t care, he was always their hero who would come to save the day.
American writer Joseph Campbell would say that Afridinism is a fancy way of saying Afridi is merely a variant of the heroes in ancient myths.
Campbell studied myths and published a book called “The Hero With a Thousand Faces,” retelling numerous myths and stories from various cultures and folklore to explain how each represents the mono-myth, or what he called the “Hero’s Journey.”
The Hero’s Journey is a 12-step framework that begins and ends in the hero’s ordinary world, while the quest passes through an unfamiliar, special world.
The framework is as follows:
Step 1: Status Quo
Step 2: Call to Adventure
Step 3: Departure
Step 4: Trials
Step 5: Approach
Step 6: Crisis
Step 7: Treasure
Step 8: Result
Step 9: Return
Step 10: New Life
Step 11: Resolution
Step 12: Return to Status Quo
Currently, we are at the crisis step, where like Bonnie Tyler, the believers are holding out for a hero ‘til the end of the night, ‘til the morning light, hoping that he’s strong, fast, and fresh from the fight.
And sure enough in the 2009 T20 World Cup, like a romantic heart-throbbing story, Afridi the hero arrived to rescue the heroine fresh from the fight of Pakistani politics, the heroine being the Pakistani population.
The back-to-back fifties in the semi and final mentioned earlier personified Pakistan’s campaign.
In the semi-final against South Africa, Afridi scored 51 runs striking at 150 to help Pakistan post a target of 150 against South Africa, followed by figures of 2/16 in his 4 overs to play a clinical role in successfully defending the total.
A similar performance was replicated in the final against Sri Lanka, with figures of 1/20 in his full quota after Pakistan were put into bowl followed by a 54 striking at 135 to successfully chase down 139 with 8 balls to spare.
Afridi even had the honor of hitting the winning runs, and though it ended up being a leg bye, as David Lloyd and particularly Afridinism would say, who cares?
The point is that Pakistan won the T20 World Cup and it was because Afridi performed.
By winning Pakistan the T20 World Cup, Afridi simultaneously completed steps 7-12 of the Hero’s Journey framework.
The Return to the Status Quo meant nothing is quite the same once you are a hero once, as for future ICC tournaments that followed, not just his diehard fans, but also the vast majority of Pakistan saw him as the superhero of the team, manifesting himself as the entire playing XI.
For some, such a strong fan following would have also served as an escape from the harsh realities of the country.
The fans had a firm belief that Afridi would make the country forget all their problems, namely the infamous atrocity against the Sri Lankan team bus at Lahore 3 months prior to the T20 World Cup, which meant the country wouldn’t ever see the light of international cricket again for quite some time.
Islamabad United’s strategy manager Hassan Cheema wrote that Pakistan did indeed win the tournament because Afridi performed, not exactly because of how he played, but because of how he was utilized.
Captain Younis Khan decided to promote Afridi to 3 in a ploy for him to face and attack more spin and be Pakistan’s (what we call today) designated spin hitter, and as Cheema highlights in his article, the numbers in the semi and final back this decision: 49 off 39 balls against pace striking at 125.64 and 56 off 35 balls against spin striking at 160.
In layman’s terms, the innings were as Cheema called it, “uncharacteristically mature, unlike a real Afridi innings,” but once again such intricacies were irrelevant in Afridinism.
Maturity to this doctrine that Afridi’s ball-one slogging was key for Pakistan to secure victory, as it delivered results, unlike most Pakistani players at the time.
But it was such characteristics that according to Rehan, made Afridi ahead of his time.
“Afridi was way way ahead of his time. In contemporary cricket, where T20 specialists make more money than anyone else & are the most sought-after commodities in the world of cricket, Afridi would be the archetype of a T20 cricketer,” said Rehan.
“He was that in the 90s, before T20s, before big-hitting allrounders, before fast-paced leg-spin became fashionable, Afridi was all that & more.”
It even started looking like the PCB formally recognized Afridinism following this, as a month before the 2010 T20 World Cup, Afridi was appointed captain.
