emclub
15th July 2011, 11:18
Duncan Steer (SPIN Magazine)
The first time I met Shoaib Akhtar was in Rawalpindi in 2001. He told me that he had once bowled 97.7mph, while carrying a back injury and having a broken rib.
Now, he was injured again, sitting out Pakistan’s training camp and reflecting on his place in the world. “One good thing about my fame is that people really love me,” he said. “They love me because I do my best for the country. That’s why people love me a lot, even more than other players. When I go round town, people knock on my car windows and shake my hand. They treat me well.”
Fast. Charming. Comically self-regarding. Injured. It was a good introduction. I thought he was a brilliant interviewee and resolved to keep in touch.
Shoaib could certainly walk it like he talked it – just not all that often: he made his Test debut in 1997 and retired this March, but played just 46 Tests in between. To be fair, he never set out his stall as a workhorse. Even at that 2001 meeting, when he was 25, he talked of his urgent need to have a rest. He wanted to be an impact player: “I have to play the crunch matches, charge in and get wickets and win crucial games. But if we’re 2-0 up there’s no point me pushing myself too hard,” he told me.
Did he win crunch matches for the team? Sometimes. His finest hour came possibly when England went to Pakistan at the end of 2005. Euphoric with Ashes success, England sensed a new era. But Pakistan knocked them over 2-0, inspired by a fit and fast Akhtar who, as well as being able to reverse the ball at extreme pace, had finally added a demon slower ball to his armoury. It was an extra level of humiliation for batsmen, prepared to be blown away by pace, to find themselves instead outwitted by Akhtar’s guile. Akhtar took 17 wickets at 25; his five-for wrapped up Pakistan’s innings victory in the final Test and the image of him, wheeling away in celebration, is possibly the enduring one of his career.
More often, though, Akhtar conjured up inspirational cameos, glimpses of greatness, huge promise left unfulfilled. In his first Test against India, in 1999, he removed Dravid and Tendulkar with consecutive balls, both bowled with inswinging yorkers, as Pakistan pulled off a narrow victory at Eden Gardens; later that year, in England, three key wickets – all bowled – in the World Cup semi-final against New Zealand; in 2003, there was the famous first (officially recorded) 100mph ball, to Nick Knight at the World Cup. Lesser teams were swept away: against New Zealand, Akhtar took 17 Test wickets at a ludicrous five runs each.
I was ghosting Shoaib’s column for The Guardian during the 2003 World Cup and the supposedly landmark 100mph ball was not the big thing on his mind.
“I did bowl the first-ever 100mph ball in a World Cup,” he said. “But that doesn’t matter when you go for 63 off seven overs. I just ran out of gas after four overs. I’ve got a lot to put right.”
An unfulfilled talent? Akhtar finished with a Test strike rate of 45, bettered in the modern era only by Shane Bond, Dale Steyn and Waqar Younis, his game-for-game stats head and shoulders above those of Brett Lee, for so long perceived as his chief rival. But injuries and often self-inflicted fiasco meant that he did not appear in a major tournament between the 2004 Champions Trophy and the 2011 World Cup, denying him, at least, the chance of being a T20 world champion like his contemporary maverick Shahid Afridi.
The gap between Akhtar’s promise (and his promises) and his inconsistent delivery could grate. During Akhtar’s underwhelming 2003 NatWest Challenge campaign, former skipper Waqar Younis was moved to pick up the phone to me, unleashing a 40-minute tirade. Waqar found Akhtar’s big talk “ridiculous”, and his bowling painful to watch.
“He’s always saying, ‘I’m going to do this or I’m going to do that’. Just bowl, mate. Just stop talking and bowl.”
Maybe, though, expectations (largely encouraged by Akhtar himself) were too high. Maybe he was an over-achiever. In his hotel room on the 2003 ODI tour of England, Shoaib ran me through the various disadvantages that made it, by his own account, something of a miracle that he could be a professional athlete: the list included, but was not restricted to, his flat feet, his asthma and his hyper-extending joints. For all his run-ins with authority and the early battle to have his allegedly suspect action approved, Shoaib’s main battle was always with his own body. “There have been days when five syringes would be inserted on each of my knees to draw out fluid,” he said as he retired. “I would scream with pain because my knees would be swollen like melons and I would feel that someone was ripping off my thigh muscles. But next day, I would go there and fire the ball at close to 150 kmph or more.”
The body was held together by sheer force of will – as well as a fairly phenomenal list of supplements and drugs. The full extent of the Akhtar body-as-laboratory emerged during his appeal against his Nandrolone ban in 2006, when he listed all the legal, permitted substances he took on a daily basis to keep himself up to speed. Body-builders, fat-burners, vitamins, herbal remedies. And four steaks a day.
Maybe too much was expected. “Cricket is a game you play in pairs,” he told me in an interview for the first issue of SPIN. “I need someone to bowl at the the other end from me.”
