Bilderberg 2013 comes to … the Grove hotel, Watford

 

The Bilderberg group's meeting will receive greater scrutiny than usual as journalists and bloggers converge on Watford

• Charlie Skelton
• The Guardian, Sunday 2 June 2013 17.03 BST

Protesters at Bilderberg 2012. This year's meeting of the global elite is in Watford and is expected to be unusually open. Photograph: Mark Gail/The Washington Post

When you're picking a spot to hold the world's most powerful policy summit, there's really only one place that will do: Watford. I guess the Seychelles must have been booked up.

On Thursday afternoon, a heady mix of politicians, bank bosses, billionaires, chief executives and European royalty will swoop up the elegant drive of the Grove hotel, north of Watford, to begin the annual Bilderberg conference.

It's a remarkable spectacle – one of nature's wonders – and the most exciting thing to happen to Watford since that roundabout on the A412 got traffic lights. The area round the hotel is in lockdown: locals are having to show their passports to get to their homes. It's exciting too for the delegates. The CEO of Royal Dutch Shell will hop from his limo, delighted to be spending three solid days in policy talks with the head of HSBC, the president of Dow Chemical, his favourite European finance ministers and US intelligence chiefs. The conference is the highlight of every plutocrat's year and has been since 1954. The only time Bilderberg skipped a year was 1976, after the group's founding chairman,Prince Bernhard of the Netherlands, was caught taking bribes from Lockheed Martin.

It may seem odd, as our own lobbying scandal unfolds, amid calls for a statutory register of lobbyists, that a bunch of our senior politicians will be holed up for three days in luxurious privacy with the chairmen and CEOs of hedge funds, tech corporations and vast multinational holding companies, with zero press oversight. "It runs contrary to [George] Osborne's public commitment in 2010 to 'the most radical transparency agenda the country has ever seen'," says Michael Meacher MP. Meacher describes the conference as "an anti-democratic cabal of the leaders of western market capitalism meeting in private to maintain their own power and influence outside the reach of public scrutiny".

But, to be fair, is "public scrutiny" really necessary when our politicians are tucked safely away with so many responsible members of JP Morgan's international advisory board? There's always the group chief executive of BP on hand to make sure they do not get unduly lobbied. And if he is not in the room, keeping an eye out, then at least one of the chairmen of Novartis, Zurich Insurance, Fiat or Goldman Sachs International will be around.

This year, there will be a great deal more "public scrutiny" of Bilderberg. Pressure from journalists and activists has won concessions from the venue: for the first time in 59 years there will be an unofficial press office, staffed by volunteers, on the grounds. Several thousand activists and bloggers are expected, along with photographers and journalists from around the world.

Back in 2009 there were barely a dozen witnesses – harassed and arrested by heavy-handed Greek police. This year there is a press zone, police liaison, portable toilets, a snack van, a speakers' corner – all the ingredients for a different Bilderberg. A "festival feel" has been promised. If you are concerned about transparency or lobbying, Watford is the place to be next weekend. Whether the delegates reach out to the press and public remains to be seen. Don't forget, they've got their hands full carrying out the good works of Bilderberg. The conference is, after all, run as a charity.

If you've been wondering who picks up the tab for this gigantic conference and security operation, the answer arrived last week, on a pdf file sent round by Anonymous. It showed that the Bilderberg conference is paid for, in the UK, by an officially registered charity: the Bilderberg Association (charity number 272706).

According to its Charity Commission accounts, the association meets the "considerable costs" of the conference when it is held in the UK, which include hospitality costs and the travel costs of some delegates. Presumably the charity is also covering the massive G4S security contract. Fortunately, the charity receives regular five-figure sums from two kindly supporters of its benevolent aims: Goldman Sachs and BP. The most recent documentary proof of this is from 2008 (pdf), since when the charity has omitted its donors' names (pdf) from its accounts.

The charity's goal is "public education". And how does it go about educating the public? "In furtherance of these objectives the International Steering Committee organises conferences and meetings in the UK and elsewhere and disseminates the results thereof by preparing and publishing reports of such conferences and meetings and by other means." Cleverly, it disseminates the results by resolutely keeping them away from the public and press.

The charity is overseen by its three trustees (pdf): Bilderberg steering committee member and serving minister Kenneth Clarke MP; Lord Kerr of Kinlochard; and Marcus Agius, the former chairman of Barclays who resigned over the Libor scandal.

