How Imran Khan became the greatest leader among greats
The arms are swinging vigorously from the sides to the front, colliding against each other before returning to their point of departure. Wearing a white T-shirt with a bellowing feline on its front is Imran Khan, the Kaptaan of Pakistan. Imran twitchily waits for the toss to be over, as if it is delaying what he resolutely believes to be Pakistan’s turn to prise glory in front of what is chiefly regarded as a condescending, colonial crowd, with his characteristic braggadocio that made women swoon, men stagger and the bureaucracy oblige.
England’s captain, Graham Gooch notifies Imran that his tiger is looking down, only to get a wisecrack from the Pakistani skipper that it is going to be England’s lions that are going to be down and out at the end of the day.
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Cricket is an English sport - the umbilical cord that connected the Queen to its colonies. Along with the many roads the colonists laid down, the railway tracks they rolled out, the ports they established and the airstrips they constructed - the many divisions they created among the communities, the Victorian morality they instilled, the inferiority complex they foisted, and the condescension with which they ruled over stuck with the South Asian community, the legacy of which is felt even today.
For the most part of the post-war era, the English played cricket as if they owned it. England’s tours of Pakistan were always accompanied by an extra luggage full of complaints, grievances, and whingeing about umpires and their one-sided decisions. However, similar sentiments from the Pakistani team during their tours of England were often glossed over with the rodomontade that the English umpires were always fair.
The attitude of the Pakistani players didn’t help either. In a community that was still reeling from the fall-outs of colonialism and from a country that was still searching for its identities since partisan among many military coups and dictatorial governments, it was understandable that the Pakistani cricketers had an Anglophilic culture. Often this resulted in wanton deference to the English players or diffident submission to their demands.
But Imran had a head that wouldn’t bow down to anyone, not even to the seniors in the team, not even to the board nor to the establishment, and, perhaps, not even to the almighty. Imran, hailing from a Pathan ancestry, was a proud man. Everything about him, right from his regal bowling to him running his fingers through his hair, was drenched in pride and oozed with bravado.
“Impress on the world that we are as good as anyone,” was the Khan’s decree to his subordinates. India needed a Sunil Gavaskar. Sri Lanka was still waiting for the emergence of Arjuna Ranatunga. Pakistan’s Messiah was Imran Khan.
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Pakistan wins the toss and Imran elects to bat first. “The younger guys haven’t been overawed by any situations. If they play like tigers, I won’t mind if they win or lose,” asserted the man who seemed more menacing than the tiger on his shirt.
Heavens threatened to play spoilsport later during the evening and the fact that no team has won a World Cup final chasing hitherto prompts the legendary all-rounder to opt to bat first. Batting first against the same opposition during the league stage, all that the Pakistani team could muster was a measly 74. If not for the timely intervention of the rain, England would have sauntered home.
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The 1992 World Cup squad of Pakistan was handpicked by Imran Khan. Save for the bellicose Javed Miandad, the rest of the team was chiefly composed of youngsters. The Pakistani captain, aged 39, looked like a wise old man ensconced among his disciples, prophesying how Pakistan was going to win the World Cup.
Inzamam Ul-Haq, Mushtaq Ahamed, Wasim Akram, Abdul Qadir and Waqar Younis were all beneficiaries of Imran’s microscopic vision for talents. The eleven-Test-old Abdul Qadir, who had done nothing to merit a place in the team, was vehicled into the team through a phone call by the Pakistani captain. Waqar Younis impressed Imran on TV. Wasim Akram had the Pakistani captain babysit him for the most part of his early days.
Unlike the preceding captains, Imran demanded the team he wanted. The cronyism and favoritism that had plagued Pakistan cricket since its beginning suffered a permanent hiatus during his incumbency. Meritocracy took precedence and everyone feared for their place in the side.
