Lion of Pakistan: Imran Khan and His Team

Modern Test cricket often resembles a school playground, where batting bullies prey upon fragile, under-supported bowlers. Yet, even amid these lopsided contests, there are limits: inflated figures may bruise egos, but they do not break bones. The 1980s, however, were an entirely different era. West Indies fast-bowling juggernaut turned cricket into a battlefield, a relentless war of attrition where batsmen bore the brunt of leather-bound hostility. When England crumbled in just three days at Sabina Park in 1986, Wisden Cricket Monthly likened it to "cricket's equivalent to the Somme." 

And yet, amidst the wreckage, there was one team that refused to be trampled: Pakistan. In three fiercely contested Test series between the late 1980s and early 1990s, Pakistan managed something no other team could—they did not lose a series to the all-conquering West Indians. 

West Indies' reign during this period has rightly earned its place in cricket’s pantheon, standing alongside the Australians of the early 2000s, the Invincibles of 1948, the lost South Africans of the 1970s, and England's mid-1950s dominance. Yet, the one team they could not subdue—Pakistan—remains curiously absent from these hallowed discussions. While Imran Khan’s 1992 World Cup-winning "cornered tigers" are celebrated, their triumph lasted a mere fortnight. In contrast, the Pakistani Test side of the 1980s held its ground for nearly 15 years, crafting a legacy of resilience that remains underappreciated. 

The statistics alone tell a compelling tale. Pakistan was the only side to win a Test in the Caribbean during the 1980s and the only team to escape a series defeat there between 1974 and 1995. They won a Test series in India in 1986-87—an achievement unmatched by any visiting side between 1985 and 2000. Between 1982 and 1993, they did not lose a single Test series outside of Australasia, a region whose extra bounce posed the greatest challenge for subcontinental batsmen. During this 11-year golden era, Pakistan lost just 10 out of 80 Tests and maintained an imposing record at home, winning 18 out of 39 matches with only two defeats. 

Of course, no discussion of that era can ignore the spectre of home umpiring. Before the advent of neutral officials, Pakistan was often accused of being a fortress where visiting batsmen found it nearly impossible to get an LBW decision in their favour. While the statistics—164 LBWs for Pakistan versus 78 for their opponents in the 1980s—suggest a degree of imbalance, they do not diminish the achievements of this formidable side. 

The Architects of Defiance

At the heart of this team stood two titanic figures: Imran Khan and Javed Miandad. They were cricket’s ultimate yin and yang—Imran, the aristocratic leader, a stallion of charisma and discipline; Miandad, the street-fighting schemer, a master of psychological warfare. Between them, they embodied Pakistan’s cricketing soul—regal and rascally, cerebral and instinctive. 

But this was no two-man show. The batting was built on patience and pragmatism: Mudassar Nazar, Ramiz Raja, and Shoaib Mohammad could grind out innings with a resilience that made even Chris Tavare look enterprising. Miandad and the enigmatic Salim Malik provided the stroke-making class, with Imran adding steel at No. 7. Saleem Yousuf, a combative wicketkeeper-batsman, added further grit. 

Their bowling attack was even more fearsome. Imran and a young Wasim Akram formed a pace duo that could swing, seam, and reverse-swing the ball at speeds that stripped the paint off bats. Abdul Qadir, the sorcerer of leg-spin, wove spells at the other end. By 1990, Qadir had departed, but in his place emerged an even deadlier weapon—Waqar Younis, a whirlwind of raw pace and toe-crushing yorkers. 

If there was a weakness, it lay in the lack of a settled sixth batsman or a fourth specialist bowler. But such was the strength of the core that they carried these minor imperfections with ease. 

Forgotten Epics: The Wars with West Indies

Pakistan’s three-Test series against West Indies—1986-87, 1987-88, and 1990-91—were cricketing masterpieces, dramatic and intense affairs played on a knife’s edge. In an era dominated by batting-friendly surfaces, these were rare, low-scoring dogfights. They had the tension and artistry of an HBO drama: in four of the nine Tests, the first-innings difference was 25 runs or fewer, and only one innings in the entire trilogy crossed 400. 

The 1986-87 series began with a seismic shock. At Faisalabad, Pakistan overturned a first-innings deficit of 89 runs to win by 186, bowling West Indies out for just 53—their lowest total at the time—thanks to Imran’s 4 for 30 and Qadir’s mesmeric 6 for 16. The Caribbean response was emphatic: in the second Test, Pakistan was bundled out for 131 and 77. The final match was a war of attrition, ending in a grimly fought draw as Imran and Tauseef Ahmed survived the final 90 minutes to deny West Indies a series win. 

Seventeen months later, Pakistan once again seized the opening act, winning by nine wickets with Imran taking 11 wickets and Miandad crafting a seven-hour 114. The second Test ended in a last-gasp draw, with Abdul Qadir fending off the final five deliveries to prevent defeat. The series climaxed in a nerve-wracking thriller, where Pakistan, defending 266, reduced West Indies to 207 for 8. But Jeff Dujon and Winston Benjamin conjured an improbable escape, salvaging the West Indian aura. Ironically, it was Pakistan who left that series feeling aggrieved at the umpiring—Qadir, in frustration, even punched a heckler, later settling out of court to avoid legal trouble. 

By 1990-91, Pakistan had lost Qadir but gained Waqar. Once again, they struck first, winning the opening Test as Waqar claimed nine wickets. The pattern repeated: West Indies stormed back in the second Test, and Pakistan clung on in the decider. It was a familiar script, but one with an unmistakable message—Pakistan could not be broken. 

Imran’s Last Stand

Imran Khan loomed over these encounters like a warrior king in the twilight of his reign. Despite a body battered by years of toil, he played every single Test in these series—something even the mighty West Indies could not boast. No one came close to his 45 wickets at an astonishing average of 14.87. He added 356 runs at 32.36, often rescuing Pakistan when all seemed lost. 

At 38, this was his final great act in Test cricket. He walked away having never lost a series to West Indies, having stood toe-to-toe with the most feared team in history and refused to yield. 

Pakistan’s 1980s team was a study in contradiction—chaotic yet disciplined, flawed yet formidable, a band of mavericks who thrived in adversity. They may not have the official title of "greatest," but in the echoes of history, their defiance against the greatest side of all speaks louder than statistics ever could.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar