The ball was racing towards the boundary, and a fielder stopped it and threw it back, where Saim Ayub was positioned. He slipped, and the weight fell on his ankle, breaking it. Saim was in such pain that he held onto Babar Azam’s hand, unable to control his tears. Those 30 seconds changed his life.
Before this, his career had been soaring. Not only was he a regular opener in white-ball cricket, but he had also cemented his place in Tests. He even received a record $250,000 offer for the PSL. The “Nolook shot,” once criticized, had now become his signature, drawing comparisons to Saeed Anwar. Selectors decided they no longer needed “rebellious” Fakhar Zaman, who defied orders by tweeting in favor of Babar Azam. Fans were eager for a glimpse of Saim , and commentators were full of praise. But those 30 seconds turned everything upside down.
The batter who had become Pakistan’s mainstay was now seen walking with crutches. This is life—seconds or minutes can change everything. Reports suggest Saim might recover in six weeks, but the injury seems serious. PCB made a wise decision to send him to England for treatment, avoiding reliance on their medical panel, which has previously ruined many careers.
Amidst spending on various areas, investing in a talented cricketer like Saim is sensible. Pakistan will need him in the Champions Trophy. A Fakhar-saim opening partnership would be a sight to behold, but the real question is when he’ll return to the field.
In cricket, like in life, nothing is certain. Today’s hero can be tomorrow’s zero. Even in India, Virat Kohli was once worshipped but now faces calls for retirement. Rohit Sharma, once a team stalwart, is now being cast aside.
Recently, I spoke with a cricketer about the lack of rest due to national duties and league commitments. He said, “Saleem bhai, our careers are short. Players used to play for 10-15 years and draw salaries from their departments for life. Now, we don’t even know when we’ll be dropped. Out of sight, out of mind.”
He was right. Take Babar Azam, for example. Pakistan finally got a true superstar, celebrated by fans and media alike as “King Babar.” But when his bat fell silent, even compliments stopped. Critics branded him a “Zimbabar,” claiming he only performed against Zimbabwe. Thankfully, his form returned, or else we’d soon see him analyzing matches on TV.
This isn’t limited to players. Consider PCB chairpersons. Just a few years ago, Ramiz Raja, Zaka Ashraf, and Najam Sethi wielded significant power. Now, no one cares. Journalists once waited hours at Gaddafi stadium doors for statements, but today even minor news about them is rare.
The same pattern applies to selectors. Aaqib Javed, Azhar Ali, and Asad Shafiq, once teammates, now exhibit authoritarian behavior, forgetting their shared past. PCB has a way of changing good individuals, turning them into “bosses” who treat others like subordinates, forgetting that many have occupied their seats and faded into obscurity.
This is human nature—success blinds us. Selectors, coaches, PCB officials, or anyone else must remember that life’s transformative moments can happen to anyone. Staying grounded and treating others with respect can help weather tough times and pave the way for comebacks. But if arrogance takes over, one might spend the rest of their life reminiscing about better days.
If only we could learn from others’ mistakes and improve ourselves, life would be more fulfilling. Unfortunately, no one is willing to learn. It only dawns on us later:
“I thought I was important, but it was just my delusion.”