Getting run out is a habit Mohammad Yousuf cannot seem to shake © Getty Images

If you watched the first ODI between New Zealand and Pakistan sitting somewhere in Pakistan, you would have heard a collective national groan when Pakistan’s total was 57 for 2. At that point, Mohammad Yousuf tapped a ball straight into the hands of short cover and took off for a single. That’s “short” cover, mind you – meaning that the fielder was well within the circle and ideally positioned to block the single. Nor was the fielder some uncoordinated slack. Yousuf has picked out the spry Martin Guptill, who nailed the stumps at the bowling end with a direct smash.

The groan preceded the run-out, because we all understood in a flash what was about to happen. The one person who appeared not to have grasped the moment, from the looks of it, was Yousuf himself.

The theory of running between the wickets is straightforward, and it has not changed in a hundred years. “One point in which many otherwise excellent cricketers fail is in the matter of judging runs,” wrote Ranjitsinjhi in The Jubilee Book of Cricket, published in 1897, anticipating the likes of Yousuf by over a century. The general idea is to play the ball into a gap and call your partner. If you play the ball towards a fielder, then the fielder should be some distance away for you to risk a run. Your vocabulary should be limited to “yes”, “no”, and “wait”.

Yousuf’s interpretation of running between the wickets represents a variation on this theme. His baffling strategy is to play the ball straight to a close-in fielder and take off. His vocabulary appears to consist of “yes”, “no”, and “wait” and “let us discuss when we meet in the middle of the pitch”. The result has been enough heart-wrenching run-outs to leave permanent psychological scars on an already jolted fan base.

A run-out is such a needless death. Why a highly accomplished batsman would keep throwing away his wicket like this beggars belief. It is clear, though, that it is a habit he cannot seem to shake. With Yousuf, this suicidal act has happened so often that you keep dreading the imminent whenever he is at the crease.

The typical scenario is a full-length delivery pitching just outside off. Yousuf bends forward and taps the ball towards cover or cover point. His action ends up almost being a lunge, in which Yousuf’s weight shifts so far forward that the process of standing up forces him to take a stride. The act of playing the stroke and setting off for a run merge into a seamless continuum.

Normally, a complex mix of variables goes into the decision of whether or not to run. Shot trajectory, field placement, fielder quality, consent of the non-striker, and indeed even the match situation enter into the calculation. In Yousuf’s case, it seems, the only real consideration is how far forward his centre of gravity has shifted. Now that I’m already afoot and out of the crease - he seems to be thinking - I might as well go for a run.

Out of 222 completed ODI innings, Yousuf has been run out 38 times, which amounts to 17% of all his dismissals. Put another way, every 6th dismissal for Yousuf is a run-out. If you want a comparison, this figure is more than twice the rate for Sachin Tendulkar, for whom only every 12th ODI dismissal is a run-out. The best way to master any endeavour is to learn from the experience each time something goes wrong. Yousuf has had ample experience in making mistakes while running between the wickets, but the only mastery he has shown is in refusing to learn from them.

Like a wildfire spewing flames towards the sky, it erupts uncontrollably when the mix is right. All you need are a few passionate and opinionated Pakistan fans, an atmosphere of spirited contention, and someone willing to light the match. As you can imagine, in Pakistan this isn't asking for much, and so the great debate erupts frequently and fervently.

Most people know instinctively which side they are on, and positions are staked out right away. The few, who start out genuinely neutral, discover very soon they are anything but. Before long, emotions rise to a crescendo and tempers begin to simmer. The exchange becomes intense, headed towards intractability.

The opening gambit is almost always the same, namely that Wasim Akram, who was once described as possessing the left arm of God, could move the ball both ways, sometimes in the same delivery. Footage of Akram swinging it like a yo-yo has left legions speechless, so this point is naturally impossible to refute. It can only be countered by a parallel argument which, if it is to survive the heat of debate, must be based on hard data.

