Rise and fall of Shakib Al Hasan

The date was the 22ⁿᵈ of March, 2012.

All the cricket-obsessed people of Bangladesh had their eyes fixed on Dhaka’s Mirpur Stadium. Second only to the World Cup, the most prestigious multinational One Day International cricket tournament, the Asia Cup final, was to be held there. And one of the teams in that final was Bangladesh—a team long considered a pushover in international cricket, now just one step away from achieving continental supremacy.

The greatest strength of this country’s cricket had been its spectators. Even after enduring crushing defeats day after day, Bangladesh’s team continued to receive unwavering support from packed stadiums. 

In this densely populated country, there is very little to take pride in. And in sports, the situation is even more dismal. In the history of the Olympics, this nation with such a vast population has not won a single medal, nor has there ever been any real prospect of one. 

Cricket is played by only ten countries, mostly former British colonies. In the Indian subcontinent, cricket has claimed the top spot, but elsewhere, the game’s standing is much lower. As a result, Asia’s cricket politics is quite influential. Because of all these factors combined, Bangladesh has secured a place at the highest level of international cricket. The people of Bangladesh, aware of these humbling facts, silently dream, like in Sunil Gangopadhyay’s poem No One Keeps Their Promise: “One day, we too ...!”

Is today that day, then? Liberation from all those days of humiliation? Unrestrained jubilation? 

In the modern era, wars are no longer fought with swords and shields. Yet, the sense of nationalism remains keen. And sports often have to carry this burden. Sociologists like Norbert Elias believed that modern civilisation suppresses humans’ primitive hunter instincts. Under the umbrella of civilisation, people have to remain disciplined. But suppressing instincts developed over millennia can make humans dangerous; it can create tension within them. Sports relieve this tension. Especially team sports—the planning like hunters, group hunting, the wild joy of defeating the opponent. Another renowned sociologist, Eric Dunning, believed that international sports play a role in nation-building. Ashis Nandy, long ago in The Tao of Cricket, showed how cricket stirs up Indian nationalism.

In the modern era of capitalism and consumerism, celebrities are crucial. And increasingly, athletes are becoming the most celebrated figures. The value and influence of their brands are skyrocketing. 

Our Shakib is no exception. Shakib became the corporate world’s favourite poster boy. The epithet, “The Life of Bangladesh”, was also given to him by Grameenphone, a corporate behemoth. In the booming times of the free-market economy, in a country of 200 million people, Shakib is a vital, necessary icon. Therefore, Shakib’s rise is not just about cricket; rather, it must be understood through capitalist and political lenses.

Cricket can become like the epics of ancient times. Its heroes can become legends. And on that day, the stage was set for an epic for the people of Bangladesh. One of the main elements of an epic, the great hero, was also ready.

That great hero was Shakib Al Hasan.

In a country that often embraces the mantra of the defeated like “No shame in losing” or “An honourable defeat,” Shakib was like Prahlad among a clan of monstrous giants of Hindu Purana. Already one of the world’s best all-rounders at just 25 years old, with about six years into his career, he had led the team to victory in quite a few matches and was in excellent form in the tournament.

But that day, Shakib became a tragic hero.

With the ball, he bowled brilliantly to restrict Pakistan to a low score. With the bat, he scored the team’s highest—68 runs off just 72 balls. But he couldn’t lead the team to victory. Even with others’ efforts at the end, Bangladesh couldn’t do it.

They lost by just two runs! Just two runs!

Just as the whole of Brazil was overwhelmed with grief after losing the World Cup in 1950 at the Maracanã, perhaps that didn’t happen in Bangladesh; but the intensity of the universal feeling of tears and sorrow touched the cricket lovers of this delta. And perhaps the person who felt the greatest pain was Shakib himself.

And so, the next day’s newspapers were filled with stories of Bangladesh’s “so near yet so far” defeat, and despite Shakib being awarded the tournament’s best player, one photo remained unforgettable: Shakib’s tear-stained face!

Just as the melancholic image of Brazil’s legendary goalkeeper Moacir Barbosa after the nation’s shattered dream is one of the most tragic in sports history, Shakib’s photo can certainly be compared to that. There are very few images where an entire nation’s emotions are so vividly portrayed.

