The IPL’s stardom was the result of it presenting the Indian aficionado a farrago of the eccentric pace of T20 cricket in cahoots with the glamour of Bollywood with industrialist owners, cheerleaders, theme music and fan chants packed into a capsule course of three hours. It was everything the Indian fan ever wanted. Not just the cricket fan, Bollywood cognoscenti’s, the young, the old, the sport lovers who claimed to be cricket haters, they all got involved. Whether it was backing the team which represented the city you hailed from, supporting a side because the roster read an eclectic mix of your favourite cricketers, or just backing a team since you admired the owner; everyone in India had a reason to be involved. Even the purists and the cynics watched it with one eye open. The Champions League had the artificial flavour of razzmatazz. But trying to mix the glam factor here was worse than mixing oil and water. The incongruity was there to be seen and felt. The CLT20 comprised of actual teams — professional T20 outfits that represented the state, province, city or county, where they hail from or voluntarily chose to represent. These teams weren’t artificially contrived over an auction with a body that governed proceedings, with megalomaniac owners later fawning at their newest acquisitions. The Sydney Sixers are basically the team from New South Wales, and the Perth Scorchers are the side from Western Australia christened with another name for the fanciest format of the game. These are professional teams assembled through a recognisable process of recruitment, promotion, budget balancing and an intangible internal chemistry. This is at its basic level is what the sport is supposed to look like. The dilemma is not with the Champions League T20; the dilemma is with who helps gauge its barometer of success — the Indian cricket fan. And the Indian cricket fan doesn’t want to watch a dynamic Brett Lee play for the Sydney Sixers or watch a flamboyant Herschelle Gibbs play for the Cape Cobras. He’d rather watch the former play with an unknown Paul Valthaty in Kings XI Punjab, and the latter with a talented Abhishek Nayyar in the blue of Mumbai Indians. This, of course, is not because either of those uncapped Test players are a catalyst for Lee or Gibbs. It’s because they’re playing in a jersey that he relates to because he recognises the Indian city it represents, he recognises the brand ambassador of the franchise and the prima donna owners. If the Champions League T20 were to even have an iota of the IPL’s popularity, wouldn’t the KFC T20 Big Bash or the Friend’s Life T20 be the tournaments that resonate with the sub-continental fan? After all these leagues are the veins that supply the blood to the CLT20 in terms of the participating teams. The fact that these tournaments have no real standing in the sub continental cricketing folklore, then how could one expect the CLT20 to have a phenomenal impact? The Champions League in its ideal form is what the IPL should represent —a proper, genuine club T20 championship. One where the ICC rules the roost and is staged between the 12 best real, genuine domestic teams from around the world, devoid of the fluff of celebrity owners and advertising exodus, and one which is spoken about by cricket’s discerning diaspora on its own cricketing merits. But then again, that’s not what has made cricket the cricket it is today. Sigh!
Posted on: Fri, 23 Aug 2013 19:05:37 +0000
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