Pakistan cricket’s latest chapter has unfolded like a never-ending reshuffle. Since their appearance in the 2022 T20 World Cup final in Australia, the side has cycled through five full-time captains, ten head coaches or team directors, and four chairmen of the Pakistan Cricket Board (PCB). Each change promised reform; each has deepened the sense of drift.
This turbulence has produced predictably grim results. Pakistan finished bottom in the last World Test Championship, while their white-ball teams have stumbled through three consecutive global tournaments without a semifinal berth, the most recent being a disappointing Champions Trophy at home.
They won some series recently, but remember South Africa sent their B team that played competitive cricket against Pakistan’s top players (Won 1 test and 1 T20I), and Sri Lanka has been struggling to win in Pakistan for 16 years now.
The inconsistency has stretched to Pakistan’s star performer too: Babar Azam, once cricket’s most prolific batter, recently went over two years without an international century—a barren run spanning 83 innings and equalling Virat Kohli’s longest dry spell. For the first time in six years, he has slipped out of the ICC’s top five rankings.
Words and Deeds: The Contradiction Within
Pakistan cricket often preaches self-reflection and intent but rarely practices it. Since Mike Hesson’s appointment as white-ball coach in May, the rhetoric has shifted to “clarity of roles” and “aggressive intent.”
Hesson sidelined Babar Azam and Mohammad Rizwan to rebuild the T20I setup around fearless batting. His philosophy valued batting depth over Pakistan’s traditional fast-bowling supremacy; he even declared Mohammad Nawaz “the best spin bowler in the world.”
Publicly, the PCB backed a brave new approach — batters were promised security if they attacked selflessly, even at the cost of occasional failures. Yet, what unfolded during the Asia Cup 2025 exposed the same old habits.
Asia Cup 2025: A Familiar Story of Collapse
Pakistan won against Oman, UAE, Bangladesh, and Sri Lanka — but against India, in every match, the structure crumbled. In their group-stage match against India, Pakistan imploded for 127, losing by seven wickets with 25 balls to spare.
The Super 4 clash followed the same template: a bright start with 90+ runs in the first 10 overs — courtesy of Farhan’s 50 off 34 balls — dissolved into mediocrity as Pakistan managed only 38 runs in the next seven overs, stalling at 170. India, again, chased comfortably inside 19 overs.
In the final, the script was identical — a flurry of early intent followed by paralysis. Pakistan mustered just 33 runs in the last seven overs, losing nine wickets. India triumphed again, emphatically proving the widening gulf between the two sides.
Empty Promises and Quick Abandonment
The Asia Cup aftermath was a study in contradiction. T20I captain Agha Salman had declared after the Bangladesh series:
“If Mohammad Haris, Hassan Nawaz, and Saim Ayub don’t turn into match-winners, I’ll consider it my failure.”
Weeks later, Haris and Hassan were dropped. The narrative of nurturing intent quickly gave way to reactionary selections. Experienced Fakhar Zaman and Hussain Talat were also axed, while Babar Azam and Usman Khan were recalled. The shuffle continues, yet the problems also persist.
Against a second-string South African side, Pakistan’s batting wilted in the 1st T20I — chasing a steep target, they folded meekly to lose by 55 runs. Former cricketer Mohammad Hafeez summed it up sharply on X (Twitter):
“Nothing wrong with the Pindi pitch, but the obvious difference is the standard of cricket. #PAKvSA. International league vs International team.”
Ironically, it took Babar Azam’s return — the very player deemed outdated — to rescue the series, as his half-century anchored Pakistan’s chase in the third T20I and helped them win the series.
The Illusion of Progress
For Pakistan fans, batting collapses have become an exhausting ritual — the pattern is so ingrained that the post-mortems now feel perfunctory.
Matches against India are no longer yardsticks of progress; they are painful reminders of the gulf in quality, composure, and planning.
Pakistan’s performances under Hesson were supposed to test their commitment to a modern, fearless T20 approach. Instead, they revealed an old truth: change in words, not in spirit.
The players talk about intent, but their cricket remains trapped in caution. Administrators talk about stability, yet every setback triggers another round of upheaval.
Pakistan cricket is at a paradoxical crossroads — armed with talent, yet crippled by mismanagement and systemic flaws; blessed with passion, yet haunted by politics.
Until the PCB resists its impulse for perpetual resets, no philosophy — whether “aggression,” “intent,” or “fearless cricket” — looks to stick.
The scoreboard from the Asia Cup may fade, but the pattern endures: a team chasing new blueprints without ever completing the old one.
