debut: 2/16/17
40,656 runs
Whose Cricket Game Is This—Ours or Theirs?
The Caribbean Premier League (CPL) returns with its usual carnival flair—fireworks, flags, and sponsors everywhere. But beneath the confetti lies the harsher question the T&T Guardian asked this week: what is the CPL really doing for Caribbean people? Other than grandiose promises that failed to materialize.
The short answer: not enough.
The franchises are mostly foreign-owned. The broadcast rights are controlled offshore. Most of the profits leave the region. Yet regional governments continue to pump millions into staging matches, with almost nothing to show for it beyond a few weeks of entertainment.
Guyana, for instance, committed US $4.5 million over three years to secure CPL hosting rights. Trinidad & Tobago’s Ministry of Finance admitted its own subsidy costs to be over US $1 million annually—waiving stadium fees, covering security, footing marketing bills. That’s taxpayers’ money. Meanwhile, Jamaica stopped hosting in 2019 because, in the words of officials, CPL’s hosting demands had become “excessive.”
So the subsidies are regional. The ownership is foreign. And the rewards? Often exported.
Caricom leaders know this, and still they retreat into declarations. At July’s meeting, the Caricom cricket subcommittee, led by Prime Minister Keith Rowley, again insisted that West Indies cricket is a “public good.” Prime Ministers Mottley, Browne, and Holness all nodded along. The next day CWI issued a thank-you letter and promised “constructive engagement.” Since then? Silence. Not one leader has laid out a framework for treating cricket as a public good in practice. Not one has challenged CPL’s lopsided agreements with CWI.
Yet they’ve all read the Indian precedent. Back in 2015, the Indian Supreme Court ruled that the BCCI, though a private entity, was subject to public oversight because it managed a cultural asset essential to the nation. Legal figures like Dr Kusha Haraksingh have argued the same principle applies here. So why do Caricom leaders pretend their hands are tied?
Look at the imbalance. CWI itself has been drowning in red ink, admitting debts of over US $20 million in 2021, even requiring advance broadcasting payments from the ICC to stay afloat. Meanwhile, CPL signs international sponsorship deals—Hero MotoCorp’s was reportedly US $7–10 million over three years—with the profits locked into private hands. One regional body shoulders the losses. The other soaks up the gains. And our governments still write checks for match hosting.
Even the numbers about CPL’s supposed success remain fuzzy. The league trumpets a global TV audience of “over 500 million,” but media analysts note those are cumulative/touched figures, not actual viewership. Where is the independent verification? Where are the audited audience reports? Until then, these figures function more as marketing spin than accountability.
And if the CPL really is as successful as advertised, why isn’t regional capital building franchises? Republic Bank? Massy? Ansa? GraceKennedy? Sagicor? They can underwrite golf tournaments and horse racing, but when it comes to owning cricket franchises, they’re missing. So the Trinbago team, born as Red Steel, now belongs to Bollywood’s Knight Riders Group. Another piece of Caribbean cultural property exported.
This is where the failure stings most. Caricom knows the value of cricket. CWI knows the imbalance of its deal with CPL. Regional business leaders know the vacuum of ownership. And yet the region’s greatest unifying asset continues to be outsourced under our very noses.
If cricket is truly a public good, it demands teeth—oversight, regulation, and direct intervention to ensure benefits flow into Caribbean societies, not out of them. Otherwise, what we’re left with is a rented festival: a few nights of joy, bought with public money, while the equity and ownership vanish offshore.
So let’s stop hiding in soft words. Prime Minister Kamla, Prime Minister Mottley, Prime Minister Browne, and Prime Minister Holness—it is time to answer the real question: whose game is this? If your answer is “the people’s,” then act like it. Force transparency. Demand fair contracts. Push for regional ownership. Stop underwriting someone else’s profits with our taxes.
Because right now, the truth is plain: we may own the passion, but unless leaders act, we’ll never own the game.
Sarge
The Caribbean Premier League (CPL) returns with its usual carnival flair—fireworks, flags, and sponsors everywhere. But beneath the confetti lies the harsher question the T&T Guardian asked this week: what is the CPL really doing for Caribbean people? Other than grandiose promises that failed to materialize.
The short answer: not enough.
The franchises are mostly foreign-owned. The broadcast rights are controlled offshore. Most of the profits leave the region. Yet regional governments continue to pump millions into staging matches, with almost nothing to show for it beyond a few weeks of entertainment.
Guyana, for instance, committed US $4.5 million over three years to secure CPL hosting rights. Trinidad & Tobago’s Ministry of Finance admitted its own subsidy costs to be over US $1 million annually—waiving stadium fees, covering security, footing marketing bills. That’s taxpayers’ money. Meanwhile, Jamaica stopped hosting in 2019 because, in the words of officials, CPL’s hosting demands had become “excessive.”
So the subsidies are regional. The ownership is foreign. And the rewards? Often exported.
Caricom leaders know this, and still they retreat into declarations. At July’s meeting, the Caricom cricket subcommittee, led by Prime Minister Keith Rowley, again insisted that West Indies cricket is a “public good.” Prime Ministers Mottley, Browne, and Holness all nodded along. The next day CWI issued a thank-you letter and promised “constructive engagement.” Since then? Silence. Not one leader has laid out a framework for treating cricket as a public good in practice. Not one has challenged CPL’s lopsided agreements with CWI.
Yet they’ve all read the Indian precedent. Back in 2015, the Indian Supreme Court ruled that the BCCI, though a private entity, was subject to public oversight because it managed a cultural asset essential to the nation. Legal figures like Dr Kusha Haraksingh have argued the same principle applies here. So why do Caricom leaders pretend their hands are tied?
Look at the imbalance. CWI itself has been drowning in red ink, admitting debts of over US $20 million in 2021, even requiring advance broadcasting payments from the ICC to stay afloat. Meanwhile, CPL signs international sponsorship deals—Hero MotoCorp’s was reportedly US $7–10 million over three years—with the profits locked into private hands. One regional body shoulders the losses. The other soaks up the gains. And our governments still write checks for match hosting.
Even the numbers about CPL’s supposed success remain fuzzy. The league trumpets a global TV audience of “over 500 million,” but media analysts note those are cumulative/touched figures, not actual viewership. Where is the independent verification? Where are the audited audience reports? Until then, these figures function more as marketing spin than accountability.
And if the CPL really is as successful as advertised, why isn’t regional capital building franchises? Republic Bank? Massy? Ansa? GraceKennedy? Sagicor? They can underwrite golf tournaments and horse racing, but when it comes to owning cricket franchises, they’re missing. So the Trinbago team, born as Red Steel, now belongs to Bollywood’s Knight Riders Group. Another piece of Caribbean cultural property exported.
This is where the failure stings most. Caricom knows the value of cricket. CWI knows the imbalance of its deal with CPL. Regional business leaders know the vacuum of ownership. And yet the region’s greatest unifying asset continues to be outsourced under our very noses.
If cricket is truly a public good, it demands teeth—oversight, regulation, and direct intervention to ensure benefits flow into Caribbean societies, not out of them. Otherwise, what we’re left with is a rented festival: a few nights of joy, bought with public money, while the equity and ownership vanish offshore.
So let’s stop hiding in soft words. Prime Minister Kamla, Prime Minister Mottley, Prime Minister Browne, and Prime Minister Holness—it is time to answer the real question: whose game is this? If your answer is “the people’s,” then act like it. Force transparency. Demand fair contracts. Push for regional ownership. Stop underwriting someone else’s profits with our taxes.
Because right now, the truth is plain: we may own the passion, but unless leaders act, we’ll never own the game.
Sarge
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