RP Singh is ecstatic when he finds out the new Kochi owners are looking at Ronald McDonald as the inspiration for the uniforms © AFP

Tuesday, 5th July
Chris Gayle and Kumar Sangakkara have a lot in common. They are supremely talented players whose careers have been interrupted by lesser men. But they are dealing with it in different ways. Chris composed a moving piece in 33 paragraphs based around variations on a theme (the theme being “It’s Not Fair”). Kumar looked further than his own future and made an eloquent and impassioned plea for the reform of Sri Lanka’s cricket establishment.

And the response of Sri Lanka’s sports minister to these thoughtful, reasoned and articulate remarks? He stuck to the code of administrators worldwide, cranked up the pomposity dial to maximum and let off some self-righteous steam. The most significant thing he noted about the speech? That Kumar should have sought permission from the board in order to criticise the board.

But this is worse than just a few more puffed-up men in suits and fancy moustaches, stroking their egos. This is corruption we’re talking about, you know, that “very bad thing” that we were all so determined to root out a few months ago. Have we forgotten about that? Or is corruption only a problem when it involves players?

Wednesday, 6th July
Exciting developments, franchise watchers: the Kochi Katastrophes might be for sale! This news had me rooting down the back of my sofa for small change and ringing my elderly relatives to persuade them to invest their life savings. Having supported the purpley-tangerines in their debut season, only to see them blow it in a series of let-downs, flops and disasters, I thought I might as well buy the thing and sort them out.

And they can’t be that expensive. They finished eighth. They barely have any sponsors. Their gate revenue was puny, they couldn’t get a new stadium built and their shirts are revolting. Surely they’ll be going for a knock-down price? What’s that? US$ 333.33 million? Hmm. Well how much for Sreesanth’s head band?

Friday, 8th July
Things are getting out of hand in the shires. The wickets are littered with dummies and the county championship’s traditional soundtrack of four hands clapping is being drowned out by John McEnroe-style protests and language that would make a Premier League footballer’s mistress blush.

So what is going on in snoozy-time land? Are they putting something in the tea? Are there bonus points available in the championship this year for petulance, swearing and generally carrying on like a three-year-old on a long car journey? No. The Professional Cricketers Association believes the problem is twofold. First, the DRS is to blame. The players, having watched cricket on telly, want to emulate their heroes, but when they make those cool T-shapes in a county game, nothing happens. Naturally, they become disillusioned.

The second problem is slightly duller and has to do with some kind of umpiring feedback thingy. The PCA’s head Nursery School Supervisor explained:

“I think it's important that the players have a mechanism for giving feedback and that they have the confidence in it so that they don't get frustrated.”

The poor dears.

But why exactly are players commenting on umpires? Do schoolchildren fill in questionnaires rating the performance of their headmaster? Umpires are not in the service industry; they don’t need to be sensitive to the needs of their clients. They are enforcers. They are there because: a) the players can’t be trusted to play nicely and b) the players don’t know the rules.

I suggest that, in addition to fines, bans and stiff talkings-to, errant pros should be forced to write, “I must not undermine the umpire’s authority,” a hundred times on the pavilion blackboard. And an hour or two on the naughty step wouldn’t hurt either.

Messrs Pawar and Lorgat: hotel room-trashing, television-flinging, M&M-eating, hard-partying rock stars © Getty Images

Saturday, 25th June
In my experience it’s better to have one really good excuse, than two and a half iffy ones. For example, if you’re trying to get out of a particularly boring social occasion by claiming that your hamster has died, there’s no need to add that your budgerigar has wing rot and that you think your conservatory might be on fire. As Hercule Poirot might put it, one alibi c’est bon, three alibis is the coincidence most suspicious.

Well I’m afraid that Niranjan Shah was guilty of over-egging the excuse pudding today as he attempted to explain why he doesn’t like the DRS. As I understand it, the BCCI’s argument goes like this:

1. DRS is far too expensive and we can’t afford it.
2. And even if we could afford it, think about the poor Sri Lankans and West Indians.
3. Well yes, they all want it, but they don’t know what’s good for them.
4. Besides, it’s not accurate.
5. And even the bits that are accurate are only used a few times each innings. It would be much better if it was used all the time.
6. Not that you could use it all the time, because that would slow the game down.
7. Anyway, it undermines the umpires.
8. And that’s our job.