Twelve years after that photo—in 2024—Shakib’s effigy was burnt in front of that same Mirpur ground. His picture was struck with shoes. Slogans were raised demanding the trial of “murderer” Shakib. Voices declared that if this murderer returned to the country, he would be resisted.

What happened in these 12 years that the person who once became the symbol of the entire nation’s emotions, who became the “life” of the country, turned into a despised public enemy? This story of Shakib’s rise and fall is the tale of an extraordinary time in Bangladesh. It encompasses cricket, politics, power, greed, arrogance, and mass movements. 

The rise and fall of Shakib Al Hasan is like a thriller.

Whether we call him the hero or the villain of a thriller, Shakib has always been a 'street-smart' cricketer. He could bat a bit and had bowling that sufficed. He received the country’s best coaching at BKSP, the nation’s only sports education institute. The son of a footballer father, young Shakib, who like many others played with tape-wrapped tennis balls, took a wicket with his very first delivery playing with a cricket ball for Islampur Cricket Club. That’s where it all began.

However, Shakib’s greatest asset was his ability to read situations.

No matter what the circumstances, he could coolly determine what action would benefit him the most. He could remain detached, avoiding the typical emotionality of the average Bangladeshi. Not just in cricket, he would probably have been successful in any other field. Later, we would see that he used this talent not so much for achieving success in playing cricket but expended much more of it in the pursuit of making money.

But even someone like Shakib needed a lucky break. Almost every success story in the world requires that. What came as a blessing for Shakib was the ICL, or Indian Cricket League. 

India’s private league was banned by the Board of Control for Cricket in India (BCCI), and the Bangladeshi cricketers associated with it were also banned by the Bangladesh Cricket Board. 

With a slew of experienced cricketers dropped from the team, youngsters like Shakib, Tamim Iqbal, and Mushfiqur Rahim, who were then new to the side, got to play for the next few years with relatively less pressure. Such a scenario is usually not seen in subcontinental teams. Seizing that opportunity, these youngsters secured their places in the team.

One of the many remarkable aspects of Shakib’s life is that, on one hand, his fortunes turned due to the banned franchise league called the ICL; on the other hand, by playing in the world’s most expensive league organised by the Indian board—the Indian Premier League or IPL—he earned a great deal of money and fame. At the peak of his career, he roamed the world playing in franchise leagues. His Cricinfo profile page shows he has played for 22 different teams in various leagues to date.

By going to play in the ICL, Mohammad Rafique—until then the most successful and charismatic cricketer in Bangladesh’s history—was banned. Many believe that due to Rafique’s influence, numerous young left-arm spinners in Bangladesh aspired to emulate him. In Rafique’s absence, Shakib, an all-rounder who could ‘get by’ in ODIs, got a chance in Tests as well. However, he was still seen mainly as a batsman. In his first six Tests, Shakib took only three wickets in total and did not score any half-centuries.

Shakib’s career rocketed ahead in Chittagong against New Zealand in a Test match. In Bangladesh’s first innings, they scored 242 runs (with Shakib, coming in at number eight, scoring just 5 runs). In reply, the visitors were all out for 171 runs. Shakib alone took seven wickets. The strategy of playing him as the second spinner paid off.

Here too, perhaps Bangladesh’s changing mindset worked in Shakib’s favour.

Until then, even at home, Bangladesh used to prepare pitches like highways. The aim was to somehow bat out five days; more precisely, not get bowled out in three or four days. But even that strategy proved unsuccessful due to the batsmen’s ineptitude.

After losing repeatedly, the cricket board eventually decided to make pitches supportive of spin bowlers. They would surely lose one way or another. So when fate is predetermined, why not take a chance? 

Jamie Siddons, the Australian coach of Bangladesh at that time, is said to have had an influence on this decision. He liked Shakib and started giving him opportunities as the second spinner after Abdur Razzak, even though he hadn’t had much success in Tests initially. 

