Babar Azam, one of Pakistan’s brightest cricketing stars, finds himself under a harsh spotlight—again. His recent form slump, marked by low scores of 0, 1, and 2 in the Pakistan Super League (PSL), has sparked intense criticism from former cricketers and relentless trolling on social media. But more than the numbers, it’s the weight of comparison that’s crushing him—most unfairly, to Virat Kohli.
From being hailed as the next big thing in Pakistan cricket, Babar is now caught in a toxic cycle of unrealistic expectations and constant scrutiny. Former players question his spot at the top of the order, his leadership qualities, and even his intent. But what’s more disturbing is how often Babar is held against Virat Kohli—someone who was already a seasoned campaigner by the time Babar had just begun his journey.
Yes, talent is not in question. Babar’s sublime strokeplay, calm demeanor, and hunger for runs are evident. But Pakistan’s obsession with creating their own Kohli or their own Sachin Tendulkar has done more harm than good. In their rush to produce legends, they’ve forgotten that greatness cannot be manufactured overnight—it needs time, support, and patience.
Former pacer Shoaib Akhtar, never shy of explosive opinions, once said on national TV that Babar chose the “wrong heroes” and labeled his rise as a “fraud.” His words weren’t just harsh—they were demeaning. Imagine being called a fraud for not scoring runs, for simply being human.
On the flip side, other ex-cricketers like Mohsin Khan have made bizarre claims that Kohli is “zero” compared to Babar. The pendulum swings between unfair criticism and blind praise, leaving no room for balanced evaluation or genuine encouragement.
It’s no surprise then that the public and media discourse around Babar has become chaotic. Karachi Kings owner Salman Iqbal recently likened Babar to legends like Sir Viv Richards and Sir Garfield Sobers. While passionate fandom is understandable, such outlandish comparisons do more harm than good. They inflate expectations to unattainable levels and only set the player up for more backlash when he doesn’t meet them.
Former players like Basit Ali and Zaheer Abbas have advised Babar to step down from captaincy and focus solely on his batting. Some of this advice may come from a good place, but public criticism does little to uplift a player already under immense pressure. If these cricketing stalwarts truly want to help, they should reach out privately with genuine guidance instead of turning every failure into TV drama.
What Babar needs is space—not to be Kohli, or Inzamam, or Richards, but to be himself. He is, as former cricketer Salman Butt rightly said, Pakistan’s best hope. He doesn’t need to chase legacy comparisons or get tangled in debates of who’s better. He simply needs time and support to rediscover his rhythm and his joy in the game.
Let Babar Azam be Babar Azam. Not a copy, not a comparison, and certainly not a punching bag for the failings of Pakistan cricket.
