Sometimes it feels like we live in a country where talent is not lost — it’s murdered.
And its killers sit on TV, dressed in branded suits, selling lectures about “lack of potential.”
Shoaib Akhtar says, “Pakistan has no talent.”
He points at a few worn-out players and smirks, “Is this what you call talent?”
Shahid Afridi nods from another studio, saying,
“These young boys don’t have the fire we had!”
And the nation listens — helplessly — believing perhaps they are right.
But they are not.
Pakistan doesn’t lack talent — it lacks honesty, merit, and conscience.
Do you remember the Under-19 Asia Cup?
A boy named Shahzaib Khan smashed 120 against India and a breathtaking 162 against Sri Lanka.
He wasn’t just playing cricket — he was announcing the arrival of a future star.
But in the very next match, he was dropped.
Not because of form, not because of injury —
but because Misbah-ul-Haq’s son needed a spot in the playing XI.
Tell me, Shoaib Akhtar —
Do you have the courage to ask Misbah this question on air?
Can you ask him why a boy who conquered India was benched so his own son could open the innings?
No. You won’t.
Because your job is not to speak truth —
your job is to decorate lies.
And Afridi?
He talks about “spirit” and “aggression” but never mentions Aqif Javed —
the fast bowler who stunned everyone in New Zealand.
He never mentions Ali Raza, who had raw pace, perfect swing,
but no “connections.”
This is the cancer of our cricket —
a system built on favoritism, not fairness.
A place where performance dies young
and flattery grows old with dignity.
Our cricket board today is a closed shop.
Selections are made not on merit but on who dines with whom.
Coaches are those who never performed when they played,
and selectors are people who couldn’t even select themselves in their prime.
And then we have our so-called “cricket experts.”
Media clowns, chasing ratings.
One runs shows about players’ marriages,
another mocks salaries,
and yet another builds gossip around scandals.
No one dares to ask:
“What about those hundreds of boys sweating daily in Karachi, Lahore, and Rawalpindi academies?”
Where do their dreams go?
In nations where justice exists,
talent flourishes.
In nations where nepotism reigns,
talent dies — quietly.
Here, teams are not made by performance but by association.
Selectors whisper, “He’s good, but not one of ours.”
Coaches sigh, “He’s fit, but he has no backing.”
And we still ask why Pakistan cricket is collapsing?
Let’s be honest —
Pakistan is not short of talent.
It’s overflowing with corrupt gatekeepers.
These vultures hover over every young player,
sucking his confidence, eating his spirit,
until he either quits or disappears.
They couldn’t become legends themselves,
so they make sure no one else does either.
Shoaib Akhtar! Shahid Afridi!
You are icons, but if you can’t speak the truth,
at least stop selling lies.
Because this country is bursting with talent —
in every street, in every dusty academy,
in every barefoot boy who bowls with a taped tennis ball
and dreams of wearing a green jersey one day.
But as long as politics, favoritism, and selfishness block the way,
these dreams will remain dreams.
And the same TV “legends” will keep repeating,
“Pakistan has no talent.”
No, gentlemen —
Pakistan has talent.
It just doesn’t have honest hands to lift it.
This country didn’t run out of talent —
it ran out of integrity.
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