“It’ll have to go”

This post contains spoilers for Douglas Adams’ A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy series. It also contains rants on a bat-and-ball game.

There is an Indian word called ‘Tamasha’, which means fun, excitement, glamor, uncertainty – all rolled into one.

– Mihir Bose

In Life, the Universe, and Everything, Douglas Adams introduces us to Krikkit, a planet surrounded by a dust cloud. Krikkiters, the planet’s inhabitants, are unaware of the cosmos. They see a perpetually black sky – no starlight piercing through, no clue of what lies behind the curtain. Krikkiters are initially portrayed as unassuming, kind humanoids going about their daily lives within a pastoral bliss. That is, until a spaceship sears a luminous path through the void, crashing onto their planet from nowhere. They look up, astonished – where did it come from?

We quickly find out that the Krikkiters are more than they seem. In unbelievably quick time, they reverse engineer the spaceship and embark on a mission. Launching into the darkness, a small crew leave the planet to discover the truth. For a while, all they see is nothingness; the remarkable fact that they are moving through what they thought was a static celestial tapestry hardly appears to be invigorating. Finally, they happen upon it. A spectacular revelation – the darkness suddenly punctuated with pinpricks of light, their number slowly growing and growing, until the entire universe lies in front of them. All the stars, galaxies, globular clusters – the ignitions of existence – laid bare within infinity itself.

But their response is unexpected: “It’ll have to go.” The Krikkiters cannot share the universe. The potential life forms residing across uncountable worlds all newly discovered enemies; a rude interruption to a way of life that must be preserved through destruction. The Krikkiters head back to their planet, resolved to a new, brutal mission, one that will result in trillions upon trillions of deaths.

It is one of the more incredible moments in a series of novels that envelopes witty hyperbole and poignant interludes with comedy, providing plenty of unsettling narratives.

The Indian Premier League, or IPL, begins today. I wish I felt inspired to write about something more important, but there is a certain gravity to this game that is inescapable.

Let me rattle off a few things about cricket, its stewards, its fans, and a tournament at the node of two eras in the sport’s history.

A Faustian Bargain

Cricket does not know quite what it is at the moment. Countries that play the game juggle commitments to three different formats, most struggling to field players with consistency. Pay disputes, government interference, lack of opportunities to play a wide variety of opponents, inequitable and short-sighted revenue sharing schemes, corruption within boards, failure to prepare for new climate realities, sequestered scheduling with little collaboration between nations, ongoing political quarrels – all forces that compel athletes, fans, and documenters of the game down wayward paths. None of this is helped by the fact that cricket’s global governing body, the International Cricket Council (ICC), has been completely coopted by the three richest nations within its constituency – India, Australia, and England – substantially led by India. The ICC’s ineffectuality at regulating the Indian goliath or developing a proper plan for growing the game beyond its commonwealth base is apparent. The number of teams competing at world cups overtime has diminished (by design). Only a small number of nations are allowed to play Tests, the most touted format (by design). Opportunities to engage eager but underfunded nations with burgeoning interests in the game are regularly declined, from the parks of Tokyo to the fields in Reykjavik (by design).

All in the name of gatekeeping profit.

And here the IPL is key. It is the most watched club cricket league in the world, based around the shortest and most digestible format of the game, the Twenty-twenty (T20). Running usually between 3 to 4 hours, a T20 match is the sport’s prime-time product, dominating domestic competitions worldwide. Although internationals are the primary showcase of the sport’s talent and are held throughout the year, their share of followers and eyes is slowly decreasing. The IPL is one of the few competitions that has an exclusive window in the annual cricketing calendar – and it is slowly growing. Eventually, the two-month league may extend for many months, similar to other domestic leagues globally, like the EPL, La Liga, NBA, MLB, NFL, etc. It may also irrevocably displace international cricket and relegate it to the occasional tournament, no matter the history or culture that led here. The IPL’s cache is also increasing – it currently sits third globally in terms of value per match.

