Pakistan Squash - Blessing and Curse

 

At every gathering I attend, a familiar question echoes across the room: “Why is there no top squash player from Pakistan anymore? Where is the next Jahangir Khan? The next Jansher Khan?”

Before I can even draw a breath to answer, the well-intentioned theories fly. “Kids don’t want to work hard anymore.” “They just don’t have the same talent or drive.” The usual suspects—bad governance, lack of funds—are paraded out. But as a father and someone who lived and breathed the sport, I know these are wild guesses, missing the target entirely.

The truth is, our children are as resilient and hardworking as any generation before them. The problem does not lie with them. The problem lies with the system that is meant to guide them. Just as my daughters are a reflection of my parenting, and students a reflection of their coach, the state of Pakistani squash is a direct reflection of its governing body. Our players cannot have a goal or a vision greater than the one we set for them.

To understand the present, we must first remember the past.

I was a boy in the early 80s, watching the invincible Jahangir Khan dominate the world. My late uncle, passing by the television, told me I could be like him one day. The dream was seeded. Then, in the 90s, Jansher Khan emerged, and a legendary rivalry was born. We grew up on these stories of superhuman fitness and mental strength.

Growing up in Lahore, the squash scene was electric with raw talent. Tournaments like the Punjab Open were battlegrounds. I recall having to win five matches just to reach the first round—a feat equivalent to winning a 32-player draw. Players poured in from Karachi, Peshawar, Quetta, and Rawalpindi. The talent pool was so deep that I believe if every one of those players could have afforded a PSA membership, Pakistan could have had 50 of the world’s top 100 ranked players.

The tragedy is what happened next. Or, more accurately, what didn’t happen.

Jahangir and Jansher achieved their greatness almost in spite of the system, not because of it. Their unprecedented success created a dangerous illusion for the Pakistan Squash Federation (PSF): the belief that world champions would simply materialize out of thin air, without a plan. There was no strategy to find their successors. I witnessed countless gifted players, unable to find support or direction, leaving to take coaching jobs abroad to support their families. While we rested on our laurels, nations like Egypt were building sophisticated, pyramid-shaped systems to cultivate champions.

So, where did we fail? The answer lies in three fundamental cracks in our foundation.

1. The Leadership Void: A Federation Flying Blind
The PSF has long been dominated by officials, often from the Pakistan Air Force. While accomplished in their own fields, their lack of squash expertise is glaring. They inevitably rely on ‘legend’ ex-players, but this reliance has become a critical weakness. Many of these former stars have used their influence not to uplift the sport, but to benefit themselves and their inner circles. By the time a PSF Secretary begins to understand the landscape, they are often replaced, and the cycle of ignorance resets.

2. The Monopoly of Self-Interest
A culture of monopoly has taken root. Well-intentioned individuals are sidelined or pushed out. The system is designed to ensure that any young talent who might threaten the prospects of an official’s own kin receives no support. This is especially devastating for squash, where many aspiring champions come from humble backgrounds. Their parents, taking a huge gamble, depend on local squash bodies that are supposed to be volunteer-driven but are often run as personal fiefdoms.

3. A Flawed Election: Power Without Passion
Perhaps the most damning issue is how officials are chosen. The process often has nothing to do with merit or a love for squash. Positions are frequently inherited or awarded based on family connections or government rank. These are not people driven by a passion to revive a national sport; they are there for the prestige and power, and it shows in the results.

The Way Forward: Treating Squash Like a Business

We are a resilient nation. All is not lost, but revival requires a radical shift in mindset. We must stop hoping for a miracle and start building one.

We need to run the PSF not as a ceremonial club, but as a high-performance company. This means:

• Setting a Clear Vision: Define measurable goals (e.g., “5 juniors in the world’s top 50 within 5 years”).

• Hiring the Right People: Appoint leaders based on expertise in sports science, management, and coaching—not on connections.

• Implementing Accountability: Institute a system of checks and balances. Those who do not deliver on their objectives must be replaced.

The raw talent is still there, waiting in the cities and towns of Pakistan, just as it was in my youth. They have the hunger and the drive. What they lack is a system that believes in them enough to give them a fair shot.

The question is not, “Where is the next Jahangir Khan?” The real question is, “Are we willing to build a system worthy of finding him?”