Labour MP Tom Watson remarks: "If the allegations that a cabinet minister sits on the board of a charity that discreetly funds a secretive conference of elites are true then I hope the prime minister was informed. It was David Cameron who heralded the new age of transparency. I hope he asks Kenneth Clarke to adhere to these principles in future." At the very least, George Osborne and Clarke may consider adhering to the ministerial code when it comes to Bilderberg and declare it in their list of "meetings with proprietors, editors and senior media executives" as they've failed to do in the past. Of course, with the lobbying scandal in full spate it's possible our ministers will steer clear of such a major corporate lobbying event. We'll find out on Thursday.

Burn the orchard,re-grow cricket

P Sainath in The Hindu

Getting Mr. Srinivasan to walk the plank is desirable, but won’t rescue Indian cricket. Scrap the BCCI, whole hog, and start over

Isn’t it reassuring to learn how many men of character the Board of Control for Cricket in India has? With the secretary and the treasurer resigning their posts, joined by the IPL chairman as well, and more lining up to quit on noble principle? Conscience crawls out of the mothballs by the hour.

The BCCI-Indian Premier League would love to retain what they have — minus N. Srinivasan. They’re working on an “exit formula” to toss their much reviled chief overboard. We can then witness a withdrawal of resignations amidst a celebration of principle and probity. While getting Mr. Srinivasan to walk the plank is desirable, it won’t cleanse the BCCI, the IPL, or cricket.

So now we know it wasn’t a few bad apples but a whole rotten orchard. The “just three cricketers,” defence was always dishonest. The rot engulfs the entire edifice of the IPL and the BCCI. The media have a ball-by-ball commentary going on this sordid Reality show: The Hunt for Srini’s Scalp. It’s entertaining too, with even an element of suspense. You never know who the next man in will be, with players in this game switching teams on field. And then there’s Sharad Pawar sending down googlies to himself on the sidelines. Yesterday’s Srinivasan loyalists could be the spearhead of today’s attack on him. Sanjay Jagdale, Ajay Shirke and Rajiv Shukla— who’ve just quit their BCCI posts — seem to be warming up for a bowl.

That Mr. Srinivasan should not head the BCCI (or anything involving the public interest) was apparent years ago. That is, to anyone whose perception was not modified by lucrative contracts with, or advertising revenue from, the BCCI-IPL. However, it’s crazy to believe his exit will set everything right. He will be replaced by his own recent collaborators. The kind who helped reduce a national passion to a hyper-commercial freak show. Take a bow, Pawar saheb.

The BCCI-IPL have faced serious charges for a while. For instance, from the Enforcement Directorate. Ensconced in London, the IPL’s founder is a fugitive from justice. Then came this BCCI chief whose conflict of interest was made ‘legal’ by changing the body’s rules. (Take another bow, Pawar saheb). Mr. Srinivasan owning an IPL team while heading the BCCI only now gets the attention it demanded years ago. As for Mr. Pawar, his notable achievement in UPA-I was to rack up more frequent flier miles on overseas travel in the name of Indian cricket than for agriculture.

This April, an irate Bombay High Court told the IPL crowd to pay up the amount they owed the Maharashtra police for security provided during their matches. The dues, the government of Maharashtra said, were “around Rs. 9 crore. The Bench also said the law permits government to attach the properties of the defaulters.

Forget the dues, the IPL earlier made money from the state. It got over Rs. 20 crore in entertainment tax waivers from the government of Maharashtra, the gains going to Mukesh Ambani, Vijay Mallya, Shah Rukh Khan and others in need. Until an outraged Bombay High Court ordered recovery of that money. Meanwhile, state-owned stadia are still given out to the BCCI-IPL at throwaway rates.

What does one do with the BCCI?

Dissolve it. Scrap the BCCI and start afresh. Have a public audit of this body’s activities over the past decade. The BCCI is characterised by its contempt for the public interest. By the impunity it could act with, confident of its power, corporate, political and media. Start over. Build and launch a body that is transparent and accountable. A body that runs the Indian team must be accountable to the public and the country in whose name it acts.

The IPL isn’t just about spot-fixing or betting. It is about the hyper-commercialization of a beautiful game to a point where it destroys the soul of that sport. It’s about structured sleaze and a corrupting culture. Every dodgy defence of the IPL holds aloft that catch-all excuse: commercial success. This, in their eyes, outweighs its “few flaws.” Yet, the cloud that the Sreesanths and Meiyappans have come under is no aberration. It is the standard product of such a system.

