Special Correspondent
Another day, another anonymous cry for help from within the murky corridors of the Hyderabad Cricket Association. But, this one reads less like a complaint—and more like an indictment.
A so-called “robo mail,” now circulating among club secretaries and media houses, may be dismissed for its anonymity. But strip away that label, and what emerges is a chilling portrait of a system where cricket is no longer driven by talent, but by transactions.
Let’s not pretend this is shocking. It is, however, deeply disturbing.
According to the mail, player welfare—supposedly the foundation of any sporting ecosystem—has been reduced to a mere afterthought. In its place thrives a brazen pay-to-play racket. Club secretaries, it alleges, are openly pricing opportunities: ₹5–7 lakh for B Division slots, ₹3 lakh for C Division, and a staggering ₹10–15 lakh for A Division entries.
If true, this isn’t cricket administration. This is organised extortion in cricket whites.
The rot runs deeper. Cricket academies, meant to nurture talent, are now described as profit centres. ₹30,000 per month for training, ₹3,000–₹5,000 for one-on-one sessions, ₹2,000 for throwdowns—costs that quickly spiral beyond reach. For a young cricketer, just entering B Division reportedly requires ₹70,000, with total expenses ballooning to ₹1.5–2 lakh.
At what point did cricket become a luxury subscription service?
More troubling is the allegation of systemic collusion. The mail claims that powerful secretaries and academy operators allegedly fix rates collectively and enforce them across the ecosystem. Question the system, and you’re sidelined. In some cases, academies reportedly control team selections by handling official credentials, reducing club secretaries to rubber stamps who “don’t even know their own players.”
If even a fraction of this is true, the system isn’t just broken—it is captured.
And just when it seems the rot cannot deepen, fresh inputs suggest it has infected match-day privileges as well. IPL tickets allotted to affiliated clubs are allegedly being sold in the black market for an eye-watering ₹9,000 apiece. This is not the work of street-side touts. The allegations point inward—towards those entrusted with running the game.
Even car passes, meant for players and legitimate stakeholders, are reportedly being monetised by influential secretaries and even members of the apex council. This is no longer just unethical behaviour—it borders on outright criminality. Every entitlement is being converted into a revenue stream.
All this unfolds even as a CID probe examines the controversial ₹69 crore payment to Visakha Industries—originally brought in to build the stadium with a promised ₹10 crore investment, of which only around ₹6 crore is said to have materialised.
What is more alarming is the institutional silence. Neither state police, nor central agencies, nor even the BCCI—which falls under the ambit of the National Sports Policy—has shown urgency. The inaction is glaring, especially when other associations like Jammu & Kashmir have faced corrective intervention in the past.
Because what is truly being crushed here is not just fairness—it is aspiration.
Young cricketers from modest backgrounds, who once saw the sport as a pathway to opportunity, are now being priced out before they can even step onto the field. “Payment only matters, talent on waiting list,” the mail bluntly states. A few lines capture the tragedy more starkly.
Ironically, the mail names a handful of clubs—Evergreen, Jai Hanuman, Balaji, SBI, Imperial, Charminar, Deccan Chronicle—that reportedly do not charge players. If true, they are exceptions worth acknowledging. But exceptions don’t redeem a system—they expose how far it has fallen.
What makes these revelations even more damning is their timing. With recent administrative changes and the induction of a corporate-backed secretary, there were expectations of reform—a break from the past.
But if these allegations, coupled with the IPL ticket scandal, reflect reality, those hopes are already evaporating.
The anonymous author may lack a name—but not credibility.
And the silence of the apex council is no longer just indifference. It is complicity.
The question now is no longer whether the system is broken.
It is whether anyone in power still has the will to fix it.
