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Pakistan's approach to one-day cricket is a bit like Errol Flynn's to the Sheriff of Nottingham's castle - the difference being that Errol never got his tights caught in the chandeliers before falling head first into the boiling oil.

However, the fact that Pakistan were in one of their unbeatable rather than unspeakable moods yesterday was good news for Sunday's final, given that New Zealand's connection to Hollywood is more Claude Rains - the original Invisible Man - than Errol Flynn.

The difference in excitability between the two sets of supporters had something to do with the one-sided nature of the game, but more with cultures several miles apart. An auto-rickshaw ride through Lahore is a good deal hairier than anything you'll see in Formula One, while the only thing that will mow you down in Christchurch High Street on a Sunday afternoon is a piece of tumbleweed.

New Zealand's defeat will go unmourned by all neutrals bar the ECB, for whom the forthcoming Test series represents the marketing equivalent of selling fridges to Eskimos. The Kiwis did well to get as far as the semi-final but for the sake of one-day cricket's broader appeal, it is perhaps as well that quiet, collective efficiency proved to be no match for erratic flair.

New Zealanders in general have taken mild umbrage at their team being labelled dull, as they do when their country is similarly described. However, it is hard to escape once you've been stereotyped. I recall reading a foreword in a New Zealand travel book (probably written by an Australian) which read: ``All the people with get up and go have got up and gone.''

Pakistan, too, have been stuck with their stereotypes down the years, not least in suggestions that their umpires are blind, bent, or both, their bowlers have fingernails capable of opening baked bean cans, they spend a lot of time shoving brown paper envelopes under the opposition's bedroom doors, and - thanks to a certain former England all-rounder -live in a country that would make a one-way air ticket to Lahore a perfect birthday present for the mother-in-law.

There is not, in fact, a lot you can't do in Lahore -apart from nip into the Dog and Partridge for a pint of Theakstons - and it was hard not to imagine the streets there being packed with jubilant supporters last night. However, the mark was comfortably overstepped by those of them that were at Old Trafford and if this had been Madras as opposed to Manchester, we might have seen tear gas and baton charges.

It is a bit of a mystery as to why Pakistan consistently produce bowlers of express pace, while India cannot. Shoaib Akhtar's eventual dismissal of Nathan Astle was close to an act of euthanasia, and the first Stephen Fleming would have seen of the ball that yorked him was on the giant video screen as he walked back to the pavilion.

Shoaib is a pretty frightening sight as he hurtles in. While Michael Holding's equally lengthy approach was made with a cat burglar's tread, Shoaib pounds in like a a herd of buffalo. On top of which, his delivery action is so violent that one day, you fear, so many bits of him will fly off that they'll have to carry him off in the groundsman's wheelbarrow.

Shoaib sweats as profusely as one of those old-fashioned English seamers of many years ago, though the latter were generally trying to get rid of the 10 pints of ale they'd supped the night before. In Shoaib's case, it is more the product of a run-up which is almost as long as a 747 requires for take off.

Express pace does not, in Shoaib's case, result in loss of accuracy, though Pakistan's old failing of delivering wides and no balls may not go as unpunished against either Australia or South Africa. Tiger Woods can give a stroke a hole to the local club pro but not to Colin Montgomerie.

If Pakistan do win the final, the potential crowd scenes scarcely bear thinking about. Judging by yesterday's invasion, there will be something like 10,000 of them charging the Lord's pavilion and if the doormen adopt their normal procedure - ``I'm sorry sir, you don't appear to be wearing a jacket and tie'' - it won't be much of a contest.

The first invasion, before the end, led to a 10-minute delay while the Old Trafford officials insisted that everyone got back behind the boundary boards. Cricket being largely run by the marketing men nowadays, there is no more serious offence than having the Pepsi Cola sign obscured while the cameras are still running.