It isn’t just the BCCI brass who have suddenly spotted disaster. Take the dominant media that daily celebrates its latest exclusives on the scandals. The same media lionized the IPL, season after season. Whose pundits, with a few honourable exceptions, stuck to the defence and promotion of the IPL culture.

They even briefly went with the franchisees’ claim: “Our security was so tight, owners could not enter the dugouts. Bookies had no chance of being there.” They didn’t need to be. The paid-entry late-night parties were a cosy access zone for fixers, bookies and worse.

Sure, the media’s pressure at this point is a very good thing. But almost every exposé of fixing, betting or dubious deals has come from official agencies. From the Delhi and Mumbai police, from the Enforcement Directorate. Any good stories that came out of journalistic investigation before that were quickly brushed aside by a media revelling in the IPL culture. TV channels had many panellists — including legendary cricketers — extolling the glories of the IPL while being on its payroll. There were even former players accused in earlier fixing scandals. But the advertisers and sponsors till now delighted with this con-job, today worry that the “brand equity of the IPL has taken a beating.”

Well, Indian cricket has taken a worse beating.

The media helped build a make-believe world that allowed no serious critique of the IPL. Any criticism was met by: “Don’t let’s hurt cricket just because of a few small problems here.” Such words falsely conflate the interests of the IPL with those of Indian cricket. Their interests are worlds apart.

What has been the IPL’s contribution to Indian cricket?

It changed the axis, orientation, content and soul of Indian cricket. It privatised a national passion, promoted a corrupting commerce. The game is now “owned” by companies, corporate sharks and their political patrons, film stars, advertisers and sponsors. No longer by the cricketing public.

The domestic circuit that was the feeder system for India’s international teams is hurting. The Indian greats came up through it. But now it is the feeder for the IPL. Why play in the Ranji Trophy (except to get noticed by the recruiters) when you can make millions playing sub-standard cricket in the League? The IPL has not contributed a single great player to Indian cricket.

The “few rotten apples” line was always a fraud. And we need to do what orchardists do on rare occasions. Burn the orchard and plant for fresh growth. Scrap the BCCI and start over. Re-grow cricket.

Sticking with those analogies, what happens to the waste you have to get rid of? The net is full of websites running advice on that. The United States Environmental Protection Agency has some suggestions, for instance. Including “burning, chipping, shredding, grinding, composting or use as hog fuel.” Isn’t that tempting?

Cancer medication as low as Rs 1,000/month on way

Malathy Iyer, TNN

MUMBAI: It's widely known that a month's dose of cancer drugs can cost lakhs, but what isn't common knowledge is that Tata Memorial Hospital's doctors are working on alternatives that could cost less than Rs 1,000 a month.

Dubbed the metronomic treatment protocol, it comprises daily consumption of a combination of low-dose medicines that are cheap because they have been around for decades. "There is no need to worry about patents or recovery of billions spent on research,'' said Dr Shripad Banavali, head of the medical oncology department of Tata Memorial Hospital, Parel, who has been working on the low-dose-low-cost therapies.

His colleague, Dr Surendra Shastri sums up the mood well: "The metronomics experiment is path-breaking in terms of providing good quality and affordable cancer care for a majority of the over 10 lakh cancer cases diagnosed in India each year.'' These findings could revolutionize cancer care in most developing countries, he said.

The catch is, however, that this branch is still in research stage. The conventional cancer treatment comprising chemotherapy is given at "maximum tolerated doses" which are tested and have reams of research to back it. As against this, in metronomic therapies, the drugs are given at very low doses. "But side-effects are fewer and patients have a good quality of life,'' said Dr Banavali.

The word metronomics is borrowed from music; musicians use the metronome to mark time and hence rhythm. Patients are asked to take these medicines for a period of 21 days or more before taking a break of a week; such a cycle continues for months.

Dr Banavali's work has been published in the May issue of the medical journal Lancet Oncology. Thousands of patients have been on metronomic treatment in Tata Memorial Hospital as well as its rural centre, with a sizeable number managing to control the growth of cancer. "In India, the main challenge in cancer is not just finding cures, but to develop affordable treatments'' he said.

