Our Special Correspondent
The Hyderabad Cricket Association (HCA) has once again slipped into media headlines—not for a giant-killing Ranji triumph, not for unearthing the next VVS Laxman, but for something depressingly routine: allegations of corruption. This time, the storm has been kicked up by a familiar constituency—parents of youngsters who couldn’t cut, wondering aloud how the son of a former Test cricketer conveniently landed a spot in the reserves.
As always, our publication has been flooded with complaints—perhaps because we continue to write without fear or favour—coupled with desperate hopes that the High Court–appointed supervisory committee, headed by a sitting judge, will finally wield the broom. Yet, frustration runs deep. The judge appears unmoved, or at least unwilling to interfere, even as the stench grows unbearable.
To be fair, disappointment among parents is not new. Cricket is now a seductive career—money, fame, contracts. Every second household wants its child to become the next Sachin Bhuvneshwar Kumar. Aspiration is understandable. Exploiting that aspiration is unforgivable.
For years, Hyderabad cricket has battled whispers that the “paying capacity” of a family often outweighs the talent of a player. And these whispers almost always circle back to the same two “power brokers”—private academy owners whose names have become so predictable that mentioning them is almost unnecessary. Their alleged influence over selections, access, team balance—even trial formats—has become folklore. Insiders claim that even the movement of cash is orchestrated with such finesse that it escapes every scrutiny mechanism.
And yet, irony thrives. Some of the very parents who scream “injustice” are the first to approach these middlemen when their own boys fail on merit. Outrage in Hyderabad cricket is a negotiable commodity—its value rises or falls depending on whether your son is inside or outside the dressing room.
Recent selections only deepen the farce. The U19 side saw random chopping and changing—players entering from nowhere as standbys, then being dropped as abruptly, without a shred of logic. The U16 and U19 probables “trials” were worse. Batsmen batted without match context, bowlers bowled randomly, as if the entire exercise was a pre-scripted audition to justify pre-decided selections. Performers were ignored; spectators were rewarded.
One cannot even pretend it was a cricketing exercise. It looked like position-fixing masquerading as trials.
In this circus, captains have become symbolic. Bowling changes and field positions are allegedly dictated by selectors over the phone. When the man leading your team has less authority than the fourth umpire, what exactly are we teaching young cricketers?
The rot does not stop there. When parents, coaches, or well-wishers approach the HCA secretary, he is said to give a patient hearing, only to forward complaints to those he believes can “advise” him. But instead of reaching honest voices, grievances reportedly land in the laps of manipulators, who then craft responses using bylaws, precedents, emotional appeals, and selective interpretations—ensuring nothing ever moves. Sufferers continue suffering; beneficiaries continue flourishing.
Even the so-called “reviews with numbers”—which should bring transparency—are allegedly being tailored to justify decisions rather than question them. If data itself is manipulated, what hope remains?
And looming over all this is the High Court-appointed supervisor—silent, distant, and inexplicably trusting the same internal ecosystem that presided over this decline. Former cricketers urged him to form a panel of respected players; the advice was ignored. Power brokers remain powerful. Selectors who resist are sidelined. Age manipulation, opaque shortlists, predetermined squads—everything continues “under supervision.”
Earlier HCA secretaries—some with criminal cases—at least maintained a red line. They may have plundered funds, but selection of state teams still reflected cricketing merit. Today, even that line has been erased. A once-respected former Test cricketer now faces murmurs of “fixed prices” for selections. He denies wrongdoing, and no court has held him guilty—but the whispers refuse to die.
Yes, Hyderabad won the Buchi Babu Trophy. Yes, the U19s showed promise. But success cannot sanitise a diseased structure. When U16 selections themselves carry allegations of “slots for sale,” what message are we sending? Work hard—but carry a cheque book?
Hyderabad cricket once produced giants. Today it produces allegations, complaints, and court files. The tragedy is not merely that corruption exists—it is that corruption has become routine, predictable, and almost inseparable from the institution.
Unless the system is rebuilt—from selections to supervision to accountability—Hyderabad cricket will continue to oscillate between occasional triumphs and permanent shame. No trophy, no talent, and no PR spin can fix that rot.
