Does not compute

Some days, when I’m feeling particularly masochistic, I try and imagine what it must be like to be a Pakistan cricket fan. Of all the brutal, frustrating, agonizing, heartbreaking, apoplexy-inducing existences a sports fan could lead, that must at least rank in the top five. From STDs to fixes, factionalism to nepotism, idiocy to instability, and – the shit icing on the cake of festering crap – the continued presence of Ijaz Butt, Pakistan cricket has not merely hit bottom (repeatedly), it’s scraped bottom with a spatula and then broken its fingers trying to claw even further down through the bedrock with its bare hands.

Watching Pakistan play, as a neutral supporter, carries with it certain guarantees. Not many, obviously – after all, calling the Pakistan team ‘inconsistent’ is somewhat akin to calling George Bush ‘a bit dim’ – but there are a few. Umar Gul will send down some perfectly pitched yorkers. Misbah will bat as though caught in the glacial timescape of a Salvador Dali painting. Shahid Afridi will bellow and gesticulate like a deranged orchestra conductor, then do his Messiah impersonation when he gets a wicket. Kamran Akmal will fill silences with high-pitched yodelling shrieks reminiscent of a boy soprano attempting to summon sheep from high mountaintops.

He will also drop catches and miss stumpings. Lots of them.

The incredible thing about Kamran Akmal’s keeping – and, indeed, Pakistan’s fielding in general – is that you expect it to be terrible. You always know what you’re likely to see – but it’s still capable of astounding. I know I’m going to see Kamran Akmal fumble a take – ok, who am I kidding, many, many takes – that a paraplegic chimp could have nailed with ease. But every time I see him do it, I throw up my hands and yell ‘Are you fucking kidding me?!’ – or some variation thereof – at the TV screen. The incredulity is fresh every time.

After a point it becomes surreal. I’ll be as blunt as possible – I do not for the life of me understand how it is possible to be as shit at keeping as Kamran Akmal is. Ok, wait, that’s not entirely accurate – I’m probably a far worse keeper than he is. Same for my 81-year-old grandmother. Here’s the thing though – I AM NOT KEEPING FOR MY NATIONAL SIDE AT THE HIGHEST LEVEL. So I guess it’s not so much Akmal’s breathtaking ineptitude that baffles me – it’s more the fact that he continues to be able to display it every time Pakistan plays. If your keeper’s performance is so consistently shithouse that spot-fixing is the less embarrassing explanation, THERE IS SOMETHING DEEPLY WRONG. Either Kamran Akmal has incriminating photos of Pakistan’s entire selection panel in flagrante delicto with minors and livestock, or…actually, no, there is no other possible rationale for his continued presence behind the stumps.

What makes it even more mindblowing is the Pakistan camp’s reaction every time it is pointed out to them that their keeper is an embarrassment and a liability, which essentially boils down to, ‘He’s not that bad. He just had an off day.’ Really? Ok, well, does he ever have ‘on’ days? Because you could have fooled us! Honest to God, someone needs to check the Pakistan drinks cart for Kool-Aid.

After the debacle of Tuesday’s match against New Zealand, during which Akmal twice missed edges from eventual centurion and MoM Ross Taylor – at least one of which should not have been missed by any wicket keeper at any level of the game unless he or she was experiencing an epileptic fit or bleeding profusely from the head –  coach Waqar Younis stated that the key for Pakistan going forward was not to panic. I entirely agree. Panic does nobody any good, and in any case Pakistan had no cause for panic. They would if they were unable to pin down the reason for their defeat.  But the reason could not have been more conspicuous if it were walking around wearing a neon sandwich board and trailing a 5-piece brass band in its wake.

Let’s be clear, I don’t think that dropping Kamran Akmal will magically turn Pakistan’s fortunes around, or that everything that went wrong against New Zealand was his fault (Ross Taylor’s blitz in the death overs was courtesy some incredibly crappy bowling, for instance). But that’s not the reason he should be dropped. If a player performs badly over the length of time Akmal has, he no longer deserves to be part of the team. Simple. Then again, affairs in Pakistan cricket are never simple. Even so, even knowing the murkiness that surrounds the team and its selection, I still can’t dredge up anything even approximating a good reason for keeping him on. He really is that bad. And Pakistan’s refusal to acknowledge that fact only makes them look like idiots. Although, in fairness, they have had Ijaz Butt for an awfully long time, so that ship has pretty much already sailed.

The thighs have it

I really, really did not want to write about Kamran Akmal’s legs today.

But they will not be ignored.

First they propelled him, like an unholy lovechild of Brendon McCullum and Adam Gilchrist only Pakistani and with a slightly frightening monobrow, full-length to his left to take a staggering catch in front of leg slip off an outside edge from Shaun Marsh. Those of us who remembered his fumbling and flailing from the Test series rubbed our eyes and did a double take in the manner of surprised people in those old Looney Tunes cartoons. Had Kamran Akmal really just done that?

Apparently.

Then Rana Naved bowled Brad Haddin through the gate in a glorious rush of raw pace and rawer testosterone, and the headiness of it all dulled the impact of The Catch somewhat. When Fawad Alam pegged back Michael Clarke’s stumps with a direct hit to run him out, we were further distracted by wondering where the hell all this fielding ability had been hiding for the past three months.

But Kamran Akmal’s legs were determined to snatch back the spotlight, which they did by not only taking a catch entirely by themselves, but by doing so in a manner that could have been specifically designed to offer maximum fodder for comedy writers with filthy minds. Of course, Akmal helped by fumbling around in his groin for an eternity, uttering a series of increasingly more urgent-sounding falsetto shrieks, and by that point the jokes were so obvious they hardly seemed worth making any more. (It’s not as much fun when there’s so little challenge involved.)

At the moment, Pakistan are chasing 277, having lost two wickets for just over 30 runs. Kamran is at the crease alongside Mohammad Yousuf. Will his legs be up to one last effort for the Pakistani cause? Who knows.

Oh for fuck’s sake, they’re going on about Survivor again. Am I missing something? Why is this happening?

Being Kamran Akmal

Pakistan are playing – some would say, losing to – Australia in the third ODI at Adelaide, having already lost the Test series and the first two ODIs to them. If you weren’t aware of that last bit of information, the scoreline might actually not look all that bad – at the time of writing, 239-4 at the start of the 46th over, although with Michaels Clarke and Hussey at the crease you’d reasonably expect a death-overs blitz. So far,  Pakistan have been predictable – decent bowling, atrocious fielding (never has a cricket ball looked more as though each contact with the willow infuses it with a fine coating of some corrosive substance – an acid, perhaps? – that forces the fielders to chase it with extreme reluctance, and juggle it like a hot potato every time a catch or stop is attempted) – displaying, in other words, their usual air of well-intentioned haplessness in the field.

Wicketkeeper Kamran Akmal has had a particularly nightmarish tour so far, having been dropped and then recalled and, as keeper, generally being the lightning-rod for criticism of Pakistan’s uniformly shite fielding. Today he’s done well, playing a part in two out of the four Australian dismissals so far as well as being alert behind the wicket and maintaining a steady stream of encouraging (if slightly high-pitched) chirping to his team, as a good keeper should. But he’s Kamran Akmal, which means that it couldn’t possibly stay at that. Facing down a short-pitched one from Umar Gul in the 45th over, Akmal moved to intercept – and reeled as the ball ricocheted viciously up to hit him a crushing blow right in the throat. To his credit, he shook it off, but with an expression that said as eloquently as possible: Why me? Why is it always me?

Sorry, Kamran, we’ve no idea. If I could give you a hug, I would, though. It’s getting a bit much now.