The Scorecard and the Ledger: An Investigation into the Dark Corners of Cricket

The scoreboard on the field does not always tell the truth. Sometimes the truth hides in a filing cabinet, in a bank statement, or on the ninth page of a contract that nobody ever read. For the past six weeks I have been reading those pages. What I found was not a match report. It was an audit.

Cricket's economy is now a vast machine. Broadcast rights, franchise valuations, star player contracts, board-to-board money flows — all of it forms a complex system whose centre holds one simple question: where does the money go, and who decides where it goes? That question is rarely answered at a press conference. It is answered in documents.

I have watched cricket for many years. But the cricket off the field — the one built from contracts, tenders, audits and quiet administrative decisions — is what pulls at me most. Because much of what happens on the field was already decided in a meeting room.

This piece is not an analysis of a specific match. It is a systematic investigation — how cricket's financial system works, where the transparency gap lies, and why those gaps remain invisible to the ordinary fan.

One thing must be made clear from the start: the biggest problem in cricket's financial system is not corruption, but the absence of accountability. Corruption is an event. The absence of accountability is a structure. And structural problems last far longer than individual ones.

Take an example. When a player's contract value is announced in a franchise league, usually only the total figure is published. But what sits inside that figure — agent commission, image rights, performance bonuses, promotional fees — almost never reaches the public. As a result, the fan has no way to verify a contract's true value.

This opacity is not merely an accounting problem. It is a problem of power. When information is not published, the interpretation of that information is monopolised by those who hold it.

In my experience, the most common defence mechanism in cricket administration is the excuse of 'commercial confidentiality'. This phrase is often used to withhold information that is not actually confidential — tender process details, broadcast contract terms, or the annual accounts of state associations.

Here a crucial distinction emerges: between genuine commercial confidentiality and convenient confidentiality. The first is legitimate; the second is an abuse of power.

When I request a document, my first question is — who is harmed if this information becomes public? If the answer is 'no genuine commercial harm to any specific party, only criticism that cannot be avoided' — then I know I am on the right track.

Another major gap in cricket's financial system is the role of third-party intermediaries. Agents, management companies, marketing agencies — this layer is usually the least scrutinised. Yet this is precisely where the most money flows.

When a large sum is allocated in a contract under 'marketing services' or 'consultancy fees', the true destination of that money becomes difficult to verify. Because such expenditure is rarely backed by detailed supporting evidence.

I call this kind of spending 'shadow cost'. Every contract has a shadow behind it, and that shadow leaves a receipt. The question is whether anyone is willing to look for it.

The accounts of state associations or provincial cricket boards are another critical area. Because this is where the most money is spent and the least audited. Infrastructure development, coaching staff appointments, youth cricket programmes — the actual use of allocated funds in these areas is generally hard to verify.

In my experience, small figures seem trivial at first. But when you add up dozens of small figures, a larger picture emerges. And that picture often shows that the system is not honest about its own priorities.

In cricket, the word 'development' is a magic word. Almost any expenditure can be justified using it. But there is usually no clear, measurable definition of what development means. As a result, the outcomes of money spent under the banner of 'development' become hard to verify.

Here I want to offer a methodological suggestion. If a cricket body genuinely wants to be transparent, it should publish three things: first, the parties to every major contract and their relationships; second, the sums received by intermediaries; third, the specific outcomes achieved against the money spent.

If these three sets of information were made public, fans' understanding of cricket's financial system would change substantially.

A question may now arise — is this kind of transparency realistic? My answer: partially. Because complete transparency is never possible, and not all information is publishable. But there is a major difference from the current situation — at present, the lack of transparency is a conscious choice, not an inevitable consequence.

This is where the biggest mistake of the critics lies. Many believe cricket's financial problems will be solved by stricter rules or punishment. But rules only work when they are applied. And application depends on will.

The real problem is not the absence of rules, but the unwillingness to apply them. Many cricket bodies have fairly strict rulebooks. But those rules are applied selectively.

I have observed cricket's administrative decisions over many years. One pattern recurs — when a controversy erupts, the first reaction is to form a committee. The committee produces a report. The report is accepted, but not implemented. After some time the controversy is forgotten.

This cycle is not accidental. It is an effective management strategy. Because forming a committee reduces immediate pressure, and not publishing the report avoids long-term accountability.

In my view, the most important reform cricket's financial system needs is not in committees but in disclosure policy. Every investigation report should be made public, at least in summary. The key terms of every major contract should be public. The findings of every audit should be public.

This kind of disclosure has a side effect — it makes institutions more careful. Because they know their decisions will be scrutinised.

Now let us turn to the players. Players are the most visible part of this system, but the least powerful. Their contracts, their image rights, their futures — these decisions are made without their knowledge or participation.

Young players are especially at risk. Because they have less experience, and it is difficult for them to understand the subtle terms of a contract. Often they sign deals that do not protect their long-term interests.

The solution to this problem could be an independent player support system — where players can receive neutral advice before signing contracts. Some countries have such systems, but not everywhere.

Another important dimension is broadcast rights. The largest share of cricket's revenue comes from here. But broadcast contract terms are usually the least transparent.

A broadcast contract contains not just a sum of money but many other elements — broadcast rights, re-broadcast rights, digital platform usage rights, advertising distribution terms. Each has a separate financial value, but usually everything is collapsed into a single total figure.

As a result, it becomes difficult to understand which component is worth how much, and whether that value is fair.

In my experience, the most effective way to verify a broadcast contract is comparative analysis. When you compare what different buyers pay for similar rights in similar markets, anomalies surface.

But this comparison requires information. And information is usually not published.

This is where a structural problem emerges. The lack of transparency makes verification difficult, and the lack of verification legitimises the lack of transparency. It is a circle.

How do you break this circle? In my view, there are three paths.

First, journalists must do more document-based work. Not just statements, but documents. Not just commentary, but accounts.

Second, independent researchers and academics must engage more in this field. Cricket's economy is an important area of research, but research here remains sparse.

Third, fans must become more aware. When fans ask questions, institutions are forced to answer.

These three paths do not work in isolation. But without one, the others are ineffective.

I am writing this piece for a specific reason. Because I believe cricket is not just a game. It is an institution. And like any institution, it requires accountability.

Accountability does not mean punishment. Accountability means explanation. Why was this decision made, who made it, on what basis — these questions deserve answers.

I have watched cricket for many years. I know how beautiful this game can be. But that beauty survives only when its foundation is honest.

I have a rule in my ledger. One row per document — when I received it, from whom, and what it proves. This rule has saved me from many mistakes.

Because when you hold a document, you can rely on evidence rather than emotion. And evidence usually does not lie.

But evidence can be withheld. Evidence can be distorted. Evidence can be presented in a way that creates a false impression.

So evidence alone is not enough. The interpretation of evidence must also be verified.

In this piece I am not accusing any specific person or organisation. Because I do not have the documents to prove such an accusation. And an accusation without documents is just rumour.

But I am speaking of a structural problem. And proving that problem does not require a specific allegation. Simply demonstrating the absence of public information is enough.

I want to end with a question. If cricket's financial system is genuinely honest, then where is the problem in publishing the information that would prove that honesty?

The answer is simple. There is no problem.

So the question becomes — why is the information not published?

The answer to that question will determine cricket's future. Because a game stands on the trust of its fans. And trust is built from transparency, not from announcements.

The ledger always tells the truth. The question is — who is willing to read it.

I am willing.