Sunday, 26th June
I’m pleased to report that the outbreak of success in England’s limited-overs cricket has been contained. Yesterday’s effort at Bristol conclusively proved that the previous captain had been the problem all along and that the recent Collingwoodectomy has enabled a full recovery from the symptoms of disorientation and confusion associated with unexpected and repeated victory.

Monday, 27th June
Never mind Glastonbury, Wimbledon and Ascot. In the Hughes household, there is no doubt about the biggest event of the summer. It’s the ICC annual conference. You’ll find more interesting cricket-related activity in five minutes there than in the entirety of the England v Sri Lanka series. I’ve got my “ICCAC ’11” t-shirt, my “Haroon Lorgat Rocks” mug, and I’ve been tuning in to ICCTV every morning.

It’s been a thriller of non-stop administration. One minute there’s a preliminary committee hearing on the feasibility of amending the bat-handle length regulations, and then before you know it, it’s straight over to live coverage of the afternoon biscuit break. Then there’s the highlights show, presented by Mark Nicholas and Henry Kissinger, featuring all the best bits of the day’s bureaucratic bonanza.

But inevitably the temptation to tinker with 50-over cricket has been irresistible and they’ve fiddled about with the Powerplay. I’m not entirely sure what they’ve done; in fact, to be honest, I’ve never really understood the Powerplay. It’s a little embarrassing, but there it is. It hasn’t been too much of a handicap socially because most of the people I talk to don’t really understand it either.

Why the tinkering? It's part of the ICC’s unhealthy obsession with tarting up the middle bit of one-day internationals, which is a bit of a mystery, considering people still turn up to these matches in their thousands. Instead of fretting about a few dull minutes in a 50-over game, how about coming up with ways to enliven the desolate wilderness of tedium that is days two to four (inclusive) of the average modern Test match?

England’s hardy warriors return after having beaten every trace of moisture out of the ground with their bats © Getty Images

Saturday, 12th March
On Friday in Chittagong, we witnessed two well-documented natural phenomena: the early-evening accumulation of condensed water droplets, and Englishmen complaining about the weather. At the post-defeat debrief, Mr Strauss and Mr Swann sounded like marine commandos returning from some dangerous amphibious operation, rather than sportsmen who’d had to play cricket on a bit of damp grass.

Their repeated use of the word “dew” in close proximity to the word “defeat” was, by the way, entirely coincidental. Let’s be clear: in no way were they blaming this dew-soaked defeat on the prevailing dampness that made it impossible to grip the ball or bowl straight. They were not suggesting, as some might, that this was a debacle borne of dew, a dew-induced lottery or a dewy farce; a dew-feat, if you will.

But it was karma. Mr Swann has spent the winter choreographing a surprisingly irritating dance modelled on a device employed for the purpose of distributing water onto grass. So the cricket gods have devised for him a fitting torment: to spend eternity bowling at tailenders with a ball that is never quite dry, no matter how many times he swears at it or wipes it with his special handkerchief.

Sunday, 13th March
The Kochi Tuskers Kerala is not just the first half of a high-quality tongue-twister, it is the newest name in the Twenty20 menagerie; an exciting new attraction occupying an enclosure next to the Matabeleland Tuskers and just around the corner from the Faisalabad Ferrets and the Adelaide Anteaters. If domestic leagues continue to expand at the current rate, scientists estimate that within a decade every animal species on the planet will have a Twenty20 team named after it.

Monday, 14th March
For many years the test of a true cricket lover was the ability to explain to an outsider the rules concerning leg before wicket. And if you could get to the end before the person you were talking to passed out, you could feel justifiably pleased with yourself. Mastering the intricacies of this particular corner of cricket’s rule book was tricky, but achievable, with a little dedication and the occasional diagram.