In fact, the metronomic work arose out of such cost concerns over a decade back. The Tata doctors found that many patients were lost to treatment because they were overwhelmed by the cost of medicines. "Moreover, many patients came so late for treatment that we had to turn them away without any medicines,'' said Dr Banavali. Instead of turning away such patients, the Tata team decided to adopt the metronomic treatment as palliative treatment that was being tested out in various parts of the world. "We gave them drugs that would help in pain or at least ensure that their case doesn't worsen," he adds.

But the results surprised them. In a large group of children with blood cancers called acute myeloid leukemia (AML), they found that metronomic maintenance treatment had helped increased survival rate to 67%. The group then started its own innovation, going ahead of the rest of the world. "The West used the same set of medicines for all forms of cancer, but we introduced personalised medicines for various types of cancers,'' said Dr Banavali.

The Lancet paper, titled 'Has the time come for metronomics in low-income and middle-income countries', mentions combination of drugs used for four cancers (see box). The Tata doctors feel that these drugs may work as well for newly developed tumours. "While the developed world is going after 'drug discoveries', that is discovering new drugs which are very costly for our patients, we are going after 'drug repositioning', that is using time-tested drugs for the treatment of cancer," said Dr Banavali. For example they are using drugs likemetformin (an anti-diabetic drug), sodium valproate (an anti-seizure drug) and propranolol (an anti-hypertensive drug) in the treatment of cancer.

The Lancet paper said, "The combination of metronomic chemotherapy and drug repositioning might provide a way to overcome some of the major constraints associated with cancer treatment in developing countries and might represent a promising alternative strategy for patients with cancer living in low- and middle-income countries.''

Metronomics chemotherapy works at three levels. It attacks tumours while working on the "micro-environment", like the blood vessels, around the tumour. Thirdly, it works on the immuno-modulating system of the body. "Unless the metronomic dose works on all these three fields, it may not work,'' said the doctor.

Survivor of twin blows, counselor for others

On the occasion of Cancer Survivors Day on June 2, members of Ugam, an NGO, will put up a skit at Tata Memorial Hospital to underline the problems of parents whose children suffer from cancer. Comprising childhood cancer survivors, Ugam members counsel cancer patients undergoing treatment at Tata Memorial Hospital. One of its founder members, Shalaka Mane (29), who lost her right eye to cancer, will be there too. She feels people discriminate against cancer patients. "I feel there is a need to increase awareness about the treatment of cancer in society and the government, and enable these families to get financial help," she says. Diagnosed with blood cancer when she was eight years old, she barely got back to being at the top of her class when she was found to have brain cancer. "I was in Class XII and planning to take up medicine, but it wasn't to be,'' she says. The second cancer was so virulent that she lost her eye. But she emerged victorious a second time and completed her masters. She now teaches at Kalvidhai Mission High School, Andheri, which she attended as a student. "My principal and teachers never discriminated against me because of my illness. I enjoy my job," she adds.

'Cancer can't affect my future'

Artist Sachin Chandorkar is a poster boy of sorts at the Tata Memorial Hospital, Parel. At 28, he has won several awards (one from chief minister Prithviraj Chavan last month) for his murals and sculptures. But the Tata connection comes from his victory over cancer when he was five years of age. He was suffering from Hodgkin's Lymphoma. "I remember feeling irritated due to the itch on my head. When I would stratch my head, tufts of hair would come into my hands. I would then start crying," says Chandorkar, who studied at the JJ School of Arts. He usually doesn't talk about his battle with the Big C. "When my mother and sisters sometimes talk about it, I ask them to stop. I have decided that cancer is a part of my past and cannot affect my future,'' he adds.

Ministers who misuse statistics to mislead voters must pay the price

Politicians resign for fake expenses or receiving favours, but not for making false statements. They should be punished

• 
• • Peter Wilby
  • The Guardian, Friday 31 May 2013 20.30 BST

Andrew Dilnot, now head of the UK Statistics Authority, ‘exposed a Conservative party claim on numbers of people who dropped out of claiming incapacity benefit as a lie.’ Photograph: David Levene for the Guardian

Some years ago, I talked to Andrew Dilnot, then principal of an Oxford college, now head of the UK Statistics Authority. He picked up a copy of the Guardian front page, jabbed his finger at the figure $25bn, which was highlighted in a panel, and asked: "Is that a big number?" I looked at him blankly. He said newspapers, particularly upmarket ones, were full of numbers but, in many instances, neither journalists nor readers could explain their significance. "Numbers are just a particular class of words. There isn't any other class of words in a paper that we wouldn't ask ourselves what they mean."

