A Tale of Contrasts: IPL Riches and Australia's Struggles in Perth

As the cricketing world turned its gaze towards the glamour and opulence of the Indian Premier League auction, where fortunes were exchanged in a frenzy of bids, a starkly contrasting drama unfolded at the iconic Perth Stadium. Here, amidst the rugged West Australian heat, India and Australia were locked in a battle to draw first blood in the Border-Gavaskar Trophy. Yet, the narrative that emerged was not one of resolute competition, but rather of Australia’s shocking capitulation—both with bat and ball—in a Test that laid bare their vulnerabilities. 

Day 1: The Frenzy of 17 Wickets 

The opening day set an intriguing stage. On a pitch bristling with pace and movement, Australia's bowlers made the most of the conditions, dismantling India for a paltry 150. It was vintage Australian cricket, executed with discipline and aggression. However, what followed was a surreal unraveling. India’s pace battery, led by an inspired Jasprit Bumrah, returned fire, scything through the Australian lineup. Seventeen wickets tumbled in a day that epitomized Test cricket’s capricious charm, yet it was Australia’s meekness that drew the sharpest scrutiny. 

Day 2: A Tale of Two Contrasts 

If Day 1 hinted at Australia’s frailty, Day 2 turned suspicion into certainty. The same surface that had reduced both teams to tatters suddenly seemed benign. India’s openers, Yashasvi Jaiswal and KL Rahul, batted with a serene authority that belied the turmoil of the previous day. Their unbroken partnership of 104 left Australia reeling, the lead ballooning to 150 on a pitch where no batter had previously surpassed 41. 

Australia’s response was as puzzling as it was uncharacteristic. Mitchell Starc, the spearhead of their attack, looked bereft of ideas. Pat Cummins, hailed as the world’s premier fast bowler, appeared a shadow of his formidable self. Most confounding was Cummins' decision to employ Marnus Labuschagne—a part-time leg-spinner—as a bouncer specialist with a 24-over-old ball. It was a move that encapsulated Australia’s disarray, betraying their struggle to adapt. 

The Decline of Australia’s Aura 

Australia’s malaise extended beyond the bowling crease. The fielding, traditionally a hallmark of their cricketing identity, was uncharacteristically sloppy. Usman Khawaja dropped two catches, one of which could still prove costly. Steven Smith, a perennial figure of assurance, fluffed a straightforward run-out opportunity. 

Smith’s struggles epitomize a larger issue haunting Australian cricket. Once a talismanic figure, his recent form in Tests has been alarming. Averaging a meager 23.50 over his last 10 innings, Smith’s unorthodox technique—so often his strength—now seems his undoing against the relentless bounce and movement of modern-day pitches. 

Labuschagne, once the poster boy of Australia’s Test resurgence, has fared no better. His average of 13.66 across the last 10 innings is a grim reminder of how quickly fortunes can change in cricket. 

A Cultural Crisis? 

Perhaps the most damning aspect of Australia’s performance has been their body language. Gone was the trademark aggression, the willingness to scrap for every inch. Instead, there was an air of resignation, a visible lack of intent that stood in stark contrast to India’s resilience. 

The questions abound: Why did Australia fail to adapt to conditions that, while challenging, were far from unplayable? Why did their bowling lack the venom and precision that have long been their hallmark? Why did their batters, on a pitch that eased as the game progressed, fail to muster even a semblance of fight? 

IPL's Lure and Test Cricket's Truth 

As the IPL auction dominated headlines, the game in Perth served as a stark reminder of Test cricket’s enduring appeal. It laid bare the truths that no amount of T20 glitz can obscure: the need for grit, adaptability, and unyielding focus. 

For Australia, this Test is more than a defeat; it is a wake-up call. Their batting needs recalibration, their bowling needs reinvention, and their collective spirit needs rekindling. Until then, the Border-Gavaskar Trophy might remain beyond their grasp, a mirror reflecting not just their flaws, but the grandeur of the challenge that is Test cricket.  