Though Razzak was a spinner, his strength was the arm ball and line-and-length bowling, suitable for ODIs. On the other hand, Siddons’ favoured Shakib relied on flight and turn. So if the pitch was supportive, he would benefit more than Razzak. 

At that time, a caretaker government was in power in the country. So perhaps there was less political pressure on the board than when a political party is in charge. All things considered, the decision to make spin-friendly pitches was easily implemented. Two months later, the national election would be held, and the Awami League would win with a large number of seats. Over the next one and a half decades, the stories of the rise and fall of Shakib and the Awami League would be written almost simultaneously.

Shakib began writing his own story in 2008.

After taking seven wickets with his bowling, he scored 71 runs with the bat in the second innings. Yet victory did not come. New Zealand's captain, Daniel Vettori—a left-arm spinning all-rounder like Shakib—single-handedly won the match for his team. Like Shakib, he took nine wickets in the match but also contributed two half-centuries with the bat, including a match-winning 76 in the second innings.

Bangladesh lost, Shakib lost. In one sense, that’s not entirely accurate. In reality, even though Bangladesh lost, Shakib emerged victorious in his own right. Over the next decade, we would see many such examples where Bangladesh would lose despite Shakib’s outstanding performances. The Asia Cup final mentioned at the beginning is one such instance. The year before that final, in 2011, Shakib found himself on the losing side in the Mirpur Test against Pakistan despite scoring a century and taking six wickets in an innings.

However, that year didn’t go well for Shakib personally either. At just 24 years old, he captained the team in a World Cup hosted at home. The immense pressure of the nation’s expectations weighed heavily on him. Bangladesh failed. Not only that, but Shakib’s team was bowled out for 58 runs against the West Indies and 78 runs against South Africa. He lost the captaincy.

But Shakib, who set a record by becoming the youngest captain, once again received a stroke of luck—in 2009. Towards the end of that year, Bangladesh toured the West Indies. However, due to disputes over pay and other issues with their board, the established West Indian players boycotted the series. By defeating this second-string team, Bangladesh won a Test match and a series abroad for the first time. In the final innings, Shakib scored 96 runs to lead the team to victory. With 159 runs and 13 wickets, he was named Man of the Series. His captaincy debut was a huge success. Yet, Shakib wouldn’t have become captain if the regular captain, Mashrafe Bin Mortaza, hadn’t been injured in the first Test. Ironically, it was by following the path shown by this Mashrafe that Shakib later faced a great downfall.

At the beginning of his career, Shakib was aided by both skill and luck. Who knows—perhaps this made him even more arrogant. He began to think of himself as invincible. History bears witness that this mentality leads to downfall sooner or later. The same happened with Shakib.

Just as it happened with the Awami League.

Attracting the youth with the flashy slogan of ‘Digital Bangladesh’, the country’s largest party was soaring high under the banner of the spirit of the Liberation War. Like Shakib, the party’s supreme leader Sheikh Hasina was touched by fortune.

In the global context following 9/11, Hasina’s secular image was highly valued in the Western world. During the previous regime of the Bangladesh Nationalist Party (BNP), the Iraq-Afghanistan wars had sent oil prices skyrocketing worldwide; inflation in the country was soaring. Even the subsequent caretaker government struggled with rising commodity prices. But the opposite happened when Sheikh Hasina’s time began. To counter Russia, the United States adopted a new strategy to deny it and Iran oil revenue. Through Saudi Arabia’s pressure, oil producing countries kept producing record amounts of oil daily. Global oil prices plummeted. Sheikh Hasina reaped the benefits. In Bangladesh’s history, almost every government had to spend thousands of crores of taka subsidising oil prices; but Hasina, on the contrary, earned thousands of crores of taka in revenue by selling oil. Was it just luck that favoured her? In all political strategies, too, Hasina kept on defeating all her opponents!

When the match was won, there was nothing to say; even when losing, Shakib remained the hero, and the same was true for Hasina. When something went wrong, the blame fell on the party, the government, but she personally had no faults—this was the narrative of the media and party activists at the time.

Let’s return to Shakib.

He continued to perform. In 2010, under his captaincy, Bangladesh defeated New Zealand 4-0 at home (one match was washed out due to rain). Shakib was, as usual, the Man of the Series.