However, what both his followers nor Afridi didn’t know was that the 2009 T20 World Cup was the first and only time Afridi would taste the joy and success of winning an ICC tournament.
Pakistan were able to complete a hattrick of qualifying for the semi-finals in T20 World Cups and were very close to doing so for finals, but then Michael Hussey happened.
As for Afridi, it was as if the formal recognition of his cricketing philosophy was too much for him. He never got going throughout the tournament, scoring 70 runs across 6 matches averaging 15.2 striking at 130 (the lowest for him in T20 World Cups), and took 4 wickets averaging 45.5 at an economy rate of 7.58.
Afridinism would say that it wasn’t because of Michael Hussey that Pakistan couldn’t defend their title, but because Afridi did not perform.
But just like the proponents and Pakistani fans who always had a small bit of belief in Afridi batting sensibly for once when most needed, the board didn’t lose hope in him just yet.
On May 2010, Afridi was appointed ODI captain, and his tenure also included the 2011 World Cup, an opportunity to become Pakistan’s second captain after Imran Khan to win the World Cup, make amends for the back-to-back group stage exits he was a part of in the previous two editions and most importantly, have his career officially defined by the principles of Afridinism.
Sound familiar?
Afridi finds himself a part of the Hero’s Journey framework all over again and as mentioned earlier, once you return to the status quo, nothing is really the same once you’re the hero once, for Afridinism had evolved to such an extent after 2009 that he is now the captain of Pakistan, with even the board seeing Afridi as the most irreducible component of the team.
For the most part, Afridi grasped the opportunity excellently, not with brute slogging, but with the art of legspin.
An underappreciated aspect of his game overshadowed by his batting style was his legspin, capable of ripping it upwards of 90 KPH and even had a faster variation that has been clocked as fast as 134 KPH.
Though Afridinism was established on his batting prowess, since its Afridi bowling, like social loafing and group projects, they won’t mind taking the credit if they’re the beneficiaries.
Afridi was the joint-highest wicket-taker with Zaheer Khan that edition, taking 21 wickets averaging 12.85 at an economy rate of 3.62. In the process, Afridi broke Imran’s record of the most wickets taken by the Pakistan captain in a World Cup edition.
The majority of his wickets came from 90+ KPH googlies that were even more lethal with the late drift he could get. He took wickets in all but one match: the famous Mohali 2011 semi-final.
The then Pakistan Prime Minister Yousaf Raza Gillani had flown in to watch the semi-final and see the glory of Afridinism live in action at the stadium for himself, but the philosophy suddenly caught a horrible case of stage fright.
It wasn’t entirely Afridi’s fault, for he was very economical with the ball with figures of 0/45 in his 10 overs. He created opportunities to dismiss Sachin Tendulkar not once, but thrice, dropped on each occasion by the other Pakistani actors.
Tendulkar went on to score 85 and Pakistan had to chase down 261 for Afridinism to have another opportunity of basking in full glory two years later since Lord’s 2009 against the same opposition, but unfortunately for Afridi and the philosophy, he was unable to perform with the bat, mustering only 19 runs off 17 deliveries.
Pakistan went on to lose by 29 runs after being bowled out for 231 on the penultimate delivery, and with it went Afridi’s chance of becoming the second Pakistani captain since Imran to win the World Cup, for the stage fright proved to be too much for Afridinism and unfortunately for Bonnie and the Pakistani population, the hero she was holding out for in 2009 was no longer strong, fast and fresh from the fight when needed once again two years later.
Afridi’s Hero Journey in the 2011 World Cup stopped at the halfway stage of Crisis, but we do skip right through to the Return to Status Quo, as once again, nothing does indeed remain the same in the end.
But this time, Afridi doesn’t return as a hero, but as a villain in the eyes of the PCB.
In the midst of their tour of West Indies that immediately followed the World Cup, though Pakistan won the ODI series 3-2, it was announced that for the two-match ODI series tour of Ireland that followed, Misbah-ul-Haq would be captain.