Thank You

Faisal Caesar 

The Tale of Mustafizur Rahman: Between Glory and the Allure of Modern Cricket

On a memorable evening in Mirpur, a vociferous crowd witnessed history as a young boy from Satkhira, Mustafizur Rahman, etched his name into cricketing folklore. It was June 18, 2015, the same date that had once seen Bangladesh stun Australia at Cardiff a decade earlier. This time, however, the victims were a full-strength Indian side, humbled by the magic of Mustafizur on his ODI debut. The young left-armer’s unplayable cutters and deceptive variations flummoxed the Indian batting order, earning him a remarkable five-wicket haul—a feat only his compatriot Taskin Ahmed had achieved before him on debut. 

Throughout that series and beyond, Mustafizur continued to dazzle. His spellbinding performances against South Africa, particularly in the Chittagong Test, confirmed that he was not merely a one-series wonder but a generational talent. On that fateful day in Chittagong, the world’s top-ranked Test team collapsed dramatically under the weight of his lethal deliveries. His ability to dismiss three class players—Hashim Amla, Quinton de Kock, and JP Duminy—in one over showcased a bowler of exceptional skill and temperament. Mustafiz wasn’t just good; he had the makings of one of the all-time great left-arm pacers. 

Yet, in the years that followed, Mustafiz’s trajectory began to align with cricket’s newest paradigm—the franchise-driven, fast-paced world of Twenty20 cricket. While his performances in leagues like the IPL garnered global attention, a deeper question emerged: would the glittering lure of T20 cricket steer Mustafiz away from the longer formats, where legends are truly forged? 

The Allure and the Cost of T20 Leagues 

There is no denying the appeal of T20 cricket. It is quick, glamorous, and immensely profitable, offering players global recognition in the blink of an eye. Mustafiz’s success in the IPL, where his cutters became the talk of the tournament, catapulted him into the global spotlight. Franchise teams in England, Australia, and beyond began vying for his services. Bangladeshi fans, long starved of global heroes, embraced his rise with unbridled enthusiasm. 

However, as a cricket romantic, I find myself torn. T20 leagues, for all their excitement, rarely mold players into enduring legends. Cricketing immortality is not achieved through quick bursts of brilliance but through sustained excellence in the crucible of Test cricket. The likes of Viv Richards, Imran Khan, Brian Lara, and Wasim Akram are remembered not for their exploits in short-format cricket but for their ability to dominate the game’s most challenging format. 

The experience of senior West Indian players in T20 leagues serves as a cautionary tale. While stars like Chris Gayle and Andre Russell have achieved phenomenal success in franchise cricket, the West Indies' decline in Test cricket has been stark and painful. Their prowess in T20 leagues has done little to revive the fortunes of their national team, a stark reminder that T20 cricket, for all its glamour, cannot replace the foundational rigors of first-class cricket. 

The Crucible of First-Class Cricket 

Mustafizur’s immense talent deserves a stage where it can be nurtured and refined. Unfortunately, T20 leagues, with their emphasis on instant results, offer little room for the kind of technical and mental growth that first-class cricket fosters. The likes of Kumar Sangakkara and Ajinkya Rahane understood this well. Sangakkara chose the grind of County Cricket to elevate his game, while Rahane turned to the Ranji Trophy to rediscover his form. These formats test a cricketer’s patience, resilience, and adaptability—qualities essential for success at the highest level. 

For Mustafizur, a stint in County Cricket could be transformative. The exposure to different conditions, coupled with mentorship from seasoned coaches and players, would help him evolve into a more complete bowler. Shakib Al Hasan’s time at Worcestershire in 2010 is a testament to how such experiences can elevate a player’s game. Shakib returned from County Cricket as a more mature and versatile cricketer, and the same could be true for Mustafiz. 

The Road Ahead 

As Mustafiz continues to dazzle in T20 leagues, the Bangladesh Cricket Board (BCB) and his well-wishers face a critical responsibility: to ensure that his talent is not confined to the shortest format. He must be encouraged to embrace the challenges of Test and first-class cricket, where his legacy can truly take shape. A bowler of Mustafizur’s calibre deserves to be remembered not as a T20 specialist but as one of the game’s all-time greats. 

Test cricket remains the ultimate yardstick of greatness. While T20 cricket may provide the fireworks, it is in the marathon of five-day cricket that true legends are forged. Players like Viv Richards and Graeme Pollock continue to be revered not because of their T20 exploits but because they excelled in the format that demanded the most from them. 

