Kabbadi, football and ... biscuits

Pakistan won with such ease, poise and panache today that they took their own supporters by surprise. The crowd for the final day would have done any nation in the world proud, but they had hardly settled back into their seats after lunch when some of the smaller members found themselves being tossed in the air by their gleeful compatriots. Shoaib Akhtar in full cry has that effect on people - fans and opposition batsmen alike.

It was over in a blur, though in truth the fight had gone out of England long before the denouement, as the mournful demeanour of the Barmy Army showed. Sylvester and the Pink Panther arrived in their seats with a patchwork of plasters stuck to their fur, to signify the mauling they had taken in this Test. Devoted mascots they may be, but they aren't exactly lucky ones - the last time they were spotted overseas, England were being routed by 196 runs in Cape Town.

In victory, defeat and even in draw, England have taken the biscuit so often in the past year that they no longer know how to surprise their supporters. Even so, the loss of eight wickets in 12.1 overs was a pretty blatant attempt to swipe everything that remained in the cookie jar. Naturally, it left the Pakistani support delirious, as they acclaimed their heroes on a trophy-parading lap of honour, but once that was over, there was an unexpected void in everyone's day. The match had been wrapped up with three hours of daylight to spare. What on earth to do next?

England were in no doubt. They fled as quickly as possible to their sun loungers by the hotel pool, where they had rolled out their mental towels long before this final day had dawned. Pakistan, on the other hand, remained firmly rooted to the scene of their great triumph. Having wowed the crowds with their cricketing skills, they decided to warm down with a quiet game of football.

Except there was nothing remotely quiet about it. How can there be when you've got Inzamam-ul-Haq, the ball-hogging playmaker haring down the centre, as barrel-chested as Maradona and as untackleable as well? Or Rana Naved-ul-Hasan, as tricky and unpredictable on the left wing as he has been all series with the ball?

The Pakistan team plays its football like the rest of the country plays Kabbadi, an amalgam of wrestling and rugby that leaves most of the players intertwined and stumbling to the turf. "They are the worst footballers in the world," said their coach, Bob Woolmer, as he took a break from refereeing. "If we played cricket like we played our football, we'd be playing like the Peek Freans biscuit factory team." First England, now Pakistan - there's been a lot of biscuit-swiping going on at the Gadaffi Stadium today.

Unbeknownst to Woolmer, however, this football match that so resembled a riot was also causing one outside the ground, as all those jubilant fans massed around the exits, awaiting a glimpse of their conquering heroes. In front of the gates and controlling the scene were three mounted policemen with extra-long lathis, bristling with simmering rage as they were taunted and cajoled from all directions.

In fact, here was a game of kabbadi for all the fans to join, as one man leapt out of the reasonably ordered semi-circle, gestured lewdly at one of the horsemen, and scurried proudly back into the scrum. His actions were aped from the opposite corner, and then from another, as a range of cameramen lined up eagerly on the pavilion steps, awaiting the inevitable reaction.

Sure enough, the taunters soon got the reaction they were looking for. The policemen charged as one and dispersed the crowds, just as Shoaib had been doing to England's batsmen all series. A cloud of dust floated tellingly above the scene as a good-natured panic spread across the concourse, but no sooner had the rush died down than the respective parties returned to their posts, and the ritual began once again.

Cheap thrills for all, and that's on top of a series win as well. With the one-day series getting underway next week, let's wait and see what happens when the fans really start turning out in their droves.

Malcolm Speed, the chief executive of the ICC, has been at Lahore to see the Test between England and Pakistan © Getty Images

Lahore, as I have begun to realise during the course of this tour, is the place in Pakistan to see and be seen. This evening three of the more significant members of the international cricket hierarchy were in attendance at the ground, and all three were hustled into the conference room beneath the media centre for a lengthy and disjointed press briefing.

Malcolm Speed, the chief executive of the ICC, David Morgan, the chairman of the ECB, and Shaharyar Khan, the chairman of the PCB, were the three wise men who fronted up for the cameras ... and braced themselves for the bombardment.