A rift between Afridi and coach Waqar Younis was revealed, especially in regards to selection matters, where Afridi was supposedly unhappy with Waqar wanting a strong say in the final playing XI and in a report disclosed in June, Waqar hit back, stating that "as a captain he is very immature, has poor discipline, lacks a gameplan and is unwilling to listen to others' opinions or advice."
It was a slap to the face of Afridi’s fans, for whom the gameplan was Afridi and in turn was not obligated to listen to others’ opinions or advice as Waqar suggested, for he was the most irreducible component of the team.
Afridi thought along the same lines and announced a conditional retirement following this decision, stating that the PCB had “humiliated” him and that he cannot play under “a board that doesn’t respect its players”, only willing to return if a different board comes in.
In the Afridinism camp, panic buttons were being smashed and the emergency landing gear pulled with proponents preparing to jump out with lifejackets and let the plane sink, for if Afridi announced retirement under such circumstances, how can Pakistan even ponder the thought of winning now?
Under this methodology, no Afridi meant no party, for Pakistan became no better than an Affiliate nation, for he was the irreducible component of the social system, the irreplaceable superhero the team was formed around.
“What could possibly come of a Pakistan team without Shahid Afridi?”
Afridi’s announcement came on the day Pakistan played their second ODI against Ireland in a 2-match series, exactly two months after the semi-final loss at Mohali. And prior to this, Afridi made himself unavailable for selection citing personal reasons.
About six months later, Afridi got what he wanted.
Zaka Ashraf succeeded Ijaz Butt as chairman and Afridi was a man of his word, following discussions with Ashraf, Afridi said he was willing to return as either player or captain and was named in both the ODI and T20I squads of Sri Lanka’s tour of UAE with Misbah retaining the captaincy.
Afridi missed only the Ireland tour as well as a tour of Zimbabwe, of which contrary to what his fans would say, Pakistan comfortably clean sweeped both tours without his services.
But it didn’t take long for the train to go full steam ahead once again, as Afridi returned to Pakistan colors in style, playing a clinical role in Pakistan winning the 5-match ODI series 4-1.
Afridi was the top wicket-taker scalping 13 wickets averaging 15.30 at an economy rate of 4.07. He was also named the Player of the Series, scoring 123 runs averaging 30.75 striking at 125.51 with the bat. His top score was 75 striking at 115.38, which came when Pakistan were reeling at 71/5 near the halfway stage of the 4th ODI’s first innings and helped Pakistan scrap through to 200.
But courtesy of Afridi, it proved to be too much for Sri Lanka, as they were bowled out for 174 after he followed up his knock with a fifer, figures of 5/35 in 9.2 overs to seal Pakistan’s series victory in style, and once more from beyond the grave, the legend of Afridinism was resurrected.
But as mentioned earlier, the T20 World Cup in 2009 was the only time Afridi ever won an ICC tournament during his career, and the 2011 World Cup was the last time he had any overall performance of note in both the T20 and ODI World Cups.
Though as if it were a preemptive compensation, the final hurrah for his fans at a global tournament came in the next 2 editions of the Asia Cup.
In the 2012 Asia Cup final against Bangladesh, Afridi won the Player of the Final for scoring 32 off 22 deliveries striking at 145.45 to help Pakistan post a target of 237, following it up with figures of 1/28 in his 10 overs.
It is Aizaz Cheema that is famous for successfully defending 9 runs in the final over, though you must know by now what Afridi’s fans would say to that.
In the following edition in 2014 against India in the group stage, Afridi took figures of 0/38 in 8 overs after choosing to bowl first, followed by an 18-ball 34 cameo striking at 188.88, including back-to-back half hits for six in the final over against Ravichandran Ashwin to win Pakistan the match by a solitary wicket with 2 balls to spare, as he once again stunned the world with his belligerent batting as Ramiz Raja called it on air.