For Mustafizur Rahman, the path to immortality lies not in the glittering arenas of franchise cricket but in the quiet, grinding fields of first-class cricket. It is my fervent hope that he chooses this path, for it is only then that he can fulfil his immense potential and secure his place among the pantheon of cricketing greats.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar   

Cricket in Crisis: The Unseen Forces Behind Spot-Fixing Scandals

 

Cricket's tarnished arena—a sport once revered for its passion and grit—now frequently grapples with the dark shadows of corruption, with spot-fixing scandals emerging as an alarming constant. Unlike the flurry of activity seen in cardiac emergency rooms or OPDs, a job in the ETT room is less chaotic, offering moments for contemplation and, often, a chance to unwind. My refuge after a long day of work and postgraduate studies lies in the cricketing world, whether through watching matches, reading articles, or scrolling through popular cricket websites. This routine is supposed to ease stress, yet lately, the news emerging from these sites only sows frustration. The re-emergence of spot-fixing has once again disrupted the sanctity of cricket.

After a quiet period, spot-fixing has reared its ugly head, this time marring the Indian Premier League (IPL). Three promising Indian cricketers—Sreesanth, Ankeet Chavan, and Ajit Chandila—stand accused. To a cricket lover, witnessing such talented individuals' careers jeopardized is disheartening, rekindling memories of Muhammad Amir’s descent into scandal. The disappointment with Sreesanth is equally profound; he was a beacon of promise, now overshadowed by disgrace. 

The question lingers: why would a cricketer, already well-paid, resort to such dishonourable means? The cash-rich IPL offers enough financial security to dissuade any need for illicit gains. But perhaps these cricketers are only the surface, mere players in a scheme far grander and darker, controlled by unseen hands who skillfully manipulate the game’s course.

Once a noble pursuit, cricket has transformed. It is now a machine generating millions, catering not only to players but to a network of businessmen who exploit it for their own gain. T20 leagues, while providing livelihoods and exposure, have unintentionally opened the floodgates for dark influences. The colossal sums of money flowing into these leagues are fertile ground for unscrupulous interests. Newspapers report how susceptible these tournaments are to spot-fixing, exposing young, impressionable athletes to a realm where quick profit can trump integrity. While these leagues have revolutionized cricket and made it more accessible, they have also inadvertently created a breeding ground for the morally bankrupt.

In any new venture, vice tends to follow opportunity. Evil's persistence in the face of innovation is hardly surprising, yet one might expect more vigilance from those at the helm. Rather than acting as guardians of the sport, cricket’s overseers often appear as engineers of this runaway money train, allowing it to tear through any obstacle in its path. Match-fixing isn’t a new affliction; it has haunted cricket for over a decade. The international cricketing authorities—the ICC and governing boards—could have taken robust action to eradicate this problem. Yet the recurrence of these scandals suggests an enduring negligence or, worse, an intentional blind eye. The game remains polluted by those who prioritize profit over preserving its essence.

Cricket demands not only physical prowess but also mental resilience. For every stalwart like Sachin Tendulkar or Rahul Dravid, capable of fending off temptation, there exists a vulnerable young talent, naïve and susceptible. These players, often overwhelmed by the pressures and enticements of the sport’s darker corridors, need guidance. Boards have a responsibility to protect them, not just to capitalize on their skill but to educate them on navigating the murky waters of international cricket.

Has the Board fulfilled its duty of care to these young players?

Cricketers like Sreesanth and Amir were not born as criminals; rather, they were ensnared by a system lacking safeguards, surrounded by devious criminals who feigned friendship only to exploit them. These masterminds—how do they hold such sway? How do they continually taint cricket’s reputation with impunity? Are they part of a more insidious network serving hidden power brokers? These are questions that linger, elusive and unanswered, leaving us with only guesses.

While Sreesanth and the others may face the consequences, and we may condemn them as we once did the Pakistani trio, the system remains intact. Meanwhile, the true puppeteers, shrewd and well-connected, continue to elude capture, chipping away at the spirit of cricket and our trust in the game.

Can cricket ever be liberated from those driven solely by the lure of wealth?

Perhaps, if it could be, we might yet find a remedy for its many afflictions.