Indeed, post-Waqar and Wasim, Pakistan has yet to produce a fast bowler anywhere near as consistent even as Akhtar, the many pretenders derailed by injury, problems with their action or, in the case of Mohammads Asif and Amir, controversies that make Shoaib’s indiscretions (the alleged drug incident aside) look like larks.
At his peak, building up speed from his long, long run-up, Akhtar was a thrilling spectacle for all but the man on strike. He didn’t always thrill. There were plenty of times when he looked heavy legged and below par, as if he’d come straight from some terrible nightclub. Latterly, we saw a mix: his unsung 90mph performances in last year’s ODI series against England left him looking magnificently dischevelled, wheezing like a pub footballer running a marathon at the Equator.
While his triumphs have been accompanied by self-promotion in the knowing vein of Clough, Mourinho or Ali, even his mishaps have generally had an air of Vaudeville about them. There was a ban, in 2007, for hitting Mohammad Asif with a bat (in retrospect, maybe the right thing); then he was banned for five years in 2008 for repeated criticism of the Pakistan board (the fact that speaking his mind got him a much longer sentence than allegedly taking illegal drugs possibly says all you need to know about the PCB.) Akhtar did not make too many friends at the PCB, as evidenced by the leaking of the specific reason for his missing the 2009 ICC World Twenty20. Possibly only Akhtar could get genital warts on to the sports pages.
Three counties signed Shoaib. Reports were mixed. Forty-two wickets at a strike rate of 34 for Durham in 2003 was a great return; but his spell at Worcester in 2005 left the chairman, John Elliott, fuming: “Players like that are no good to our club. He’s a superstar and just does what he wants. When you’ve got a bloke like Shoaib in there, it can cause mayhem.”
For Surrey in 2008, he managed one championship wicket (for 117 runs and a rumoured £20k). He also managed to forget his papers on the way over, necessitating a return trip to Pakistan. Of course.
Even the great man’s retirement had a tragi-comic pull. Akhtar – ever the star of the show – called an emotional personal press conference during the World Cup to announce that it would be his last tournament. Naturally, he was not picked for Pakistan again, and was so denied the big send-off he possibly craved and probably deserved.
Akhtar has not finished quite yet.
He’s signed up to play in Sri Lanka’s new T20 tournament in July [although this has now been cancelled], in a team led by Shahid Afridi.
When he finally stops playing, he says that he would like to do some television and – like his hero Imran Khan – build a hospital.
His on-field career has been a frustration, but even his enemies wouldn’t deny the man has something about him. He’s given us a few things to talk about over the years. http://t.co/5YlUol1
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Waqar's comment about Akhtar had me in stitches :))) :))) :akhtar :waqar :comeandge
The first time I met Shoaib Akhtar was in Rawalpindi in 2001. He told me that he had once bowled 97.7mph, while carrying a back injury and having a broken rib.
Now, he was injured again, sitting out Pakistan’s training camp and reflecting on his place in the world. “One good thing about my fame is that people really love me,” he said. “They love me because I do my best for the country. That’s why people love me a lot, even more than other players. When I go round town, people knock on my car windows and shake my hand. They treat me well.”
Fast. Charming. Comically self-regarding. Injured. It was a good introduction. I thought he was a brilliant interviewee and resolved to keep in touch.
Shoaib could certainly walk it like he talked it – just not all that often: he made his Test debut in 1997 and retired this March, but played just 46 Tests in between. To be fair, he never set out his stall as a workhorse. Even at that 2001 meeting, when he was 25, he talked of his urgent need to have a rest. He wanted to be an impact player: “I have to play the crunch matches, charge in and get wickets and win crucial games. But if we’re 2-0 up there’s no point me pushing myself too hard,” he told me.
Did he win crunch matches for the team? Sometimes. His finest hour came possibly when England went to Pakistan at the end of 2005. Euphoric with Ashes success, England sensed a new era. But Pakistan knocked them over 2-0, inspired by a fit and fast Akhtar who, as well as being able to reverse the ball at extreme pace, had finally added a demon slower ball to his armoury. It was an extra level of humiliation for batsmen, prepared to be blown away by pace, to find themselves instead outwitted by Akhtar’s guile. Akhtar took 17 wickets at 25; his five-for wrapped up Pakistan’s innings victory in the final Test and the image of him, wheeling away in celebration, is possibly the enduring one of his career.
More often, though, Akhtar conjured up inspirational cameos, glimpses of greatness, huge promise left unfulfilled. In his first Test against India, in 1999, he removed Dravid and Tendulkar with consecutive balls, both bowled with inswinging yorkers, as Pakistan pulled off a narrow victory at Eden Gardens; later that year, in England, three key wickets – all bowled – in the World Cup semi-final against New Zealand; in 2003, there was the famous first (officially recorded) 100mph ball, to Nick Knight at the World Cup. Lesser teams were swept away: against New Zealand, Akhtar took 17 Test wickets at a ludicrous five runs each.
I was ghosting Shoaib’s column for The Guardian during the 2003 World Cup and the supposedly landmark 100mph ball was not the big thing on his mind.
