The Surfer

Consider the interests of stakeholders other than the bosses of IPL. Consumers in India, and indeed abroad, are enjoying the cricket and the larger entertainment package being offered. Advertisers seem to find it worthwhile to pump in money where there is such a large audience. Broadcasters and franchise owners, and leave aside the murk for just a moment, must also see plenty of potential for profit to have invested so much money in the IPL. And the cricketers involved in actually dishing out the action are all better off (at least financially) from their participation in the league. Purists may worry about the fate of the game as they once knew it, but that is another debate.

Consider what the cricket supporter in this country has had to put up with over the years: the championship has moved from three-day to four-day cricket and from one division to two, while the premier limited-overs competition has been reduced from 65 overs to 40, with multitudinous changes in format along the way, before being swamped completely by Twenty20. It is hard to maintain loyalty if you are not sure to what it is you are supposed to be loyal.

Was similar 'guidance' offered to bidders when the eight original franchises were sold in 2008? Is Kochi the only franchise with multiple proxy ownership suspicions - another person is supposed to be standing in for a Mumbai-based former cricketer - or does this cosy matrix extend to other teams? In handing out jobs and contracts at the IPL, did Modi invite tenders, issue job ads or did he just do as he pleased? In 'guiding' bidders and, initially, attempting to fix parameters so that only two bids were valid for - coincidentally - two franchises, was he acting on behalf of two powerful ministers who were themselves 'mentoring' teams?

Playing the unfamiliar role of a whistleblower, Modi was possibly unaware of its first consequence: immediate, intense scrutiny of the alarm-raiser himself. Unfortunately for Modi, his private dealings and operations as IPL commissioner don’t present a very flattering picture. His family’s ties with the IPL present a conflict of interest with his incumbency.

Delhi Daredevils teetered before Kings XI Punjab in the heat and dust of Ferozeshah Kotla, but you wouldn't know it at the ITC Maurya at the Capital -where the cricketers were put up and where they could, conveniently, party with the Others. The arrival desk outside the party zone was manned by bouncers in black suits, warding off the swarming crowd. Behind the desk, event management executives ticked off names on three lists - host IPL, designer's guests and fans. The fans were those who had bought Club Lounge passes for Rs 35,000 - for a match and this much more. (Or else, the match-alone ticket comes for Rs. 300 - 6,500.) Fans, festooned on the wrist with a green ribbon with "Match Number 44" (the Daredevils-Kings XI) inscribed, were ushered into a long IPL Night.

Cranking up the ante may be an IPL staple, but what’s happening these days could make Don King swoon. The ‘world’s hottest sports league’ (Forbes feels so) is in boilover mode. Lalit Modi, the man considered cricket’s shiniest trophy is now the ornament whose plating is starting to chip. Not on television though because that is both his and the IPL’s kingdom. Modi still shows up in our air space, trailed by plumes of coloured smoke and words saying that his latest enemy-in-chief had an agenda which “will be taken down.” Oo, Dirty Harry, eat your heart out.

A long time ago, in an unimaginably more innocent era, C L R James famously wrote, “What do they know of cricket who only cricket know?’’ He certainly nailed that one, but he may never have in his wildest dreams — or nightmares — foreseen the crazy evolution of his beloved sport. Like the men who play it, cricket is no longer clad in pristine white. Instead, it’s draped in psychedelic, garish hues, accessorised by beautiful women with tawdry pasts, moneybags whose bulging bank accounts seem to go hand-in-glove with a bankruptcy of scruples, dark whispers of underworld funds and ubiquitous fixers engaged in a frenzied climb up the greasy social pole.

The contrast between Manohar and the urbane, US-educated Modi couldn’t have been any greater if a scriptwriter had set out to create them. Manohar doesn't carry a cell phone or a watch, didn't have a passport until 2007, and had never travelled abroad till he flew to Dubai to attend the ICC meeting in 2008. Also, unlike the smooth-talking, naturally exuberant Modi, Manohar is a man of few words. But when he does speak, he usually makes an impact. He certainly did so when the bids were first tabled for the two new IPL teams on March 7. Only two bidders qualified, leading to a stream of complaints that the draconian norms had been deliberately ‘fixed’ to ensure that only favoured parties could participate in the auction.

These are questions that haven’t been fully answered because the IPL has been run like a tightly-knit Boys Club, a clique of the rich and famous who appear to have mutually decided the rules of engagement with Modi and Mammon as the presiding deities. IPL Kochi, let’s be honest, tried to gatecrash into the party. The owners weren’t business barons (or at least none we’d heard of), nor were they film stars. The only recognisable ‘face’ they possessed was a high-profile minister with an unquestioned passion for cricket.

The Indian Premier League is an ingeniously conceived and spectacularly executed show. It features genuine sporting skills along with elements of the burlesque. Now into its third edition, it has acquired not just a mass following but also new cohorts of fans among those who did not know they would love cricket lite. But success has brought a stiff price: serious questions about the league's integrity and internal governance.

First things first: I understand the batting is a touch weak. Playing two all-rounders at six and seven is usually a recipe for disaster, particularly if you lose a couple of early wickets. Plus, the tail is a bit long – Qadir, Fazal, and Waqar could all bat a bit, but none count among the uber-dogged tailenders who could bat a session. And it’s not like Rashid was Adam Gilchrist with the bat.