This is usually the time for Imran Khan loyalists to respond with a trusted opening move of their own. Imran finished his Test career with a better bowling average than Akram - 362 wickets at 22.81 compared with Akram's 414 at 23.62. It's not a huge divide - Imran only gave 0.81 runs less per wicket than Akram - but over careers spanning two decades, such a sustained separation becomes significant. Imran's Test strike rate (53.7) and economy (2.54) are also better than Akram's (54.6 and 2.59); again, not by much, but Imran does come out ahead.

Akram's supporters know they cannot win if the battle moves to statistics. Although Akram's ODI figures (502 wickets at 23.52, SR 36.2, econ 3.89) are better than Imran's (182 wickets at 26.61, SR 40.9, econ 3.89), Imran's career was already half-over before ODI cricket at the international level really took off. Akram, by contrast, arrived when the ODI circuit had come into full bloom.

The argument for Akram's supremacy needs a visceral approach. In Pakistani cricket gatherings, it doesn't get more visceral than evoking the memory of March 25, 1992. Everyone who saw those two deliveries that castled Allan Lamb and Chris Lewis were astounded, and even today, if you watch them on YouTube, you cannot help shaking your head. Timing adds to the mystique - the two best deliveries of Akram's career, and what a moment to produce them.

Imran's camp fully understands the emotional weight of this appeal. They reach deep into their arsenal and come up with Christmas Day 1982. This is no ordinary reference: late afternoon in Karachi; the ball begins to reverse as the breeze blows in from the sea; Imran takes five Indian wickets for three runs in the space of 25 balls; which included Sunil Gavaskar, Gundappa Viswanath, Mohinder Amarnath, Sandeep Patil, and Kapil Dev. It's a formidable counter-response, but it can only go so far. A Test match (even one against India) is not the same as the final of the World Cup.

Some friends and I once had the opportunity to ask Javed Miandad where he stood on the great debate. Miandad's initial response was to insist on framing the question narrowly. So we did: Let's say you're having a net facing Akram and Imran, both of whom are at their peak; who would trouble you more? Miandad closed his eyes and for several seconds and appeared deep in thought. Then he gave his verdict: Akram. Why? Because he could move it both ways with greater skill than Imran. Of course, there's more to bowling greatness than bowling well in the nets, but Miandad wouldn't be dragged into the larger debate.

On another occasion, my fellow Cricinfo blogger Kamran Abbasi and I once found ourselves in the company of Sanjay Manjrekar and Ramiz Raja. This was in Multan during a Pakistan-Bangladesh Test that happened to be going through a rather dull period. Sure enough, someone lit the match, and arguments came pouring forth. Ramiz was championing Akram and his view ultimately prevailed, but it wasn't pretty.

It is probably true that Akram die-hards outnumber Imran's supporters in the great debate, and they also tend to be more passionate. Those who argue for Imran tend to be more clinical and academic, probably because the arguments in favour of Imran are themselves rather clinical and academic.

Most people acknowledge that Imran was a more committed bowler, who never gave less than 100%. Akram, for better or worse, is still remembered as the kind of guy who could pull up with a side strain on the morning of a World Cup quarter-final. Imran bowled many overs through a stress fracture of the shin. For about a year and a half - the second half of 1983 and all of 1984 - this injury robbed him of his best bowling days. Who knows how much more he would have achieved without this unfortunate interlude.

There is also the matter of opposition quality. Imran didn’t play any Tests against the likes of Zimbabwe and Bangladesh and played a total of only two ODIs against them. But in Akram's case, 47 of his Test wickets (at 22.36) and 42 of his ODI wickets (at 20.92) have come from these teams.

For an amicable end to the great debate, you need a few people around who are willing to accept that the question of whether Akram or Imran was the greater bowler is complex and many-faceted. I was recently at a dinner party where the mood was right and the debate was kindled yet again. Arguments followed a predictable trajectory, and before long the dialogue had become intransigent. Our host, a moderate cricket follower skilled at diplomacy, brought closure when he said Akram was the greater bowler, but Imran was no less. I have memorised that line for the next iteration of the great debate.

