Special Correspondent
Success has many fathers. Failure, as the old saying goes, is an orphan. But in the case of the inaugural TG20 League, some stakeholders now quip with a touch of sarcasm that success appears to have found just one father — the tournament’s Chairman, Agam Rao.
A special article penned by Agam Rao and published earlier in these columns was intended to celebrate what was undoubtedly a landmark tournament for Telangana cricket. Instead, it has sparked murmurs of discontent among several individuals who worked tirelessly behind the scenes to make the league a reality under the overall guidance of retired Telangana High Court Judge Justice Naveen Rao, who was entrusted with overseeing the tournament.
Ironically, what has upset many is not that Agam Rao wrote about TG20’s success. It is that, in their view, he wrote as though he alone scripted the story.
More surprising to several stakeholders was the complete absence of any reference to the oversight under which the tournament was planned and executed, or to the administrative backbone that made it possible. Whether the omission was accidental or an overenthusiastic attempt to personalise the achievement remains open to interpretation. But it has certainly become the talking point long after the final ball was bowled.
One senior functionary, who spent months working on planning and execution, remarked with a smile that carried more disappointment than humour.
“There is an old truth every big event rediscovers,” he said. “The stage gets lit, the trophy gets lifted, someone writes a glowing tribute, and somehow an entire universe of people quietly disappears from the story.”
He was quick to add that there was no bitterness.
“Perhaps nobody intended any slight. But this is how history often gets rewritten. Those who build the stage are forgotten, while those standing on it become the authors of the story.”
Another stakeholder found irony in how the cricket itself appeared to have become secondary.
“Funny how tournaments work,” he observed. “By the time commemorative articles are written, the centuries, the last-over thrillers and district cricketers finally getting a national-quality platform somehow become footnotes. The spotlight shifts from the cricket to the celebration around it.”
His parting remark summed up the sentiment.
“The ones who do the work remain on the field. The ones who narrate it occupy the pages.”
The forgotten list, according to many, is remarkably long.
There were the groundsmen who nurtured wickets that survived over three weeks of uninterrupted cricket. There were housekeeping teams resetting venues every night before sunrise. Security personnel ensured that thousands of passionate spectators remained just that—spectators. Ticketing staff managed entry and exit without chaos. Practice schedules ran like clockwork. Yet, their contributions rarely find mention beyond an occasional passing reference.
One official joked, “Apparently, pitches prepare themselves overnight, stadiums clean themselves, crowds organise themselves and matches begin automatically.”
Perhaps the strongest sentiment, however, came from those involved months before the tournament even existed on paper.
League regulations had to be drafted and redrafted. Operational frameworks negotiated. Financial commitments secured. Legal issues addressed. Administrative roadblocks removed. Sceptics convinced.
“Nobody applauds a well-drafted clause,” one member remarked. “Foundation work demands the most effort and receives the least applause.”
Several stakeholders also pointed towards the role played by the Supervisory Management Committee (SMC), which inherited a deeply troubled administration and spent years attempting to restore order before TG20 could even become possible. Their contribution, many feel, deserved greater acknowledgment.
Among those named repeatedly in these conversations was HCA Secretary Jeevan Reddy, whose day-to-day coordination — liaising between the SMC, the franchises and the venues, and troubleshooting the countless operational fires that a tournament of this scale inevitably throws up — was, by several accounts, indispensable to TG20 running as smoothly as it did. Yet his name, too, found no mention in the celebratory retelling.
None of the stakeholders questioned Agam Rao’s contribution. By most accounts, he worked hard in coordinating several aspects of the league. What they question is whether one individual’s contribution can reasonably eclipse everyone else’s.
More importantly, many believe that no account of TG20 can ever be complete without acknowledging the leadership under whose supervision the tournament was conceptualised and delivered — a debt owed as much to Justice Naveen Rao as to the many hands, like Jeevan Reddy’s, that carried out that vision on the ground.
Perhaps this controversy offers a gentle reminder rather than a harsh rebuke.
Sport has always been the ultimate team game—not merely on the field but off it too.
Tournaments are rarely built by one visionary. They are assembled by hundreds of invisible hands working towards one common dream.
TG20 undoubtedly deserves celebration. But if its legacy is to endure, many believe its history should be written the way the tournament itself was conducted—with fairness, balance and room for everyone who played a part.
After all, trophies may be lifted by captains.
But tournaments are built by teams, institutions, players, sponsors, officials and countless unsung contributors—not by one individual. Many stakeholders are now asking whether Agam Rao is cultivating a personality cult reminiscent of Lalit Modi, who too was often accused of projecting the IPL’s success as being synonymous with himself.
