Let us stop pretending.
Sri Lanka Cricket is not merely a sports body. It is a public trust. It is funded, protected and politically shielded under state authority. Its finances are not private property. They are, in effect, the property of the people.
Read that again.
The people.
So when performances collapse, selections bewilder and accountability evaporates, this is not just a cricketing debate. It is a governance debate.
The first uncomfortable question: do administrators interfere in selection?
Officially, no. The selectors are independent. The process is insulated. Merit governs choice. That is the textbook answer.
But in a country where administrative boundaries are habitually blurred, where the civil service has long been accused of politicisation, and where private sector alliances often mirror public sector indulgence, it is fair to ask: does Sri Lanka Cricket operate differently?
Why is it that selection controversies seem perennial? Why are form players dropped abruptly while underperformers persist? Why do captains appear unsure of their own combinations? Why does strategy change from series to series as if direction is being whispered from outside the dressing room?
Selectors are meant to be the firewall between politics and performance. Their mandate is simple: pick the best team. Yet history shows that selection panels in Sri Lanka are often reshuffled, dissolved or reconstituted with suspicious regularity. Independence cannot exist in an environment where tenure is uncertain and loyalty is rewarded.
The deeper question is cultural. Has the disease that infected parts of the public service — patronage, favour, proximity to power — seeped into Sri Lanka Cricket? Has the comfort of administrative influence replaced the discomfort of meritocracy?
One does not need to make accusations to observe patterns.
Contracts balloon. Sponsorship deals circulate. Broadcasting rights fluctuate. Meanwhile, the team oscillates between promise and paralysis. And through it all, administrators remain comfortably seated.
Are there individuals acting to and for their own account? In any large institution, the temptation exists. But Sri Lanka Cricket cannot afford even the perception that personal gain supersedes national pride.
This is not amateur sport. This is an organisation that handles billions in revenue. It enjoys tax privileges. It operates under government oversight. When mismanaged, the consequences are borne not by board members, but by the country’s reputation.
And let us not forget: Sri Lanka once ruled world cricket. We produced captains of steel, bowlers of menace, batsmen of genius. That culture did not evaporate.
It was diluted.
When a team loses, players are blamed. When a system fails repeatedly, governance must be examined.
Does anyone at Sri Lanka Cricket pause long enough to remember that this is not a private club? That the funds they manage are state-linked? That the crest on the shirt is not a marketing logo but a national emblem?
The people do not demand perfection. They demand integrity.
Selectors must select. Administrators must administer. Politicians must stay out. Finances must be transparent. Performance must be earned.
If Sri Lanka Cricket cannot guarantee those basics, then it is not merely a sporting disappointment.
It is a governance failure.
And the people — who fund it, watch it and suffer with it — deserve better.
By Faraz Shauketaly