We often hear politicians quoting numbers, but what do they mean? In March, a Conservative party press release, faithfully reported in the Sunday Telegraph, claimed "nearly a million people" had come off incapacity benefit rather than face new medical tests for what is now called the employment and support allowance. The press release intended us to think 1m was a big number – "more than a third of the total", it stated – though the true figure was 878,300. To explain the meaning, it quoted the party chairman, Grant Shapps. The figure was a vindication of the government's stricter policies on benefit claimants, he said, and a demonstration of "how the welfare system was broken under Labour". It showed, we were supposed to deduce, the scale of malingering before the coalition put a stop to it.

But the big number was – there is no other word for it – a lie. Dilnot, now responsible for protecting the integrity of official statistics, exposed it as a lie this week, albeit using mild Whitehall language in letters to Shapps and Iain Duncan Smith, the work and pensions secretary. The 878,300 alleged malingerers had never received incapacity benefit. They were new claimants, aggregated over three-and-a-half years. Many (probably most) withdrew their claim because they recovered from their condition or found a new job. In 2011-12, out of 603,600 established benefit claimants referred for the new medical tests, just 19,700 (3.3%) withdrew before taking them. That figure – which most of us would think small – represented the true scale of people pretending to be sick.

This is not the first time Dilnot has issued reprimands for misuse of numbers or, to put it more bluntly than he would, the quotation of bogus figures. The prime minister himself was rebuked in January for stating that the coalition was "paying down Britain's debts"when the national debt had risen from £811bn to £1.1 trillion. Jeremy Hunt, the health secretary, was told in December to withdraw his claim that NHS spending had risen in real terms "in each of the last two years". Last month Duncan Smith was on the naughty step for claiming that, as a result of the new benefits cap, 8,000 people had moved into jobs. This was "unsupported" by official statistics, Dilnot ruled. Last year Michael Gove, the education secretary, was criticised for claims that, under Labour, tests had shown British children falling steeply in international league tables. UK samples for tests in 2000 and 2003 were inadequate, Dilnot wrote; it was not therefore possible to make "trend comparisons" with later tests in 2006 and 2009.

Politicians – like journalists, campaigners and even academics – habitually quote figures selectively, seizing on those that support their case, ignoring those that don't. That is human nature. We cannot expect ministers to examine all available evidence dispassionately every time they speak or write. No doubt they also make genuine errors, misunderstanding, misreading or failing to check statistics.

But the examples above are surely deliberate attempts to mislead the public. It is not a matter of accurate figures being taken out of context, but of making false statements about what official statistics show. (Labour may have been equally guilty of such behaviour, but it was rarely properly highlighted because the UK Statistics Authority was not established until 2008 and Dilnot did not take charge until last year.) Unfortunately, there is no price to pay. The "nearly a million" figure will stick in the public mind. Dilnot's demolition of the Shapps claim was not widely or prominently reported.

The quotation of statistics is fundamental to modern political debate. Parties compete, not so much on ideology or even policy, as on their competence to manage the nation's affairs. Most voters would struggle to distinguish between a Labour NHS reform and a Tory NHS reform, a Labour academy and a Tory academy, a Labour "crackdown" on benefits and a Tory "crackdown". They look for evidence that things are going well and politicians respond by quoting hospital waiting times, GCSE success rates, numbers coming off benefit, and so on. We know politicians cherry-pick the figures, wrench them out of context, round them up or down, but we should at least have confidence that they aren't making them up.

Perhaps, as is often suggested, better maths and statistics teaching in schools would help us make more sense of the figures. But we cannot all be expected to scrutinise the raw official statistics to verify everything we are told, not least because the Office for National Statistics website is virtually unnavigable. Without some faith in ministers' veracity, public trust in democracy withers still further.

Can anything be done? The public administration select committee has proposed that Dilnot take greater control over the collation and publication of departmental statistics, and over how they are publicised. It has also suggested that ministers should not have automatic access to official figures before they are released, because it allows them to put out their own "spin" in advance. These changes would be an improvement, but ministers will continue to offend until they have reason to fear the consequences of making false statements.

