Softwares, hard battles

On August 1, 2000, the Board of Control for Cricket in India publicly announced their vision statement for the future of Indian cricket. The announcement came at a time when the match-fixing imbroglio was at its peak, and the board was under pressure from the government to clean its stables.

Said statement, among other things, promised to introduce the latest technology to Indian cricket. There were promises galore, that all matches would be captured on computer software, and the resulting analysis used to help the team improve.

We are in March, and the software has finally seen the light of the day. All stand, and sing hosannas!

What can this software do? Can it provide a bowler with clips of those balls that were successfully swept, and compare them with clips of deliveries that beat that shot, to help him figure out the right line and length? Can it provide a batsman clips of the shots he hit off Warne on the leg side, as opposed to clips of deliveries that he was beaten by, to further hone his skills?

Yes, it can. And much more besides.

But that is not the story here. The story is of callousness, of disregard, of reducing cricketers and back up professionals to impotent fury.

The story is about a professional, a Ranji Trophy umpire, appointed by the board to work the software, and then left to fend for himself.

Nandan is an employee of Hindustan Aeronautics Limited. He as picked to operate the software, and provide requisite backup for the players and coach. A good choice, as Nandan is not only an expert in computers, but also a former player and now a qualified umpire.

If you go back to the vision statement, it promises you that such software would be accessible by all teams and coaches at all levels throughout the country, via a central database. Sounds good? The reality, though, is that Indian coach John Wright himself does not have the advantage of studying the tapes whenever he wants to -- because the board does not believe that Nandan should be put up in the same hotel as the team.

"We are in one hotel, the software is in another, what is the point?" asks a senior player, his words reeking with disgust, and contempt.

"What can John do if he does not have access to the software? We asked the board to allow Nandan to stay in the same hotel as us, but we were flatly refused. Why? Is it because the board does not have money? We play, the crowds come to watch us, the board earns money -- but it can't pay hotel bills for one key member? What does one do?" laments another senior player.

As I walked out of the hotel after the conversation, I bumped into Jaywant Lele, Hon. Secretary of the BCCI. With him were former board president P M Rungta and another BCCI dignitary. They are all staying at the Taj Coromandel, in Madras. The board, apparently, has enough money to install former presidents (remember that Rungta is no longer a member of the BCCI) and such, but not to install the much needed software, and its operator, there?!

The board is meant to facilitate this team. Does it do so? Every single official of the board is in Madras -- but in terms of benefits to the team, they might as well be in Timbuctoo. Take this instance -- Mike Walsh, who operates similar software for the Aussies, had got his computer installed, got the live feed cables linked, and was set up to run on the day prior to the start of the Test. Nandan, for his part, was seen running around the stadium, begging, pleading, fighting for a chair and table so that he could set up his computer.

The software expert, it needs repeating here, is an employee of the board! And this is his fate.

Came lunch time -- and no one checked to see if Nandan had got so much as a glass of water, let alone food. Nandan couldn't go and fetch his own food either, because he can't leave all that expensive software lying around. His plight was so bad, that I personally offered to fetch him a meal. Nandan may be short on food, but he is long on self respect -- why should you do that, he asked me, and refused to accept help.

Nandan won't talk of the terms of his contract -- but we learnt from other sources within the board that he is being paid Rs 4000 per day. With that amount, he is supposed to look after his accomodation, meals, and conveyance.

The national selectors, who have nothing to do once the team is picked, are meanwhile put up at the Taj. Their bills are paid. Their conveyance is taken care of. At the stadium they are pampered. And on top of all this, they get an honorarium of Rs 5000 per day, plus Rs 4000 as general allowance.

That is how things are, in Indian cricket. Some people do the work. Others enjoy the benefits.

Nandan is so disgusted by his treatment at the hands of the board, that he has made up his mind to quit and go back to his real job.

A miracle saved India at Calcutta.

It will take many more miracles, to save the game from the officials who run it.

Ah yes -- we are not supposed to say these things, are we? To do so, is a gross crime -- punishable by denial of passes, and worse.

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