1. No Arab Sheikhs watching on with the benevolent gold-toothed smiles as if attending their kids’ annual sports day.
2. No fleeting shots of Dawood Ibrahim and Chhota Shakeel in the VIP box applauding boundaries.
3. No Henry Blofeld in the commentary box spotting pretty chicks in the crowd and gushing "such pretty earrings" as a completely see-through sexist euphemism for something that went beyond just earrings.
4. No spanking new 70cc Luna mopeds that will be whisked away by the man-of-the-tournament (and true to childhood habit, the entire team would clamber on as if it were the last 12:50 fast local to Virar).
5. No paranoid pessimism about how badly Saeed Anwar or Aamir Sohail would thulp our military medium bowlers tomorrow.
6. …and no nauseating nightmares the next morning recollecting what Ijaz Ahmed and Saleem Malik actually did to our bowlers yesterday.
7. No lingering doubts about why Salim Malik kept winking at the umpires in between overs throughout the match. Poor chap, must be conjunctivitis, no?
8. No green-with-envy rueful sighs about why their fast bowlers always seemed 30 kilometers faster (and 30 degrees hotter on the sexymeter).
9. And alas, no Dr Narottam Puri trying to make the best of a botched up pre-match show with his sagacious commentary, despite all the usual Doordarshan gaffes such as suddenly-tottering cameras, "rukavat ke liye khed hai" interruptions and audio glitches when you overhear the technicians unwittingly hurl MC-BC instructions on live television, loud and clear.
10. And no sightings of the vintage Pakistani mullet (you had to have one to bowl fast) and the Indian moosh (back in the day when you just had to have one to prove you’ve come up the hard way from the under-17 Karol Bagh league).
11. No 5000 decibel groans in anger and anguish either, every time a Pakistani umpire interpreted the LBW rule in his own unique way (and in Aaqib Javed’s case, seven times over in a single over on one occasion.)
12. And lastly, no remnant visceral animosity that used to add that extra edge. I mean, common, it’s NO FUN beating such nice guys. Sadly, this Pakistan team has no rogue of the Javed Miandad proportions, to hate and cuss from our living rooms. You know things have hit the nadir when the only proper, genuine hate-able character in the side is an over-the-hill skipper who professes open romance for India. Dang. Grow some mullets, shabaash boys!