Eight years without a single piece of silverware, three successive group-stage eliminations from ICC events, a humiliating whitewash at home against Bangladesh, and mortifying defeats to the USA, Ireland, and Afghanistan—this completes the list of some of the most agonizing and unforeseen scars in Pakistan cricket’s diary over the last four years.
And to compound the misery, they crashed out of the Champions Trophy in the very first round—while being the hosts and defending champions. If there was ever a night of turmoil and worry, this was it.
Speaking of the Champions Trophy, this tournament has always held a special connection with Pakistan cricket. Very recently, they received the honor of hosting their first-ever ICC event after nearly three decades. And not too long ago, Pakistan set the cricketing world on fire by triumphing in this prestigious tournament—vanquishing the star-studded, multi-million-dollar team of their arch-rivals in the grand final.
If a comparison can be drawn between Pakistan of Champions Trophy 2017 and Pakistan of Champions Trophy 2025—and then followed up with a reflection on the series of events leading to the tournament—it would make one wonder what kind of catastrophe has befallen Pakistan cricket.
Of course, as a regular watcher and follower of Pakistan cricket, expecting extreme highs and crushing lows—one minute down, the next minute up, kabhi arsh par, kabhi farsh par—is nothing new. Especially since 2003, Pakistan has leaned more than ever on Saqlain’s favorite viral phrase “Qudrat ka Nizaam” when it comes to maintaining consistency on most occasions.
Those previous teams had their occasions to prove themselves—and at times, they did. Even if we start from 2011, that team, filled with superstars, played India in the semis. The 2015 team, though not the strongest on paper, still fought hard. Then came 2017—a transition period—yet Pakistan somehow cracked the code and seized the trophy on that grand occasion.In Test cricket, Pakistan had a solid unit under Misbah.
That team toppled some very good sides and even became the No. 1 ranked Test team once. This team, post-2019, however, seems to be plunging to an alarmingly lower level—even by its own previous standards. The only format where they appeared relatively formidable was T20Is, as they performed quite well in two consecutive T20 World Cups.
Yet, even in this format, they’ve looked drastically off-color over the past 10–11 months.
A first-round exit, a crushing defeat to the USA in WC 2024, and the fact that their last victory came against associate nations—while suffering defeats both before and after those matches—inevitably lead to the same conclusion.
ODI cricket—one might assume Pakistani players relish playing. The results, however, dismantle that notion. Bilateral series victories aside (though Pakistan takes great care of those), the state of Pakistan’s team in multinational tournaments demands nurturing of the highest order.
The last global tournament where they truly impressed was—once again—the Champions Trophy 2017.
Since then, they have failed to even secure a semifinal spot in any ODI tournament. The less said about Test cricket, the better. Barring a rare recent occasion of cracking the code to seize a series from England at home, nothing fresh for the soul has happened in the past few years.
The embarrassing draws on home soil—and the never-ending, permanent drubbings away—would make one wonder whether Pakistan is even deemed a competitive unit in the format. It’s quite agonizing almost unbearable—to even use these words as a Pakistan cricket fan. It feels like a dagger to the soul to entertain such a thought. But with relentless outcries and conspicuous realities staring us down, one might have to admit that Pakistan might be a “second-tier team” now.
Maybe not yet—but certainly on the verge.
How did it come to this? How can it even be the case that Pakistan—a land once revered for its pacers—no longer has the firepower to terrorize opposition? How has a nation, once graced with batters as effortlessly elegant as they were devastatingly impactful, failed to produce a single weapon of consequence?
How has chaos been unleashed to such an extent? How has a rally car, once skidding around bends, regressed into a shopping trolley pushed by an old woman?Well, firstly, if you’ve been following the current crop of Pakistani players, one sentiment must have inevitably crossed your mind—that the majority of them are underachievers, considering the amount of talent they have.
Now, a few of them are overall very good individually, just not landing their feet right in terms of impact when it comes to making a combined effort to break barriers for the team. An example would be the performances of a few key players in past multinational tournaments. Since the rest of the group revolves around the performance of seniors, their inability to deliver on the grandest stages is a crushing disappointment.
There’s no excuse for them letting their team down. But if they are to be dropped, rested, or replaced by a few others, would that really fix the problem? Actually, Pakistan has tried this game before, multiple times. shuffling players, making abrupt changes—only to find themselves trapped in the same cycle of mediocrity, facing the same problems three or four years down the line.
There is, however, a deeper, more troubling issue—one that continuously gets overlooked, each time in a different way.
It’s the PCB management and the way affairs are handled behind the scenes.
Sure, you can blame the players, scapegoat them, reshuffle the squad, and introduce changes. But step back for a moment and consider this:If your team hasn’t produced a world-class red-ball pacer in over a decade, if it has failed to qualify for the semifinals of prestigious tournaments for just as long, and if it can’t even maintain a 50% win record in home Test matches, then surely there’s something fundamentally wrong within the system.
After every tournament exit, after every big series defeat, Pakistan changes the captain, coach, chief selector, and sometimes even the chairman, believing they have fixed the problem.