 
Thank You
Faisal Caesar  

Cricket at Crossroads: The IPL Dilemma and The Spirit of the Game

The modern world of cricket finds itself at a crossroads, torn between the glitz and glamour of franchise leagues and the age-old values of national pride and integrity. As a long-time follower of West Indies cricket, my heart aches to witness the once-dominant Caribbean side crumble under the weight of inconsistent performances. These disappointments are not just the result of declining skills but seem rooted in a deeper malaise - the prioritization of financial gains over national duty. 

The IPL and the Rise of Franchise Cricket

At the heart of this conflict lies the Indian Premier League (IPL), an extravagant tournament that has redefined the landscape of modern cricket. With its fast-paced matches, star-studded lineups, and after-match revelries, the IPL offers a heady cocktail of fame, fortune, and fanfare. For many international cricketers, the lure of franchise cricket has become irresistible, as it promises wealth far beyond what national boards can offer. 

West Indian stalwarts like Chris Gayle and Dwayne Bravo, once central to their nation’s cricketing identity, now appear more engrossed in IPL festivities than in representing the Caribbean. The sight of these players enjoying after-match parties, seemingly indifferent to their national team’s struggles back home, is a stark reminder of how modern-day priorities have shifted. 

A Crisis of Loyalty and Passion

For a fan who grew up admiring the fiery commitment of legends like Malcolm Marshall and Viv Richards, the current scenario feels like a betrayal. Cricket was once a stage for showcasing national pride, where victory for one’s country meant more than personal accolades or financial rewards. But today, it seems that many cricketers have succumbed to a different kind of ambition - one measured in bank balances, not Test victories. 

This shift is not limited to the Caribbean. Even Indian cricket, traditionally anchored in national pride, is not immune. Gautam Gambhir, known for his gritty performances for India, played through injury during an IPL eliminator to ensure his franchise’s success. As a result, he compromised his fitness for national duty, forcing him to miss the subsequent tour to the West Indies. His teammate Virender Sehwag also opted out of the tour, raising further questions about players’ priorities. 

Renowned columnist Sharda Ugra aptly captured the dilemma when she questioned, *“Had the IPL distracted them all?”* This haunting inquiry reflects a growing unease among fans and critics alike - has cricket’s soul been compromised in pursuit of quick riches? 

The Moral Dilemma: Cash or Country?

While it is understandable that athletes seek financial security, how they chase these rewards raises moral questions. The rise of franchise leagues has fostered a culture where national duties are sometimes treated as secondary obligations. The passion and commitment that once defined the sport are now overshadowed by the relentless pursuit of wealth. 

Cricketers are within their rights to pursue financial opportunities, but the erosion of loyalty towards their countries tarnishes the integrity of the game. The question we must ask is not whether players should earn money but whether they should sacrifice their nation’s pride to do so. 

The IPL: Catalyst or Culprit

It is tempting to lay the blame squarely on the IPL for fostering a mercenary mindset among players. Indeed, the league’s lavish rewards have transformed many athletes into what seem like mercenaries, chasing contracts instead of caps. Yet, the IPL is merely a symptom of a larger issue - the commercialization of sports and the moral dilemmas it brings. 

The problem lies not just in the existence of franchise cricket but in the way it reshapes priorities. For many players, the IPL offers more than just financial incentives; it offers celebrity status, lifestyle perks, and global exposure. But at what cost? When the pursuit of glamour begins to eclipse the essence of the game, the spirit of cricket is in peril. 

 The Need for Balance and Reform

To preserve the essence of cricket, a balance must be struck between financial incentives and national responsibilities. Governing bodies like the International Cricket Council (ICC) and national boards need to implement policies that encourage players to prioritize international commitments. Stricter contracts, better scheduling, and financial parity between leagues and national teams could help align players’ interests with the long-term health of the sport. 

More importantly, the cricketing fraternity must reignite the passion for playing for one's country. The pride of donning the national jersey should not be eclipsed by the allure of franchise colours. Players must realize that their legacy will not be defined by the number of T20 leagues they conquer but by the contributions they make to their nation’s cricketing history. 