In his first match as the captain, Imran axed his cousin Majid Khan, the then prince of Pakistan cricket. No Pakistani captain would have ever dared to touch Majid Khan, much less if he had been their cousin. But, Imran knew no fear. It didn’t matter to him whether it was his cousin or a bowler from the slums. Talent and hard work earned his respect. Everything else was flushed down the drain. Imran’s eyes saw everyone equally.
Pakistan was a cauldron since independence. Cricket there was no different. Every series defeat brought about a change in the administration. The captain’s position was as permanent as that of the leader of the state. There were elections, new governments, demonstrations, riots, and military coups. Cricket was a little better in a way that there were no violent riots to depose the captain.
Imran’s ascendancy to the helm was as a result of a campaign against the previous captain, Javed Miandad. At times, it was felt that there were more factions within the team than the number of players. The media gave partisan support to the captains who hailed from their own regions. One could become a hero and a villain both within the same session of play.
Wearing such a volatile hat, expecting the authoritarian administrators to cave into one’s demand would have proved to be a career suicide. There was no one who could confront the personal feuds and rampant regionalism in the then Pakistan. With his unyielding demands, Imran Khan was only gleefully exposing his jugular to a regime that had a fetish for decapitating captains.
Yet, the selectors succumbed to Imran’s exhortations. For the first time in Pakistan’s history, a cricketer took the troubled dog’s leash. Imran, by nature, was fearless. But there was a lot more in the capitulation of the selectors than what meets the eye.
Contrary to the other Pakistani players, Imran’s domestic career was in England. His career with Pakistan was not paying him enough. So, he was dependent on his county stint to make a living. Thus, fear of losing a place in the Pakistani side did not plague Imran’s mind for he could still have a life in cricket many a miles away from his home.
His academic exploits at the Oxford aided him too. He was too learned to be grilled by the semi-educated board of administrators. Notwithstanding these, there was a bigger reason that made Imran immune to Pakistan’s absurdity.
His shaggy hair and gym-toned body had already made him a celebrity figure in the salons of London. His nightlife found its way into tabloids and newspapers. Rumors and gossips along with testimonies of his paramours found the center pages of magazines, which were usually reserved for actors and sports stars who played other not-so-gentlemanly sports. The Pakistani gave cricket the much-needed sex appeal in the ‘70s, shapeshifting a rather dull sport of noblemen into a populist sport worth obsessing over.
For Pakistan, a country that has been often wistfully looking up at its erstwhile monarch with awe, Imran’s near sex symbol status in England was a breakthrough. The troubled nation had finally found someone who could convince the citizens that they were better than what they thought they were.
This resulted in a cult following for Imran in his country of birth. Add to that his stellar performance with both the bat and the ball, the Khan wasn’t someone who could be meddled with easily. Imran dazed people by his looks, captured them by his performance and imprisoned them with his stardom in England. For the Pakistani men and women who yearned for respect and recognition from the West, Imran having the westerners sway to the waves of his hands was incredulous.
Thus, Imran became a powerful figure within Pakistan. Much more powerful than the power mongrels that were eating Pakistan cricket from within.
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Ramiz Raja unfurls a drive through mid-on that sets Pakistan on its course. A few balls later, he cuts one straight into the hands of the backward point. Raja drops his head, tucks his bat under his armpit and begins his stroll towards the pavilion. But, wait! There is a twist in the tale. The umpire throws his arm out. It is a no ball! The batsman is unaware. There are cries of entreatment heard. The fielder throws the ball at the stumps and misses. Realizing he is still alive twice within a second, Raja jumps back into the crease. Absolute chaos!
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Chaos was Pakistan’s identity since the very beginning. Pakistan for a long time resembled a wagon being pulled in eleven separate directions. Regional discrimination balkanized the team, and every individual had diametrically opposite point of views, so much so that two persons in the team seldom agreed on a matter.
This team of highly energized destructive electrons needed to be channelled in the right direction to be successful. More often than not, the vibrant Pakistani cricketers resisted each other’s progress. The tale of Pakistan of the ‘70s was one that was drenched in dressing-room conspiracies, backstabbings, and treason. Pakistan needed a leader who would rally the troops together.