In reality, they haven’t.
This knee-jerk reaction only increases the problem rather than solving it. Meanwhile, the players—the actual product—remain mere crash test dummies, enduring the same cycle as a revolving door of officials comes and goes. This isn’t reform but an illusion of confidence and the ignorance of the masses, keeping this house of cards standing.
Here’s a bit of unmasking—of this unbearable cycle of changes and mismanagement from every corner. This factor could actually awaken the mind—prompting it to seek answers that may ultimately validate the unspoken truth buried within the question itself.
Chairmen who navigate blind—unaware of what they’re doing!
This could be said an entirely country’s political bound problem and frankly it can’t be put on PCB. This is not entirely the PCB’s doing. since the chairman itself is appointed by the prime minister and the even the premiership in the country itself remains hardly been a stable post, so not something to make stumble, or wrinkle the brow.
This could be seen as a problem entirely tied to the country’s politics, and frankly, it cannot be laid entirely at PCB’s doorstep. This is not just the PCB’s way—that’s simply how things work. Since the chairman is appointed by the prime minister, and given that the premiership itself has hardly been a stable post in the country, it’s not something that should make one stumble or wrinkle their brow.
However, in the past few years, this chair has witnessed a revolving door of faces—all in the name of revolution and whatnot. There’s been no obvious philosophy or schtick, no memorable tactical gambits—just changes to satisfy the inner self with the illusion that it might work.
In the last few years since Ehsan Mani stepped down, the PCB has seen four different chairmen: Ramiz Raja, Najam Sethi, Zaka Ashraf, and now the current political minister, Mohsin Naqvi.
The problem isn’t merely about these changes or why they occur—it’s about what they bring.
Every chairman arrives with his own self-proclaimed Aladdin’s formula, indulging his ego while dismantling previous plans, all under the illusion of securing Pakistan cricket. Ironically, he can’t even secure his own position.
For example, Ramiz Raja—who was inducted as someone with a background in the cricket fraternity—immediately set his sights on neutering Pakistan’s pitches. The move was not just terrible and unnecessary—but also perversely deliberate—that not only pushed Pakistan cricket far back but also ensured that Pakistani cricketers didn’t upscale their skills by playing on these flat surfaces.
The Pakistan Junior League introduction was another highlight of the Ramiz era. Though that tournament earned the PCB PKR 94.72 million—it cost them PKR 929 million. Unsurprisingly, it was scrapped after just one season.
Then came a change in government—and how could one not expect the chairman’s seat at the PCB to be swiftly reshuffled?
Enter Najam Sethi—who had previously helmed this position—installed as a knee-jerk reaction. In less than six months, this man literally replaced the 2019 PCB constitution with the 2014 version. What followed was the exit of a board with independent directors and the return of a chairman with absolute powers.
Sethi also couldn’t resist tampering with the domestic structure—so he brought back departmental cricket.
Zaka Ashraf—another familiar face from the past—took the chair, propelled by political influence. Throughout his tenure, his sole effort was to fortify his grip on the position—he couldn’t succeed. As political appointments were a concern, they went a step further and brought in an actual political figure—yes, the Interior Minister of Pakistan—for this position.The first and immediate step this man took was the introduction of the Champions Cup tournament in domestic cricket. With three tournaments already in place, one could wonder—what exactly would a new one add?
But Naqvi saw this as a game-changer. He didn’t look back, appointing five team mentors and allowing them to earn PKR 5 million (about US$18,000) a month each. Interestingly, apart from two, the rest had no prior coaching experience.
Just how crazy were their salaries?
Well, let’s put it into perspective—these mentors were making more than any centrally contracted Pakistan player, except for the top three in the highest category.
To make it even wilder, their three-year contracts will cost the PCB nearly half of what the board is set to earn from its entire broadcast rights deal for all home international cricket in the same period.This basically sets the foundation for complete chaos at the lower levels. How can you expect a government to perform if you change its finance minister every six months, with each new one bringing a completely different approach?
Army of Coaches and chief selectors
These positions are now doomed to an endless cycle of revolving faces. In just the past three years, there have been eight head coaches and, astonishingly, 28 selectors. The manner in which they are hired and discarded is well another ordeal too painful to dissect.
For instance, how Mickey Arthur was introduced with online coaching (ever heard of that term?)—and then how he went off the scene. How Gary Kirsten and Jason Gillespie were lured in with promises of long-term commitments—and how they were dismissed in an absurd fashion.
These are awkward questions that are not always satisfactorily answered. This is appalling. How can someone like Abdullah Shafique ever refine his technique without a permanent, qualified coach guiding him consistently?
How is Babar Azam supposed to identify his flaws and rectify them when there isn’t a stable, long-term coach to provide steady advice? How can Shaheen work on his bowling action when he’s met with a new coach every other month?
They believe the pain of defeat mingles with the anxiety of change—but they are unaware that they’re shooting at a flying pigeon in a dark room. Good luck hitting anything but the wall or the ceiling.