But how would you fare if, in the course of your attempt to convert the non-cricket lover, you were asked to explain the DRS system? Even if you felt confident in your grasp of all the intricacies (and as far as I can tell, Simon Taufel is the only human being who can say that) I fear your conversational partner would expire through old age long before you even got onto the thorny subject of the 2.5 metre rule.

And DRS is having some unpleasant side effects. Players used to put up with the occasional howler out of respect for the doctrine of Umpiring Infallibility. But not any more. Thanks to DRS, the on-field umpire’s decision is no longer final. Last week, MS Dhoni was having a grumble; today the Irish captain has been fined. They may be right, they may be wrong. Who cares? Once players think they can get away with whingeing about decisions, they’ll never stop. Our game will descend into chaos. Or worse, it’ll be like Premier League football.

	'This is going to be exciting. You can tell by how loud I'm shouting' © Getty Images

Before we begin today’s sermon, a brief confession. Some days ago, I suggested that UDRS was not quite the thing. In my foolishness, I may have insinuated that it was the beginning of the end, civilisation-wise. Fellow sinners, I was wrong. I have seen the light. Having been exposed to hour after hour of Dave "Reasonable" Richardson patiently explaining why only backward people don’t like his lovely toy, I have been converted to the Church of UDRS.

I was finally sold on it, not just by the drip-drip effect of big DR’s world-weary PR, but by the combined efforts of Messrs Gower and Botham during the lunch break at Centurion on Wednesday. Gower attempted to bore the ICC’s General Dogsbody into an indiscretion, whilst the Beefster, not one to pass up a chance to mouth a tasty opinion was growling like a portly lion on a leash at feeding time. Yet even their Dozy Cop–Angry Cop routine could not rustle up a single meaty morsel of criticism.

The Undeniably Divine Review System is, then, a marvellous creation. It is the perfect union of technology and bureaucracy and I was wrong ever to doubt it. But if a newcomer to the Church might offer a suggestion, I don’t feel that we are unleashing the system’s full showbiz potential. I’ll tell you what I mean.

A bowler (let’s call him Graeme) flings down a fizzing corker. A batsman (let’s call him Abraham) assays a mighty swish. In the air there is the tiniest, feeblest ticking sound that could be the mating call of the high veldt cricket or just possibly a woody nick. Graeme erupts verbally. Old father umpire shakes his head.

At this point, the lights come on; a jaunty jingle emanates from the Centurion PA system and on comes our hero, one Ravi Shastri, decked out in sparkly jacket, twinkly smile and microphone. Arm around the nervous protagonist, our presenter beams for the camera and asks Graeme from Nottingham if he wants to gamble. Graeme isn’t sure. He looks over to Matthew from Johannesburg Brighton.

“Gamble!” shouts Matthew.

“Are you sure? You’ve only got one life left?”

Graeme thinks for a moment. Then his mind is made up. He definitely heard something. He nods.

“Yes Ravi, I’m going to gamble.”

The crowd whoops and hollers in an excited fashion. In the audience, his friend Andrew covers his eyes, he can’t watch.

“Join us after the break to find out if Graeme from Nottingham is a winner or a loser when we play UDRS!”

You see, stick an ICC-approved exclamation mark on the end and the showbiz quotient is already rising. Getting more decisions right more of the time doesn’t have to be an exercise in thumb twiddling and heel kicking. It can be fun. Just imagine the possibilities on Friday, whilst South Africa were hesitating over using their referral. We could have had a clock ticking in the background, the audience shouting out suggestions and Ravi explaining that they’d have to hurry up if they wanted to play their joker.

But now the ICC has a taste for this kind of thing, why stop here? I’m looking forward to the IDRS, the Incompetent Decision Review System. For too long cricket boards have bumbled along in an altogether 20th-century way. Time was when the chief executive’s word was final and we all accepted it. But with so much at stake these days, it simply isn’t good enough to have decisions made on the hoof by duffers in expensive suits.

Just think of the cock-ups, pratfalls and misadventures that various cricket boards have given us in recent times. Allen Stanford’s chopper? The 273-game World Cup? The English Premier League? The ban on ICL players? Why do we still allow these decisions to be made real time when we can call on technology to help us.