Nearly all ministerial resignations are connected with not telling the truth: submitting false expenses, covering up a speeding points swap, receiving favours from lobbyists. But telling untruths about official figures is somehow regarded less seriously. Dilnot should have the power, in the worst examples, to require a full Commons censure debate on a minister's conduct – with an expectation that, if he or she failed to offer an adequate defence or show contrition, resignation would follow. That would guarantee press attention and ministerial trembling. Big lies about big numbers require big deterrents.

The serpent in the garden

The IPL is representative of the worst sides of Indian capitalism and Indian society

Ramachandra Guha

June 1, 2013

I detest wearing a tie, and do so only when forced. One such occasion was a formal dinner at All Souls College, Oxford, where opposite me was an Israeli scholar who had just got a job at the University, and was extremely anxious to show how well he knew its ways and mores. He dropped some names, and spoke of his familiarity with the manuscripts collection at "Bodley" (the Bodleian Library). In between his boasts he kept scrutinising my tie. Then, when he could contain his curiosity no more, he walked across the table, took my tie in his hand, looked at it ever more closely, and asked: "Is this Magdalene?"

I did not answer. How could I? For the tie signalled not membership of a great old Oxford College, but of a rather more obscure institution, the Friends Union Cricket Club in Bangalore. I joined the club in 1963, aged five, because my uncle, a legendary one-handed cricketer named N Duraiswamy, played for it. I would go along with him for practice, stand by the side of the net, and at the end of the day be allowed to bowl a few balls from 12 yards or thereabouts. By the time I was ten I was helping lay the mat and nail it to the ground. When I reached my teens I was bowling from where everyone else did.

As a boy and young man, I was an episodic member of the Friends Union Cricket Club. In those years I was based in North India, and came south for my summer and winter holidays. In 1994 I moved to Bangalore for good. In the past two decades, I have watched FUCC win the First Division Championship three times, and seen a series of young players graduate from club cricket to representing the state in the Ranji Trophy. My club has produced two India internationals and at least fifteen Karnataka players, all of whom I have known personally and/or watched play.

Largely because of Duraiswami - who has been captain or manager for forty years now - FUCC enjoys a reputation that is high both in cricketing and ethical terms. No cricketer of the club has ever tried to use influence to gain state selection. Where other clubs sometimes adjust games to make sure they do not get relegated, FUCC does not resort to this. FUCC cricketers do not come late for practice, and never abuse the umpire. And they play some terrific cricket too.

FUCC was one of a dozen clubs that provided the spine of Karnataka cricket. The others included Jawahars, Crescents, BUCC, Swastic, Bangalore Cricketers, and City Cricketers. The men who ran those clubs were likewise personally honest as well as fantastically knowledgeable about the game. The cricketers they produced won Karnataka six Ranji Trophy titles, and won India many Tests and one-day internationals too.

This year I mark the 50th anniversary of my membership of the Friends Union Cricket Club. In this time, FUCC has commanded my primary cricketing loyalty; followed by my state, Karnataka, and only then by India. Six years ago, however, a new club and a new format entered my city and my life. I was faced with a complicated decision - should I now add a fresh allegiance, to the Royal Challengers Bangalore?

I decided I would not, mostly because I disliked the promoter. In cricketing terms, Vijay Mallya was the Other of Duraiswami. He had never played cricket, nor watched much cricket either. He had no knowledge of its techniques or its history. He had come into the sport on a massive ego trip, to partake of the glamour and celebrity he saw associated with it. He would buy his way into Indian cricket. And so he did.

It was principally because Mallya was so lacking in the dedicated selflessness of the cricketing coaches and managers I knew, that I decided the RCB would not be my team. So, although I am a member of the Karnataka State Cricket Association and have free entry into its grounds, I continued to reserve that privilege for Ranji Trophy and Test matches alone.

The KSCA Stadium is named for its former president, M Chinnaswamy, who was one of Duraiswami's heroes. When I was growing up, Durai would tell me of how Chinnaswamy supervised the building of the stadium, brick by brick. This great lover of cricket abandoned his lucrative law practice for months on end, monitoring the design, the procurement of materials, and the construction, with no cost over-runs and absolutely no commissions either.