This all started in 2007, back when the majority of India’s cricketing revenue came from bilateral series (mostly international friendlies between the top 8-9 countries) and tournament participation. Not many in the world took the T20 format seriously. India considerably less so, sending an inexperienced squad to the inaugural T20 world championship. The squad somehow won, defeating their long-time rivals Pakistan. This elicited a change in culture and opened a pandora’s box of business proposals to launch a domestic T20 competition in India, which led to the birth of the IPL. The explainer video above covers it well.

The IPL is the largest reason that global cricket now consolidates around the Board of Control for Cricket in India (BCCI) and not the ICC, itself bereft of equitability as long as the big three call the shots. The league is a multi-billion-dollar behemoth supplemented by compensation from bilateral engagements, mostly between the small number of nations that India wants to play. It allows the BCCI to generate an extraordinary amount of revenue (sources differ, but anywhere from 70%-80% of global cricketing dollars arrive through viewership in India), most of which is kept by the Indian board. While this may seem just to some, it also means a suffocation of the game. Short term profits at the cost of long-term gain. Starving the global audience, shunning diversity in competition, and ensuring a decline in investments into global leagues that could usher in a new age of sporting wealth – financial, sure, but also in terms of talent and innovation. Not exactly a sustainable strategy.

This is the core business of cricket and its stewards in the age of the IPL – ego, greed, and myopia.

A Brief Comment

I have long been an observer of sports in general. I have followed basketball, soccer, ice hockey, and cricket at different points growing up. I have professed my allegiance to different teams throughout the years; I watched the Los Angeles Lakers three-peat as a fan back in 2002 and followed the heartbreaking campaign of the Vancouver Canucks in 2011. I started following cricket in earnest living in Scotland in 2015 and have maintained a fairly up-to-date knowledge of the game since, regardless of the many time zones I have occupied.

But as I have grown up, I have recognized the paucity of meaningful conversations around this great distraction. How many followers of sport truly care about its mechanics and subtleties? How many forego appreciation of the intelligence of athletes and their physical feats in favor of blind chauvinism and praise of the those to whom they swear loyalty? I think we collectively understand that most people who view these spectacles engage with them on the surface. They have created an in-group, a branded community, one where they are accepted without condition because of their fealty. A mini religion that doles out positive and negative reinforcement in equal measure, over time. I am of course not referring to the poetic deliberations written by journalists and authors, nor the incisive analysis of certain commentators and researchers. Instead, this is a comment on the public – from the casual supporter to the diehard fanatic. Most ‘fans’ are surface dwellers, impossible for me to engage with. Not fans of sport, but of teams and personalities. Often ignored by this neutral who seeks a different type of discussion.

Because ever since I have genuinely started following the sport of cricket rather than a particular team, I have come to appreciate far more what is left to see. This is an enterprise, 180 years into its international history, which is still in its infancy. We have no idea how it will transform in settings outside of the few it has occupied; cricket relies on the elements – pitch conditions, elevation, weather, and ground sizes – to introduce challenges. On the global professional arena, it has a long way to travel and a lot to learn. Whether it will have chance in the climate-aware age is yet to be seen. For the second-most followed professional sport in the world, a humbling reality.

A plea then, thrown to the ether – to abandon arbitrary attachments, those cultivated solely due to proximity and manipulated to squeeze out profit to no end, and fall in love with sport through different avenues. To not be too enamored with teams but seek out a more rewarding connection to competition.

A Lost Plot

The IPL is home to funnier happenings beyond what has been shared above.

For example, you would think that a billion eyes would warrant a more careful construction of a successful event. Where many leagues often announce their schedules months in advance, the BCCI is still figuring it out, with only the first 21 of 74 matches announced as of the commencement of the tournament. The excuse this time is that the world’s most populous country is hosting its general election at the same time. Ok, fair – but both events were inked into the calendar a long time ago. Perhaps this observer is a bit irked given that the previous tournament organized by the same body, a World Cup in 2023 no less, was so badly put together that it left most international fans unable to participate. The headlining image of the tournament: a marquee match-up between two giants of the sport played in front of empty seats.

What of the silly team names? A top-level executive signed off on “super kings” and “super giants”. And the jerseys, a constant eye-sore with the large number of commercial logos and same-y colorizations.

