The food in Pakistani press boxes can vary, both in cuisine and quality, but as the media lined up after lunch on the first day, it was clear a dessert popularity contest would be rather one-sided. One journalist piled his plate high with gulab jamuns, ping-pong ball-sized impossibly sweet milk and dough balls, before contentedly sitting down at the nearest table. Pakistan is the land of the sugar hit.
Looking across the glass window and onto the field, Pakistan cricket had decided they wanted in on the action, too. Sticking to a long-term plan, putting themselves through pain, never quite knowing if their goals would be realised had begun to take its toll. Pakistan had lost six Test matches in a row, and the benefits of consistency in selection and a long-term plan appeared increasingly illusory. They had slipped to the bottom of the World Test Championship table, and their impassioned supporters were merely feeding off scraps. They didn't need a lecture on caloric restriction; they wanted a session of comfort eating.
And so they delivered Multan 2 (Pakistan's version). They had the ingredients already in the pantry for whatever they were trying to rustle up, even if they had to recycle and reheat. The pitch had already been prepared, with four-and-a-half days of cricket under its belt. The spinners had been assumed to be past their sell-by date, but they'd had a look at the packaging, and they were just about usable. Pakistan would need to go shopping again, soon, but crucially, not today.
It was time to start cooking. They glanced at the time; it was already getting a bit late. No one quite knows what time the gas supply cuts out in Pakistan these days; the only surefire way to know is to turn the knob and see what happens. They flipped that coin; it landed correctly, and the stove burned up. Pakistan knew much of their work was already done.
Perhaps it's churlish to belittle the rest of the game at the expense of that moment, but even captain Shan Masood acknowledged the value of that toss. It was the moment they were handed the key to unlock a style of play they had deliberately locked away, almost because they believed it was somehow morally wrong to win a game this way. They had spent the last year looking for success in a manner they felt did justice to the legacy of their charismatic fast-bowling forebears. They invested in young quicks Shaheen Afridi and Naseem Shah and their perfect hairlines, while older, balding spinners sat willing to do the job at a fraction of the price.
In football, such pragmatism has made devoted heroes out of Jose Mourinho and Thomas Tuchel, whose laser focus on results override any concessions to style. Pakistan, particularly in its current, dysfunctional set-up should theoretically make the strongest case for a similar approach, if perhaps at Sam Allardyce or Sean Dyche's level instead. Most journalists in this country have, after all, rolled their eyes as they sit through the unveiling of the latest chairman or coach as they talk about their long-term vision, and the structural long-term changes they are going to make, knowing they'll be sitting there in a few months or years hearing the same talking points from another recycled face. None of those grand plans will come to fruition, and any progress made will be discarded as the loop repeats.
In a brief moment of lucidity last week, this is an epiphany the PCB seems to have had. Masood had gone 0 in 6, and his job was under threat. The captain and the coach, having talked up consistency in selection, were omitted from the selection committee altogether. A new selection committee, one that took the selector count over the last three years to 26, had just been announced. Some of the players they had invested in over the Test summer weren't that keen to play, others needed a rest for their own sake. Pakistan didn't need a long-term plan; they needed a win.
The culmination of no long-term plan is 20 wickets for two spinners who haven't held a red-ball since January. This Test - that final innings in particular - tells us no more or less than we already knew about Masood's captaincy. There were no bowling changes at all, and fielding changes were generally limited to switches for a left-handed batter, or the addition of an extra fielder to a close catching position. No one quite knows what Pakistan are thinking of come December when they go to South Africa; indeed Masood already understood what they'd just managed would be difficult enough to replicate as early as Rawalpindi next week.
But the selectors have already arrived in Rawalpindi; the curators were there a few days earlier to work out a bespoke plan for a ground that has never traditionally taken spin. The cricket team finally appears to be on the same page as everyone within the cricket board, entirely focused on surviving the next day, and worrying about the distant future later.
As the morning unfolded, it became immediately clear the 297 England needed to win was academic. Sajid and Noman romped through an opposition with a ruthlessness Pakistan had believed they were no longer unable to muster. A warm, fuzzy feeling spread around the sparsely populated ground. With every ball threatening, many in the press boxes got carried away, exclaiming "out!" every time a ball hit a pad or whizzed past an edge. When Ben Stokes danced down to Noman, losing control of his bat as it flew high behind fine leg, there were delighted cackles.
When Noman got Shoaib Bashir to take his eighth and finally complete the web Pakistan had spun around England, several loudly applauded, and had to be sternly shushed by the others.
Perhaps it was the gulab jamuns.