When I heard that Netflix had just released a four-part documentary titled The Greatest Rivalry: India vs Pakistan, I felt my pulse quickening. Turning off my phone, locking myself in, and a couple of hours of binge-watching while mouthing some choice words confirmed my worst fears. As I went down the YouTube rabbit hole to purge myself of the low-quality click-bait I’d watched and to remind myself that what the world was going to watch wasn’t what had actually happened, I was reminded of an African proverb:
As long as the lion can’t write, the hunter keeps telling his side of the story.
The Netflix documentary falls woefully short both as a sports drama and as a documentary narrative by offering a bland and distorted recounting of an iconic rivalry.
To say that this Netflix-version of what constitutes the Pakistan-India cricket rivalry would be like saying that the post-2000s Bulls and Pistons rivalry represents everything there is to know about the rivalry. You don’t talk about the Bulls without mentioning Jordan, Pippen, Rodman or Thomas, Dumars, and Laimbeer. Would you talk about the Ashes and focus only on one year? Would you omit Botham, Waugh, Warne, Vaughn, Flintoff, Pietersen, and so many others and still claim to give a fair account of the competition?
Look, I get the point that for an Indian, their victories would be more cherished just as I remember more of our victories. But when you claim to make a documentary and a definitive one with a title such as that, you can’t whitewash large chunks of it and hope to represent the whole thing.
Not only would that be a lie, but it would be a disservice to both teams. Some of the most memorable performances by players from both teams have come in heartbreaking losses. I’m sure, like myself, many Pakistanis have not forgotten the closely fought losses to India or stopped loving our players. That’s the whole essence of competition: to strive and give it your all, win or lose because tomorrow is another day to avenge the defeat.
To give you an example, I remember being inconsolable for weeks after the World Cup ’96 quarterfinal loss to India and Venkatesh Prasad’s riposte to Sohail. I wasn’t the only one who had nightmares. Morale got so low at one point that our boarding school principal had to request the Imam to focus the Friday sermon on dealing with loss during sporting events.
I don’t know if it was his words that did the trick — I usually slept through most of the sermons — but like most Pakistanis, our demons were exorcized the way they’re supposed to, with the bat. To watch Saeed Anwar’s otherworldly innings of 194 in the Independence Cup in 1997 was to be born again.
How can you talk about a rivalry that doesn’t mention Miandad’s last ball six in the Australasia Cup of ’86, Afridi’s consecutive sixes off Ashwin in the 2014 Asia Cup, or the ten-wicket mauling during the 2021 T20 World Cup or the ’99 Test series?
I need to stop myself before I go down the rabbit hole again. But the point is, it says something about the nature of the rivalry: two decades into what is the worst slump of Pakistan Cricket, the head-to-head against India still favors Pakistan in all formats except for T20s
And overall, even after losing badly for the past decades, there’s still quite a lot of daylight between the two. This puts Pakistan’s dominance in perspective when you recall the Gavaskars, Tendulkars, Gangulys, Sehwags, and Dravids who saw Pakistan when they were absolute monsters.
To not mention the aura of Imran Khan, the chutzpah of Miandad, the silky blade of Anwar, the demolition of Akram, Younis, Inzamam, and the list goes on, is an absolute travesty. How can one series in 2004 depict the level and magnitude of what constitutes this fierce rivalry?
Even if we’re talking from the point of view of the political aspect and the crowds, why not show the opposite end of the coin when Pakistan toured India? What about that victory lap after the nail-biting thriller at Chennai’99 when even the Indian fans gave a standing ovation to the visitors?
How about 2013, when a down-on-its-luck Pakistan defeated a MS Dhoni-led India, featuring Kohli, Sharma, Ashwin, Raina, and even Yuvraj in 2013? What about Afridi’s 45-ball century at Kanpur during Pakistan’s tour of India in 2005? The omissions are endless and glaring.
Take your pick.
Not even mentioning the Champions Trophy 2017 reveals this for what it is: a one-sided PR piece. And that brings us to the African proverb that flips the notion of history being recorded by victors. In today’s digital media age, whoever wields the loudest mouthpiece can subvert the truth and pander it off as gospel.
Ultimately, The Greatest Rivalry: India vs. Pakistan got only one thing right. There is no rivalry quite like this in competitive sports. As fans and as Pakistanis, let’s use this woeful excuse, which is another example of how, just like in the movies, our brothers from other mothers never get us right. With the Champions Trophy about to begin, let’s use this as fodder to show them what they got wrong about this rivalry.
Let’s roar to let the hunter know we’re ready.
About the Author: Muhammad Ali Bandial is an award-winning author and an avid cricket fan. He has written for Forbes, Khaleej Times, Plot Twist Media, and Collider.
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