Spectators mean nothing to money-making cricket machine

It seemed like a perfect Sunday outing. Even though the series had been decided, my cricket-obsessed son had convinced me to take him for the dead rubber at the Kotla.

With the early morning fog dissipating quickly and a Lankan wicket gone in the very first over it seemed we’d taken the right decision. Though a few deliveries seemed to be taking off alarmingly and the Sri Lankan batting had collapsed in a heap, nothing seemed particularly amiss at the ground. And then it happened.

A few gestures from the Sri Lankan batsmen at the crease after a Sudeep Tyagi delivery steepled towards the keeper, skipper Kumar Sangakkara hurrying on to the ground, hectic confabulations between the match referee, umpires and players and everybody walking off a few moments later.

What was going on, we wondered? Word was that the Sri Lankans were unhappy with the pitch. But no one had bothered to keep the spectators on the ground in the loop. As the minutes ticked by and it was apparent that it was something serious, no one had a clue as to what was happening. After nearly an hour a cryptic message flashed on the giant screen that play had been suspended.

Did that mean that the match was abandoned? No one had any idea, least of all the busy looking DDCA officials and cops at the ground.

As it became increasingly apparent that there would be no further play, most spectators started filtering out of the ground. We hung on because of my son’s desperate hope that play would resume. A few spectators in a neighbouring stand were flinging seats, which they had yanked out, on to the ground.

At the other end, some were spewing their anger at an advertisement banner. But on the whole there was a stoic acceptance. I explained to my son, who was by now ready to go home, that it was but natural for people who had paid for a day’s worth of entertainment to feel cheated. What I didn’t tell him was that there have been near-riots at cricket grounds for much smaller things.

As we made our way out of the stadium we struck up a conversation with a young foreigner. Turned out he was an Australian tourist who had come to catch a glimpse of the Indian obsession with cricket. "Any chance that this would have happened in Australia?" I asked him. His shocked expression made words redundant.

On our way home, my son was already looking forward to catching the England-South Africa game on TV. Those who run cricket in India should feel blessed that they have such dedicated fans of the game.

But it is increasingly becoming apparent — and I say this after having watched cricket at the ground for the last 25 years or so — that the spectators in the stadium and their comforts count for precious little in India. They are just props for the money-making machine that is cricket.