Saving Cricket from Its Own Success

The IPL has undoubtedly revolutionized cricket, but its unchecked growth risks devouring the very spirit that makes the game special. Cricket was never just about money—it was about community, heritage, and the pursuit of excellence for one’s country. If modern players continue to prioritize cash over country, the game as we know it will be at risk of losing its soul. 

The crazy money train must be reined in, not to stop progress but to ensure that cricket’s heart still beats with the same passion and integrity that once inspired generations. If not, the beautiful game may find itself reduced to a soulless spectacle - a carnival of cash, devoid of pride, spirit, and meaning. 

It is up to the players, boards, and fans to decide: Will cricket remain a symbol of national pride, or will it become just another business venture? The future of the game hangs in the balance, and it is a choice that must be made soon—for the love of cricket and for the generations to come.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar 

   

The Story of Lalit Modi

 

The saga of Lalit Modi, once a relatively obscure figure in the world of cricket, has become emblematic of both the glittering rise and the murky depths of power in sports. From his early years marked by rebellion and scandal, Modi’s life reads like a tale of ambition that spiralled into notoriety. Born into wealth and privilege, he seemed destined for success, but his journey has been anything but conventional. Today, his name is synonymous with the Indian Premier League (IPL) - a cricketing behemoth that transformed the sport forever. Yet, beneath the glamour of the IPL lies a troubling narrative of corruption, controversy, and unchecked ambition.

As a young boy, Modi was a source of endless frustration for his father, who was bombarded with complaints from prestigious schools in Shimla and Nainital. The boy’s disdain for structured education saw him flee schools, harbouring dreams of studying in the United States. When he finally crossed the Atlantic, instead of finding redemption, he found himself ensnared in a web of criminal activity. Arrested for drug trafficking, conspiracy to kidnap, and assault while at Duke University, his early misdeeds seemed to set the tone for what would become a life marked by scandal.

Yet despite his dark past, Modi returned to India in 1986 and resumed his role in the family business. For years, his life was peppered with legal troubles, gambling losses, and even accusations of drug smuggling in the UAE. But what no one could have predicted was that this troubled individual would soon dominate the headlines for an entirely different reason - cricket.

By 1999, Modi had turned his sights on the sport. He first joined the Himachal Pradesh Cricket Association (HPCA), promising to build a new stadium. His political manoeuvring continued as he aligned himself with powerful figures, helping him ascend the ranks of the Rajasthan Cricket Association (RCA) and eventually the Board of Control for Cricket in India (BCCI). This rise to power was anything but organic—it was the result of calculated alliances, especially with influential figures like Vasundhara Raje and Sharad Pawar. Modi’s vision was clear: he saw in cricket not just a game, but an opportunity to create a spectacle that would unite Cricket, Cinema, and Crime.

Modi’s ambition culminated in the creation of the IPL in 2008, a tournament that fused entertainment with sport in a way the world had never seen. The IPL was not just about cricket; it became a global event where Bollywood stars, international business tycoons, and top athletes converged. Modi, its architect, revelled in the success and the billions that flowed into the coffers of the BCCI and the pockets of cricketers. But while the world celebrated the spectacle, Modi’s unscrupulous dealings began to surface.

Behind the façade of the IPL’s glamour, allegations of corruption, match-fixing, and financial irregularities started to emerge. Modi, once hailed as a visionary, was now viewed as the embodiment of greed and excess in the sport. His open defiance of government authorities - particularly his clash with then Home Minister P. Chidambaram over security concerns - was a clear signal that Modi believed he was untouchable. The 2009 decision to shift the IPL to South Africa further exacerbated tensions with the Indian government, setting the stage for his eventual downfall.

By 2010, Modi's fortunes had taken a decisive turn. His mishandling of the Kochi franchise auction, particularly the breach of confidentiality in revealing the team’s stakeholders, ignited a political storm that led to the resignation of Dr Shashi Tharoor, then India’s Minister of State for External Affairs. It was clear that Modi’s unchecked ambition had crossed a line. His suspension from the IPL and removal from the BCCI soon followed as accusations of accepting kickbacks, rigging bids, and secretly holding stakes in multiple IPL teams surfaced. 

Modi, however, denies all allegations. He presents himself as a victim of political vendettas, insisting on his innocence and predicting a triumphant return. But even if Modi escapes punishment, his legacy leaves a troubling question: what will become of the sport? The IPL, despite its commercial success, has become a symbol of the excesses that threaten to undermine cricket’s core values.