Mandatory captaincy changes to destroy unity!
This feels like a humdrum script. Captaincy changes after every tournament exit aren’t new in Pakistan cricket—but they have outdone even their own chaotic standards with sheer mismanagement in recent years. There have been five full-time captains.
The moment Babar Azam was nudged into resigning as the all-format captain after the 2023 World Cup, a chain of absurd appointments began. Shaheen Afridi came and went—yes, after just one series. Incredibly, they brought Babar back, only for him to step down againafter a disastrous T20 World Cup 2024 campaign.
Then came Mohammad Rizwan, who, as fate would have it, was also destined to depart after the Champions Trophy 2025 from T20Is.
Now, talks of rift and unity are quite prevalent in the media. Frankly, most of them might just be rumors—but the way PCB has managed things, this sort of division and disruption seems entirely believable. How can a player react the same way when he’s dropped straight after just one series?
How can you expect them to maintain the same camaraderie when uncertainty looms over their place in the team after every match?
Bilateral series are played with one goal—winning!
Call it a trend or an evolving paradigm of the game—most formidable cricketing nations play bilateral cricket to cultivate strong bench strength and experiment with innovative strategies.
In other words, they don’t see bilateral cricket merely as a quest for victories but as an opportunity to explore options that will help them excel in major tournaments—where they aim to trade in the hard currency of wins, not sentiments.
Pakistan, for so many reasons, however, doesn’t follow the same pattern. They have just planted the commands right into their skulls that they’ll be putting their all into winning the series—whether it means never trying their bench options at all. There have been instances where senior players could have been rested to manage workload and test the bench, yet they played every game.
This doesn’t cost them immediately; sometimes, they even win these bilaterals. But when big tournaments come, this approach comes back to bite them in a horrible way—they find themselves short of a mandatory spinner, a reliable opener, or a crucial pacer. They realize their squad lacks depth, leaving them scrambling for last-minute solutions. Often, they end up recalling an old player with no recent experience in international cricket, hoping for a miracle.
But imagine if it were a bilateral series—adrenaline would course through everyone’s veins as if they were fighting for a grand prize.
Injuries management with negligenceThis is something that perhaps is as absurd to contemplate for a big cricketing nation as it is to openly admit. However, a few big names like Shoaib Akhtar, Mohammad Amir, and Rashid Latif have already acknowledged it.
Actually, Pakistan’s medical panel is far from top-tier—to put it generously. This state is too arbitrary, too manufactured, and too oppressive.Even if we start from the past, the likes of Mohammad Zahid, etc., were true examples of poor management.
In recent years, the heat from the medical panel has intensified. There’s still a desire to go beyond, untrap themselves, and make life full of underlying tension and fear for fans.
For example, a half-fit Shaheen was allowed to bowl in WC22. This made sure he didn’t get his pace back as early as he should have. Haris Sohail’s knee surgery was botched (he admitted that), making him miss his peak years.
Zeeshan Zameer, a young fast bowler, is still unsure when he’ll ever be fully fit. And, of course, Ihsanullah’s case—it’s heard that he can no longer bowl over 145 as his biomechanics were horribly set.
This is just troublesome, and worse, deleterious to cricket at large.
Format mixing inescapable in Pakistan
Let me tell you how this carrot-for-donkey approach is hurting Pakistan cricket. Haris Sohail never had the supreme fitness to dominate Test cricket, but he was forced to play this format based on his ODI performances. Hasan Ali was reinstated in white-ball cricket on the back of his stellar red-ball displays.
Even a player as potentially special as Babar was burdened with all three formats and compelled to infuse power-hitting into his repertoire for T20 cricket, ultimately compromising his red-ball technique. Even Pakistan’s current captain, Salman Ali Agha, is selected in T20Is based on his performances in longer formats.
These all insidious blunders by management and the unseen hands who run the board from behind combine to ensure Pakistan never stays on top. Maybe this isn’t their agenda, but their actions manifest as if it is.
There’s—of course—an amount of talent in Pakistan, but talent development is zero. Every country has players who improve over time with experience—in Pakistan, it happens otherwise. Talent comes, climbs to the sky, faces a rough patch—a never-ending one—where it even feels shorn of enormous know-how and eventually leads to dropping him.
For example, one couldn’t even consider a team combination without someone like Babar, Shaheen, or Shadab back in 2021—now their threat has waned to the extent that dropping them from any format wouldn’t be a totally unexpected move. Four years ago, we had the likes of Haris Sohail, Junaid Khan, and Sarfraz replicating a similar pattern. perhaps maybe a better era might come when merit cut through the jingoism and blind hatred that blights cricket fandom and maybe just maybe Pakistan back to their deepest genius, their true endowment, the poetry of their very being.
We need it. Cricket needs it.
Perhaps a brighter era will dawn when merit cuts through the jingoism and blind hatred that blight cricket fandom—and maybe, just maybe, Pakistan will return to its deepest genius, its true endowment, the poetry of its very being. We need it. Cricket needs it.
