Special Correspondent
Hyderabad cricket is no longer being mismanaged. It is being methodically dismantled—selection by selection, season by season, dream by dream.
Behind the ceremonial announcements of under-23 and under-19 squads lies a far uglier scorecard: one that tracks influence instead of innings, connections instead of centuries, and loyalty to power brokers instead of loyalty to the game. Parents who once sat quietly in the stands now write letters to judges and police officers, not coaches and selectors. Not to celebrate milestones—but to plead for justice.
This is not a story of sour grapes or sporting disappointment. It is an indictment of a system that, parents allege, has turned merit into a liability and silence into survival. Where speaking up risks exile, and anonymity becomes the last shield for children who still believe cricket is about runs, wickets, and fair play—not about who controls the gate.
With HCA announcing its U-23 men’s and U-19 women’s teams, two such parents have once again knocked on the door of justice. Their names, and those of their children, are deliberately withheld here. Not out of fear—but out of necessity. Because in a system where speaking up allegedly invites retaliation, anonymity has become the last line of defense for merit.
Their allegations, echoed in hushed conversations across academies and stadiums, paint a grim picture: conflict of interest masquerading as mentorship, private academies exercising disproportionate influence over selections, and selectors who appear answerable not to performance charts but to power brokers. The pattern, they claim, is no longer subtle. It is brazen.
One parent points to a concentration of players from a single private setup making it into multiple age-group teams—some into the main squad, others on standby—while proven performers are left cooling their heels. The concern is not just about exclusion; it is about credibility. When a Ranji player finds himself demoted to standby and under-19 players leapfrog into higher brackets, the question ceases to be about form and fitness. It becomes about who knows whom.
Another letter, this time from the father of a young woman cricketer, cuts deeper—not with allegations, but with anguish. His daughter, who has represented Hyderabad across U-15, U-19, and U-23 levels over nearly a decade, now finds herself excluded even from selection matches. Not dropped from the team—denied a chance to compete for a place. The reasoning given to him, he says, defies sporting logic. Younger players are tried out; experienced ones are not. Effort is acknowledged in private but ignored in public.
What bleeds through his words is not just frustration—it is fear. Fear for his child’s mental well-being. Fear for his own health, as the strain of fighting a faceless system begins to take a toll. He does not demand selection. He asks only for fairness. For a chance.
These are not isolated laments. They are symptoms of a deeper rot—one that has coincided, ironically, with a national push to elevate sport as a pathway for India’s youth. Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s Khelo India campaign was envisioned as a ladder for talent, not a maze of gatekeepers. The new National Sports Policy seeks accountability, transparency, and governance reforms—even bringing apex bodies like the BCCI under a broader framework of oversight.
And yet, in Hyderabad, the disconnect is stark. While New Delhi speaks the language of reform, the grassroots here, parents allege, are still mired in old games—of influence, favouritism, and financial muscle. The result? State teams outside the senior Ranji side have struggled, often humiliated, their performances mirroring an ecosystem where merit is no longer the primary currency.
The irony is bitter. The same administration that champions sport as a tool of nation-building now watches—silently—as a historic cricketing center risks becoming a cautionary tale.
There is, however, a flicker of expectation. The state’s top police leadership, known for having once unearthed serious irregularities that led to high-profile arrests within the HCA, is seen by many as a man who does not look away when the evidence stares back. Parents and former players alike are waiting—hoping—that the law will once again speak louder than influence.
Which brings us to the question that can no longer be avoided: Should the Union Sports Minister step in?
With the Enforcement Directorate already probing financial aspects linked to HCA officials, is it time for a broader, independent investigation—perhaps by the CBI—into the governance of the association itself? Should the BCCI, as the apex body, be directed to take cognizance of what is unfolding within its affiliate and act decisively?
One proposal gaining traction is radical, but perhaps necessary: dissolve the remnants of the current committee and install a three-member oversight panel—comprising an upright former cricketer, a sitting or retired judge, and a senior IPS officer from outside the state. Give them a clear mandate. A defined timeframe of one to two years. Full authority to reconstitute selection panels, appoint coaches, and clean house before another season is lost to cynicism.
Sub-committees of former players with unblemished records could assist, ensuring that the game is steered by those who have lived it, not leveraged it.
Because beneath the politics, the letters, and the legalities lies a more fragile truth: these are children and teenagers at the center of this storm. They train before sunrise. They chase shadows on empty grounds. They carry the weight of their families’ sacrifices in every run-up and every stroke.
And God forbid—what if, one day, one of these frustrated, sidelined, and silenced talents decides that the pitch offers no future, and life itself offers no exit? Will we then issue statements, order inquiries, and express “deep concern”?
Or will we act now—while there is still time to save not just Hyderabad cricket, but the young hearts that beat for it?