Speaking of commercialization, IPL matches end with post-match awards after every single game. Most of these unnecessary awards have almost nothing to do with the best performances and exist to provide space for further sponsorship shoutouts. These are, genuinely, the names of the awards that were given out last season:

UPSTOX Most Valuable Asset Of The Match (MVP)
RuPay On-The-Go 4s (most boundaries struck)
Visit Saudi Beyond The Boundaries Longest 6 (longest boundary)
Herbalife Active Catch Of The Match (best catch)
TIAGO.ev Electric Striker Of The Match (because only 1 batsman was truly ‘electric’)
Dream11 Gamechanger Of The Match (…)

In addition, commercials intrude every couple of minutes (even on paid streams), and Indian viewers are subject to screen aspect ratio changes as ads slide in and out of the frame constantly. IPL commentators are also required to mention brands and products every time a notable event occurs. “There’s a RuPay On-The-Go 4 off the bat of [insert athlete name here]!”

On the more serious side, athletes are required to play in the heart of India’s urban centers. That means battling unbearable temperatures, oppressive smog, and high humidity. I suspect many who go through this exercise do so regularly outside of the IPL and through other domestic tournaments, as does the Indian populace more broadly. As a result, they will undoubtedly encounter their share of long-term ailments related to the heat and pollution.

Prince George is covered in wildfire haze every summer, often sitting at an Air Quality Health Index rating of 7 or higher (on a scale out of 10, i.e. “high health risk”) for weeks on end. This is the equivalent of the base AQHI in Mumbai and New Delhi for large parts of the year, and most of the spring months when the IPL is played. I cannot walk outside for too long without feeling sick in these circumstances, albeit I have become used to cleaner air in Canada than when our family lived in New Delhi in the 90s. I can sympathize with an athlete running around for several hours each day exerting themselves physically, for a couple of months straight, in a similar environment.

A Passion Undiminished

So, I am a neutral who thinks that the IPL and its parent body, the BCCI, are shrinking world cricket, while the tournament is awash with all sorts of muck. Why bother watching?

The calculus is simple – as much as it embodies the depths of the cricket fraternity behind the scenes, the league also presents some of the sport’s most competitive fixtures. The best international players come to the party and produce scintillating moments. The IPL boasts more last-ball finishes than any international series or competition can claim, as much tied to the brevity of the format as they are to the momentum-swinging opportunities it affords. Those who appreciate the professional leagues where there are measures minimizing discrepancies between teams can likely understand; far easier to predict the top 5 in La Liga annually than it is to guess the entrants into the Stanley Cup playoffs year to year.

The timing also plays a role – India is about half a day ahead of Pacific Standard Time and the matches begin and end when I am awake. There is also no other cricket going on; this sport the one maintaining my attention for now.

And so, as the IPL begins, I reflect on the future. Is this a story of a slow death? Or is there a revolution ahead, one that wrestles the power from the few bloated caretakers of the game? One can only hope.

We are informed near the end of Life, the Universe, and Everything, of the truth behind the wars brought upon the universe by the Krikkiters. We learn that the dust cloud was not just a random nebula, rather the remains of a computer, disintegrated but still functional. The machinations of this supersmart machine guided the fate of Krikkit. The computer surrounded the planet’s inhabitants for eons, it created and crashed the spaceship into the planet, then enabled the Krikkiters to reconstruct it, and finally imbued in them a sense of rage towards all life in the universe.

The computer had its reasons for compelling the people of Krikkit to engage in this destructive behavior, mostly for petty reasons unbecoming such a powerful entity. It did not learn its lesson though, becoming increasingly nefarious until it was brought down by the result of its own hubris.

Throughout all this, the Krikkiters were reluctant pawns. The other inhabitants of the cosmos also unwilling combatants in hostilities brought to their worlds by forces not well understood and untamable. At the end of the war, the damage was done. But starting anew, the narrator relays that the Krikkiters want to develop sporting ties with their alien fellows rather than exterminate them.

Progress of some kind arrived at through incomparable difficulty.