Happy PSL everybody!

The floodlights at Gaddafi Stadium still work. There are a lot of narratives tied up and ensconced within the successful conduct of the Pakistan Super League final. For many of us, it represents a transition for Pakistan.

Remember, this had become a place where pining for normalcy had become an act of courage. It made you an optimist, this yearning for the normal. Just to want to live in a normal place was kind of bold back in 2009, 2010, and 2011. What’s normal? Where the electricity supply isn’t shambolic, where people can attend a mosque without nervously looking at fellow worshippers entering the door, where families can go to the stadium to watch magnificent athletes do their thing on the field. Normal.

Some would ask if it is normal for there to be a national debate about whether there is any utility in Lahore hosting a match between teams that are from Peshawar and Quetta – mostly in name only. To them I’d say, ask a Peshawari what it feels like to watch the name of their city sewn on the chests of world-class athletes – Pakistani and foreign. Ask a Quettawal what it’s like to see the name of a city that bleeds to this day, shine in gold embossing. What it feels like to have that once idyllic, whimsical town engaged in a contest – one-sided as it ultimately was – to win a major trophy.

And major it is. In only two years, the PSL has grown into a bit of sleeper hit. The Sri Lanka attack in Lahore was meant to bury hope in Pakistan. Less than a decade later, we’re rolling out cheap and unseemly versions of the Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders as well as any other domestic league do. And we’re doing it in style, in Dubai and Sharjah. Never mind the haters, here comes Pakistan. Again.

Najam Sethi. There are lots of things people can and do say about Sethi. So is this: Pakistan hasn’t had a product like PSL since Naz Pan Masala. It is a multitudinous delight. Sethi revels in the spotlight, but I am increasingly convinced that the resentment many people show against him fuels his ambition.

From caretaker chief minister to the Pakistan Cricket Board and now this monster hit called the PSL. If his critics had a problem with the classic smug NS stare into the camera before, they’re going to need to turn off their televisions now. He’s hit a huge six.

Shahbaz Sharif. The easy thing after the Y-Block explosion would have been to relent and pack it in. The risk was not only to Gaddafi Stadium, but to the ECO Summit as well. There is little doubt that the recent wave of terror was deliberate, and was meant to be a shot to the solar plexus. It was supposed to have scared off the attendees of the ECO Summit in Islamabad (as emphatic a CPEC/CAREC coming out party as you will ever get), and it was supposed to have scared off the players and management of the PSL. There is no such thing as foolproof security in the age of terror – and, for me at least, every successful outing is a blessing from God – but how about Shahbaz Sharif? In addition to the record-fast times for urban infrastructure, the Punjab bureaucracy and the police now have the hands-on experience of running an A-List event from top to bottom. No one can claim that he is the only one who could have pulled off the PSL

final after everything that had happened at Charing Cross, in Charsadda, at Sehwan Sharif and at Y-Block. Yet time and time again, his hands-on, all systems-go (away) pedal to the metal approach has yielded results. It is easy to nitpick, in the rear-view mirror. But so much could have gone wrong before, during and immediately after the #PSLFinalLahore. It didn’t. We have Shahbaz Sharif, his key DMG/PAS officers and the Punjab police to thank for that.

The team behind PSL. There are a number of young stars that had to be discovered for the PSL to be the hit that it is. It is the players and owners upon whom the spotlight shines brightest. But two of the less heralded superstars are behind the scenes: Shoaib Naveed and Faisal Mirza. Both are professionally invested, professionally qualified sports management people. Both are passionate, articulate, hardworking and patriotic. Both must take a bow for being such amazing servants for Pakistan. Any accolades the PSL gets are not complete without a celebration of the contributions of Messrs Naveed and Mirza in the conceptualisation and execution of the PSL vision. Many others I will miss out on, but the few that I can think of that also deserve special mention include Hassan Cheema, Rehanul Haq, Ali Naqvi and, of course, the charismatic owner of Peshawar Zalmi, Javed Afridi.

The naysayers that wanted to cancel Lahore’s plans to host the final were not entirely wrong. The risks were substantial. Even with twice as much preparation as what was put into the PSL, something could have gone wrong. Another gas cylinder in the vicinity of Gulberg might have exploded. A Daesh supporter with more sophistication than the average caveman version may have slipped through security. A major star could have fallen ill on bad food on the flight from Dubai to Lahore. It could have rained. The generators could have blown up. Afghanistan may have triggered a conflict at Torkham. India could have lit up the LoC. President Trump could have tweeted something about the Pakistan Army. Really. Anything untoward could have happen. And it may still happen. It could happen anytime.

And that really is, in a nutshell, where we are. PSL Final or not. We are a transition society, a transition polity and a transition economy. So yes, I am firmly in the CPEC camp. Being firmly in the ‘four percent growth camp’ is better than negative growth camp. And yes, the ‘I am in the eight percent growth camp’ is where we should really be. And I can occupy these camps without prejudice to the reasonable Pakistani brothers and sisters that are in the “wait, but how expensive is CPEC in the long run camp” and “wait, how much debt are we taking on to finance this new real estate and consumption bubble”. We can occupy our respective camps without turning on each other. We can criticise public policy without impugning the integrity of those that don’t criticise what we are outraged by or those that do criticise what we are not outraged by.

But this is a complicated and tiring journey, and though we are only at the start, I am already exhausted. We all are. It took us almost a decade to get half a dozen stars back to Pakistan for a Pakistan-branded event. Why are we celebrating something that should be routine? Because we aren’t normal, and it isn’t routine. Nothing in Pakistan has been or could be. Not since 1978, or 1971, or 2007, or 1988, or even 1947.

It is OK for us to put aside our bitterness and biases once in a while. It is OK for us to celebrate the extraordinary. It is OK for us to be over the top about some normalcy. The PSL is an arguably elite indulgence and it is undeniably a distraction from our poverty, our low education outcomes, our shameful treatment of women and children and our complex civil-military disequilibrium. It is OK for us to take a deep breath and stop beating ourselves up. The terrorists do a pretty good job of beating us up – as do hateful citizens of neighbouring countries, the governments of those countries and bitter people at home.

It is OK for us to smile at all of them and just enjoy both the champion Zalmis of Peshawar, starring a delightful St Lucian named Darren, and the vanquished Gladiators of Quetta. Happy PSL to all Pakistanis and to all cricket fans around the world.

The writer is an analyst and commentator.