If there was an award for the most entertainingly slow runner in cricket history, Inzamam-ul-Haq would win it by several metres — which is ironic, because he was usually several metres short of the crease when run out. The Pakistani batting genius was so slow between the wickets that his run-outs became a sub-genre of cricket comedy, a reliable source of entertainment that fans could depend on like clockwork.
Inzamam's running was characterized by a curious lumbering gait that suggested he was running through treacle while carrying a piano on his back. He would set off for a run, realize halfway down that he wasn't going to make it, and then just keep going anyway with the resigned air of a man heading to the gallows. There was never any acceleration, never any desperation — just a steady, dignified lumber towards inevitable doom. The dive at the end — when it came — was more of a gentle topple, like a felled tree in slow motion.
His most famous run-out involved him being sent back by his partner but being unable to turn around quickly enough, resulting in both batsmen ending up at the same end while the fielding team casually removed the bails as if they had all the time in the world. Which they did, because Inzamam's turning circle was roughly equivalent to that of an ocean liner. On another occasion, he was run out without the fielding team even having to throw — the wicketkeeper simply walked to the stumps and removed the bails while Inzamam was still several yards short, moving at a pace that could charitably be described as "leisurely" and accurately described as "geological."
His teammates learned to never call him for a quick single, but somehow it kept happening. "Yes!" they'd shout, setting off at a sprint. Inzamam would look up, begin his ponderous journey, and the entire stadium would collectively hold its breath. The result was almost always the same: a run-out that looked like it had been filmed in slow motion, even at normal speed.