	The behaviour of Messrs Lalit Modi and N Srinivasan cannot shock or surprise me, but I have been distressed at the way in which some respected cricket commmentators have become apologists for the IPL and its management

In other ways too Chinnaswamy was exemplary. Never, in all the years he served the KSCA, did he try to manipulate a single selection. Later, when he became president of the BCCI, he met the challenge of Kerry Packer by increasing the fees per Test match tenfold. It was while he ran Indian cricket that our players were for the first time treated with dignity and paid a decent wage.

I wonder what Chinnaswamy would have made of his grasping, greedy, successors as presidents of BCCI. I wonder, too, what he would have made of a man who can't pay his own employees having a free run of the stadium that Chinnaswamy so lovingly built. This past April, the Bengaluru edition of the Hindu carried a front-page story on an summons that the Special Court for Economic Offences had issued to Mallya, who owed the Income Tax Department some Rs75 crores, or about $13.3 million, which he had not paid despite repeated reminders. The police, often waiving the rules for the powerful, told the court that they were too busy to execute the summons.

But let me not single out Mallya here. The truth is that almost all the owners of IPL teams (seven out of nine, by one estimate) are being investigated by one government agency or another, in one country or another, for economic offences of one kind or another. Since this is a shady operation run by shady characters, Indian companies known for their professionalism, entrepreneurial innovation, and technical excellence have stayed away from the IPL altogether. Here is a question for those who still think the tournament is worth defending - why is it that companies like the Tatas, the Mahindras, or Infosys have not promoted an IPL team? (Editor's note - Tata Consultancy Services sponsor Rajasthan Royals.)

To this writer, that the IPL was corrupt from top to bottom (and side to side) was clear from the start - which is why I have never exercised my right of free entry for its matches in Bengaluru. But as I watched the tournament unfold, I saw also that it was deeply divisive in a sociological sense. It was a tamasha for the rich and upwardly mobile living in the cities of southern and western India. Rural and small town India were largely left out, as were the most populous states. That Uttar Pradesh and Madhya Pradesh, both of whom have excellent Ranji Trophy records, had no IPL team between them, while Maharashtra had two, was symptomatic of the tournament's identification with the powerful and the moneyed. The entire structure of the IPL was a denial of the rights of equal citizenship that a truly "national" game should promote.

The IPL is representative of the worst sides of Indian capitalism and Indian society. Corrupt and cronyist, it has also promoted chamchagiri and compliance. The behaviour of Messrs Lalit Modi and N Srinivasan cannot shock or surprise me, but I have been distressed at the way in which some respected cricket commmentators have become apologists for the IPL and its management. Theirs is a betrayal that has wounded the image of cricket in India, and beyond. George Orwell once said: "A writer should never be a loyal member of a political party." Likewise, for his credibility and even his sanity, a cricket writer/commentator should keep a safe distance from those who run the game in his country.

What is to be done now? The vested interests are asking for such token measures as the legalisation of betting and the resignation of the odd official. In truth, far more radical steps are called for. The IPL should be disbanded. The Syed Mushtaq Ali Trophy, played between state sides, should be upgraded, making it the flagship Twenty20 tournament in the country. Then the clubs and state associations that have run our domestic game reasonably well for the past 80 years would be given back their authority, and the crooks and the moneybags turfed out altogether.

Even now, in every city and town in India, there are selfless cricket coaches and administrators active, nurturing young talent, supervising matches and leagues. The way to save Indian cricket is to allow these modern-day equivalents of Duraiswami and M Chinnaswamy to take charge once more.

Tamasha and a quick buck

by Girish Menon

Today, Sharad Pawar joined the rising crescendo of voices asking for N Srinivasan the BCCI chief to demit office. He is, i.e. Pawar, the latest bigwig who has provided ballast to the 'Srinivasan must go' campaign. And since most of reported opinion is of bigwigs, this writer suggests that news organisations should attempt to lift their wigs and examine what motivation underlies these utterances.

To this writer, opportunism is the premise that seems to unite both the supporters and opponents of Srinivasan. From Farooq Abdullah to Gavaskar to Scindia to Pawar, all of them appear to have a 'dog in the fight'. Hence their views are based on ulterior motives and not really with a view to clean the Augean stables. Yet, news organisations refuse to highlight views of the non big wigs. This author wrote a piece, 'Sreesanth - Another Modern Day Valmiki?' but Cricinfo refused to publish it.

In short the debate appears to be an incestuous fight between a group governing the BCCI and another group who wish to replace them. And news organisations seem to be taking positions based on which group will get them a seat at the trough?

