Fans undeterred by fixing cloud

For the second time in the over, an airborne ball drops short of a fielder. Both times, there had been no real chance of a catch. "Fixing!" a voice in the crowd yells out, regardless.

Shouts like these, of course, aren't unusual during IPL matches, or indeed during any sort of cricket match watched by large groups of Indian spectators. Or even small groups in front of TV screens. No one is really alleging anything.

During this match, though, there is an extra layer of irony, whether intentional or not, to such gibes. This is Chennai Super Kings versus Rajasthan Royals. If the Supreme Court's recent suggestions to the BCCI had come to pass, this match might not have taken place at all. Neither team would have been playing the tournament.

And yet, here they are, playing against each other, in Dubai, a city whose name had featured extensively in statements made to the police last year by bookies. This is known to be a major hub of the global industry in illegal cricket betting.

Two men in the second tier of the Purple Zone seem to have a personal stake in how certain players perform today. One of them whoops in delight when Rajat Bhatia dismisses Mithun Manhas; the other groans. Bhatia is part of Siddharth's team in the league's official fantasy game. Shoaib hasn't picked him.

Both are club cricketers based in Dubai; they have come to the stadium straight from the ICC Cricket Academy next door, where they had been bowling in the nets to players from the Mumbai and Bangalore teams.

"I bowled 14 balls to Chris Gayle," says Shoaib, who moved from Mumbai to Dubai in 2008, and now works in a bank when he isn't bowling left-arm spin. "He hit 12 of them for six."

The stands, which had filled up only halfway by the time the match had started, are now packed. Everyone has finally squirmed their way out of the traffic snarl outside the stadium. Tickets for this match had sold out a week in advance.

"It's cricket," Shoaib says, when asked how two teams that are under investigation for corruption can attract such massive crowds. "It's just love for the game. People don't think too deeply about such things. You might do that if you're into the business of cricket, or if you play cricket, but not if you're a normal fan.

"No one stopped watching international cricket after the match-fixing scandal in 2000. Why would they stop watching IPL now?"

It's a fair question to ask, but there is an answer, of sorts, sitting three seats to Shoaib's left.

"I used to follow cricket quite closely before. I was a big fan of Azharuddin and Ajay Jadeja," says Kiran, who works for an airline in Dubai. "I stopped watching after the match-fixing scandal happened. I'm much more into football now. I've come here only because we've got free tickets, and my husband is a big cricket fan."

Some of the action in the middle, however, has brought out the old cricket fan in Kiran. It's hard not to stand up and applaud when Steve Smith pulls off a spectacular running catch to send back Brendon McCullum, or when Dwayne Smith hits the last four balls of the same over for four. There is some quality cricket on show here.

As Super Kings pull away towards a win, the yellow-clad faithful in the crowd grow vocal. When Ravindra Jadeja dismisses Shane Watson and Sanju Samson in the same over, the roar causes your ears to buzz.

"Cuppu engalukku, aapu ungalukku" reads a Tamil banner held up by one group of Chennai fans. The cup is ours, the aapu is yours. Aapu, in Chennai slang, roughly means an unexpected jolt or setback, although much of its flavour is lost in translation.

Last year, when a prominent team official was implicated in the betting scandal, many Super Kings fans must have felt they were at the receiving end of an aapu.

"It felt like that then," says Chitra, who is here with her husband, two sons, and the banner. "But in the end, cricket is cricket. This is a different match, and nothing wrong is happening now, hopefully."

How can you ever tell? Today, scattered amidst all the crisp hits and clever slower balls are some distinctly ordinary moments. Four wides in one over, overthrows going all over the place, disoriented batsmen wandering out of the crease and getting run-out, batsmen chipping the ball straight to fielders in the deep. Simple catches have been dropped at an alarming rate right through the tournament.

Things of this sort are part of the game, especially in Twenty20, where risk and reward are often directly proportional, and especially in the IPL, where the world's best cricketers line up alongside players who struggle to get into first-class sides. But in a world that has watched endless replays of that Sreesanth over, on news channels that pinpoint the sordid details with circles and arrows, anything is cause for a flutter of doubt.

"People are here to enjoy their cricket, and two or three guys can't spoil all the fun," says Shorye Chopra, the UAE Under-19 player, who is stuck in a massive queue for taxis outside the stadium. "But each time you see a towel in a player's waistband, you start worrying."