Karachi Chronicles Chapter 4

Some of the greatest travel experiences come from meeting locals. In Pakistan, this was most certainly the case. Everywhere we went there were people keen for a chat and a photo. I have no doubt this would have happened even if we weren’t a travelling cricket team. For me this was the highlight of the trip. I continually mention the Pakistani hospitality, but it has left me with many fantastic and unforgettable memories.

Our first interaction with the residents of Karachi, outside the immediate security bubble, was the day after arrival. All squad members went to have a training session with some of the Gymkhana players. These guys ranged from the teenage leg spinner MK through to the front line paceman Khurram, who was in his early twenties. All of them met us with warm smiles and didn’t hold back when they got a chance to roll the arm over.

After some fielding drills, we hit the nets, which consisted of two rock hard slabs of clay bereft of almost any grass. During the session, all the young quicks were charging in from the back fence. While waiting back there on the dirt, under the shade of a eucalyptus tree, Khurram turned to me and asked, “can I bowl a bouncer?” Also surrounded by the Gymkhana boys, I replied, “hopefully not at me!” He quickly answered “no, next ball,” with a mixture of excitement and determination in his eye. All I had to comeback with was, “well, he is about to play for Australia so go for it.”

Clearly, he was itching for his chance to steam through the throng of bowlers corralled around the denuded and dusty run up area. I could see this next delivery was going to be released with gusto. As he parted the crowd, the Gymkhana boys and I watched from the top of our marks in anticipation. Careening in from the back fence, this was his chance and he was going to put everything behind it. Down the other end with bat in hand, Feathers was about to face the music.

On release, the ball pitched in the bowlers half and was travelling at quite a clip. Feathers, instinctively rocked onto the back foot, which would have been the perfect play on most of our decks back home. Unfortunately, the largely grass free pitches here, didn’t offer anywhere near enough bounce for this to be the right option. With little time to recover from the vicious delivery, Feathers tried to evade it by ducking at the last second. This proved to be a fruitless measure and he was whacked square in the ribs. Everyone of us, peering from up the back, hid away laughing like giddy little school kids. Not only was it a hilarious turn of events, for everyone except Feathers and his bruised ribcage, but also a great introduction on how the pitches would play here.

During the trip, most of the grounds we attended were heavily secured, making it difficult for random people on the street to interact with us. There was one exception to this, way down on the peninsular, at Moin Khan Academy. Here we were still enclosed in a walled compound with armed security but there were some vantage points that locals could watch the game from. One of these was a gate down by the groundskeeper’s shed where a few people could peek through a gap.

In our game against Nepal at the academy, I was running drinks again. On one of my frequent laps around the outfield, I could hear some people yelling out, so I turned around and noticed about five blokes peering through the gate. I waved hello and kept on patrolling the boundary, handing out drinks to the boys on the field. On a subsequent lap, a few more lads had gather and they were excitedly beckoning me over to the gate. As there was no one else in the general vicinity, it was up to me to decide how to handle the situation.

I got the feeling that they really wanted me to go over there. Wildly flailing through the six inch, horizontal gap that ran across the gate kind of gave it away. So unsure of their intentions, I took off my prized baggy green and went over for a chat. As I got close they all extended their hands, which I awkwardly shook through the small opening. Afterwards, they all trustingly passed their phones over for me to take some selfies back through the fence with them. I’m not sure what they did with a selfie of some guy from Ballina but it would be nice to somehow see all the random selfies people took during the trip.

After a bit of a yarn, I continued on with my water carrying ways. Shortly after, I was called to arms, when a wicket fell and I ran the boys out a quick sip. Since we could only drink bottled water, this was at times a wasteful, yet required, endeavour. There often wasn’t enough time to finish an individual bottle so we were left with many half finished ones. Sometimes we combined these into other vessels or kept individual bottles for people but on occasions there was some waste. Unfortunately due to the time pressures and harsh conditions it was a necessary evil.

