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| Points table position after Multan-v-Karachi game played 2025-05-01 |
There’s a curious beauty in the absurd when you call a match “Karachi at home” and then plonk it firmly in Lahore, as if geography were nothing more than an optional add-on to our post-modern cricketing calendar. Yet that is precisely what transpired when Karachi Kings were dispatched to Qaddafi Stadium to face Multan Sultans—an itinerary so logically incoherent it would make even the most patient sudoku enthusiast weep.
into new arenas and lavish refurbishments for the 2011 World Cup—Dream XI stadiums in Ahmedabad, the iconic DY Patil in Navi Mumbai (picked by the Mumbai Indians alongside the Wankhede), and gleaming outposts in Bangalore and Kolkata. The result? Franchise owners could legitimately advertise “home advantage.” Here, we have “home” as an abstract concept—like Schrödinger’s stadium, both present and not.
Franchise cricket thrives on that home-and-away drama. It’s the lens through which fans invest emotionally: the roar of a partisan crowd, the familiar pitch quirks, the custard-cake aroma of the canteen that reminds you of childhood Saturdays. Strip that away, and you’re left with… fixture-filling. Today’s mash-up was less a match than the PCB’s attempt to pad the schedule—“We need a Karachi vs Multan game, but logistics are tricky, so let’s just call it good and call it Lahore.”
One might ask: “Why can’t Karachi Kings play in Karachi?” The PCB’s defense, in hushed tones, echoes through corridors of power: “Security. Infrastructure. Politics.” Yet the ink on those memos seems to evaporate when a handful of BCCI executives stroll through New Delhi airport. The same Lahore that fields two first-class teams, boasts the Gaddafi’s 27,000-seat capacity, and hosted the 1996 World Cup final somehow morphs into the go-to “neutral” ground whenever Sindh’s lights flicker.
The satire here writes itself: we cling to the romance of franchise cricket—this “brave new world” of T20 brands—while shackling ourselves to a duopoly of stadiums. It’s as if we commissioned Michelangelo to paint the Sistine Chapel, then told him we’ve run out of paint for the ceiling. One could almost admire the gall: advertise a “home” game you know won’t be held at home, and then lament the lack of “home-grown crowd energy.” You couldn’t script it better—or worse.
What’s the solution? Build more stadiums, of course. Encourage private and provincial partnerships to create mid-sized grounds in Hyderabad, Peshawar, even Faisalabad. Look to the 1975 World Cup, when venues as humble as the Old Wanderers in South Africa made their mark. Diversify our portfolio so that Karachi Kings don’t become perpetual nomads, forced to rent out friendlier turf. And for heaven’s sake, plan your fixtures six months in advance—announce “Karachi at National Stadium” and actually deliver.
Until then, every time the PCB releases its next “revised” schedule, prepare your best puzzled stare. Because in this version of franchise cricket, the only thing more artificial than the pitches is the notion of home itself. And isn’t it deliciously ironic that, when asked whose home game it really was, the answer remains a perfect 21st-century contrivance: it was the home game of whoever signed the itinerary.