While Afridi was batting, Pakistan lost 4 wickets, one of which was Afridi’s fault for running Sohaib Maqsood out while the fourth one came in the first ball of the final over in Saeed Ajmal.
But Afridi continued to mercilessly slog every ball regardless of the wickets tumbling, his batting method at full might that night in Mirpur.
Though in the end, it was all she wrote for Afridinism, for because of Afridi’s failure to perform when needed most in ICC tournaments post the 2009 T20 World Cup, Pakistan did not win any other ICC trophy in Afridi’s career.
Afridi’s only other performance of note in a global tournament since that night came in Pakistan’s 2016 T20 World Cup opener against Bangladesh, smashing a 19-ball 49 striking at 257.89 to boost Pakistan to a target of 202 to defend and then taking 2 wickets for 27 runs in 4 overs to help Pakistan win by 55 runs.
Afterward, Pakistan suffered yet another group-stage exit as a result of Afridi not performing, leading to a video apology to the nation from Afridi before resigning from captaincy but still had intentions to continue playing international cricket, and team manager Inthikab Alam calling him an “absolutely brainless captain.”
And that was how the tale of Afridinism in international cricket met its demise.
The understanding of power-hitting mechanics grew exponentially with the advent of T20, but whether out of ignorance or a very strong spirit, Afridi’s batting method of no mercy for the ball every time remained a constant, and so did its diminishing success rate. Though because of knocks like Kanpur 2005, Lord’s 2009, and Mirpur 2014, until the very end of his international career, the belief of his fans remained well intact.
In spite of the 44 ducks Afridi accumulated in his international career, his batting was always a crowd-puller, the nation always strongly believed in him to win the game out of nothing with his mindless slogging, for on the days it worked, it truly was a magical sight to behold, the magical sight of Afridinism.
But what if Afridi’s batting style defied not just the norms at the time of his international debut, but of their colonizers who invented the sport?
You know the drill. Cricket was founded as the gentlemen’s game and continues to be seen as one, which is why mankading is very controversial, for it is very ungentlemanlike to dismiss a batter willingly well out of his crease.
And back in 1996, Afridi’s technique was seen as a Grade A violation of the gentlemen’s game, the starkest violation of everything traditionalists stood for.
For Britain’s upper class, the most popular passing time was the gentlemen’s game, paying to see batters play a front foot defense for 9 hours on up to 5 consecutive days while sipping a nice cuppa tea from the Lord’s Pavilion, not someone with no regard for traditional principles and significantly lacking gentlemanlike discipline in his strokeplay.
In other words, the English press would’ve seen him as one of those “middling overseas sloggers” back then.
In the eyes of the nobility, it was like a peasant was somehow allowed to even hold a bat let alone play, and just like they do in their life, the batting lacked class and served as a reminder of why they are from the peasantry in the first place.
And throughout his career, Afridi was frequently criticized by traditionalists.
One example is Ian Chappell, who said he “does idiotic things like he did with holing out” and called him “crazy and idiotic” after Pakistan defeated Australia in the 2011 World Cup and ended their 34-match streak in World Cups that coincidentally spanned from their 1999 World Cup final victory against Pakistan.
Afridi certainly copped his fair share of criticism regarding his batting back home from fans who weren’t necessarily traditionalists, though once again at the same time, he was well revered by many Pakistani fans as a hero.
Winning in England is also seen as the pinnacle by several in the country, for after all not only were they their colonizers, but it is also where the sport originated.
And one of Pakistan’s most famous victories came on English soil in Lord’s 2009 due to Afridi’s haphazard modus operandi in the early years of a new format invented by them where ironically, playing like a gentleman in T20 is nowadays a laughing stock, as if you’re the clown of the circus, with Afridi’s knock at the Home of Cricket serving as a reality check to the hypocrisy of what it means to be the gentlemen’s game, all while further growing in stature as Pakistan’s hero, and as the traditionalists’ worst enemy.
