At the start of this year, 10 men had captained Pakistan in as many years, some of them in two stints. In 2004, Inzamam-ul-Haq has held the position, with a promise to retain him for the next three series. Given his calm temperament, big Inzi is the antithesis of many who have gone before him. Now, he heads to Australia for his most searching challenge. He spoke to Osman Samiuddin.
Eden Gardens, Kolkata, November 2004 — Inzamam-ul-Haq's customary scratchy start had grown to a disjointed mid-innings crisis. Earlier, in the field, he looked frustrated, at times animated, as his bowlers let him down in a one-day match against India. For five overs, he was shadow-swiping, he couldn't touch the ball. Hit on the grille soon after he came in, he was struck again on the stomach and growled, in frustration rather than pain; a telling moment from a man who slips from his poker-face with reluctance.
At one point he struggled to 16 runs from 40 balls and the target — 293, despite opening batsman Salman Butt's best efforts — was sinking beyond the horizon. When Butt limped off with cramps, Inzamam expressed his disappointment, shaking his head with something bearing a passing resemblance to disgust. Inzamam, captain and leader, took over from Inzamam the batsman, fighting a bad back, woeful rustiness and 90,000 Indian fans. Butt eventually came back, chastened. The captain scored a blistering 75, coaxed his younger partner to a century and his team to a win. This, then, is Inzamam circa 2004. He gestures, he feels, he cajoles, he hurts, he disapproves, he applauds, he leads; he even takes quick singles.
Like his innings, the transformation in his career has been swift. During the 2003 World Cup, Inzamam, in scoring 19 runs from six innings, was at his "lowest point professionally". A second-ball duck against the Dutch — and his innings looked worse — prompted him to mutter: "I've forgotten how to bat." He was axed immediately after the tournament, in disgrace and disgust.
Recalled for a last chance, in a Test series against Bangladesh six months later, he rose again. Playing in his home town of Multan, he scored a second-innings 138 not out as Pakistan scraped through to win the Test by one wicket. Upon striking the winning boundary, Inzamam exploded in a flurry of adrenalinefuelled fist pumping. Within a couple of seconds he slipped back into a more familiar mien — expressionless, unassuming and impossibly serene. He had decided the previous evening he would retire had Pakistan lost.
By the time the next Test came around, he was leading the team on to the field as captain, and even Pakistanis, hardened by the whimsical nature of their cricket, found it scarcely believable. It was as compelling a study in redemption as any cricket had known.
Now, he has captained the team for a year. Unusually for Pakistan, the selectors have confirmed his position for the next three series. As the year draws to a close, Inzamam awaits the most searching examination of his tenure — a series in Australia.
"It is a difficult tour, but the way we have performed over the last few months and the improvement we have shown, I am confident that we can do well in Australia," he said. "I am going there to win and I will not compromise on that. My boys have the talent, and the determination. We lack only experience."
Inzamam is the antithesis of most Pakistani cricketers — especially successful ones — in that he is not temperamentally complex. He exudes impossible calm and possesses a stable disposition. "I have always been level-headed. I believe if something is meant to happen, it will happen. It is just the way I am — when I do well I don't go over the top and when I fail I don't get too down."
He is also a quiet man, an unnerving interviewee. He guards his thoughts, not jealously, but dutifully, and you feel guilty almost for drawing them out. There is an endearing aloofness about him; you can't help but feel comfortable around him but rarely does he let you get close to him.
He has hovered outside the limelight, away from controversy and attention. But his detached air, his diffidence, has been misconstrued and caricatured too often as a slow, lazy, lumbering village simpleton.
The captaincy, as unexpected and questionable as it was at the time, has peeled away his persona. It has been, as in the Kolkata match, illuminating. He has emerged from his shell to reveal slithers of emotion: he berates his bowlers for indiscipline, he simmers, pumps his fist at the fall of wickets, speaks with forthrightness, if not always eloquence, at news conferences and television appearances and jokes with journalists.
