Viewed through the distorted prism that is Sky Sunrise, one can only sit hypnotically watching a patchwork quilt of grainy footage, shaken eyewitnesses and hastily assembled exports, whenever an event of eye-catching pathos unfolds somewhere on the planet. And yesterday was no different, only the news that ITV was shedding 500 jobs and floundering terribly (relayed with barely subdued glee) interrupting coverage of a horror morning in Lahore.

It’s difficult to see anyone but Rupert Murdoch as inspiration for media mogul Elliott Carver in Bond movie Tomorrow Never Dies every time Sky leeches onto anything that can be broadly labelled as tragedy; for all the intimacy of coverage, in a world conditioned to seek out every possible detail through the media, the resultant perspective of major events becomes skewered, the genuine tragedy overshadowed by the juicier news attractions.

And in a society calibrated by celebrity activity, where the big and the bold steamrolls the everyday onto the front pages, the Lahore attack followed suit. The story has been the Sri Lankan cricketers, and an outrageous attack that left the team awfully fortunate to escape with what would appear to be minimal injuries. Shaken, frightened, and in shock, no doubt — but still alive.

While the group responsible would clearly have revelled in some high-profile fatalities, however, their objective has still been met: Pakistan, tentatively trying to claw its way back onto the cricket circuit as a venue, is now pariah state once more, and a fractured country riddled with internal conflict of a most violent sort, is now ever more isolated from the international community, and thus more vulnerable to the influence of exactly the sort of forces who orchestrated the Lahore attack.

Yes, it’s a mortal blow for cricket — you’d rather play an invitational game at the Baghdad Oval right now than you would a Test match in Pakistan. But the real tragedy goes well beyond cricket: the game, rather than itself the victim, is instead a casualty of a far greater calamity. The attack, the end of cricket in Pakistan for the foreseeable future, the threat to the 2011 World Cup (scheduled for the sub-continent, Pakistan included), even the money-spinning Indian league, are all under threat.

But for all our love of the game, our obsession with cricket and the delight and despair it subjects us to, it remains just that: a game. Ultimately, seven high profile cricketers injured in a terrorist attack will seize the headlines, where the daily litany of hunger, poverty, war and starvation won’t; and while there’s a perverse sense of welcome to the distraction from today’s economic woes (and don’t Sky know it), it merely underlines the severity of a threat darker and more unpredictable than plunging markets and plummeting stocks.

There’s a gentle, touching irony in the Afghan Cricket Association sending out a message of condolence to Pakistan, as it did this morning, condemning the attack; few states have ever borne the drawn out turmoil of Afghanistan, but as the country attempts a slow, cautious rebuilding (and continues the making of a fairytale cricket team, one that has a slender chance of making that next World Cup, wherever it may be), so the neighbouring state faces a terribly uncertain future.

Cricket will go on in the rest of the world, bold statements will be made about not bowing to terrorists, and the Sri Lankans, safely extracted from Lahore, will recover, and go on to entertain us in other parts of the world. But the policemen killed in the attack have no second chance, and Pakistan looks a long way off seeing home cricket again, the team likely to be reduced to gypsy cricketers, playing anywhere but Pakistan. The country’s a no-go, visibly unstable and appearing dangerously anarchic — and that, rather than a brazen attack in broad daylight, is yesterday’s real story.

  • Contact Dan at dan@metropolis.co.za


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