Where is the love for the game?

Money has spun its vicious web, and all of us, so intent in praying to it, have forgotten that it has to come from somewhere – some scheme, some scam. It no longer comes from ticket sales – nothing as simple and human as that – it comes from air-conditioned rooms filled with sweet suits and plump faces and vampire thoughts. Cell phones spout forth numbers and figures – statistics not of bat and ball, but of balance and bank. Plots are hatched – not how to dismiss a batsman, but to capture viewers and create markets where they do not exist.