	There may have been more to Younis Khan's candid admission that Twenty20 was 'fun' © Associated Press

At some point in the build up to this World Twenty20, Younis Khan would have assembled the rest of the Pakistan team think-tank to pore over the tournament's list of fixtures. Shoaib Malik would have been there along with Misbah-ul-Haq, Shahid Afridi and Kamran Akmal.The coach would probably have not been around, this being the kind of meeting where you only invite those you can call upon when it hits the fan out in the middle.

There would have been an intense seriousness to this meeting, a sober atmosphere that Pakistan's cricketers, with their trademark devil-may-care attitude, are loath to display in public. There would have been an implicit recognition of what was at stake. After the visiting Sri Lankans were attacked by terrorists in Lahore in March, John Stern, Editor of the Wisden Cricketer, questioned in an interview on CNN whether Pakistan would even be able to play in the World Twenty20. Stern's was only one prominent voice among many fussing about Pakistan's threat of cricketing isolation. The nucleus of Pakistan's team saw clearly, as indeed did the rest of the country, that the World Twenty20 would be their last chance to push back.

After digesting the schedule of fixtures for a few minutes, one of them would have pointed out, as is obvious to everyone now, that five victories could get you the title. A mere five victories, of which four need to be against authentic Test nations. In the event, Pakistan have had the easiest ride of the tournament so far, with wins against two associate nations, plus New Zealand, which has traditionally been the weakest of the authentic Test sides. By the looks of it the cricket gods are finally smiling, perhaps offering a long overdue break to the country that has seen more turbulence in the last two years than in the rest of its six-decade history.

Back at the pre-tournament meeting, Younis would have contemplated this campaign knowing he was up against much more than just cricketing opposition. He had to lift spirits, sharpen everyone's focus, and blot out the hype that inevitably accompanies the likes of India and Australia and was bound to undercut his own team's morale. He knew he had to prepare everyone by modulating expectations, which he delicately calibrated by announcing that reaching the semi-finals would be good enough. He would also have been mindful of the potential for the Daniel Vettoris of the cricketing world to behave as sore losers, and he would have been conscious of the deafening criticism that would erupt from Pakistan's unforgiving press and public at the first defeat. Younis knew he would need a terrific Plan B, something as powerful and galvanising as Imran Khan's 'cornered tigers' appeal from 1992.

After the Group B defeat to England, he unveiled it, telling a bemused media contingent that Twenty20 is 'fun cricket'. Younis was addressing his own team of course. Take it easy, close your eyes, relax. You can easily picture him sticking to the same theme as the toughest test yet awaits. Sure, its the semi-final and South Africa is some seriously tenacious opposition, but don’t let that get to you. Imagine you're just playing a league match in Lahore. Enjoy yourself.

	Wasim Akram's commentary has failed to measure up to his bowling © AFP

Wasim Akram was capable of bowling a truly nasty bouncer. Every now and then he would unleash it, targeting the center of the throat or the spot on the forehead right between the eyes. Even the most competent batsmen have acknowledged that there was no getting away from it. Like a guided missile, it just kept coming at you relentlessly.

Akram has now left the bowling crease and planted himself behind the commentator’s mike. One notes with a certain resignation that his commentary is not as penetrating or targeted as his bowling. I say ‘resignation’ and not disappointment, because it is impossible for Akram to disappoint. Even if he said nothing and just sat behind the mike and every so often we saw him smiling, that would make our day. Why? Because he’s Wasim Akram, that’s why.

Still, it would be pleasing and fitting if Akram’s commentary career carried some of the same zest and punch as his cricket career. In cricket, he moved the ball around as if he had it on a string and, when the mood was right, hit it miles with the bat. In contrast, his commentary seems the equivalent of gentle long hops delivered with an unmotivated, burdensome action.

To be fair, occasionally he will indeed say something quite insightful. He’ll scan the field and recommend an adjustment that leaves you fascinated. He will also occasionally entertain, saying something dismissive or curt in his signature Lahori drawl. More often, though, he shies from opinion and analysis and just passes on trivialities.

