The stadium is electric. It is different to the World XI match. This is a real country-on-country contest, our boys in green, theirs in blue. We love the Sri Lankans, but we still want to win.

The air is alive with the inexplicable reverie of people who are being rewarded with other people’s faith in their ability to deliver – not just security arrangements or hospitality, but the swing that takes out an opening batsman or the calm half-century that jacks the run rate up by 12.5%. The ability to deliver on that fundamental cornerstone of the Pakistani identity – cricket.

I feel incredibly fortunate. International cricket hasn’t really been in Pakistan for a decade (barring a Zimbabwean tour, which was also affected by a foiled bomb incident), yet here I am, at my second match since returning to Lahore about three months ago.

The last time I came to see the World XI was because of sheer luck, and the generosity of one of my former students from Aitchison College with a spare pass into the Chairman’s Box. I’d queued numerous times unsuccessfully to get a match ticket so I was understandably over the moon when the chance came along.

Afterwards, at the risk of looking a gift horse in the mouth, I told him I was never going to watch a match from the Box again – not only was most of the seating behind a wall of glass, the silence inside was eerily reminiscent of a very awkward viewing encounter with a boring old uncle.

My student and I ultimately practiced all forms of contortionism, cramped along the floor of the tight balcony outside the Box, watching the match through a white grill. That’s what hunger for live international cricket looks like, I suppose.

Now, having bounded up the Fazal Mahmood stairs to grab four seats at the top right of the stands, I am the happiest I’ve been in years. This is not an exaggeration.

I absolutely love cricket with a passion. If your team is in such form – and the Pakistani team is – there is no better treat in the world than to have it perform to its potential in front of your eyes. If your country is 65% young – and Pakistan is – live cricket is only improved by the disproportionate presence of young people, and their unrestrained energy.

Match report: Pakistan beat Sri Lanka by 2 wickets in second T20

Being broadcast live across the world, I know I am standing in the middle of a match that is making history. This is Pakistan telling the whole world it is more than a violent, terrorist maniac seemingly anchored in the South Asian region to singularly serve geostrategic ends.

Tonight, we are the persistence of our cricketers; we are the children who have continued to play on Pakistan’s streets when nobody was playing in our stadia; we are the entrepreneurial spirit that has held on to domestic cricket in the vacuum of eight years, and given the world Shadab Khan.

I will remember this match in different ways forever. I will remember that at about 17 minutes to 6pm, we were around 23,000 people huddled in a protective circle around international cricket at the Gaddafi Stadium, listening to the Sri Lankan anthem, then singing in soulful unison our own.

I will remember that as I emerged back into the lights from a toilet break, I saw Amir announce his arrival with his unmistakable reverse swing ruthlessly flinging the bails off of Munaweera’s wicket.

I will remember the stadium’s miserable attempts at sustaining a cycle of three waves to ‘buck up’ Sri Lanka because right in the middle of it, Hassan Ali got to Perera.

Match report: Final T20 in Lahore: Pakistan beat Sri Lanka by 36 runs to claim series

I will remember Imad Wasim turning to us in the stands from deep extra cover, signalling for us to noisily ring in the impending victory. I don’t think anyone in the world will forget how that motorcycle reduced 13 professional athletes to a bunch of scrambling boys, stumbling over each other to check it out.

I will remember the shine in my father’s 69-year-old eyes – normally tired from witnessing the daily antics of men his age who project themselves as Pakistan’s ‘leaders’ – beaming with pride at the hope embodied by his country’s young sportsmen.

But most of all, I will remember the pounding of my heart, the thunder of the crowd, the rhythm in our chant, the words rightfully assuming a place in my heart after a long time:

Pakistan zindabad, Pakistan zindabad.
Pakistan zindabad.

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