barah_admi
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The boy from Pothohar with prodigious swing, that left arm action, those comparisons to another left armer and of course, a little spark that only the Pakistani fast bowling teens have. He flew onto the scene at the World T20 a decade ago, mesmerised the likes of Sangakkara on test debut, befuddled Shane Watson, had Ponting mistiming a pull, gave the English nightmares, made the critics swoon, boyhood dream, teen idol, in swing, out swing, swing around corners, 90 miles per hour...Amir was teh cliche Pakistan fast bowler. Barely 18 years old, mop of dark hair, searing eyes and unbridled enthusiasm. That was the boy who stole a million hearts. Little did we know, he would break them to; however, before we get to the lost years, let us talk about the summers of 2009 and 2010. Let us talk test cricket.
Muhammad Amir, sliht of frame but big on pace, debuted against Sri Lanka in Galle. Pakistan would lose that match but he would take six wickets and burn his name into the memories of all that saw him. Sangakkara still talks of the boy he playedt hem all like men. That winter he traveled to New Zealand and made the ball dance to his tune. Remember the yorker to McIntosh? Of course you do, no mortal was equipped to deal with a new ball beauty like that. How about the in swinger to Guptill? He even got the old ball doing old tricks, Akraming and Waqaring this way and that.
Then came the fire in Melbourne, the guile in Hobart, the genius at Lord's. He ticked the names off, one by one, Katich, Clarke, Hussey and the piece de resistance, Ricky Ponting. The cricketing world enthused, batsmen nodded in grim appreciation and the mop haired Beatle arrived at Nottingham, stepped onto the pitch and added Strauss, Cook and Trott to his ledger. The boy was collecting names. Legend killer. Yet the clouds were building, the one everyone loved was about to have a fall from grace rarely matched.
As the series came to an end in London, rumours started to swirl and that dirty phrase, that disgraceful phrase, that all encompassing darkness was whispered, "Match fixing". Who? When? Where? Why? No one quite knew, then the rumours turned into a video, an article and the names were there in black and white. Salman Butt, Muhammad Asif and then the true horror, Muhammad Amir. Could the boy who was already cricket's hero really be its villain? There is no need for details in this part of the story but we all remember a certain West Indian great holding back the tears and a certain English commentator crest fallen.
Five years. That is what it took for the saga to end. That is a lifetime in a sportsman's career, for Amir, it had been a pit from which he barely recovered. Broken, hounded, lost, exiled and eventually forgiven...why? As Butt and Asif became the faced of ignominy, we so truly wanted to forgive the boy wonder. He returned at Lord's and took the crucial final wicket. The crowd, Engish, Pakistani, neutral, all roared their approval. He cartwheeled away, arms spread eagle, smile reminding us of the toothy boy from Punjab. We were in love again but as with all old flames, the affair did not last long. It could not.
This Amir, version 2.0, post ban, was not as quick, the sweep of his action was gone, he was no longer smooth as Holding, fiery as Akram. This was not a boy living his dream but a man working for a living. He became economical, he understood his limitations, he eyed his field, watched every pitch, cut, scrambled seamed and did many things but the genius was gone. He was successful in England, taking 12 wickets, helping his side draw an entertaining series and could have had more if so many catches were not dropped off of his bowling.
All that and he carried on playing, plying his trade in a methodical manner. He was still good, at times very good but he was no longer a Beatle. The peaks of greatness he may have once touched were now too far away, the toll of modern day cricket and the fact that he has other (better) responsibilities pulled at his heart strings. Many now are hurt that he is leaving the test arena, many feel it as a betrayal, he may become a pariah yet again but this is no longer the boy we loved but a man we have to understand as something more. We can not project our aspirations and dreams of the second coming upon him. That is unfair.
Muhammad Amir is now a huasband, a father, a man looking after the bank balance so the balance can look after his family. He gave all he could, he was not great but we saw glimpses of it. His career is a YouTube clip away, his brilliance seared into the memories of those of us who wish we could even have a slither of his power. Boyhood dream was fulfilled, he played test cricket for his country. Now let him play for his family.
Muhammad Amir, sliht of frame but big on pace, debuted against Sri Lanka in Galle. Pakistan would lose that match but he would take six wickets and burn his name into the memories of all that saw him. Sangakkara still talks of the boy he playedt hem all like men. That winter he traveled to New Zealand and made the ball dance to his tune. Remember the yorker to McIntosh? Of course you do, no mortal was equipped to deal with a new ball beauty like that. How about the in swinger to Guptill? He even got the old ball doing old tricks, Akraming and Waqaring this way and that.
Then came the fire in Melbourne, the guile in Hobart, the genius at Lord's. He ticked the names off, one by one, Katich, Clarke, Hussey and the piece de resistance, Ricky Ponting. The cricketing world enthused, batsmen nodded in grim appreciation and the mop haired Beatle arrived at Nottingham, stepped onto the pitch and added Strauss, Cook and Trott to his ledger. The boy was collecting names. Legend killer. Yet the clouds were building, the one everyone loved was about to have a fall from grace rarely matched.
As the series came to an end in London, rumours started to swirl and that dirty phrase, that disgraceful phrase, that all encompassing darkness was whispered, "Match fixing". Who? When? Where? Why? No one quite knew, then the rumours turned into a video, an article and the names were there in black and white. Salman Butt, Muhammad Asif and then the true horror, Muhammad Amir. Could the boy who was already cricket's hero really be its villain? There is no need for details in this part of the story but we all remember a certain West Indian great holding back the tears and a certain English commentator crest fallen.
Five years. That is what it took for the saga to end. That is a lifetime in a sportsman's career, for Amir, it had been a pit from which he barely recovered. Broken, hounded, lost, exiled and eventually forgiven...why? As Butt and Asif became the faced of ignominy, we so truly wanted to forgive the boy wonder. He returned at Lord's and took the crucial final wicket. The crowd, Engish, Pakistani, neutral, all roared their approval. He cartwheeled away, arms spread eagle, smile reminding us of the toothy boy from Punjab. We were in love again but as with all old flames, the affair did not last long. It could not.
This Amir, version 2.0, post ban, was not as quick, the sweep of his action was gone, he was no longer smooth as Holding, fiery as Akram. This was not a boy living his dream but a man working for a living. He became economical, he understood his limitations, he eyed his field, watched every pitch, cut, scrambled seamed and did many things but the genius was gone. He was successful in England, taking 12 wickets, helping his side draw an entertaining series and could have had more if so many catches were not dropped off of his bowling.
All that and he carried on playing, plying his trade in a methodical manner. He was still good, at times very good but he was no longer a Beatle. The peaks of greatness he may have once touched were now too far away, the toll of modern day cricket and the fact that he has other (better) responsibilities pulled at his heart strings. Many now are hurt that he is leaving the test arena, many feel it as a betrayal, he may become a pariah yet again but this is no longer the boy we loved but a man we have to understand as something more. We can not project our aspirations and dreams of the second coming upon him. That is unfair.
Muhammad Amir is now a huasband, a father, a man looking after the bank balance so the balance can look after his family. He gave all he could, he was not great but we saw glimpses of it. His career is a YouTube clip away, his brilliance seared into the memories of those of us who wish we could even have a slither of his power. Boyhood dream was fulfilled, he played test cricket for his country. Now let him play for his family.
