Ranji Trophy's familiar tale of indifference

The Ranji Trophy starts this Thursday. It does, at some point of the year, every year. It can be good fun for those playing, officiating and covering it, but for a large majority of cricket fans in India this is a phantom tournament. It just happens somewhere in the background, it is great to talk about, but not to be accessed. In a city where new settlers are jostling for a good living space that they can afford, the Ranji Trophy is that locked grand old house in the middle of town that you walk past every day; the owners are rich enough to be able to neither live there nor rent it out. They are not even bothered with all the weeds around the house.

The Ranji Trophy is played at the best time of the year, gets all the backing from the BCCI, doesn't have to fight for venues. The state teams draw the crores and the right to represent the state from the BCCI. It should all have been priceless by now. Yet we have no fans, no team loyalty, no rivalries, no storylines that extend beyond the immediate group interested in the tournament: the players, former players, umpires and journalists.

It is free to attend for the rest of the public, as all government offices in India are, but the public is given subtle hints it is not wanted around. Only 19 of the 27 Ranji teams have websites. Only eight of those have proper updated information. A day before the start of the tournament, two associations had not announced their team. Three of them were announced two days ago. Five of them have Twitter handles. There were no press conferences, press releases didn't have any reasons why certain players were picked and certain others not, no transfers - not even high-profile ones - are advertised.

At Chinnaswamy Stadium for example, home to one of the better-run state teams, Karnataka, you won't be able to find a schedule of games for the two-time defending champion side. You won't know which group Karnataka are in, whom they are playing at home, and at which ground in which city. As if to say, "Even after all the international cricket and IPL and all the foreign T20 leagues you watch on TV, you still want to follow a first-class side? Please don't bother. You have no bearing on the minimum Rs 20 crore we get from the BCCI every year."

The BCCI does a commendable job, and it has been doing it for years. To organise 12 simultaneous first-class matches in a country as vast as India, for nine weeks running, providing balls, umpires, scorers, take care of logistics, oversee the umpiring process, pay for live coverage of one match per round, cannot be easy. The BCCI, and in part the state associations, perform the task every year, but it is exactly that: a task, a chore that must be done. At the end of it all, we have a lot of numbers. Somebody scores 1000 runs, somebody takes 40 wickets, some team wins the Ranji Trophy, but that's all we have. Cold numbers. At least those outside the circle of players, umpires and journalists covering it have nothing beyond cold numbers.

The Ranji Trophy is a big anomaly in today's world. It is a tournament that costs a lot but is not meant to be consumed. Like a kitchen of a restaurant, you can only hope it is clean and interesting and serves good food, but you can't enter and see for yourself. At least the English and Australian domestic teams make an effort to take their first-class cricket to the people. When a couple of years ago New Zealand Radio decided to not cover their first-class cricket, there was an uproar. The biggest market for ESPNcricinfo's international cricket is Indian fans, but England and Australia offer a much better following for domestic cricket.

The Ranji Trophy is also in that unfortunate position where the state associations will draw the BCCI's money regardless, but their best efforts to take it to the people won't bring them extra money. Nor is it easy to take to the people. It is a first-class tournament played during the day and rarely features international stars. About half the respondents to a ESPNcricinfo poll said they will watch more Ranji if international cricketers played.

The quality of the cricket is diluted by the sheer number of teams. The teams don't go out to play attractive cricket. The BCCI has this year arranged for all matches to end on weekends, to draw some crowds to them, but if the pitches are slightly flat you will only see the teams going through their motions for most of those last two days because they have to play eight matches in nine weeks and they can't afford to exhaust their bowlers while trying to convert outside chances of outright wins.

It is easy to blame the apathy of fans, but culture begets culture. Everything about the Ranji Trophy says, "Don't watch me." Especially if the state associations open only the square-on stands for the common public, as they do.

Many a fan has this image of an idyllic, pure first-class game when the Ranji Trophy is thought of. It is anything but. It is competitive but unattractive. In a way it is good that organisers don't shatter that illusion by drawing fans to the games.

Yet another year will pass. Lots of runs will be scored. Lots of wickets will be taken. At some point the Lodha Committee, charged with suggestions for reforms for Indian cricket, will make its recommendations. Here is hoping it will make this the last year where state associations are not held accountable for the teams that represent these states.