Of the three Pakistani ex-players currently on the international commentary circuit – Rameez Raja, Waqar Younis and Wasim Akram – Akram’s persona behind the mike is the most jarring and anomalous. Rameez’s commentary is pleasant and agreeable, more or less like his batting career. Waqar started out awkwardly as a commentator but somewhere along the way found his inner focus to deliver fluent and polished commentary peppered with zingers.

Even though Akram has been doing this for a while, he still seems an inhibited soul. It doesn’t help that he often gets partnered with Harsha Bhogle, a voluble man whose theoretical command of cricket is incisive as well as encyclopedic. This contrast with a more natural commentator makes Akram look even worse.

There is more to Wasim Akram than this. All of us who have followed his career and kept track of all the news he has generated and continues to generate, sense deep down that there is a far more interesting commentator in him yearning to break through. This inner commentator is more talkative, witty and opinionated. He is free of reserve and self-consciousness.

One possibility is that Akram isn’t adequately engaged in the commentator’s role, that he isn’t trying hard enough. The truth, I feel, is the reverse – he’s trying too hard. He’s not being himself. Someone needs to tell him to loosen up. Perhaps he’s been coached. If so, whoever has coached him has done him a disservice.

Unlike out in the middle, where there was a captain like Imran Khan to get the best out of him, behind the mike Akram is alone. Only he can pull himself out of this rut. He should get the sense of being in the spotlight out of his head and imagine he’s in a drawing room watching cricket on TV surrounded by friends. Wasim Akram was always at his best on the pitch when he let his natural flair and aggression come through. The commentators’ box is no different.

There is one scenario in which Pakistan's legal confrontation with the ICC over World Cup 2011 hosting rights could prove an intelligent move: if it forces both the ICC and Pakistan into a compromise that relocates the Pakistan-based games to Dubai and Abu Dhabi. Indeed, this may well have been the ultimate strategic outcome in the mind of the PCB officials as they planned a litigious attack on the ICC.

Deep inside, even the PCB hierarchy understands that no visiting team will feel safe in Pakistan after the calamitous events of March this year in Lahore. Pakistan as a political and social entity has to enjoy a long run of peace and stability before the prevailing mood on that situation can be expected to change. But don't expect the PCB to admit as much; as the official protector of Pakistan cricket, it cannot afford to give the appearance of surrender.

The opportunity for a legal challenge to the ICC popped up unexpectedly for the PCB. It is only understandable that with the chips down and their backs to the wall, they will pounce on it. Unlike on previous occasions, when security concerns have been discussed, it appears that this time around due process was not followed. The PCB claims that relocating World Cup matches was not on the agenda of the recent ICC meeting, and when it was brought up, the PCB chairman Ijaz Butt was caught off guard. If this is true, then the ICC has no defence. Any law firm worth its salt – and DLA Piper, the group engaged by the PCB, is certainly one such – will smell blood and go for the kill.

Granted, Mr Butt should have done his homework on this topic. Granted, he and his aides should have been able to think on their feet and propose Dubai and Abu Dhabi as proxy venues. Had he done that during the meeting, it is possible that the compromise now being hoped for could have been reached without much fuss.

But even despite this missed opportunity, the PCB is in the rare position of having a strong hand. Pakistan's recent series against Australia has shown that the stadiums in both Dubai and Abu Dhabi, with fantastic facilities and full-throated crowd support, are highly credible alternate venues. True, they are outside the boundaries of South Asia, but flying times are convenient, with a flight from Karachi to Dubai taking about only as long as a flight from Karachi to Islamabad. There is some concern that the arrangement has proved more expensive for the PCB than expected, but added expense is hardly a driving concern if you are trying to salvage World Cup hosting rights and the prestige that comes with them.

Put yourself in the PCB's shoes. It deserves some empathy. Several commentators have observed that this legal confrontation between the ICC and the PCB helps no one. Nothing could be farther from the truth, because it certainly helps Pakistan. It gives the PCB an opening that, for the first time in this atmosphere of fear and terror, could enable them to force a compromise. For if the ICC failed to follow due process, it has few options. With DLA Piper on the case, we can be sure we will get to the bottom of this.