So the war on terror is over is it? Or so we’re told by everyone from David Miliband, scuttling to put distance between himself and his former allies in Washington, to assorted senior spooks, gallantly trying to cover their backs. Even the saintly Barack has indicated that talk of ‘war on terror’ is dangerous. But tell that to the dead Pakistani policeman in Lahore this week, armed with ancient rifles against the brutal force of automatic pistols, RPGs and grenades; tell that to Sri Lanka’s shattered Test cricketers, only saved from wholesale slaughter by a courageous bus driver and a grenade that failed; tell that to the vast sprawl of Pakistan’s passionate cricket-lovers who will not see any international sport in their country, let alone their beloved cricket, for many, many years to come. Tell that to former England Test player Chris Broad, the match referee, his shirt covered in blood after hurling himself onto the match umpire to save him during the gun battle. The war on terror’s over, is it? Well, terror’s war on us appears to be hotting up.
When murder and sport collide, it is hard not to think that something has died in our belief in the delicate, fragile purity of the games we love. That a dozen or so heavily armed, well-trained merciless psychopaths can effectively destroy a great country’s national sport is cruel beyond belief. That it should happen to the cricketers of more or less everyone’s second favourite nation after their own, Sri Lanka, defies reason. The Sri Lankans were there only because India had pulled out, for horribly pertinent safety reasons. There were something intensely loveable about the endlessly enthusiastic Sri Lankans stepping in. They were the only country willing to play, God bless them.
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