NICK FRIEND: Among the fields of Lodhran, an underrepresented outpost in rural Pakistan, sits the Tareen Cricket Academy, founded by Multan Sultans co-owner Ali Khan Tareen. Its role? To create opportunities in a part of the country where few exist.
Once upon a time in the not too distant past, Lodhran was a scarcely acknowledged outpost; it existed as an underrepresented district in a single-sport nation starved of top-level cricket.
The Pakistan Super League, set up as a source of pride, was played out abroad; only since 2017 have the latter stages returned home, with finals held in Lahore and Karachi.
It is more than ten years since a bus carrying the Sri Lanka national side was attacked by gunmen. International cricket has now come back to the country and, between late February and mid-March, so too will the PSL finally fully take place in its rightful home.
It almost goes without saying that writing about cricket is not a chore. Never, however, has it been as great a privilege as this.
Along a dusty highway that leads ultimately to Lahore, there lies an innocuous turning onto a narrow dirt-track. Children stroll down the main road to their schools and horses pull their owners on wooden carts, while motorbikes and cars jostle for position. It is a scene of peaceful calm in this rural corner of Imran Khan’s Pakistan. Around the bend, a sideroad leads to a vast acreage of sugarcane, wheat, cotton and mango trees that stretches as far as the eye can see.
And then, among the undisturbed greenery, one field sticks out. It carries no unnecessary grandeur, no sparkling lights that might bring extra attention to its existence: just a sign offering visitors an unpretentious welcome to the Tareen Cricket Academy. It is fitting that it should infiltrate the swathes of cropland that surround it. In this region, this is an accurate metaphor – the birth and subsequent rise of a cricket academy in the midst of a socio-geographical void, where little else exists.
The ground – and all that it represents – is the brainchild of Ali Khan Tareen, part of a family that has enjoyed success in the farming industry and Pakistani politics, a young man desperate to give back to his community.
The project works in association with Multan Sultans, the PSL team co-owned by Tareen. In the murky world of franchise cricket, where success is measured by trophies and the immediacy of glory, here lives a rare exception. If the principle of altruism is truly impossible, then this runs that theory close.
The philosophy is simple: to turn the middle of nowhere into the middle of somewhere, to give something to those who have nothing, to improve the national player pool. Everything about the initiative is, quite simply, superb.
Until Shoaib Bilal made his Quaid-e-Azam One Day Cup debut in 2018, Lodhran had never produced a first-class cricketer. “This place is like heaven for us,” he says, fighting through a buildup of tears and gazing around a field that just five years ago was an unlikely fantasy.
“At local clubs, we wouldn’t even get to bat. Out here, not only do we get a chance to work on our skills, we have this ground to implement whatever we’re working on.”
The Cricketer has been invited to spend the week watching over one of the academy’s weeklong, semi-regular camps. David Parsons, previously England Cricket’s performance director and one-time spin bowling coach, and South African Gio Colussi, a specialist batting coach, are heading this instalment. Jonty Rhodes, Gareth Batty, Azhar Mahmood, Mushtaq Ahmed and Ian Pont have all been out here in recent times.
As daylight disappears, the sun drops rapidly. A clear blue sky is replaced by a thick fog, before the late afternoon dusk shines a bright red through the evening haze. In the distance, the chimney from a nearby factory shoots a stream of smoke upwards. The scene is idyllic and the temperature – for so long perfect for cricket – tumbles dramatically as nightfall quickly takes charge.
And still, spinners twirl away in the middle, batsmen exchange further throwdowns in the four purpose-built nets and fielders hurl catches at one another as the visibility fades. The vast majority of the academy youngsters are local to the area; the rest of those who attend the camps are from all over the country and are known to Tareen, who simply wants to help. They are ferried from wherever they may be, put up in the guesthouse adjoined to his own home and driven to and from each session. Zeeshan Malik, a rising star of Pakistani batsmanship – he made a first-class double hundred in October, has undertaken a nine-hour bus ride just to be part of it.
And it’s free. Tareen wants nothing in return – only smiles, happiness and a world in which these youngsters have a chance. He has created a dream factory; not all of them will come true, but he has given these youngsters – often disenfranchised and ignored by wider society – an opportunity to believe in a better future and in themselves.