The Twenty20 format, with its fast-paced, high-stakes games, has drawn millions of fans worldwide. But in its rush to commercialize the sport, it has also exposed the game to exploitation. The IPL’s rapid ascent has been accompanied by a culture of opacity, where the lines between legitimate competition and illicit dealings are often blurred. For the integrity of cricket, reforms must be enacted, both within the BCCI and in the administration of these leagues.

Lalit Modi’s story is not just the tale of one man’s fall from grace. It is a cautionary tale for the world of cricket—a sport at the crossroads of tradition and commercialization. If the rot of corruption is not excised, cricket risks becoming a playground for the unscrupulous, where the sanctity of the game is sacrificed for profit. And if Modi’s unchecked ambition teaches us anything, it is that no individual - no matter how powerful - should be allowed to wield such influence without accountability.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar 

Doubts over the Indian Premier League - The Gilded Cage of the IPL: Cricket, Corruption, and the Illusion of Integrity

For many Indians, the Indian Premier League (IPL) is not merely a sporting event—it is a cultural phenomenon. It is the country’s Champions League, FA Cup, and Premier League title race rolled into one, uniting and dividing hundreds of millions with its heady fusion of bat, ball, and bravado. Across the length and breadth of the subcontinent—whether in the depths of tropical jungles or the icy hush of Himalayan passes—fans congregate wherever a screen flickers to life, enthralled by the carnival of cricket.

Yet behind the dazzling spectacle lies a darker narrative—a tale of power, politics, and profit. The IPL, once celebrated for its innovation and populist flair, now seems precariously perched on a fault line of ethical ambiguity. What was conceived as a festival of sport has evolved into a battleground for influence, patronage, and the corrosive charms of capital. It is no longer merely cricket; it is theatre—soap opera laced with scandal, sport entwined with subterfuge.

The most recent act in this ongoing drama centres on the dramatic unravelling of two prominent figures: Shashi Tharoor, the erudite diplomat-turned-politician, and Lalit Modi, the flamboyant architect of the IPL’s rise. Their clash revealed the murky confluence of political vendettas, corporate ambitions, and personal gain. Tharoor, whose Westernized polish and Twitter indiscretions made him an easy target, was drawn into the fray when his involvement with a franchise bid exposed potential conflicts of interest. The revelation that Sunanda Pushkar—a businesswoman with personal ties to Tharoor—stood to gain a substantial stake cast a long shadow over the deal. Tharoor, denied sanctuary by the very system he served, was quickly sacrificed.

But in this game of shadows, no victory is permanent. Lalit Modi, who had gleefully turned the spotlight on Tharoor, soon found himself scorched by its glare. As allegations of financial impropriety and personal misconduct swirled around him, Modi became the emblem of the very rot he once purported to expose. With tax authorities closing in, whispers of past transgressions—cocaine charges, a checkered business history, a yacht-studded lifestyle—surfaced like unwelcome phantoms. What had once seemed like entrepreneurial genius now appeared to be something more venal: a carefully curated illusion.

The implosion did not stop with individuals. The entire edifice of the IPL came under scrutiny. Offices were raided, franchises probed, and television rights questioned. The glamour began to fray, revealing seams stitched not with passion for the game but with the relentless pursuit of profit. One publication mockingly rechristened the tournament the Indian Corruption League, a cruel moniker with uncomfortable resonance.

Yet, curiously, the fans remain undeterred.

In the stands at Navi Mumbai’s DY Patil stadium, as floodlights illuminated the riot of color and sound, the crowd revelled. Young professionals, city slickers, and middle-class families danced to Bollywood beats, roared their support, and paid little heed to the scandals unravelling beyond the boundary. For many, the experience was everything. The choreography of cheerleaders, the hypnotic repetition of ads on giant LCD screens, the intoxicating mix of cricket, celebrity, and commerce—all served as a brilliant distraction.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Raja Gopalan, a 27-year-old engineer cheering for Chennai. “People don’t think there’s anything wrong with the game itself. They come for the experience.” It’s a sentiment echoed by many—a belief that the sport remains somehow untainted, its soul intact beneath the spectacle.

