1. That BCCI honchos can own stakes in IPL franchises. This means that the league’s regulator may have a conflict of interest when a particular franchise ends up in a soup. (For more, google “N. Srinivasan” and “Chennai Super Kings.”)

2. That the salary cap may not actually exist. The idea was a noble one: prevent some franchises from out-spending others for better talent. But it seems some players may be getting some cash under the table, or other perks not included in the bottom line.

3. The “secret auction tie-breaker” thing. Whatever that is.

4. That there isn’t a program in place to mentor young cricketers who are exposed to fame, fortune and cheerleaders before they may be ready for it.

5. The knowledge that your passion for cricket is being used to enrich the elite of India’s new Gilded Age (Mallya, Reddy, Nita Ambani), who will likely do more to damage the country than anything else in the coming years.

6. The notorious after-match parties.

7. Other: Please explain.

The person who largely solved this paradox — James R. Flynn — did so by coming up with the concept of individual and social “multipliers.” Say you and your twin brother are separated at birth and grow up tall and sturdy and with a love for basketball. Once you reach P.E. class, your height may help — teams will pick you to be on their side; coaches will take an interest; you’ll start practicing more; you get better. In other words, there is a feedback loop in which your genes (height+strength) upgraded your environment (training+teams+coach+practice).

But it’s the social multiplier I’m particularly interested in. Here’s Flynn on an example:

Look at what the industrial revolution did to basketball by the invention of TV. It gave basketball a mass audience, it increased the pay a professional player could expect.  Wider and keener participation raised the general skill level, you had to shoot more and more accurately to excel.  That higher average performance fed back into play:  Those who learned to shoot with either hand became the best — and then they became the norm — which meant you had to be able to pass with either hand to excel — and then that became the norm — and so forth.  Every escalation of the average population performance raised individual performance, which escalated the average performance further, and you get a huge escalation of basketball skills in a single generation.

Fascinating, no? The obvious question for me is: will television make for better cricketers? I’d say that the first cohort that grew up with televised cricket is only now reaching international cricket (that is, people born in the mid-1980s in India). It’s entirely plausible that constantly watching cricket, slow-motion replays, commentator deconstructions, pressure situations, etc. will make cricketers more intelligent and talented than the previous generation. And it’ll be even more interesting to see how the game changes as television in India increases its penetration (according to Wikipedia, roughly 150 million Indian households had TV in 2011).

Television, of course, isn’t the only “social multiplier” — as more Indians start to make money, they may spend more on leisure or coaching for their kids, increasing the talent pool. But since I’ve spent so much time on this blog bashing the effects of TV on cricket, I’d thought I’d credit it with at least broadening the appeal and participation of the game. I put this question to you: Do you think the quality of cricket you’re watching is better now than before? And if so, in what way — is the batting demonstrably better? Has fielding changed?

The final-over heroics we have seen reveals to what extent norms/traditions/psychology rules sporting behavior. Climbing asking rates were once seen as fatal to a chase; anything above eight an over was enough to doom the whole enterprise. The pressure of the chase would force errors and a heap of wickets. No longer: IPL batsmen now believe that anything is possible in the final overs of a game (possibly because the death-bowling has been so utterly terrible). The smart batsmen realize that there just isn’t enough time in the IPL to regress to the mean; if you have enough courage and reasonable eyesight, chances are the night will belong to you — all you need to deliver is a quick 20 runs, in one game, against one bowler.

But this heroism — if it can be called that — reminds me more of playground cricket, where records fall fast and memories are short. Who can remember who did what last week? Who can know which no-name player will have his inevitable day under the light towers? In other words: who cares about the Lord’s honors boards when you can rule the roller coaster just for one day?

Again, the focus on stories and characters — Rahane, student; Dravid, guru; Rahane at the bottom of the mountain; Dravid at the top; Rahane’s backstory and his slow rise to fame — exemplifies Bhogle’s everyman appeal. More than most, he understands that cricket is a complicated game that often defies analysis. Rather than explain it, he talks about experiencing it; what matters to him chiefly isn’t strategy or the mechanics of swing bowling (though he no doubt understands both), but the humanity behind the spectacle. If you get the chance, watch his Step Out W/ Harsha YouTube series — unlike Mark Nicholas, who often comes across as rehearsed, Bhogle’s earnestness never seems to dim. I’m a fan.

If Kemar Roach, Fidel Edwards and Ravi Rampaul can be given decent totals to bowl at West Indies could provide stern opposition…

Much of the series, then, will depend on Darren Bravo and Shiv Chanderpaul. Two good reasons to watch.