Cricket's crazy conundrum: When a win mutes the selection debate

It is one of the many indulgences of cricket lovers to question selection. A spinner not chosen, a bowler rested, a batter promoted or dropped—these are threads we pull at, sometimes gently, sometimes with righteous fury.

Kuldeep Yadav, the elegant wrist-spinner with a penchant for the spectacular, was once again the subject of lament. Why no Kuldeep? The cry rang out before the final Test. As ever in India, selection is not just a panel’s prerogative; it is public property.

But then, the match began. And as matches do, it unfolded in rhythm and revelation. India won—quietly at first, then emphatically. And in that moment, the questions disappeared, folded neatly into the celebratory bunting. The wrist-spinner was not missed. The win had filled the void.

Cricket is not kind to the speculative voice after the fact. Victory, especially in India, is a balm and a buffer. It smooths over what might have been error and rebrands it as strategy. Siraj bowled with purpose, not so much as a replacement for Bumrah but as a figure of his own standing. The absence of India’s finest paceman became a footnote, not a headline. The notion of “injury management” acquired fresh dignity.

Equally, the selection of a stronger lower middle order—once seen as a compromise on bowling variety—was no longer questioned. It was repurposed as cunning. A plan to tire bowlers, lengthen innings, and drain the opposition of both patience and resources.

These retrospective validations are not new. Cricket writing, and indeed cricket watching, often trades in this currency. When a decision bears fruit, it is labelled foresight. When it does not, it is the folly of arrogance. It is a game, after all, not only of bat and ball but of judgment and justification.

And so, it is tempting to say that results determine everything—that the scoreboard silences all dissent. But that would be too simple. For true connoisseurs of the game, the question is not only what decision was made, but why. Not whether it succeeded, but whether it made sense in its moment, before the first ball was bowled.

Cricket teaches us that logic and outcome do not always travel together. The ball that takes the wicket may be ill-conceived; the stroke that brings the century may be a chance. And yet, in this game more than most, hindsight rewrites foresight.

In the end, perhaps that is the conundrum. The game invites thought, then ridicules it. It rewards instinct, then chastens it. What works is right. What fails is wrong. That is the simplest truth. And also the hardest to live with.

But still we ask, Why no Kuldeep? Not because we doubt the result, but because we are compelled by the game to wonder what else might have been. And perhaps that, too, is cricket.