For a man who often doesn't seem to be around, Shan Masood is always there. Like that character in a soap opera the credits list as recurring but you could swear features more than most main characters, every seminal moment in Pakistan Test cricket appears to have Masood involved. You think the writers have killed him off, the character arc they've plotted surely rendering another yet another return impossible. And then he's reimagined into existence once more. Shan Masood the debutant, the promising opener, the useful number three, the cool, collected presence in the dressing room.
And then you look up, and underneath a blazing early afternoon sun in Perth, he's stood next to Pat Cummins, the gold Benaud-Qadir Trophy gleaming between them. He's talking to Cummins about the pitch, and how spicy he expects it to be ("very," in case you wondered). He's addressing a smattering of reporters, not quite the throng that crowded around Cummins (the decision to hold the captains' press conferences on the outfield meant no one stayed longer than they absolutely needed to), but about a dozen nonetheless. He's talking about leadership, legacy, the Pakistan Way, and Usman Khawaja's shoes. The most dramatic reincarnation - Shan Masood the Test captain.
How did this happen? How does anything happen in Masood's career, really? He only returned to the Test side five matches ago - something that has felt true about every little stint he's had in the side. He didn't set the world alight, though he did score a half-century, his first in over three years, most of which - you guessed it - he spent out of the side. In that time, he was appointed ODI vice-captain, despite not playing any ODI cricket for three years, and then immediately dropped from the ODI side.
Even when he's not there - and he's not there a lot, too - Masood is never far away from Pakistani consciousness. The languid elegance that laces his purple patches has supporters swearing his record has never been representative of his quality, his soft-spoken demeanour often touted as an invaluable quality in an oft-frenetic dressing room, his obsessive work ethic to get the best out of his ability regularly cited as the example senior pros should look to set. And he's never far from selectors' minds, either; despite playing only 30 of the 78 Test matches Pakistan have played since his debut, he's the only player in this side to have played at least one Test match every year since 2013. If he was a club footballer, he'd be due a testimonial by now. Only Sarfaraz Ahmed has been around longer.
And for all the talk of a posh, effete upbringing cynics have termed totemic of the institutional favouritism that pervades most Pakistani institutions, you don't survive a decade in Pakistan cricket without the sort of steely resolve only the most mean-spirited would deny Masood possesses. A debut 75 against an attack comprising Dale Steyn, Vernon Philander, Morne Morkel and Jacques Kallis made that evident, a fourth-innings hundred to seal a world-record chase in Sri Lanka cast it in stone. Two Test matches later, he was out in the cold again, and the following three returns to the side lasted two, one and two matches respectively.
The only stable run he would be allowed in the team came thanks to an injury to Haris Sohail on the morning of a Centurion Test; Masood was thrust in at number three minutes before the toss. The accidental starter would become an unlikely star for Pakistan on an otherwise dismal tour, finishing second on the overall run-charts in a series Pakistan lost 3-0, with every Test done before lunch on the fourth day.
It was followed up with respectable outings in Brisbane and Adelaide the following year in arguably the most dismal of several dismal Pakistan tours to Australia. He got starts in all four innings and a gritty second-innings 68 in Adelaide, demonstrating resistance few of his contemporaries were able to muster. Masood may have been offered more opportunities in life than most of his contemporaries but it shouldn't need saying that Stomford School or Durham University don't quite prepare you for the baptism of fire in South Africa and Australia.
But Masood's mild mannerisms and generally inoffensive demeanour hasn't inoculated him from criticism. A frosty relationship with Babar meant he didn't ingratiate himself with Babar's supporters in the wake of the former captain's reluctant resignation and Masood's ascendancy. And while some of it was directed at Masood the cricketer, Masood the human being wasn't spared either; a touching social media post marking the anniversary of the passing of his sister was met with plenty of hate and limited sympathy.
And while Masood's record makes him a lightning rod for critique - ridicule, even - when he assumes the captaincy, he has simply done the one thing you need to do in Pakistan to get your chance: hang around. Most cricketers would fade away into obscurity after being cast aside by the system so frequently, but Masood has relentlessly forced himself into the conversation. If red-ball runs dried up, he was tearing it up on the List A circuit.
If that didn't work, he was captaining Multan Sultans to the PSL final, and winning the tournament the following year. If Pakistan wasn't working out, he made his way to the County Championship in England. There is high regard for his analytical abilities in cricket; at the 2021 T20 World Cup, he did some broadcast work for ESPNcricinfo. At the same tournament the following year, he was Pakistan's top-scorer in the World Cup final.
Masood can wear a lot of hats and look equally comfortable in them all, but today, as he slipped on the green blazer on a searing hot day, he will likely never have felt as good about himself. The one hand he placed on the trophy may be as close as he gets to it all month. But this side already appears as if it's moulded in its captain's image, irresistibly watchable while being replete with obvious limitations they will do their best to conceal.
As soon as the open-air press conference was done, Masood walked down the tunnel out of sight; perhaps aptly, he had left as soon as he'd arrived. He'd nailed it as usual, speaking at length while creating as little news as possible. He was coy about team selection, even-handed on Pakistan's style of play, and reticent to be drawn into the messaging on Khawaja's shoes. There was no goodbye as he walked away; it is Masood after all, and he was bound to be back.
Sure enough, a half hour later, a glance down the media box revealed a figure emerging over the boundary towards where the Pakistan team was huddled. There was no green blazer this time, just a Pakistan training kit as he walked over and took his place among his teammates. Yet another hat, same old Shan Masood.