Ali Khan Tareen, who co-owns Multan Sultans, founded and runs the academy
“What Ali has set up is something that is incredible,” Batty reflects. “For some of the guys, it is a way out of a very difficult life.”
The Surrey off-spinner was overcome with emotion as he said his goodbyes at the conclusion of his stint and he left a major impression on the young players. “Part of it hasn’t fully sunk in yet and I don’t think it will for a period of time,” he confesses.
“I think it probably sums up where the country is and where the people within it are; they are desperate for that bond and that backing from an outsider. Life can be very hard there. I suppose we’re used to lots of opportunities and it’s whether you’re lazy or proactive as to whether you take or don’t take these opportunities, whereas they are starved of opportunity. If they believe someone is going to invest in them, they jump at it with both hands and they don’t want to let it go.
“Being out there made me a more rounded person. I just think I look back on the whole thing with incredibly fond memories. There’s no negative to any side of it. It’s an amazing thing. We take a lot for granted in our normal lives. I certainly don’t take things for granted anymore. It makes you a better human being, if you’re being brutal about it.”
Multan’s PSL franchise has given the city a brand and a sense of being that, perhaps, it didn't previously possess. And Tareen is at its heart; he lives locally and often returns from his travels with new cricket equipment for the academy’s youngsters. He leaves with their shoe sizes and brings back bowling boots. Fresh yoghurt comes from his dairy farm to provide vital protein for those whose home lives prevent even these basics.
“I think this is phenomenal,” adds Adnan Malik, a Pakistani actor and director, who is working on a project with the initiative.
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“It’s amazing that these disenfranchised, forgotten kids of Lodhran are getting access to world-class coaches. It’s a beautiful thing to see.
“It’s going to be hugely impactful; Ali’s got the resources and the passion to make it happen.
“With Ali around, there’s a role-modeling that’s happening. In the academy, he hangs around them like an older brother. What I like is that it’s just merit-based – and nothing in this country is just merit-based. I think his intentions are really pure.”
The hope is that many will make a career of cricket – whether that be in the colours of Pakistan or through a revamped domestic structure. The PSL is simply a further platform with the power to change lives. Short of that, the academy has opened eyes to different roles – in scoring, umpiring and coaching.
Mohammad Ilyas, a bustling seamer and terrific fielder with a Sultans contract, and Umer Khan, a 20-year-old left-arm spinner, are two attending this camp. Khan, who represents Karachi Kings and whose personal rise is a fairy-tale in itself, was named as the emerging player of the tournament in 2019. Neither are from the area, but Tareen wants to see them improve. Were it not for a national team camp overlapping, many more would be here.
“Even in Peshawar, people praise Ali’s work a lot,” explains Ilyas, who is originally from the country’s northern tip.
“They all tell me that I am lucky that Ali got a franchise team because he supports young players. Here, everyone loves him because we know him more. He actually does it. It’s not one of those things where he says that he supports young cricketers. He actually supports young cricketers.”
Until 2018, no one born in Lodhran had ever played first-class cricket in Pakistan
Ilyas has impressed all those who have seen him in action – he is jovial, respectful and addicted to the game. And then there is Umar Siddique, a 27-year-old left-hander, a veteran of two PSL campaigns, but without a contract this time around. He is back among the ranks in Lodhran, working on his game – no ego, no special requests, no visible frustration at being let go by his franchise; just a disarming humility and a desire to learn.
They are just a few examples, but all share a common dream; they want to make something of their cricket. They want to represent their country, to become national heroes. While Saraiki is their first language, several understand English, though few have the self-confidence to converse without the help of a translator. There is Humayun Altaf, a mightily impressive 19-year-old – a fine cricketer and the kind of outstanding character that each community needs. Faisal Akram is just 16 years old; he bowls impeccable left-arm wrist-spin. Remember the name.
Mehboob Ahmed, a fresh-faced off-spinner with a picture-book action, is another. Not once does the 18-year-old appear without a smile on his face; he is one of several siblings, all of whom are fully educated but struggling for jobs. They have made the decision to give up their evenings to tutor disadvantaged locals for free, acknowledging that education should exist as a right, rather than a privilege. “I would have left cricket without the academy,” he says, in a manner that is both unfailingly polite and positive. “It has given me a great opportunity.”
