Sometimes sport produces ironies too rich to ignore.
For much of the past year, and especially through the T20 World Cup, Pakistan’s cricket discourse has orbited a single, wearying question: what do you do with Babar Azam in T20 cricket?
He has been idolised and criticised in equal measure — at times untouchable, at others expendable. With Babar, the stakes are always heightened. He is deeply loved, but in the shortest format, that affection has been tested.
The numbers made for uncomfortable reading. In PSL 2025, he managed 288 runs at a strike rate of 128.57 — a noticeable dip from the 140-plus seasons that preceded it. For Pakistan, it was worse: 206 runs in 2025 at 114.44, followed by a modest uptick to 117.60 in early 2026. For a player of his calibre, these weren’t just lean returns — they fed a growing narrative.
And then, almost without warning, came a shift.
PSL 2026 has seen Babar reborn — striking above 140 and averaging an astonishing 80.83. The turnaround has been dramatic, and the catalyst unexpected: Kusal Mendis.
While Babar’s resurgence grabs headlines, this story belongs just as much to Mendis. Long cast as Sri Lanka’s enigma — capable of brilliance, prone to inconsistency — he is now in the form of his life. The raw numbers are staggering: 500 runs in nine innings, a century (the first by a Sri Lankan in PSL history), four fifties, an average of 62.50, and a strike rate touching 171.
But the transformation goes beyond statistics.
Mendis has always been devastating square of the wicket — the whip pull, the savage cut, the dismissive slog sweep. Now, there is evolution. He is advancing down the pitch to spinners, opening up the ground, and striking cleanly through the V. Against pace, too, he looks more complete — exemplified by a commanding straight-batted six over long-on off Hasan Ali.
At 31, this is not reinvention so much as refinement — a batter finally aligning instinct with intent.
Yet the most intriguing layer to this story lies beyond technique or tactics. It lies in the silence.
Amid a government directive tied to the West Asia crisis, PSL 2026 has unfolded behind closed doors. No crowds. No noise. Empty stands where there should be fervour.
For most, that would drain the spectacle. For Babar and Mendis, it may have done the opposite.
We’ve seen this before. During the pandemic, the Premier League’s “Project Restart” produced a strange clarity in performance. Ole Gunnar Solskjær’s Manchester United, long accused of faltering under pressure, suddenly played with freedom and fluency. Without the weight of expectation echoing from the stands, decision-making sharpened, expression returned.
Something similar appears to be happening here.
Both Babar and Mendis have lived under intense scrutiny. For Mendis, criticism has often been relentless — each failure amplified, each success fleeting in the public memory. He has spoken about the mental toll of that cycle, and how leadership responsibilities once dulled his natural game. Even in the recent World Cup, he appeared constrained, tasked with anchoring when his strengths lie in disruption.
Now, in this eerie quiet, he looks unburdened.
And alongside him is Babar — steady, composed, and willing to absorb pressure. Where Babar anchors, Mendis attacks. Where one accumulates, the other destabilises. It is not just a partnership; it is a balance.
In that balance, something rare has emerged — a kind of cricketing symmetry, where both players are free to be exactly what they are.
There is, of course, a cruel paradox at the heart of it all.
The fans — those same voices that critique and celebrate in equal measure — would have relished this version of Babar: the liberated master, scoring his fastest PSL century against Quetta Gladiators. And yet, it is entirely possible that in a full stadium, under the familiar roar and scrutiny, this version might never have surfaced.
Instead, in empty arenas, Babar Azam and Kusal Mendis are playing some of their fullest cricket — not in front of thousands, but in the absence of them.
For once, the loudest sound is the one that isn’t there.
And in that silence, they are finally hearing themselves.