But can that conviction endure? When every timeout is sponsored, every decision punctuated by product placement, and every franchise a nexus of political and business interests, what remains of the game’s original spirit? Cricket has always been more than mere sport in India; it is ritual, narrative, identity. To see it commodified, manipulated, and mired in allegations of corruption is to witness something sacred lose its lustre.

The rise and potential fall of Lalit Modi is emblematic not just of one man’s hubris but of a systemic malaise. That someone with a chequered past could helm one of the sport’s most influential institutions raises questions that cut to the very core of cricket’s governance. If corruption can flourish here, in plain sight, what hope is there for transparency in the shadows?

The time has come for introspection—not just for administrators, but for the wider cricketing fraternity. Stronger oversight, independent regulation, and a recommitment to the values of fairness and accountability are no longer optional; they are imperative. Without them, the game risks becoming little more than an empty spectacle: vibrant in form, hollow in substance.

For in the end, sport must be more than entertainment. It must be a reflection of the values we cherish. If cricket in India is to remain worthy of the passion it inspires, it must rediscover its moral compass, lest it lose not only its integrity but the very trust of those who have always believed in its promise.

Note: Information gathered from The Guardian 

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar 

The Evolution of Cricket: A Perspective on the Twenty20 Format

In 2003, the England and Wales Cricket Board (ECB) responded to declining spectator interest and reduced sponsorship by introducing a new format at the County level: a 20-over-per-innings structure, designed to be completed within a two-and-a-half-hour window for each innings, accompanied by a brief 10-minute break. This shift came after the conclusion of the Benson and Hedges Cup in 2002, as the ECB sought to reinvigorate one-day cricket and attract a younger audience, often deterred by the longer, more traditional formats.

The vision was to deliver a fast-paced, exciting version of cricket that would resonate with fans who found the traditional game too lengthy. Stuart Robertson, the ECB's marketing manager, advocated for this innovative format, initially proposed by New Zealand cricketer Martin Crowe. In a pivotal vote among county chairmen in 2001, the proposal passed with an 11-7 majority, paving the way for the format's launch on June 13, 2003. The inaugural event was met with enthusiasm, instantly capturing the attention of a diverse audience.

The appeal of the format was undeniable; the entertainment factor became a significant draw for viewers. However, as the format expanded onto the international stage, I found myself disengaged. The evolution of cricket necessitated a reevaluation of its essence; the emergence of Twenty20 leagues further complicated the landscape, yet I initially embraced this new wave.

Over time, however, I began to recognize the adverse effects of this rapid evolution on the game. The brief 20-over matches do not provide a comprehensive assessment of a player's abilities. Traditionalists argue that the five-day Test format remains the true benchmark for evaluating cricketers. Today's young players often celebrate quick scores, focusing on short bursts of runs rather than the foundational technical skills and mental fortitude that Test cricket demands.

There is a growing trend where aspiring cricketers prioritize participation in lucrative Twenty20 leagues, particularly the Indian Premier League (IPL), over first-class cricket. Young athletes seem content to specialize in a limited skill set, eschewing the development of varied bowling techniques in favour of containment strategies. This shift raises concerns about the future of the sport; if young players continue to prioritize short-format cricket, the long-term health of traditional formats - including the 50-over game - may be at risk.

As I distance myself from following the Twenty20 leagues, my focus has shifted towards international T20 matches, yet a nagging feeling persists: this is not the cricket I once knew. The proliferation of the Twenty20 format and its associated leagues threatens to undermine the very fabric of the game. The risk lies in the potential for cricket to lose its intrinsic appeal, becoming more of a spectacle than a sport.

An overemphasis on any single format can be detrimental. The essence of cricket - the soul of the game - lies within Test cricket, where legends are forged and true mastery is displayed. In contrast, the shorter formats risk producing players who, while entertaining, may lack the depth and resilience that define greatness in the sport.

The evolution towards Twenty20 may, indeed, transform into a double-edged sword, posing a genuine threat to cricket's core values. As the game continues to adapt, we must ask ourselves: what price are we willing to pay for popularity? Ultimately, we must safeguard the soul of cricket before it is lost to the relentless pursuit of fleeting entertainment.

Thank you, 

Faisal Caesar