In Imran Khan, Pakistan found the voltage that was needed to turn the vacillating electrons into a powerful current. That Pakistan’s feat during Imran’s tenure was only bettered by the invincible West Indies tells you more about the Khan than any encomiums might. He transcended biases of all sorts and discriminations of all kinds. In Imran Khan, the team believed.
The skipper was also open to opinions, even though towards the latter part of his career only Javed Miandad had the gall to question Imran’s decisions. Such had been the rise of the stature of Imran Khan, if he claimed that the earth was flat, the team unanimously believed.
There are two schools of thoughts about cricket captaincy. One is leading from the front and the other is pushing from behind. Mike Brearley mastered the art of the latter. However, Imran Khan was never impressed about the idea of haggling performance out of players when the captain himself wasn’t capable of extracting noteworthy performance from his own self.
He led from the front with the bat and the ball and at times with both in the same match. During times of great adversities, the team had a paladin to look up to. With his bowling and batting, Imran Khan inspired confidence in the minds of cricket’s perennial underachievers.
Imran’s charisma helped him too. His looks of a prince stupefied his teammates. The youngsters were in awe of him. The way he walked, his mannerisms, and his style of speaking impressed his younger mates to a point that they started imitating him in every aspect of their life. So flattering were his looks, that even if he had led his team into a chasm of fire, his teammates would have happily followed him.
A widely held view is that Imran was admired more than he was loved within the dressing room. “I would rather be right than captain,” once Imran told his colleague. He was known as a dictator. Only men with henchmen and overly-fed goons procured such undisputed power. Only generals with military power held such authority.
But Imran had neither. Yet, he managed to have a mercurial team fully under his control, that too with an administrative board that was notorious for its tempestuousness. Being the best player in the team certainly aided Imran. But his devil-may-care debonair played a chief role. Unlike other captains who were ready to plant kisses on the feet of bureaucrats to ensure their survival, Imran had these power mongrels at his feet. Imran feared no one. Everyone feared Imran. 'He had the education and, perhaps more fundamentally, the self-confidence to take on the board when he had to,' said a journalist friend of Imran once.
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Ramiz Raja survives. However, Derek Pringle finds enough swing in the air to trouble the left-handed Aamer Sohail. The troubled stay of the Pakistani left-hander finally comes to an end as Pringle induces an edge through to the keeper.
It was Inzamam Ul-Haq who walked down to the crease at the fall of a wicket during the league stage. But here there is a surprise. Strutting to the crease is Pakistan’s captain, Imran Khan. It is a risk, a risk that paid off in the semi-final. But is the right-hander, who is accustomed to batting in the lower order, adept at handling the swinging ball?
These are decisions that can turn a hero into a villain and a villain into a hero. Given the volatility of the Pakistani fandom, should Imran fail here, he would retrospectively be remembered as a traitor forever, irrespective of how much he might have accomplished for his country.
He has embarked on a mission to build a cancer hospital that will treat the poor free of charge, following the demise of his mother due to cancer. The hospital needs heavy funding, and winning the World Cup will open a deluge of funding to Imran’s cause. A failure here would doom Imran’s dream forever. Is this risk really necessary?
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Imran means prosperity. A Khan is a warlord. Whether the name defines Imran or whether Imran defines the name is moot.
Imran was an honest player. He was honest to himself as much as he was to the team. He trained hard. In an era when fitness wasn’t a fad, Imran Khan took his fitness seriously. It benefited him in two ways: One was that it helped his cricket. Two was that it made girls stand in queues to meet him. “For me, it was an eye-opener. A Pakistani playing in Australia and there were queues outside the hotels and the restaurants to shake hands with the great Imran Khan,” Wasim Akram, in an interview, expressed his astonishment at the off-field exploits of the Don Juan.
