Mukul Kesavan is a writer based in Delhi. His most recent book is 'Homeless on Google Earth' (Permanent Black, 2013).
Long-time observers of the BCCI know that it used to be cricket's answer to the medieval city state. No Medici controlled Florence as comprehensively as the BCCI controlled cricket in India. The Board of Control was an independent principality, located in India, surrounded by India, but not of India. Its jurisdiction over cricket in India was as absolute as the Vatican's over Catholicism; it brooked no interference in its affairs, not even from the nation state that enclosed it.
The Board's independence was secured not by defying Leviathan but by co-opting it. Sharad Pawar, Arun Jaitley, Rajeev Shukla, even Narendra Modi, have all helped administer cricket in India. Unluckily for the BCCI, the Supreme Court couldn't be squared and so this cricketing emirate with Dubai's soul and Abu Dhabi's reserves finds itself in danger of being regulated like a public sector undertaking. The Supreme Court ruling got one thing exactly right: Indian cricket's original sin was the amendment of the virtuous clause in the BCCI's constitution that barred its office holders from taking a financial stake in any matches or tournaments organized by the Board. It was this (retrospective) amendment that allowed N. Srinivasan, then treasurer of the BCCI, to buy an IPL franchise, the Chennai Super Kings. The conflict of interest that this created - especially after Srinivasan rose to become the president of the BCCI - was so enormous, so brazen, so perversely exemplary, that people involved with cricket's economy felt free to wallow in their own, smaller, conflicts.
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Nominally, the BCCI presides over a pyramidal system of cricket administration based on indirect election. In actual fact, most electoral colleges are owned by local grandees. Often a business family will dominate the local cricket association for decades. The elections which legitimize the present system have more in common with the politics of rigged pocket boroughs in 18th-century England than the broad democracy of republican India. Elections to the BCCI, the apex body of Indian cricket, are often accompanied by a chorus of allegations about rigging, gerrymandering and accreditation.
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The game was so comprehensively monetized that the BCCI began demanding fees for photographing matches and doing radio commentary. The idea that cricket was news or even that it was an event in the real world that could be reported on, gratis, gave way to the idea that cricket was proprietary entertainment, which could only be captured in pictures or the spoken word for a fee. Cricinfo briefly stopped calling IPL teams by their franchise names because it was advised that these names were commercial properties that couldn't be used without payment.
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N. Srinivasan's back story fits the model. He ran India Cements, he was genuinely interested in sport and he was a pillar of Madras society. For him, as for the Rungtas in Rajasthan or Dalmiya in Bengal, cricket was a route to social consequence and the public eye. In Madras, Srinivasan was preceded as patron by two other industrialists - A.C. Muthiah and his father, M.A. Chidambaram- after whom the stadium at Chepauk is named. It's important to recognize that men like Chidambaram, Muthiah and Srinivasan didn't make money out of the game before the boom. They actually spent their own money subsidizing cricketers and cricket because this was what patrons did. In this way, the men who governed Indian cricket came to see themselves as benefactors and the men who played cricket in India learnt to recognize them as such. Through the long shamateur epoch of Indian cricket, cricketers were supported by sinecures in private companies and public-sector undertakings, and socialized into the role of dependent clients. It was a recognition forced upon them by the need to make a living in a sport that had no business model and generated no money.
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One, gratitude. They remembered the hard times and were grateful for the support that patrons like Srinivasan had extended to the sport. India Cements had dozens of players on its rolls. It supported league cricket in Madras and helped players-not necessarily international players - make a living. (It wasn't alone in this. Sungrace Mafatlal supported cricket generously in Bombay; Sachin Tendulkar joined its Times Shield team in 1990 after his Test debut. It is something of an irony that this apparel brand didn't survive the economic liberalization that helped make both Tendulkar and the BCCI fabulously wealthy.)
Two, pragmatism. Players recognized that while the financial basis of the sport and their own financial standing might have been transformed by sponsorship, endorsements and television revenue, the men who ran this new money spinning machine were the same patrons who had runtheshamateur, shabby-genteel set-up in the earlier era. It made complete sense to say yes if a patron like Srinivasan wanted you on his rolls even if the money from the sinecure made no real difference to your net worth.
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Thus, administrators like Srinivasan, persuaded of their virtue because of their generosity as patrons, were consumed by a sense of entitlement that made the very suggestion of a conflict of interest an impertinence. And players, used to deferring to patrons who made their livelihoods possible, found it hard to break the habit of clientage even when they didn't need the money. The idea that a sinecure might constitute a conflict of interest must have seemed preposterous: how could something endorsed by Srinivasan, uber-patron and undisputed master of the cricketing universe, be wrong?
Now that the Supreme Court has ruled that he was wrong, that there is such a thing as a conflict of interest and that the amendment of rule 6.2.4 was illegal, Indian cricket's supple auxiliaries have started airing their doubts about Srinivasan. The ex-player, the ex-IPL franchise manager, the marketing consultant, the sports management agent, the plausible commentator, have begun shyly sharing their long-brewed conviction that something was amiss. Shyly, because it isn't yet clear that the sheikh is dead and given Srinivasan's past resilience, who can blame them?
Will Indian cricket be regulated into virtue by the Supreme Court? It's hard to tell. But we do know that a precedent has been set by the Court: the judiciary has stepped in and taken charge of the Board's affairs. It has dismissed the BCCI's claim of being a private body. It has amended its constitution, instructed Srinivasan to either sell CSK or withdraw from Board elections, and assigned the reform of the BCCI to a committee of three retired judges. It will be a tasty irony if the crony capitalism of the Board's cabal provokes a creeping nationalization of Indian cricket.
(Source: The Telegraph)
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