A blessing in disguise

The story will have moved on by the time you read this. At the time of writing, Abhijit Kale - a prolific, and by many accounts somewhat disillusioned, batsman in domestic cricket - stands accused by two national selectors of trying to bribe his way into the Indian side. We hope that the truth will be dug out, but we fear that, as in most cases of graft and corruption, it won't. What is immediately clear, however, is that at least one person involved in this pathetic episode is lying (or worse, could there be several half-truths?), and that alone qualifies it for the ranks of the truly sordid. But in the absence of clarity, it is worthwhile to focus on the broad picture.

At such times, it is always tempting, and somewhat expedient, to lay the blame at the door of the establishment. Let's get things right. From what we know, it is two selectors who have brought this matter to light, after which the board president did what he ought to have: instituted an inquiry by an independent authority and suspended the accused till it is over.

In the broader context, though, the Kale episode, however unsavoury, could actually be a blessing. It has, for the first time, brought into the open a matter that has been for long a subject of speculation. No matter what their public posture, a substantial section of the cricket community does not find it entirely implausible - and this is not to imply that Kale is guilty - that a first-class cricketer should have entertained the idea of buying a place in the national side. This is a sad reflection on India's selectorial system.

To begin with, it is preposterous that cricket's most commercially savvy organisation should entrust the custody of its most valuable asset, its players, to a group of amateurs picked not necessarily for their ability to spot talent but to maintain the political equation of the board. And then, a bunch of people themselves not selected on merit, who owe their position to their zonal benefactors, are expected to pick a cricket team strictly on merit. It is not our contention that most selectors are incompetent, but that they are products of a system that is susceptible to manipulation, external pressure, and even corruption. Playing for honour and the love of the game and the country are noble concepts, but they hold little currency in a sport that's a multi-million-dollar business now. A berth in the national side is worth a fortune today, yet the men who hand out these places are expected to perform their duty, which involves months of watching cricket, as an act of philanthropy. It is an unreasonable expectation. The concept stinks.

Jagmohan Dalmiya has already secured his place in cricket history for his pioneering efforts towards commercialising the game and rewriting the power equations in world cricket. His second tenure in the higher echelons of Indian cricket has been marked by a number of progressive and visionary steps. But he presides over a system that survives on ad-hocism and intrigue. It takes courage and belief to challenge and change a system that one is a product of. But only those who wield power are capable of effecting changes. Dalmiya has a wonderful opportunity of lengthening the shadow of his legacy. He can't be expected to singlehandedly dismantle a system. But liberating the selection process from zonal politics would be a great start. The Kale case isn't about zonal quotas, neither can it be said that corruption can be eliminated by mere professionalisation. But in a tangential way it has brought the rottenness of our selection policy into focus. It's an opportunity. It shouldn't be wasted.