But there was a nucleus of commitment and earnestness inside the sheath of sybaritism. “You can forget about what you hear about all his womanizing. He wasn't macho at all... he courted me. Imran was a very, very sweet guy. You'd laugh all night with him, sleep in a canopied bed and in the morning you'd sit in a Flower-filled conservatory, where he served you breakfast. What's not to love about a man like that?”
This could explain his solemnness in cricket too. He rarely took things for granted. When his career began, he was a medium pacer with a Jeff Thompson-like action. On watching Dennis Lillee bowl, Imran embraced a sideway action and became a fast bowler. He tore his muscles in the gym to strengthen his body while some players during his day slugged in pubs to augment their pot bellies.
'I don't believe his action has suffered because of that (injury). His main problem is that he's overweight,' the Pakistani opined about Ian Botham. On a separate occasion, he would go on to describe Javed Miandad as follows: “a great player in his day, who really became just a nudger from around 1982[in] part because he didn’t believe in weight-training or even training, too hard.”
“Clad in a green tracksuit, setting off for his early morning run, plowing off into a steady grey drizzle with only a passing milkman or two for company,” observes Christopher Sandford in Imran Khan’s biography. He set himself very high standards. Such was his pursuit of perfection that he made extensive use of video analysis even in the ‘80s. He was a real professional in an era during which cricket was an amateurish sport that had a low market value. As the rest of the world was still frolicking in loincloths, Imran Khan was swanking around in his space suit.
Imran Khan also had the perennial disposition of not settling for anything less than a win. This actually stems from his childhood. Once Imran was booked for driving a car while still being a 13-year old and he escaped by bribing the policeman. On hearing about the incident, Imran’s mother became furious and censured her child. Imran responded saying that other boys of his age did the same, to which his mother responded saying “You’re not other boys.” Thus, the pomposity that characterized him was instilled in his mind at a very young age.
He grew up to be “not other boys”. When the norm then was to avoid defeat first, Imran tried to win matches by hook or crook. He was ruthless in his attempts to win. He wanted to be the best in the world.
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Pringle strikes back by sending Rameez Raja on his way via LBW to a ball that moved in. Having won the toss and chosen to bat, this is not the start they would have expected. It is once again up to Pakistan’s general to fight the enemy standing among the corpses of his troops. “In a war, the last thing the troops need to see is their general lying dead at their feet,” Jeffrey Archer, a cricket-loving author once said about Imran Khan’s commandery. Imran losing his wicket here would spell doom for the South Asian country.
Javed Miandad walks in at number four having to do the repair work. He has a torrid beginning, convincingly getting beaten by the English seamers’ in-swingers. The momentum shifts towards England. Imran sensing England reining in the finale lofts Ian Botham inside-out over cover. Shackles are shattered.
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The relationship between Javed Miandad and Imran Khan had been a strained one. Miandad was the victim of the coup that eventually saw Imran Khan taking the helm of the Pakistani side. During Pakistan’s tour of Australia in 1981/2, a skirmish erupted between Zaheer Abbas and the incumbent Javed Miandad, which resulted in 10 of the Pakistani players refusing to play under Miandad, which included Imran Khan. As a result, Pakistan fielded a fresh side in the subsequent series against Sri Lanka at home. Towards the end of the first Test, Imran expressed his desire to return to the side, and by the end of the second Test, it was decided that Miandad would resign after the third Test. Imran Khan was announced as the new captain.
As if the background for arch rivalry wasn’t enough, Javed and Imran hailed from two regions that were at a cold war against each other. Imran hailed from Lahore while Javed was from Karachi. The rivalry between these two regions was so severe that even after Imran Khan lead his side to a Test series win against India at home in 1982/3, a Karachi daily accused Imran Khan of cronyism citing the inclusion of Abdul Qadir, who also hailed from Lahore.
