The first time I went to watch a CRICKET match in a STADIUM

It was a breezy evening in March, I was involved in my favorite activity (taking a nap) of the day when I woke up unceremoniously to the sound of my cell phone ringing. I kept my eyes shut and instead started guessing who is calling as many of my friends prefer messaging. When the ringing subsided I tilted to give my face the much-needed slap of brightness from my mobile screen and saw that my cousin Abubakar had miscalled.

Let me give some context, my cousin Abubakar is a huge fan of cricket and started playing tape ball when he was 11 years old. On the contrary, I played just to socialize and make friends to no success, unfortunately. Growing up in Pakistan, cricket was an obsession of the locals and tape ball cricket was part of every street. If you did not know, in 2009 Sri Lanka came to tour Pakistan and a terrorist attack shook the place. Players and locals were shaken hard after the incident and ICC (Internation Cricket Council) put a ban on the country so that no team would tour Pakistan again. Imagine growing up in a country where people of all ages would carry a bat, ball, and a wicket to any space large enough to register as a pitch just to start playing cricket, unable to witness cricket on their home soil for 6 years!

Well, it seemed sad but I had learned to watch cricket on the television. What is the point of going to a stadium when you can watch for free on TV from all angles and even watch replays? But Abubakar always chose to differ. And that brings us to the missed call or should I say missed calls? Abubakar had been bugging me to accompany him for this match in Gadafi stadium where Australia was playing Pakistan in Lahore after a decade or something. I was not sharing his passion as I had watched the 1st match of the series on my phone where Australia thrashed Pakistan not giving any chances. If I was going to see my team lose, it would be better to watch in the comfort of my bed.

The worst part was the match had already started and Australia was well into their batting. Abubakar asked me one last time and well I said yes, upon hearing that he was paying for the ticket.

Pakistani bowlers were taken to the cleaners by the Australians. The situation was looking bleak and we did not have much time. Abuabkar’s home is a few minutes walk away. But I had to run. The evening was turning into reddish darkness and the lights of the supermarket were my guide as I ran towards the graveyard which was opposite my destination. The presence of a graveyard and dark skies added to the deadliness of the situation. Abubakar was already standing outside with his younger brother Usman and two more cousins. When I reached it, there were already talks of forfeiting the idea of going as Pakistani bowlers were taking a bashing the Australian way. As Gadafi stadium would have parking issues, we decided to take a rickshaw (three-wheeler transport vehicle). We all walked hurriedly to a rickshaw that we found. Now a rickshaw can fit only 3 people comfortably and 5 if you are late for a match that your team is definitely going to lose. The driver asked for 500 rupees (1.86$) and Abubakar, who likes to negotiate usually, got in without saying a word.

Our getting into the rickshaw was a cricket match in itself. My butt was hitting the forehead of Abubakar while Usman was half-sitting half-laying on a mini seat right in front of us. The other two passengers were somewhere in there as well and I had a view of the road running beside me. Lahore is a beautiful city to witness if you are not a driver. The roads are clean except for motorbikes that are ridden without side mirrors so whenever a motorbike is overtaking a vehicle, it is being done on ultimate faith in God, something that Pakistani bowlers needed the most right now. As I was hanging on to something I did not know for my life in the rickshaw, I heard the voices of my cousin saying that Australia had reached the humongous total of 348 which is a tough one to chase in an ODI (one-day international). Our spirits went down even more and I hated myself even more than when I fell into the gutter around my street as a kid.

The roads had become much cleaner now and there were bright yellow lights running alongside the footpath that was pretty alien for us locals. Then I realized that this might be for the team buses and we might be nearing our destination, the Gadafi stadium where once bullets were fired and now sixes were hit to ensure dominance. We stopped at the gate and got in. I was starting to feel the buzz and energy. The gate was surrounded by security guards who checked us one by one. Then we got into the entrance that led to another gate. Here Abubakar approached the gate when the man asked for our tickets. The tickets were booked online but we were told right there that prints of tickets were required. Funny that despite how much we try to move forward, we get right back to the basics. There was a painter sitting alone beside the gate painting anyone green and white on the face to show their support. It seemed that even he knew that at this point support was not enough. Our cousin reminded us that Pakistan’s batting had started.