He has unveiled a hidden wit as well, livening up post-match news conferences with measured sarcasm and humour.
Ostensibly, it doesn't seem much, but given the perception of Inzamam, the transformation is significant. He is candid about it. "I have become more aware of captaincy — looking after players on and off the field, selection, nets and so on. It is important how I appear, because as captain if you look down then motivating others will be difficult."
He is no master tactician; often he can be insipid and uninspired. "He lets the game drift too often," according to Wasim Bari, the former Pakistani wicketkeeper and captain, but he has developed a lead-byexample style and authority on the field, unifying a young team.
"I don't rant and rave," Inzamam said. "I don't interfere with players much on the field. I chat to them in the dressing room and tell them what I want and expect from them. If I ask my boys to play to certain requirements and don't do so myself, I can't expect them to do what I have asked."
Importantly, he is growing into the role. "I have learnt a lot in the last year and I think I have improved. I feel more comfortable with the captaincy now, but if the team stops winning in Australia . . ." he trails off with a laugh.
His batting will be the pivot for his team's performances. It is how he leads them. The innings in Kolkata encapsulated this; when he leads with the bat, he galvanises his team. And since becoming captain, he has borne an increasing load, yet he has thrived on the pressure.
His mantra about handling pressure — "my attitude helps me handle pressure, and being able to cope with pressure is what international cricket is all about" — is infectious, and it is his hallmark. His two Test centuries as captain have been infused with restraint and responsibility, leading to wins against India and Sri Lanka, and in Wellington, in December, a tricky fourth-innings target of 274 was achieved through a nerveless 72. He also slammed two thrilling centuries in the one-day series against India. "The role of all the senior players will be critical in Australia. We are taking young players with us and so we have to guide them. I am the most senior player in the team and the responsibility comes on to me. I know my responsibility has increased now and I play according to it."
With or without captaincy, his worth to Pakistan is immense, and perhaps unparalleled. Of his 20 Test centuries, no fewer than 15 have contributed to victory. Javed Miandad's 23 centuries included, by comparison, only 10 in winning causes.
It is not a conclusive argument, but it is a compelling one, and it suggests that as well as the celebrated Ws (Wasim Akram and Waqar Younis), Inzamam, perhaps, was equally influential in the 1990s. Yet, he remains puzzlingly underrated. Perhaps his record against the Australians — he averages less than 38 and has scored just one century against them — hasn't helped. He nonchalantly shrugs it aside.
"It's not just that it's Australia. Against any team you have to think before a series, that you must perform well. I think like that before every big series and this is just another. Obviously they are the best team in the world and it motivates you to perform better against them but it doesn't prey on my mind.
"I'm not as great as (Brian) Lara, (Ricky) Ponting or (Sachin) Tendulkar. I have had patches where I have been very good — 1996 in England, 2000 in the Caribbean and now as well, but I haven't been consistent enough to be considered great."
He may not possess the majesty of Lara or the technical completeness of Tendulkar and maybe he is still seen as a comic novelty around the world — a batsman who can't run.
But the lustre of his skill is alluring. He bats as his persona suggests — unhurried, with time and in control; he relies as much on delicacy as force, and despite his size, his footwork is nifty. Above all, it is his reading of the game as a batsman and the ability to adapt his style and pace that demands attention.
Since 2000, he averages close to 60 in Tests, with 12 hundreds; since the World Cup and captaincy, he has worked hard to become leaner and fitter.
Multan was not renowned for producing cricketers until Inzamam, Waqar Younis and Mushtaq Ahmed emerged in the modern era. They say of the city that it is inhospitable and dusty:
"Chahar cheez ast tuhfah-e- Multan Gard, Garma, Gada o Goristan." (Four things have been gifted to us from Multan: Dust, heat, beggars and shrines.)
If Multan's four gifts to Pakistan have been distinctly ordinary, its fifth may be its greatest yet.