Too old or too good to ignore: The Mohammed Shami conundrum

Mumbai, July 2026 – The numbers are stubborn, almost defiant. Twenty wickets in four Ranji Trophy matches at 18.6 apiece. Sixteen more in seven Syed Mushtaq Ali fixtures. Eleven in five Vijay Hazare games. Add nine scalps from five Champions Trophy outings last February and the arithmetic is unambiguous: Mohammed Shami keeps taking wickets, yet India keeps leaving him out.

As the 2026 T20 World Cup looms and the 2027 ODI edition follows barely a year later, the national selectors face an uncomfortable equation. By the time the 50-over showcase kicks off, Shami will be 37, Jasprit Bumrah 34. Two generational quicks, two medical files that bulge almost as prominently as their match figures. The temptation to pivot toward youth is understandable; the domestic cupboard, however, is hardly overflowing with ready replacements.

Chief selector Ajit Agarkar has previously hinted that “communication over fitness” broke down, a rationale Shami swatted away as “not my concern.” Whatever the private exchanges, the public outcome is the same: the seamer’s name was absent when the BCCI unveiled its 2025-26 central contracts, extending a pattern that has become impossible to ignore.

No one disputes the pedigree. Shami’s 55 World Cup wickets at 13.5 apiece remain an Indian record, compiled across 18 high-pressure contests. The seam still rasps, the wobble still confounds, the late swing still arrives like a courtroom objection. Yet the calendar keeps rolling, and the selectors keep searching for younger legs.

Badruddin Siddiqui, the bowler’s trusted coach since childhood, refuses to soft-pedal his frustration. “There’s fire in him,” he insists. “I always tell him—perform karte raho: India will need you.” In Siddiqui’s book, the logic is elemental: runs and wickets buy passage, not birth certificates. “Age should never be a consideration. Fitness, performance and fire: that’s what matters.”

Sanjeev Sharma, the former Delhi paceman, offers a counterweight. International cricket, he reminds, is a 360-degree ordeal. “Even a T20 international takes a lot out of you: fielding, bending, chasing. There is no place to hide.” Sharma suspects Shami may still be a whisker short of the exact-match-fitness benchmark the panel wants, but he is unequivocal on skill. “He is your second-best fast bowler after Bumrah. There’s no doubt in my mind that Shami will return.”

Around him, the queue grows. Arshdeep Singh’s left-arm angle, Mohammed Siraj’s tireless lengths, Harshit Rana’s raw upward curve—all hungry, all younger. Yet competition, Siddiqui argues, cannot erase class. “Performance speaks for itself,” he says, voice laced with certainty. “Bilkul wapas aayega: he will be back.”

For the moment, the debate cycles on: is India protecting a future it cannot yet see, or sacrificing a present that still bites? The rasping seam, the wobble that refuses to settle, the habit of arriving at global events and leaving with armfuls of stumps—those credentials are not theoretical. They are archived, archived, and archived again.

Until the selectors agree on whether 37 is a deadline or merely a number, Mohammed Shami’s career will continue in the domestic arenas where he keeps proving what the national arena keeps doubting. The ball is in their court. The ball, as ever, will swing.