The disenfranchised cricket loving Indian public realise that their own views do not count. Hence, like the Saudis who turn up for the Friday post prayer beheading, they turned up in large numbers for the IPL final realising full well that the result of the game could have been pre ordained. They looked on the event as pure tamasha (theatre) and maybe some may have even bet on the underdog to win because that is the only way they and the omnipotent bookie can both make a sure buck.

The mathematics of spot-fixing

by Dilip D'Souza

Spot-fixing: suddenly on a whole lot of minds. Three young cricketers accused of doing it for no real reason I can fathom except greed. After all, they were already earning money legitimately far in excess of the great majority of their countrymen.

Still, I’m not here to pass judgement on these men. They are innocent until we find otherwise, and that finding will eventually come from a court. And anyway, who knows what motivates young men with lots of money? No, I’m here to discuss what makes spot-fixing possible; especially, some of the mathematics behind it all.

But let’s start with this: what makes a bet possible? Of course, I suspect it is almost human nature to want to gamble. But that desire is founded on probabilities. You consider an upcoming event, you estimate the probability of it turning out a certain way, and you choose to place a bet (or not) based on that estimate. There are fellows called bookies who will take your bet. Based on their own estimate of what’s going to happen, they will give you what’s called “odds” on the event.

For example: Imagine two cricket captains about to toss a coin. Both of them, and all of us, know the probability of it landing heads is 1/2. If you find a bookie willing to take a bet on this, it’s likely he’ll give you odds of 1:1; meaning, for every rupee you bet, you’ll get a rupee back if the coin does in fact land heads. A pretty stupid bet to make, you’ll agree. Because if you keep betting, you’ll lose your rupee half the time—when the coin lands tails. And when it lands heads, you simply get your rupee back.

But consider tossing a dice instead. The probability of a “1” is 1/6, and that opens up more apparently interesting betting possibilities. A bookie will likely offer odds of 5:1 on a “1”; that is, for every rupee you bet, you’ll get back five if the dice shows “1”. (If it shows anything else, you lose your rupee.) Sounds exciting, this chance to quintuple (wow!) your money? Would you take these odds and place a bet like this?

Yet here’s the thing, and this is why I used the word “apparently” above. Please don’t stop breathing at the mention of quintupling your money. For the mathematics says this is actually just as stupid a bet to make as with the coin. Again, if you keep betting, you’ll lose your rupee five out of every six times. (Put it another way: five of every six bettors who place such a bet will lose their money.) Only once—that sixth time—will you get your five-rupee windfall.

The reason bookies might offer such odds—1:1 for the coin, 5:1 for the dice—is that they know their probabilities as well as you do, and naturally they don’t want to lose money. In fact, they will likely tweak the odds they offer just enough so they actually make money. That is, after all, why they do what they do.

So if you find a bookie offering quite different odds than you expect, it’s likely he knows something you don’t. Consider how that might pan out. Let’s say the coin the captains use is actually a fake—it has tails on both sides. But let’s say only our devious bookie knows this. He says to you the avid bettor: “Ten times your money back if it comes up heads!” You think: “Wow! There’s an attractive proposition!” and you gamble Rs.1,000, for you’ve estimated that there’s a 50-50 chance you’re going to waltz home withRs.10,000.

Then you lose, as—face it—you were always likely to do. Bookie laughs all the way to the bank with yourRs.1,000.

All of which is essentially how spot-fixing must work.

So now imagine you are a fervent cricket-watcher. (Which I’m willing to bet you are, unless you’re Lady Gaga.) From years following the game, you know that bowler J bowls a no-ball about once in every six-ball over. Along comes bookie W to whisper in your ear: “Psst! Hundred times your money back if J bowls exactly one no-ball in his first over in the Siliguri Master Chefs game!” Your eyes widen and you fork out the Rs.10,000 you didn’t win when he offered you the coin bet, starry visions of a million-rupee payoff whirling through your head. Hundreds of other cricket fanatics like you do the same. (Rather silly cricket fanatics, but never mind.)

What you don’t know, of course, is that bookie W has instructed bowler J to bowl not just one, but two no-balls in that first over. For doing so, J will get a slice of all the money W has collected in bets.

So J bowls his two no-balls at the Master Chefs. You lose. Bookie W and bowler J laugh all the way to the bank. Simple.