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There is an intriguing line in the recent end-of-Ranji season Instagram outburst by people who are not in favor Indian batsman Hanuma Vihari. It is where he alleges political interference in cricket affairs and vows to never appear against Andhra again. That’s right: “I was the captain in the first match against Bengal. During that game, I yelled (sic) at player number 17 and he complained to his dad (who is a politician). His father, in return, asked the association to take action against me.”
The story goes that Vihari had to give up the captaincy because the 17th player’s father, a YSR Congress corporator, allegedly got his way. The said episode, apart from launching an investigation into cricket and a political dispute in Andhra, also draws attention to the dark corner of the dressing room that houses the extras who do not play or carry drinks: the mysterious number 17 players of the Indian domestic circuit. .
Ranji Trophy 2023/24 pic.twitter.com/PXHNG487BQ
—Hanumavihari (@Hanumavihari) February 26, 2024
In a sport that needs 11 players on the field and around 15 in a team, selecting additional extras is not always a contingency measure thought up by an overly cautious administrator. In most cases, giving the team unwanted and unsolicited extra hands is a devious act by a compromised manager.
The profile of the 17th Ranji Trophy player gives an insight into the deterioration of the selection process and also explains the complexities of managing state cricket units. In most cases, these “special extras” are children of influential and indulgent parents. They seem a little repentant when they are in the company of those who have rightly earned their A-list caps, because deep down they know that they do not deserve to be there. Viewed with suspicion, they are the uninvolved outsiders of the team.
Arguably the 17th most discussed player in Indian cricket is Tejashwi Yadav, son of Laloo and current Bihar chief ministerial aspirant. The former cricketer has a history of spending quality time in the dugouts of both the Indian team and the IPL. At that time his father was Railway Minister and also a member of the BCCI.
As a junior, Tejashwi was part of a special group of five junior cricketers who accompanied India’s main team for the 2008 U-19 World Cup in Malaysia. The official explanation is that the five were on an international exhibition trip. It was the first time that the Indian junta had taken such an initiative and it was subsequently suspended. Later, he warmed the bench for Delhi Daredevils of the IPL for almost five years without playing a single match. It was the time when Delhi would shift players like Gautam Gambhir, Daniel Vettori, Tillakaratne Dilshan and AB de Villiers, but his faith in his 17th player remained unwavering.
Pakistan has a name for these invaders of the cricket field. They are called ludo, which literally means pieces of paper. The reference is to the recommendation sheet, with the name of an unworthy cricketer, which the selectors take to the meeting and press for his inclusion. India also shares this tradition.
A cricket-related veteran from Delhi and Uttar Pradesh gives an insight into those who have the power to pull the strings from the bottom. “The usual callers are politicians lobbying for someone from their neighborhood, a mafia boss who thinks his relative is the next Tendulkar, a bureaucrat with unreasonable confidence in his son’s bowling skills, a former player who uses his old contacts to get his way, or a businessman willing to finance his son’s sporting dream. Sometimes, it is impossible to ignore these calls,” he says, explaining how deals are stalled and quid pro quo terms are being negotiated.
However, over the years, astute administrators of state units have found a way to please the influential without undermining the strength of the playing XI. They made the captains and coaches understand that they can choose the 12 or 13 best of their choice and be blind to the rest of the team that had places without a merit quota.
This resulted in strange situations. Like that time a while ago when a police officer suddenly appeared in the Uttar Pradesh dressing room. “At first, everyone thought he was part of the security or something, but he was a bhaari shifarishi (highly recommended) player. He even played a game,” recalls a former player.
This trend has even reached the IPL, where franchise teams with corporate structures were thought to be programmed to work on the principle of meritocracy. But since the team owners have varied business interests, they too could not hang up on the phones of the babus and politicians. They also found a middle way. Close examination of the traveling group shows a small group of players in team jerseys and official backpacks who never play a game but are used as net throwers.
Some 17th place players are ambitious. Once in the giant team, some get more phone calls to be in the playing XI. A former captain of a national team says that there is usually a mad scramble among “special extras” to get into the team for matches against weak teams. “If the game is against a team from the northeast, these extra players push to be included,” he says.
A few seasons ago, Bihar made eight changes for a match against Arunachal Pradesh. It was the year in which 62 players represented the state and the selectors complained of receiving “frequent requests to accommodate relatives of bureaucrats, politicians and businessmen.”
In a strange incident last season, a 17th place player was told one night before the game that he would be in the XI due to a series of injuries in the team. To everyone’s surprise, he refused, saying that he was not mentally prepared.
“He knew that the game had to be played on a rebounding pitch. Hence the reluctance. The next thing he knew was that the politicians who had pushed for his inclusion called him begging him not to play because it would jeopardize his career,” says a regular on the national circuit.
Things seem easy for those with influential parents and godparents on speed dial. They can choose their games, become first-class cricketers without effort or talent. But not everything is rosy. They can be part of a euphoric locker room but they cannot share the adrenaline of their teammates. They can wear the team jersey but they can’t be one among the boys. They also do not understand the spirit of Kipling’s famous law of the jungle: “The strength of the pack is the wolf, and the strength of the wolf is the pack.” What could be worse than feeling alone while playing a team sport?
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