I and Usman were told to take printouts of the tickets from a printer beyond the stadium. I roughly calculated that by this time, Pakistan might lose a wicket or two. We set out on our mission to turn our virtual tickets into real life. The walk was a bit long and I noticed that the otherwise busy main road was empty due to the ongoing match. The lights were ablaze and the road was so clean that it displayed the reflection of the skies. We finally reached the printer and got the necessary copies for the match. The guy in the shop told me that Pakistan was off to a good start and I thought he was just trying to make us feel better by lying, something the politicians did to ignore disasters.

We went back to the stadium and gave our printed tickets. Finally, we were in! No, we were not. It was still the parking lot and we had a lot of walking to do. We walked all the way to guess what? another gate and then yet another gate. In total, we passed around 4 to 5 gates and all I could think of was that all this just to see your team lose. But now I could hear the cheers coming from the crowd. As I walked inside the stadium, the brightest light that I have ever seen (or tried to see) in my life slapped my face harder than my mobile did and I woke up clearly this time. The stadium was packed with people all over. I watched Australian fielders surrounding the boundaries in yellow. We walked towards our berth which was kind of the worst part in terms of viewing the match. The seats were all empty and straight ahead was the scoring board but the difference was its back was facing us.

There were boys sitting behind us and in front was an Australian player Stoinis guarding the field. The boys were shouting his name and he ignored them to focus on his game and career. I and Abubakar were discussing the game that was going not so bad for Pakistan. Imam was playing well who was criticized a lot to be considered for the team due to nepotism. Imam’s uncle Inzamam was the chief selector then and was a great middle-order batter in his time. Playing with Imam was Fakhar Zaman who was the aggressor of the two.

Pakistan was on a decent opening partnership and the crowd was electric. Whenever Pakistani batters were able to steal a single, the crowd which consisted of 80% males would cheer loud enough to make everyone around them deaf.

Cameron Green came on to bowl now and smash! He got hit for a four-first ball. The crowd was going nuts. The second ball was a dot and then the next ball was driven for a four again. Green took his time for the next ball but this one was thrown to the boundary as well. Pakistan was looking solid, it was the 16th over now and 100 partnership was up, they could actually win this. I went over to the upper levels to get a clearer view as my interest was slowly starting to build up. I found a spot that could not pass as a seat but more of a bricked space to sit down. The view from here was clear and amazing. I sat and heard people walking behind me, upon looking, I saw that there was a vendor there selling snacks and drinks. I could feel my stomach rumble and went to his setup. I saw the usual chips I liked and asked for the price. He told me twice the market price and I was about to deny buying it when I thought of the dozen gates he had to pass through to get the stuff here, hence decided to buy it anyway.

When I got back, my spot was taken and many fans of cricket had gathered around there. I stood there and started munching on the snacks. The match was mostly stable for Pakistan. One thing I observed was our seats were in the worst spot. Every ball that got hit for a six landed in the crowd far away from our enclosure. We could not watch any replays. We could not even watch the match if it were not for my bricked-seat spot.

And then during my strict critique of the space it happened. The 1st wicket fell but instead of hearing yells of anger and distraught, I heard cheers and immediately after, I knew why. The chants of “Babar! Babar!” were heard all around the stadium and the 27,000 fans stood to watch their hero come out to bat. I stopped eating the high-priced ordinary snacks and stood up to take a peek myself. Among the chants of “Babar”, I saw the man himself about 20 feet away from me. He was dancing his way to the pitch in his usual demeanor and I could not stop myself from joining the chants that echoed around me. It was when he played his first ball and took a single that the crowd took their seats and I realized the contrast between stadiums and televisions.

Babar and Imam both scored centuries to take the total near Australia’s. I and my cousins had now moved to the far right of our enclosure where the view was astonishingly good. Khushdil Shah had come to the crease after another wicket fell and he hit a couple of sixes to end the torture on the opposition. Pakistan had finally won a tough match and as we were taking our departure, I looked back at the brightly lit lush green pitch and thought this is the same stadium where terrorists dominated 12 years back, and now it's cricket that flourished.

We got back on the road and found a rickshaw at last. The journey back was full of discussions on how batting succeeded this time around and which players disappointed. For me, The chants of Babar stood as the highlight. It made me realize how much I missed out on as a young cricket fan. Watching your heroes live is truly a blessing and inspiration. I am still waiting for Abubakar’s call for the next match and this time, I will pick up for sure.

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