In the fourth ODI, he even scored a century. But that day, while batting on 92 runs, spectators were walking in front of the sightscreen. When the umpire’s warnings didn’t work, Shakib charged towards the spectators with his bat and scolded them. A blemish in an almost flawless series. It’s often said that the seeds of downfall are sown during the most successful times. Did the same happen with Shakib?

His ‘bad boy’ image became even more pronounced the following year. After a disappointing World Cup, he lost his temper at criticism and harshly rebuked former cricketers in the newspapers. Despite various misconducts, he kept getting away as the Bangladesh Cricket Board’s golden goose, backed by corporate investments. There was no one to stop Shakib Al Hasan then.

However, after making obscene gestures on live TV cameras, he couldn’t escape punishment. Sitting in the dressing room, looking at the camera, he made inappropriate gestures with a smile, resulting in a three-match ban and a fine of BDT 300,000 in February 2014. He received an even harsher punishment a few months later. For assaulting a spectator, the BCB imposed a six-month ban on him.

But it wasn’t just about assaulting a spectator; earlier, when he was forced to skip the Caribbean Premier League to play for the country, he sulked. He threatened that he wouldn’t play for the country anymore. Floating in arrogance, thinking there was no alternative to him—much like Sheikh Hasina’s “Should I shut everything down?”—Shakib was brimming with ego.

Even the board president, Nazmul Hasan, who used to accept all of Shakib’s demands, said that other players’ behaviour was becoming like Shakib’s and that he had to be punished. But Shakib’s stubbornness prevailed. With no ‘alternative’ to Shakib, his ban period was reduced by three and a half months, and he was recalled to the Bangladesh team.

At the end of that year, the Awami League organised a farcical election. Coming to power in an election without opposition parties, they promised to hold elections again but spent the full five years in office, instead.

The ruling party was then as arrogant as Shakib. Or rather, Shakib, who could read situations well, understood the circumstances and became arrogant.

Possibly, that overconfident mindset drew him into questionable activities. He came into contact with gambling circles. He became involved in various businesses, many of which were dubious. People close to Shakib said that, in his obsession with money, he was taking big risks. There was no chance of failure—after all, he was Shakib!

Under Mashrafe’s leadership in 2015, Bangladesh not only had a great World Cup but also won home ODI series one after another against Pakistan, South Africa, and India. That was the beginning of becoming real ‘tigers’ at home. The low, slow pitches of Mirpur became ideal for Bangladesh. As usual, Shakib was a key trump card in both bowling and batting.

Making money through franchise cricket and business, Shakib wasn’t performing badly in international cricket due to his natural skill and ability to read situations. However, his form was on the decline. His focus on the game seemed to be waning.

While being captain in 2018, during the Nidahas Trophy in Sri Lanka, he protested an umpire’s decision by calling the team back from the field; later, after winning the match, he performed the ‘Nagin Dance’ with the whole team. The tension in cricketing relations between Bangladesh and Sri Lanka continued. But by then, Shakib had become a full-fledged businessman.

However, perhaps sensing danger or driven by a natural instinct to survive, he flared up once more in the 2019 World Cup—a typical Shakib story. He delivered one of the best performances of his life, scoring two centuries and five half-centuries in eight matches with the bat. But the tournament didn’t go well for Bangladesh. Despite having one of the most experienced teams, they finished near the bottom. Others couldn’t provide Shakib with enough support; infighting and off-field influences were evident.

Mashrafe had participated in a questionable election for the Awami League and became a Member of Parliament. Consequently, he played match after match as captain without being fully fit, sinking the team. Once a role model for the youth of the country, he became a devastated, unethical villain in trying to navigate political equations. Surprisingly, Shakib’s end would also be like this.

Just a few days after returning from the World Cup, the ICC banned Shakib for one year (with a two-year suspended ban). The allegation was failing to report contacts with bookmakers, resulting in a violation of the ICC’s anti-corruption code. Being such an experienced player and having attended numerous training sessions of the Anti-Corruption Unit, Shakib’s offences were unbelievable. Possibly due to Bangladesh and Asia’s influence in cricket politics, his punishment was relatively light—a severe crime but a lenient penalty.