Fortunately, my chums at the Adelaide Institute of Silly Studies have come up trumps. They have developed prototypes of a Self-Interest Monitor (Selfo) a Cash Sensor (Casho) as well as an adjusted Hot Spot that can detect nervous perspiration and a Big Fat Lie Detector. With cameras installed in every boardroom, I believe we can improve administrative decision-making by as much as 6%, leaving us just another 94% worth of improvement to find.

	‘Pipe down with your appeal there, laddie, or I’ll do unspeakable things with this here ICC-approved deterrent’ © AFP

UDRS! It sounds like the cry of a Bulgarian shot-putter as he lets fly. Or perhaps the first word that David Boon uttered as he disembarked at Heathrow airport in 1989.

In fact, this collection of letters stands for Umpire Demoralising Review System, an entirely new method of making cricket more complicated that is completely unrelated to the previous Player Review System, which everyone hated. You can tell it’s different because it has a completely different name, apart from the last bit.

Lots of intelligent and learned cricket folk are asking questions about UDRS. Questions such as: How does it work? Come again? Run that by me one more time? No, still not got it, could you write it down? But the only question I want to ask is: does it enhance the sofa-dweller’s viewing pleasure? Sadly, I have to say that the answer is no.

First, the details. As far as I can make out, this is how it goes. Umpire A makes a decision. Players may challenge this decision by screaming, pouting, or stamping their feet on the ground. If Umpire A remains unconvinced, a captain may, by indicating inverted commas with his forefingers, initiate the referral process.

Umpire A will then talk to Umpire C. Umpire B may also talk to Umpire C, but not without being introduced. Umpire C will watch his television. He is not allowed to tell Umpire A what he sees there, but may pass on information by implication, insinuation or cryptic clues. After a short half-hour delay, Umpire A will then shrug his shoulders to signal that the referral process has been successfully completed.

Naturally the ICC thinks it works. Apparently the correctness of decisions has gone up by 6% since it was introduced. They know this thanks to the Deciderator 2000, a calculator the size of Jesse Ryder housed in a disused storage closet in downtown Dubai. But the ICC aren’t the only ones with access to the latest technology. Thanks to the Hughes Confusometer, I have measured a staggering 350% increase in bafflement and bewilderment since UDRS was introduced.

It has also subtly altered our relationship with gadgets. Once they enhanced our experience, getting us closer to the game than the mosquito perched on Shane Watson’s faceguard. But since it has been officially sanctioned, technology has become omnipresent. The current series in Australia has featured a heart-rate monitor, a traffic-light themed lbw wizard, Hotspot, slow-mos, Snicko, Hawk-Eye, and a special device to warn us when Bill Lawry has nodded off. You have to stay on top of it all because it has become part of the game. As a result, watching a Test match these days is like sitting in the NASA control room during a space-shuttle launch.

I’ll be honest. I like the simplicity of the chap on the field being right. Even when he’s wrong. It isn’t perfect. It isn’t always fair, but then life isn’t fair, and unlike life, a game of cricket really doesn’t matter all that much. At this point I could go on about taking the rough with the smooth, suffering slings and arrows, greeting triumph and disaster and so on. But I can picture the tapping of thousands of fingers on thousands of keyboards, typing words like “old” and “fashioned” and “Who is this Neanderthal?”

So if this is the future of cricket, let’s dive in head first, rather than timidly dipping our toes in Lake Technology. For a start, why involve players in the messy business of making decisions? They aren’t cut out for it. It is tricky enough for some of them to arrive at the right ground at the right time wearing the right trousers. Let them concentrate on dropping catches, bowling wides and styling their hair.

The umpires should retain control of the means of adjudication and should be tooled up with all the latest gear. I propose that the ICC commission full-metal body suits for arbiters. These should feature state of the art Hawk-Eye-enabled visors, Snickometer antennae, and heat-detecting scanners. Optional extras to include a no-ball sensor, a tea-maker, and a hook upon which players can hang their sweaters and caps. Once they’re suited up like Judge Dredd, there would be no doubt where the authority lay.

My name is Aleem Dar. I AM the law.