But Imran Khan transcended all identity politics. Notwithstanding the enmity that brewed between them, Imran assured Javed Miandad that he had a full part to play in the side. Though Javed Miandad raked in only 178 runs in the three-match Test series, Imran guaranteed a permanent position for Miandad in his battalion.
The hostility between the two heightened in 1983 during the fourth Test between India and Pakistan in Hyderabad, Pakistan. Pakistan amassed 581 in two days and then declared. Javed Miandad scored 280 not out. According to Miandad, Imran had reneged on his promise to let him chase the then highest test score of 365. But Imran’s version denies having made such a commitment. Nonetheless, this widened the rift between the two and the Karachi media exploited the hostile atmosphere to publish disparaging articles about Imran Khan. This reached a tipping point when a Karachi media called Imran Khan’s attempt to stop a pitch invasion as a blatant discrimination against the Karachi crowd.
Flying in the face of the in-house schisms, Imran managed to win the admiration of the team. There is a widely held view that Miandad was Imran’s Chanakya- his chief tactician. But one thing that is certain is that Javed Miandad was the only one in the Pakistan team, who had the pluck to question Imran’s decision.
Imran instilled confidence in his teammates with his meritocratic captaincy. This definitely won Javed’s respect. When Imran resigned over a squabble over team selections, Javed temporarily assumed captaincy and then voluntarily resigned. The same thing was done during and following Imran’s exile from cricket owing to his shin injury. And Javed Miandad once again stepped down when Imran came out of his retirement in 1987.
Imran’s ideology too was antagonistic to that of Javed Miandad. Imran firmly believed in fighting tooth and nail to win matches. He wanted to be fierce on the field, but off the field, he wanted to establish a rapport with his opponents. Javed, on the other hand, considered his opponents as sworn enemies and was ready to bare his chest for a fist fight.
Come what may, these polar opposite characters shaped Pakistan’s cricket fortunes in the ‘80s which culminated in the 1992 World Cup. “You have to imagine facing Imran Khan hurling reverse swinging thunderbolts at you while also dealing with a noise like an angry bee buzzing around your ear to get an idea of the challenge,” one Indian player told Christopher Sandford. Though this is no more than a trope for the unified, devastating effect of the two inimical characters, Imran, in actuality, made sure the idiosyncrasies of the two ended up being explosive than implosive as far as the team was concerned. Like the North and the South Pole which produce the magnetic field that keeps the earth surface safe from the solar wind, Imran and Javed created a buffer against all evils within the Pakistan team. This confluence of the two extremes became the concoction that made Pakistan only second to the great West Indies.
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The duo adds 139 runs for the third wicket albeit at a slow pace, but they are ably succeeded by Inzamam and Wasim Akram who rocket fuel Pakistan to 249 runs.
Needing 250 to win the World Cup, England lose their first four wickets for 69 runs. Then partners Neil Fairbrother with Allan Lamb to resurrect England. For a moment it seems as if they are running away with the game. Pakistan needs a wicket. They need someone to emerge to inspire the rest of the team. Imran throws the ball to Wasim Akram.
Wasim Akram had a terrible beginning to the World Cup. So did Pakistan. Their campaign got to a point where even one defeat could spell doom. To top everything off, they were yet to face Australia, that too at Perth. Imran rose to the occasion with a t-shirt and a metaphorical tiger. “Fight like a cornered tiger”, he said. Pakistan fought like a cornered tiger since then.
Akram had been wayward throughout the tournament, which made him compromise his pace for accuracy. But the Khan told him not to worry about no-balls and wide balls. “All that I want from you is to bowl as fast as you can.” Since then, Pakistan never looked back. They steamrolled to the final.
Wasim comes around the wicket to the right-handed lamb, angles the ball in and reverses it away knocking his off stump. The very next ball Lewis would be bowled by an in-swinger. Within the space of two balls, the match has turned on its head.
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It is easy to stereotype Pakistan as a traditional fast bowling hotbed given the ease with which they produce top notch fast bowlers so much so that should they decide to export their rare breed of pacemen, soon cricket would become Pakistan’s biggest foreign-income earner.
