It was clear Pakistan would struggle in England but they were set up to fail

I failed the Tebbit test a long time ago. I was taken in by Shoaib Akhtar’s R-rated speed, then locked up by the madness of Shahid Afridi’s boom-boom-or-bust spirit. And so, despite spending most of my life in England, my heart has always belonged to Pakistan’s cricketers. Maybe there’s something there in wanting a connection to a family far away, some deeper diasporic stuff about a never-ending search for identity. Or maybe it’s really this simple: Pakistan have produced plenty of the game’s most captivating cricketers. When it all comes together – the ball reversing or turning both ways – it’s a ride you never want to get off.

The worrying part? It hasn’t clicked for weeks, months, years – and the grimness is reaching new levels, the last fortnight particularly depressing for anyone with an emotional stake in Pakistani cricket. It was clear that they would struggle on the tour of England, who rarely lose a Test series at home. Even with all that boozy drama, they’ve got Joe Root and Harry Brook taking turns as the best in the world. Chuck in Ollie Robinson with his 19th-century average and that seam attack has a sense of balance it missed last winter. Pakistan, on the other hand, have not won a Test series in England for 30 years and walked into this one having lost eight of their previous nine Tests abroad. The best-case scenario was that they would nab a game, as they’ve done on several trips to England this century.

But expectations can be met and still leave you dispirited. A batting lineup with several players averaging above 40 in Test cricket has yet to reach 200, with a weak tail incapable of helping them out. To watch the bowling has been to yearn for something that has vanished from the Pakistani tale: hide-under-the-covers pace. Mohammad Abbas’s presence has been both a balm and a reminder of an under-utilised talent, a 36-year-old who has played only 32 Tests.

Yet how can any player, even one as gifted as Babar Azam, adequately perform out there when under the employment of the Pakistan Cricket Board? The PCB and nonsensical decision-making go hand-in-hand, but even by their standards, the call to discard seven players and two coaches with a game left to play is an ascension to another tier of mind-crushing absurdity, a late-night thought that should never have left the notes app.

Let’s just break down the ridiculousness. Sarfaraz Ahmed, relieved of his coaching duties, took the job in April and ran the side for six Tests. Across formats and including interim appointments (aren’t they all temporary?) Pakistan have had 10 head coaches in the last five years. The left-armer Ali Usman was discarded after taking a five-fer at Headingley. Mohammad Rizwan has been haphazard with the bat but was integral to Abbas’s success at Lord’s while keeping up to the stumps, a key tactic for both sides in the series. Salman Ali Agha was the captain in Leeds, dropped in London and then pushed completely out of the picture. Of the seven replacements, five have never played at Test level; all have been set up to fail.

Aaqib Javed is the board’s director of high performance, sits on the men’s selection committee and even had a brief crack as head coach last year. “Someone had to take action,” he told Geo News, explaining the purge and shifting blame on to others. “The world is laughing at us because we can’t even compete.” The punchline, Aaqib has failed to clock, is not the team on the field.

At the top of it all is Mohsin Naqvi, the board’s chair, who argues that sport and politics should be kept apart while simultaneously working as Pakistan’s interior minister. Like Aaqib he’s spoken bullishly in recent days, defending the cull and deflecting any suggestion that Pakistani cricket is in terminal decline. “Did cricket come to an end in South Africa and India after they lost to Namibia and Ireland?” Well, no, because those two sides are celebrating world titles. Pakistan have won one Test series out of eight under Naqvi’s control.

There is no consolation in the shorter forms. Major white-ball tournaments – in men’s and women’s cricket – are less about the PCB’s dysfunction and instead something far more toxic. They’re a reminder of the bleak discord with India, prompting plenty of jingoistic nonsense, neutral venues and an absence of handshakes. When it comes to the actual cricket, India, propped up by their two premier leagues, operate on a different level.

Where have I turned to for respite from this series? Highlights from the Lord’s win in 2016, to Sky’s documentary on Akhtar’s wild career. And with it I see a worrying cycle, where Pakistan return to England out of habit in years to come, only to be comprehensively beaten again and again. And back I go, further and further into the YouTube rabbit hole, to calm down. Is this what it’s been like as a West Indies supporter for the last 20 years?

But even here, in the supposedly safe arms of nostalgia, there’s misery. To think of Pakistan’s greatest cricketer, Imran Khan, is to be reminded of Michael Atherton’s interview with his sons at Lord’s, both fearing for their imprisoned father’s health, a conversation that prompted the PCB to file a formal complaint with Sky. This is a ride I desperately want to get off, but the heart is tied to it. I expect it to break a little more in the coming days.

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