As I ran back off the field, I soon passed the guys who were still watching through the fence. They had little cover from the sun and definitely no escape from the insane humidity. One of them gave me the drinky, drinky hand motion so I cruised over to give them a drink. Having just depleted most of my stocks, I offered them the unfinished rations which they gratefully guzzled down. After restocking, on my next lap I made sure to have some unopened extras to hand over to them. Although I would have preferred to jump the fence and hang out, under the circumstances, this was the best I could muster. I wasn’t curing cancer but at least I was attempting to bring people together, the whole reason I went to Pakistan in the first place.

One bloke who did make a huge difference with the locals on the trip was Durbs. Michael Durbridge, of the Queens Cricket Club in Gold Coast, Queensland, is an imposing fast bowler. Him charging in at Gymkhana, with the dust trailing like a pack of wild brumbies, will be forever seared into my mind. Devastatingly, soon after he was stabled by an ankle injury, which was a gigantic loss for the squad. Although it allowed me some extra game time, it was tough seeing a mate and fellow pace bowler struck down like that. It also meant that we didn’t get to open the bowling together, but hopefully that will happen one day. Serendipitously, this enormous loss for the team turned out to be a massive win for the locals of Karachi.

During the imposed downtime, Durbs had every reason to be miserable. Having got to know him, he unsurprisingly channeled his energy in a positive manner towards commentating, encouraging the boys and spending time with the locals. His commentary was top shelf, but more impressive was the time he spent with the young ball kids. Most, if not all, of them were budding young cricket stars. It was certified gold watching Durbs on the sideline giving them a few tips and no doubt providing them with some life long memories to boot. I’d wager, he does this back home but taking it all the way to Pakistan epitomises what this trip was about. With Durbs leading from the front off the field as much as he does with the ball on the field, soon many of the boys were all following suit.

Halfway through our semifinal against Pakistan, I decided to take a leaf out of Durbs’s book. We’d just witnessed a spectacular 195 run innings from Abdul Razak, propel Pakistan to a lofty total of 400. Personally I’d had two catches dropped off my bowling and my first over of 0 for 3, with no runs off the bat, rapidly ballooned. Crushed by the combined disappointment of my largely fruitless toil and the teams unlikely chance of reaching the final, it would have been easy to hide away and sulk. Instead, I cooled off over lunch then left the comfort of the fantastically air-conditioned National Bank Stadium sheds for the thirty nine degree heat of the sideline.

Here they had an enclosure of spectators, which I spent time with talking, taking selfies and giving some gear to the kids. Interestingly, I got talking to a few people from the province of Balochistan. This is an area to the west of Pakistan that borders Afghanistan and Iran. As I’d just finished hearing about life in that neck of the woods, one of the tournament staff, also from Quetta in Balochistan, came over and joined the conversation. After conversing with the spectators a little more, I pulled up a chair and we continued chatting for most of the innings. Although nothing too out of the ordinary, I did find it intriguing talking first hand to people that hailed from an area our government lists as “do not travel.”

In addition to these fleeting yet meaningful interactions, it was also great to play against some seriously talented local cricketers. With such a stacked local team, containing ex-test players, it goes without saying that it was an honour to share the field with them. From my perspective, even more enjoyable was hanging out with some of the other players. I fondly remember a few of their squad showing me a local board game back in the hotel's games room early on in the tour. From memory, one of the blokes was Waqas Ahmed, who for the record has a mean back of the hand slower ball that drops like a stone, very difficult to face.

Although there’s not enough time to list every local I met on the tour, it would be remiss of me not to mention Imran Ali. He was also a fellow pace bowler, albeit of a higher class, and a good bloke that was always up for a laugh. Over the three weeks in Karachi he offered me numerous, great insights into the culture and ways of the country. I was stoked on the last evening when he dropped past after the closing ceremony and we exchanged playing jerseys.

Even though the memories of a trip are the most important part, it was awesome to have something tangible to take home from the journey. Meeting so many interesting people from a part of the world most don't get the privilege to visit, was an incredible experience. For me, this is why our trip was far more important than just the on field action. One day we can hopefully try and repay the favour if they ever get the opportunity to visit Australia. Until then, all I can say is thank you to the inhabitants of Karachi and Pakistan that made our tour such a memorable one.