Karachi Chronicles Chapter 6

Saying that cricket in Karachi presents a few challenges, is a bit of an understatement. During the month of September, a big hurdle is the hot weather. Coming from Australia, I am accustomed to warm weather but the heat we experienced on this trip was beyond anything I’ve played under back home. Temperatures hovered around the thirty five degrees Celsius mark and never seemed to dip very much overnight. On top of this, humidity started each day at around one hundred percent and rarely relented, even late in the day. With the scorching sun seldomly having a cloud to hide behind, every moment out on the field rapidly sapped energy and tested resolve.

To be frank, you’ll never catch me frothing about how good hot weather is. Given a choice I’d trudge through the mid-winter snow in Hokkaido before rejoicing over scorching heat. That being said, I feel like the weather in Karachi really added to the whole experience and contributed to the uniqueness of this trip. Travelling so far to play is similar to running a marathon or climbing a mountain. No one wants to finish feeling fresh because that wouldn’t be much of a challenge and definitely wouldn’t make for a good yarn. Although first and foremost cricket should be fun, the people on this tour wanted to push themselves. With no one left unscathed by the Karachi heat on this trip, rest assured we were indeed pushed to the limit.

Staying hydrated in the sauna like conditions was more than just about comfort, it was basically a case of life or death. Playing under these conditions made the job of the fourteenth, fifteenth and sixteenth man all the more important. This wasn’t like at home where one of the young blokes might amble out with a random water bottle and possibly some fresh gloves every so often. It was the hardest day’s work in the whole squad. Ironically, it was quite often the pace bowlers like myself who were “resting” that needed to do this job. I can tell you it was many things but it definitely doesn’t fall under the description of rest you’d find in any dictionary.

Our first real taste for the scale of this job was in the initial game of the tournament proper, against the West Indies. We were playing next-door to the hotel at the historic Karachi Gymkhana, which had hosted first class cricket as far back as 1926. Confronted with a “feels like” temperature in the vicinity of fourty five degrees Celsius and without a cloud in the sky, behind the glass of the air-conditioned dressing rooms was the place to be. Unfortunately, as one of the rested squad members, I wouldn’t get much of a chance to test the A/C out. In reality, it was going to be a baptism of fire that would reshape my meaning of the word holiday.

Before play got underway, in a rare moment of respite, I was sitting in the shade under the pavilion. Despite having a massive overhead fan, I distinctly remember being wetter than my last swim in the basement of the adjacent PC Hotel. As you can imagine, running around out on the field, the boys were sweating up a storm. To try and help out, the trio of Feathers, Hermida and myself patrolled the boundary with refreshments and ran out drinks at any break in play. In theory this sounds very simple but the combination of conditions, unfamiliarity with the roll and differing perspectives plus expectations of individuals made this a tough assignment.

One of the biggest challenges was needing to drink bottled water. Early on, our first obstacle was access to said water, as at this ground it was either warm on a pallet or locked in a glass fridge behind a bar. At this stage of the trip there was also a distinct lack of eskies, which led to a severe shortage of cold beverages. I don’t want to sound rude here, but I don’t think anyone was prepared for the shear volume of liquid we would go through in that heat. Still not completely acclimatised to the conditions, we were definitely getting our money's worth from the drink sponsors.

Every wicket, we were going through at least six to eight bottles of water. On top of this, there were also sports and soft drinks on offer. We tried to help the locals on drink rotation, through a makeshift esky that was just a barrel with water and ice. Unfortunately with the dynamics of trying to stock each of the drink carriers while reacting to the game, this was a tough ask. All the staff were so polite but hearing my spikes taping back up the tiles every few minutes to ask for more drinks would have, no doubt, been doing their heads in.

Scrambling, we just stayed on top of the hydration rations but despite everyone's efforts many of the fluids provided were warm. Although not quite as quenching, at least it stopped anyone from succumbing to dehydration. Serendipitously, it also gave a few of the boys a taste for warm Pepsi, which you could say is a bit of an acquired taste. Eventually the team came off after toiling in the fielding for forty five overs. I caught a bit of a vibe that a few weren’t completely sold on our efforts with the rations. Obviously the warm Pepsi wasn’t for everyone but I feel we were understandably, as a collective, a little under prepared for the conditions.