Some Pakistanis perhaps even saw Afridi’s style of batting as further differentiating themselves from their former colonizers, for just like Pakistani cuisine, one can argue that it was far more well-seasoned and flavorful than English cuisine.
And one thing that serves as a key differentiator is that, unlike most Pakistan cricketers at the time of his international debut, he was and still is not a fluent English speaker.
Frequently, prominent Pakistan journalists will call for a new captain who can speak English fluently, like Imad Wasim right after the 2019 World Cup and in more recent times, Shan Masood, for it is argued that as a representative of the nation, they should be able to speak English to avoid communication barrier and even so to not embarrass the country for having an “uneducated” captain.
Some even go as far as proposing English classes for the Pakistani captain.
In the first section of The Unquiet Ones written by ESPNCricinfo Pakistan correspondent Osman Saimuddin, a memoir of Oxford graduate and Pakistan’s first-ever captain Abdul Hafeez Kardar is recounted.
As an advisor to the education ministry, then-military dictator Ayub Khan sent him to Dhaka with the missive of removing all traces of Rabindranath Tagore from the Bengali literature, to which in response the relevant official said “Mr Kardar, I never thought that you will speak the language of a tonga driver of Lahore. How can you think of the English language without Shakespeare and how in the name of God can you think of Bengali literature without Tagore?”
Kardar went on to say that he had “never felt so small in my life”, and apologized for the brief he carried on behalf of the federal government, highlighting just how vital it was at the time to people with positions of power in Pakistan to be able to speak English and be familiar with Western culture.
A similar instance mentioned in this section was Pakistan’s first tour of England in 1954, where the team was divided into two camps. One camp was led by captain Kardar, consisting of players who were fluent in English and were open-minded in their life choices, such as drinking alcohol, while the other camp was composed of players who did not speak English and had a strong sense of religion.
Both examples highlight the social and cultural dynamics of Pakistan in its early years of post-partition, where akin to their colonizers, speaking English was a sign of sophistication, modernity, and being well-educated, for embracing Western culture and values were seen as symbols of progress and development.
In spite of gaining independence from the British, Pakistan continued to use English as one of its official languages, since many of the country’s leaders (including Quaid-e-Azam) and upper class were educated in English-medium schools and universities, and as a result, it became an indicator of social status.
Though then came Afridi.
Throughout his international career, he was never proficient in English but would converse in English when needed for interviews and press conferences and just get by.
If you told someone belonging to the Pakistan upper class at the time that a player would emerge from a poor background who couldn’t speak English and become the pride of the country as well, in response would be an arrogant, hysterical laugh.
But you and Afridi would have the last laugh, for he became one of Pakistan’s first notable cricketers who did not speak English, and to date is likely the biggest Pakistani cricketer ever.
He didn’t come from an affluent background in Islamabad, Karachi, or Lahore and was an Aitchison alumnus, but hailed from Khyber District, located in the Khyber Pakhtunkhwa region.
Afridi served as a beacon light for budding players from similar, lower-class backgrounds in the 90s who had the misfortune of not being born to a posh, wealthy family, a beacon light that radiated all’s not lost simply because of not being a fluent English speaker.
And a beacon light he certainly was, not just in his homeland, but especially for Afghan Pashtuns in Afghanistan, for whom as Jarrod Kimber explains in A Team of 11 Afridis, was more than just an inspiration, but a major reason why cricket skyrocketed in popularity in the country, all this while being unable to speak English well.
The final kick in the bollocks would’ve come when Afridi became Pakistan’s limited-overs captain for nearly a year, a true testament to how far he was able to come in spite of not hailing from a mainstream city.
These days, it can be said that such kicks can now be served under unity by the current generation of Pakistan fans irrespective of how they view Afridi’s career every time a journalist once again proposes to have an English-speaking captain so as to not embarrass the country.
And just like that, we now find ourselves on a flight outbound from Lalaland, asking what to take away from all of this information.
Simple: like it or not, Afridi is and will continue to inspire generations of cricketers to come, for who does not want to become a national icon just by swinging for the hills?