After returning, the old Shakib was nowhere to be found. He couldn’t score a single century in any format with the bat. Even though he didn’t perform badly in home Tests with the ball, he became lacklustre in his favourite format, ODIs. Even in the IPL, he couldn’t make a proper comeback. In other leagues too, he seemed like an old, tired horse.

Because he was then bustling off the field. He became involved in stock market manipulation, deprived creditors in his shrimp business, and cheated workers. He inaugurated the jewellery shop of a convicted murderer. Following the path shown by Mashrafe, he dreamed of reaching new heights by becoming a Member of Parliament for the ruling party.

Like Mashrafe, his last World Cup went terribly. With eye problems, he couldn’t contribute with bat or ball, and the team suffered a disastrous failure. Yet, in typical Shakib fashion, he came to the media before the World Cup and spoke ill of Tamim Iqbal, who had turned from a long-time friend to an adversary, belittling him.

Though devastated, he played brilliantly in the last match of the World Cup. After creating significant controversy by timing out Sri Lanka’s Angelo Mathews, he scored 82 runs with the bat and led the team to victory. By winning the face-off between two Asian teams with a dismal World Cup performance, Bangladesh qualified to play in the next Champions Trophy. Shakib had been saying for a long time that this tournament would be his last for Bangladesh.

But will the ‘bad boy’ Shakib get that chance? Returning to the country, through another questionable election, he became an MP for the Awami League. Taking advantage of duty-free facilities, he imported a car worth BDT 100,000,000 for just BDT 15,000,000. Who knows what other perks he received!

But by now, Shakib’s fate had already run out.

The wheel of Hasina’s fortune had also come to a halt. A massive people’s uprising had begun in the country. Amidst the storm of protests, Hasina fled. The fall of the Awami League government followed. Shakib became a public enemy, as a collaborator of the autocracy. The people were enraged by his behaviour during the protests. When the Awami League’s police were killing hundreds, this superstar remained indifferent. Not only that, but he was also sharing cheerful family photos from abroad on social media.

The same Bangladeshi supporters who had showered him with love for so many years, who had cried with Shakib after losing the Asia Cup final, were now furious at his actions. Even Shakib’s die-hard fans began to despise him.

But Shakib is no Socrates, who famously declared that he wouldn’t play for his country, Brazil, unless democracy was restored and fair elections were held. After issuing this ultimatum to a crowd of millions, the rulers of that country were forced to hold elections.

Shakib, on the other hand, is quite the opposite—unemotional, calculating. Throughout his life, he only cared for himself. Yet, even he made a grave miscalculation. He underestimated how fierce the anger of an emotional public could be. By the time he realised it, it was too late. Just days ago, the same arrogant Shakib, who would often retort, “What have you done for the country?” is now begging for forgiveness from his fellow countrymen. But, the people no longer trust him.

Trust is too much of an ask now—many don’t even want to see him return to his homeland. After the fall of the Awami League, Shakib played four Test matches in Pakistan and India, but whether he’ll ever play again in his own country remains uncertain. Although he intended to play the home series against South Africa starting on the 21st and retire, and despite receiving a call-up, it’s reported that he has decided not to return home due to public outrage.

Some suspect that Shakib actually wants to return to the country to protect his assets. Others believe Shakib is the litmus test for the fallen Awami League: If Shakib can return under the guise of playing, then one by one, the rest of the Awami League members will start getting rehabilitated. Although there isn’t complete satisfaction with the interim government that took power after Hasina’s fall, it seems clear that the public doesn’t want the return of the autocrats and their party. As a result, the story of Shakib with the Bangladesh cricket team might just end here.

Even if the story ends, the regret will remain. For modern professional athletes, it is hard to be like Socrates or the boxer Muhammad Ali, who risked his career to call for an end of the Vietnam War. However, Shakib’s downfall is not something desirable either. In the words of Pink Floyd’s song:

Did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
Did you exchange A walk-on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?●

Syed Faiz Ahmed is a sports writer and journalist. The essay was originally published in Bengali on October 25th 2024.