The over-rate conundrum

I had the occasion to chat with a former Indian Test player last Monday, a couple of days after the ICC appeals commissioner had lifted the two-Test ban imposed on Sourav Ganguly by Clive Lloyd, the match referee supervising the one-day international between India and Pakistan at the Eden Gardens. He couldn't help reflecting the irony of the ban and its aftermath. Lloyd, who penalised Ganguly for his team's slow over-rates, was the worst perpetrator of the same crime during his playing days, and Michael Atherton, who wrote a stinging criticism of the reversal of Lloyd's decision, was himself lucky to escape strong punishment after being caught on television rubbing dirt on a cricket ball and subsequently being economical with the truth to the match referee about it.

He was, of course, taking a tangential view of the matter. Lloyd and Atherton, whatever their past misdemeanours, were acting well within the parameters of their jobs, and the propriety of their act must be seen in that context. To do otherwise would be obfuscating the issue.

It is a pity that the ban on Ganguly and its subsequent revocation was viewed so differently in India and outside. A majority of Indian cricket fans, seething at years of slights, both real and imaginary, feel partially avenged by the appeal commissioner's decision. Didn't we tell you so, they gloat, that all match referees were biased against India? Outside India, the view is starkly contrasting, and it is tellingly reflected in Atherton's column. "The only thing it shows," Atherton wrote bluntly, "is India's power at the ICC table."

On the face of it, Ganguly has had a lucky escape. It is not clear how Ganguly and his high-profile lawyers managed to persuade Tim Castle about the unfairness of the ban, but by any reckoning, a delay of an hour, even taking into account the dew factor and injury to a Pakistani batsman, is considerable. Further, Ganguly has been a habitual offender. Did Castle, a barrister by profession, watch the replay of the entire match and calculate every hold-up before arriving at his decision?

Traditionalists, who are uncomfortable with the concept of a match referee to begin with, see the appeals procedure as another step to draw a simple game into the legal mire, but in principle, it is a necessary safeguard for the players. It came into being after the Virender Sehwag episode in 2001 that brought cricket to the brink of a split. Enraged by Mike Denness's decision to penalise seven Indian players, including a one-match ban for Virender Sehwag, for excessive appealing during India's tour of South Africa, the Indian Board, in connivance with their South African counterparts, decided to disregard the match referee and went ahead with the next Test which was promptly declared unofficial by the ICC. But it was clear to most that Denness's decision was even more over the top than the over-appealing from the Indians. It was also deemed one-eyed because Denness had chosen to ignore some equally aggressive appealing from the South Africans. The institution of an appeals procedure was a direct and rightful consequence of this. Nobody was meant to be above the law.

However, it is not absolutely clear if the appeals commissioner is only supposed to judge the legal merit of the match referee's decision - that is, if the proper process was followed by levying a penalty - or whether he is also entitled to adjudicate on the cricketing merit of the decision. If he is supposed to look into that as well, the question must be asked if a legal expert is best qualified for this job? In Ganguly's case, Lloyd seemed to have made the correct application of the law. There had been a transgression and it was Ganguly's second offence within 12 months, which entitled him to impose a two-match ban. Lloyd had obviously taken into account the dew factor and had come to the conclusion that Ganguly had wasted enough time even otherwise to merit a ban. If Lloyd's reading of the situation was being scrutinised, would it not have been more appropriate if it was done by people who knew their cricket as well as, if not better than, Lloyd?

Not even a week has passed since his reprieve and Ganguly has been penalised again, this time for showing dissent against an umpiring decision. Given his fiery nature, occasional venting of emotions is only expected. Abuse cannot be condoned, but cricket authorities can sometimes be accused of oversensitiveness about the odd obscenity muttered in the heat of the moment. Deliberate slowing-down of the game is a much bigger offence; not only does it amount to cheating the opposition, but arguably also the paying public. All teams have been guilty of this through the history of game - none more blatantly than Lloyd's West Indians, as it happens.

But laws have been made, and they need to be enforced. Nothing else has worked. Fines rarely bother the modern international cricketer. The actual match fee forms an insignificant part of his earnings. A penalty of runs might be too drastic because it could devalue results. A ban is always tough, but nothing short of it was ever likely to work. The captain is the man in charge on the field, and he ought to be made accountable. And there's nothing better than a tough example to keep likely offenders on their toes.

Throughout the second Test, the South Africans were lagging behind in their over-rates. It was apparent why they would have wanted to slow the game down. But how would match referees deal with such offences in the light of Ganguly's successful appeal? Would they be more inclined to err on the side of caution? It would be unhealthy if it were so.