As the Pakistan Super League gears up for its milestone 10th edition, the air that once buzzed with anticipation and celebration feels eerily subdued. The league, set to begin on April 11 in Rawalpindi with defending champions Islamabad United facing Lahore Qalandars, finds itself in unfamiliar territory — struggling to win over its own people.
A total of 34 matches will be played across Rawalpindi, Lahore, Karachi and Multan, with the final set to take place at the iconic Gaddafi Stadium. But this time, the buzz is conspicuously missing. The energy that used to engulf the nation has been replaced with scepticism, disappointment and, in many cases, apathy.
And the reason isn’t hard to find.
I’ve given up on Pakistan cricket. Not spending even five rupees on PSL this year. Tell me, what’s left to watch? After that humiliation in New Zealand — losing seven out of eight games — we’re worse than Zimbabwe. Maybe even Fiji.
For fans like Junaid, who once made time to catch every Karachi Kings fixture, even the return of star opener Saim Ayub from injury doesn’t move the needle. “Saim’s great, but it’s not enough anymore. I’m not stepping into the National Stadium this season.”
Across town, Shamim Nazish, a college lecturer and self-confessed cricket romantic, echoed similar disenchantment.
The PSL now feels like a façade — a distraction cooked up by the PCB to pretend that Pakistani cricket is still thriving.I’ve cheered passionately in stadiums before, but not this time. I’m done being fooled.
This sense of disillusionment has seeped deep into the PSL’s traditional fan strongholds. In Multan, Dr Zaid Iqbal, a longtime supporter of Multan Sultans, won’t be attending any games this year — a stark contrast to his travel-packed PSL past.
“I used to follow Rizwan and the Sultans around the country. But if Rizwan can’t even lead Pakistan to a win at home during the Champions Trophy, why should I care about PSL performances?” he questioned. “It just doesn’t mean anything anymore.”
Even in Lahore — the beating heart of Pakistan cricket — the mood is gloomy.
We’re not even checking ticket prices. Sure, players like David Warner, Shai Hope and Rilee Rossouw are coming. But our local heroes — Babar, Shaheen, Naseem, Saud — they’ve all flopped when it mattered. Why should we cheer for them in the PSL?
His sister, Shireen, working in the tech sector, was even more blunt. “My time and money are too valuable to be wasted on glorified practice matches. Every team — even Zimbabwe and Bangladesh — has outclassed us in recent months. And what has PSL really given us? Shadab Khan? Hasan Ali? Iftikhar Ahmed? Players who crumble the moment they face quality opposition.”
Despite the PSL's achievements over the years — unearthing talent, hosting international stars, reviving local stadiums — the disconnect with fans appears more severe than ever. A decade on, what was once a symbol of national pride now risks becoming a victim of the very system it was meant to elevate.
As the lights come on at the Rawalpindi Cricket Stadium this Friday, there will still be music, fireworks, and social media buzz. But will the people turn up? That’s a question the PCB must answer — not with pyrotechnics or promotional jingles, but with genuine change in how the national game is run.