Not one to give up, I took the feedback onboard and dipped into my experience in the hospitality industry once again. Deciding to liberate a few bags of ice from the locked fridge, I filled up a sink in the bathroom to fashion a makeshift esky. I took charge of the drink rotation and with some good communication between Feathers, Hermida, our physiotherapist Sohail and myself, the cold water started flowing. Lifting our game, we came out on top in the second innings, as far as the drinks went. Unfortunately, we didn’t get up out on the field, falling short of the West Indies’ total. On the plus side two hours lapsed without anyone swilling a warm Pepsi. As with anything in life, “living is learning,” and we had found out how important the role of the non-playing squad members was going to be.

It was discussed at the team meeting that night and we developed a few ideas on how to improve our support services for the squad. Of great value in this discussion was Steve Paulsen aka “Harry.” Harry is a consummate professional both on and off the field. He has a wealth of first class experience, including stints in the Sheffield Shield for Queensland and the Big Bash with Brisbane Heat. With such pedigree, few would argue he was one of the key players for us on the tour. Just to add to this, he would also be the first to thank the lads who had a crack and ran water each day.

While in Pakistan, I really enjoyed listening to Harry’s stories or hearing some of his tactical ideas. Especially interesting were his insights into how things work at a higher level. I still recall mentioning, of the cuff, how hard running the drinks is. He responded “yeh, I remember a time having to do the full one hundred and thirty metres out and back on the MCG during a big bash game, it’s the hardest job in the squad.” This would be just one of the many kernels of wisdom Haz would drop during the trip. Making the most of my time around a legend of the game, I soaked up each and every one.

With this reassurance that I wasn’t just being soft, I was determined to do a good job on the days I was resting. It wasn’t only for the greater good of the team but also the satisfaction of not coping out. This was easier said than done, as it can be quite demoralising when you aren’t selected in the playing team. Although I wasn’t overly phased when this happened, as I was just stoked to be over there, it did make me empathise for both professional players and the selectors who have to make such calls. I’d wager that there aren’t many people around that enjoy this side of the game much.

In future games we fashioned eskies in huge bowls, which worked well and the cold water continued to flow. The exception to this was at National Bank Stadium, which had possibly the best fridge in Pakistan*. Another improvement was the use of towels for trying to keep the sweat at bay. Harry would pre-cut a few for the boys so they could be run out and swapped whenever required. On the subject, as I previously mentioned Harry is a professional. He knew what he needed and while batting, on top of the hydration, that would often include zinc, the aforementioned towels and fresh gloves. Adding these supplies to the drinks run soon became routine. Eventually, I would try and stitch him up when I knowingly gave him zinc while he was batting under lights against Nepal.

As always, Harry being the pro he is, didn’t let this disrupt his concentration as he saw right through my feeble attempt at humour. Eventually he would prove to be human, when he forgot to cut up his bath towels for one of our later games. This lead to comical scenes, where we were frantically chopping up a bath towel on the boundary. Hastily hacking like a butcher, forgoing the usual surgical precision displayed by Haz, the resulting rags were a pretty sad sight. Once again, the job of cordial connoisseur would prove to be one of the most demanding jobs on tour.

As the tournament progressed, everybody had the system down to a fine art. Logistics were great, Sohail the physio was trying to get on TV by running stuff out, people were racing each other and most importantly everyone was sufficiently hydrated. The quality of the drinks running between the first and last games was night and day. It also showed what a great group of blokes they had managed to assemble. I’m not going to say it was all smiles and high fives but if the wrong group were assembled here there could very well have been a few dramas.

Although I’m still scarred from when I called for a drink in under fourteens, against the protests of my old man, and getting dismissed the next ball, I came away with a newfound appreciation for those who do it for a living. So from now on, I will never look at the players on TV trawling the boundary in a hi-vis bib the same ever again. Respect to all the lads for rising to the occasion and pulling off such a vital role with flying colours. I’m also sure that every time I taste a warm Pepsi for the rest of my life, I will chuckle to myself and remember all the fun times we had in Pakistan.

* Was so nostalgic seeing a glimpse of the distinctive Pepsi fridge in the away change rooms during "The Test" season 2.