When not playing, he is helping his father to make ends meet at the family’s roadside stand, which sells peanuts. Life isn’t easy, but you would never know it.
“I do it so my father can get some rest,” he says. “As soon as I leave here, I go back home to drop off my kit and then I head to the stand, so he can go and rest. We’re a team.”
Working with the best coaches around the world at the #TareenSportsAcademy to develop the future of Pakistani Cricket!#JanoobKiPehchaan pic.twitter.com/7VhFTRmo1T
— Tareen Sports Academy (@TareenAcademy) January 19, 2020
Ahmed was among the first players ever to join the project and his improvements have earned him a spot in Southern Punjab’s Under-19 side. He proudly wears their maroon shirt throughout as he picks Parsons' brain. He idolises Nathan Lyon and his approach to the crease is a mirror image of the Australian.
The collective enthusiasm is an inspiration – often in spite of difficult personal tales. The academy runs on four days each week; in this part of the country, employment opportunities are not easy. Cricket has given a meaning to each morning, afternoon and evening: if you improve and perform, doors will be opened. Tareen has arranged deals for players to play club cricket in England, while in December he took a side to take part in a US tournament.
There is nothing to see here that is not truly heart-warming: a rare camaraderie, a mutual respect that runs through each and every relationship, a sheer appreciation towards those who are here to help. Every hand is shaken, every ball and every cone picked up, each minute exploited, not a moment wasted.
The initiative has presented cricket as a realistic pathway; until now, it has posed a tough conundrum, especially in underrepresented, humble areas like this, where bread-winning is vital. Quite simply, the crevice between success and failure in Pakistani cricket is enormous – reaching the top brings an unbridled celebrity and wealth.
Shahid Afridi holds national icon status, Imran Khan has gone one step further. They outdo popstars and film actors. In a cricket system that until recently has been without solid foundations and often reliant on nepotism and personal contacts, those who fall short are left with nothing.
There is an awkward equilibrium to maintain; parents don’t want their children focusing on cricket. For when they are playing, they are said to be wasting their own time and that of their family. In a corner of the nation conditioned to a lack of opportunities, there is a perception that this is a distant pipedream and a self-centred, delusional endeavour. To play cricket is to fail to provide for the family. It is a dilemma that has led to strained relationships.
Former England Cricket performance director David Parsons and South African batting coach Gio Colussi ran this instalment of the academy's camps
Sazuddin ‘Sazu’ Khan, a hard-hitting batsman with an extraordinary joie de vivre, is one such case. His father owns a successful local restaurant, which has created a tension between the pair. Ordinarily, Khan would slip into the family business. Cricket, however, has given him his own route and his own ambition, putting them at loggerheads.
“If this academy was not there, I would definitely have gone into the restaurant,” he explains. “My father was not that supportive of me playing cricket and being into it. He says that cricket is of no use and that it doesn’t give me a future, so I have to be at the restaurant.
“But I have started to realise that I am quite good and that, actually, I can become something in cricket. The restaurant is not the final thing; it is something that is there and is running, but as an individual I have something I want to do in life. I don’t just want to sit at the restaurant. It’s there. It’s okay. If I’m there, it is still running, but if I’m not there, it also runs.
“I used to be playing a match and I’d get a call from my father that I had to go back and leave the match and go back to the restaurant. I’d go home, change my clothes and then go to the restaurant so my father didn’t know that I’d been playing cricket.
“I want to show him that I have a bit of talent and that he needs to support me in cricket. I’m not the usual guy just playing on the streets. I want to do it, so I can prove my father wrong.”
Recently, Malik visited the restaurant as part of his documentary project. He told the father of his son’s cricketing talent; it was a meeting that has changed the family outlook. He has since become more supportive and more open to his son’s dream, as if he required the validation of a third party.
“That’s really nice to hear,” Malik admits, when told of the impact of his meeting. “There are such communication gaps between generations and I see that. Luckily, I get to come and – I guess being something of a celebrity – I’m looked at and am able to say something that might be able to bridge gaps.
“I think what happens is that there is so much poverty and inequality that people then ask why you’re following a pipedream. Sport is traditionally still looked at as a way of shirking responsibility because when kids start playing cricket, they are not at home doing chores.