“I did bowl the first-ever 100mph ball in a World Cup,” he said. “But that doesn’t matter when you go for 63 off seven overs. I just ran out of gas after four overs. I’ve got a lot to put right.”
An unfulfilled talent? Akhtar finished with a Test strike rate of 45, bettered in the modern era only by Shane Bond, Dale Steyn and Waqar Younis, his game-for-game stats head and shoulders above those of Brett Lee, for so long perceived as his chief rival. But injuries and often self-inflicted fiasco meant that he did not appear in a major tournament between the 2004 Champions Trophy and the 2011 World Cup, denying him, at least, the chance of being a T20 world champion like his contemporary maverick Shahid Afridi.
The gap between Akhtar’s promise (and his promises) and his inconsistent delivery could grate. During Akhtar’s underwhelming 2003 NatWest Challenge campaign, former skipper Waqar Younis was moved to pick up the phone to me, unleashing a 40-minute tirade. Waqar found Akhtar’s big talk “ridiculous”, and his bowling painful to watch.
“He’s always saying, ‘I’m going to do this or I’m going to do that’. Just bowl, mate. Just stop talking and bowl.”
Maybe, though, expectations (largely encouraged by Akhtar himself) were too high. Maybe he was an over-achiever. In his hotel room on the 2003 ODI tour of England, Shoaib ran me through the various disadvantages that made it, by his own account, something of a miracle that he could be a professional athlete: the list included, but was not restricted to, his flat feet, his asthma and his hyper-extending joints. For all his run-ins with authority and the early battle to have his allegedly suspect action approved, Shoaib’s main battle was always with his own body. “There have been days when five syringes would be inserted on each of my knees to draw out fluid,” he said as he retired. “I would scream with pain because my knees would be swollen like melons and I would feel that someone was ripping off my thigh muscles. But next day, I would go there and fire the ball at close to 150 kmph or more.”
The body was held together by sheer force of will – as well as a fairly phenomenal list of supplements and drugs. The full extent of the Akhtar body-as-laboratory emerged during his appeal against his Nandrolone ban in 2006, when he listed all the legal, permitted substances he took on a daily basis to keep himself up to speed. Body-builders, fat-burners, vitamins, herbal remedies. And four steaks a day.
Maybe too much was expected. “Cricket is a game you play in pairs,” he told me in an interview for the first issue of SPIN. “I need someone to bowl at the the other end from me.”
Indeed, post-Waqar and Wasim, Pakistan has yet to produce a fast bowler anywhere near as consistent even as Akhtar, the many pretenders derailed by injury, problems with their action or, in the case of Mohammads Asif and Amir, controversies that make Shoaib’s indiscretions (the alleged drug incident aside) look like larks.
At his peak, building up speed from his long, long run-up, Akhtar was a thrilling spectacle for all but the man on strike. He didn’t always thrill. There were plenty of times when he looked heavy legged and below par, as if he’d come straight from some terrible nightclub. Latterly, we saw a mix: his unsung 90mph performances in last year’s ODI series against England left him looking magnificently dischevelled, wheezing like a pub footballer running a marathon at the Equator.
While his triumphs have been accompanied by self-promotion in the knowing vein of Clough, Mourinho or Ali, even his mishaps have generally had an air of Vaudeville about them. There was a ban, in 2007, for hitting Mohammad Asif with a bat (in retrospect, maybe the right thing); then he was banned for five years in 2008 for repeated criticism of the Pakistan board (the fact that speaking his mind got him a much longer sentence than allegedly taking illegal drugs possibly says all you need to know about the PCB.) Akhtar did not make too many friends at the PCB, as evidenced by the leaking of the specific reason for his missing the 2009 ICC World Twenty20. Possibly only Akhtar could get genital warts on to the sports pages.
Three counties signed Shoaib. Reports were mixed. Forty-two wickets at a strike rate of 34 for Durham in 2003 was a great return; but his spell at Worcester in 2005 left the chairman, John Elliott, fuming: “Players like that are no good to our club. He’s a superstar and just does what he wants. When you’ve got a bloke like Shoaib in there, it can cause mayhem.”
For Surrey in 2008, he managed one championship wicket (for 117 runs and a rumoured £20k). He also managed to forget his papers on the way over, necessitating a return trip to Pakistan. Of course.
Even the great man’s retirement had a tragi-comic pull. Akhtar – ever the star of the show – called an emotional personal press conference during the World Cup to announce that it would be his last tournament. Naturally, he was not picked for Pakistan again, and was so denied the big send-off he possibly craved and probably deserved.
Akhtar has not finished quite yet.
He’s signed up to play in Sri Lanka’s new T20 tournament in July [although this has now been cancelled], in a team led by Shahid Afridi.
When he finally stops playing, he says that he would like to do some television and – like his hero Imran Khan – build a hospital.
His on-field career has been a frustration, but even his enemies wouldn’t deny the man has something about him. He’s given us a few things to talk about over the years. http://t.co/5YlUol1
--------------------------------------------------------------
Waqar's comment about Akhtar had me in stitches :))) :))) :akhtar :waqar :comeandge