It's at moments like this that you realise what a can of worms international cricket governance must be. Every issue in the game's wide-ranging realm was touched upon - some with a bargepole, such as the ICC's continued intransigence over Zimbabwe, and others with a full embrace, such as the necessity to increase the elite umpiring panel from the current band of seven.

The questions came thick and fast, and with the answers only a brief pause for consideration behind. Security in Karachi, board elections in India, six-day Tests in Pakistan, more security in Karachi, and yet more security in Karachi, as a lone and over-excitable voice at the back of the room continued to press Morgan for a commitment over and above anything that a self-respecting politician could dare to offer.

And then, just as the tape recorders on the table began to click to a halt, along came the thorny issue of suspect actions. "I thought we were going to get through without that one cropping up," sighed Speed, as he reiterated the new procedures under which Shoaib Malik and Shabbir Ahmed had been reported after the first Test.

But it's not just the dignitaries that have been drawn to the Gadaffi. Faisalabad and Multan are too far afield for most, but the usual suspects of the Barmy Army have no truck with the facilities on offer in Lahore. Jimmy Saville is here, the self-appointed cheerleader of the English contingent, along with the Pink Panther and Sylvester, whose hunched cross-armed ill-humour has telegraphed the lack of progress being made by their team.

If the turn-out of top brass and pommies has grown somewhat since Faisalabad, then the same can't quite be said of the home support. The Gadaffi is a bigger stadium, admittedly, but the gaps in the seating are more noticeable than they were last week. Even so, it knocks spots off the attendances on this ground five years ago, and as Shaharyar expressed in a not-insubstantial pre-amble to the press conference: "I am proud of the Multanis ... I am proud of the Faisalabadis ... I am proud of the Lahoris ..."

He'll be even more proud if his team can seal the deal here, and knock England's Ashes-winners off their perch.

England had a dilemma this evening. Should they attack or defend, or play straight down the line and hope for the best? And no, I'm not talking about the approach to the rest of their innings. The dilemma in question was how best to talk away a pretty dismal performance at the close-of-play media call.

You see, a day of English cricket isn't over until some poor sod has been served up to the assembled hacks for digestion in the morning papers, and at 248 for 6 after winning a crucial toss, there was no obvious candidate for the platter.

In any ordinary circumstances, Duncan Fletcher would have been primed for the role. "The Duncan Day" has entered cricket's lexicon alongside the "doosra" and the "slog-sweep" as buzzwords of the 21st Century - a day of such execrable awfulness that only the coach and his sourpuss staccatos can hope to explain it away. It's one of the main reasons why Fletcher has forged such unbreakable bonds with his team. He shrinks from centre stage when the going is good, but is always there to cover their backs when things go wrong.

But this particular aspect of his role has become something of a cliché of late, and given England's commitment to all things positive on this tour (not to mention Fletcher's oft-professed penchant for the sweep shot) his appearance would have carried an unwelcome and dangerous subtext.

So, no coach then, and for similar reasons, no captain either. Sweetly though Michael Vaughan batted for his 58, it was his crass dismissal moments after lunch that gave Pakistan their express route back into contention. Too much ammunition for bad PR.

If only Andrew Strauss was still on the tour - if there's one sure sign that Strauss is being primed as England's next Test captain, it is his increasingly frequent appearance at problematic press-calls, such as the one following England's collapse to 53 for 7 in the second warm-up at Bagh-e-Jinnah, or the morning after the night before during England's Ashes celebrations. An affable "evening gents!" and a few educated sound bites later, and everyone goes away contented.

But Strauss is away on paternity leave, which left just two options. Paul Collingwood was the solitary feel-good angle of the day, but England are reluctant to serve up their unbeaten batsmen except in extraordinary circumstances, so my money was on Marcus Trescothick - opening batsman, vice-captain and the original safe pair of hands.

But no. After an interminable delay, in which you imagined a "you go - no, you go" argument brewing in the dressing-room, it was Collingwood who eventually trooped forth to take one for the team - and doubtless jinx his performance when play resumed in the morning. But it was appropriate really. Whatever plaudits Colly earns for his on-field exploits, it is as an uncomplaining jack-of-all-trades that he has really earned his keep.