But Pakistan hardly had any fast bowlers before Imran Khan. The team was primarily composed of spinners and medium pacers. It was Imran Khan who inspired a generation of fast bowlers. Watching Imran wreak havoc on the enemy, every Pakistani kid wanted to bowl fast.
Imran inspired both Wasim and Waqar. He taught them every nuance of fast bowling. He gave precise instructions on what line to bowl at what length to which batsman. During their nascent days, Imran operated their brain.
Once a Karachi journalist noticed that some of the non-bowling Pakistani fielders were wearing as many as three sweaters while others were wearing short sleeves. He queried Imran on his anomalous observation. “Oh, I decide all that,” came the response from Imran. On a separate occasion, as a Test match was grinding towards a draw, Imran asked Wasim Akram to bowl with all his might. “It is going to be a draw anyway, Kaptaan,” Akram riposted. “But that’s how you can strengthen your bowling muscles,” decreed Imran.
This could be perceived as being patronizing. But that is what Pakistan needed at that time, a patron.
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England could hardly recover from the back-to-back fatal blows from Wasim. Imran Khan, quite appositely, picked up the last wicket that helped Pakistan win its first ever cricket World Cup. A mercurial nation plagued by regionalism, racism, religious tyranny and military leadership, at last, has something to celebrate. Cricket once again proved itself to be the panacea that heals all evils.
Imran walks to the podium to deliver the victory speech. Unfortunately, it turns out to be a self-absorbed speech with a lot of “I”, “me”, and “my”. The hawks from Karachi exploit it to portray Imran as a glory hunter.
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Imran now admits that he had made a mistake. This elucidates another aspect of Imran Khan. He was single-minded. He was so focused on building a cancer hospital for the poor following his mother’s demise, that he became obsessed about it. When Pakistan won the World Cup, all that occupied his mind was that his ambition to build a hospital had almost materialized.
He even misquotes his own records in his autobiography, which shows that he wasn’t self-conscious. “I made sure my personal likes and dislikes coming in the way of his team selection,” Imran told in an interview. He earned the respect of his team whereas others demanded it. A selfish player would seldom earn the respect of his teammates. So, whatever the conclusion that can be drawn from Imran’s speech, one thing that is clear is that he isn’t self-centered.
For a nation that was struggling for its own identity since independence and aching from a post-colonial inferiority complex, a win against the erstwhile rulers was a moment of catharsis. Wrangling with the English umpires and England’s patronizing attitude towards Pakistanis had thrown Pakistan into a deep chasm of self-loathing.
Pakistan needed someone to pick them up. Imran began it and Imran completed it. A nation that lost its identity to the imperial English finally wrested its identity from them 45 years later. There was a time in Pakistan when religious leaders demanded a ban on cricket for it was distracting the youths from their divine decree. But in the evening Pakistan won the World Cup, the whole of Pakistan came out of their homes to celebrate forgetting the approaching iftar.
The Pakistan team imploded on either side of his captaincy period. “The team really needs you in a crisis. In a crisis, a captain has to have the guts to stand up. You cannot be a coward and be a good captain. When the chips are down you need to lead the team by personal example. Tactics can only take you up to a point.”
Pakistan needed a man to stand up during disasters. Pakistan needed a Messiah to teleport them from the colonial subservience to sovereignty. Pakistan needed a Kaptaan to lead by example. Pakistan needed a sultan to equipoise a despotic board. Imran Khan became the man, the Messiah, the Kaptaan and the Sultan of Pakistan. Pakistan needed Imran Khan. Imran Khan and the art of leadership: What made him succeed where so many other greats failed?Imran Khan and the art of leadership: What made him succeed where so many other greats failed?Imran Khan and the art of leadership: What made him succeed where so many other greats failed? Imran Khan and the art of leadership: What made him succeed where so many other greats failed?