“Kids are going out to play but what happens here in a poorer society is that when a boy or girl is of working age, which is like 13 or 14, they should work. Even schooling is something that’s not necessarily supported. If kids are out playing sport, they are not participating in the chores. From there, the wrap that cricket gets is that it’s a distraction from doing something that’s real or that can help bring in money.
“With tape-ball cricket, for example, you can easily play and you’re not that invested in it. You can even make a little bit of money off it on the side, but it’s still a hobby. But when you get into hard-ball training, you need facilities, you need money, you need a diet. If you’re really trying to make it, it’s not cheap at all.
“Even the cost of a bat or gloves or pads – these are like monthly salaries for some of these people. So then, they think: ‘What are the chances of me really making it?’ Kids want to believe that they can, but it’s about how much you love the game. There’s a lot of sacrifices to be made.”
Back from a week in Pakistan, taking in the phenomenal work of @TareenAcademy, talking to its youngsters & those behind the project.
— Nick Friend (@NickFriend1) January 21, 2020
Writing about cricket is no chore, but it has never been as great a privilege as this. A truly remarkable experience.
Plenty of pieces to come... pic.twitter.com/NjsnmLNohN
It is a fascinating internal conflict, but one that Tareen has changed – certainly in this part of Pakistan. Being part of the academy is a full-time role; Humayun – the club captain – describes himself in his Twitter bio as a ‘professional cricketer at TCA’.
The presence at these camps of Bilal, Khan, Ilyas, Malik and Siddique have helped in this regard. All five have played at first-class level.
They are proof of what is possible, evidence that good things happen to good people. None have changed since their own successes, and comradeship trumps personal gain. They are desperate to learn; they have received so little formal coaching along their cricketing journeys that each foreign coach represents a fountain of knowledge to be milked dry.
Bilal is especially impressive. You get the sense that he has only recently begun to understand his own significance and all that he symbolises. The first player from his region to play first-class cricket, he is being groomed for a coaching role at the academy – not solely so he can pass on his own experiences, but so there is a job in cricket awaiting him going forward. It is the least he deserves. His eyes well up as he looks back on his own journey. It has been tough. Really tough. That he can recall his run-tallies dating back to his very beginnings in hard-ball cricket is a reminder of how much all this means.
“Initially I never thought I would be a cricketer,” he reflects. “Everybody has this fear that they’ll have to put a cart up and sell vegetables or something like that. I didn’t do my studies. I didn’t learn any craftsmanship-type skills.
“The truth is that, in this city, parents bring their kid into this world so that he or she can earn money for them.”
Without overplaying all this, cricket is life. Where many of these young men have little else to push for, they are treated as equals within the four walls of Tareen’s academy.
There is no place for seniority, favouritism or reputational bias. The youngsters spend close to 10 hours each day on this unique field. Why? Because it is bliss – a paradise that exists for them like nowhere else in Lodhran, one of the country’s poorest districts.
“Why do you think they never leave?” Malik asks. “This is the best thing for them. If you go to their homes, they have nothing. Here, they are invested. Outside of here, nobody really listens to them because they are kind of invisible. There are seven or eight in a family; they play cricket so they are already kind of an outcast.
“When I ask them what they’d be doing if they weren’t playing cricket, they say they’d be tending to the fields or having a milk business – not even a business really, or would be working in someone’s house. They would be staff. It’s different when you see them here – you see them as equal, whereas when you go to their house, you see how tough their situations are. All these guys have to fight battles to be able to play cricket.”
While I am there, it is announced that five members of Bangladesh’s coaching staff have opted out of their tour of Pakistan, citing security concerns. It is a shame. That much is undoubted. It is impossible to spend in a week in the company of these young men and not feel both wholly inferior and completely in awe.
They carry a remarkable mental strength, they smile even when their personal situations demand otherwise, they are thankful to a world that has not always been kind to them. They deserve top-level cricket back in their nation.
As the camp comes to a close, Abdul – a young leg-spinner who lives almost next door to the academy – walks over to say his goodbyes.
“I hope you enjoyed Pakistan,” he smiles with a glorious innocence. “Thank you for coming to my country.” The pleasure, more than ever before, was all mine.
Feature image credit: Adnan Malik
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