Every new event opens a new dimension, adds a new facet. In the process we forget the greatest of them all, the future. The 113 years of cricket do not tell any different story. The game has traveled a long way from the long room of Lords and broad alleys of Melbourne to murky and dingy strips in the miserable place called South Asia. Traditions are a nice thing to be proud of, worthy to be defended, but when mummifying the tradition becomes a tradition in itself, when our perspectives lies trapped in the past at the cost of the vision of future, then there is something wrong somewhere.
Nobody ever is in favour of outright changes.
The fear of the unknown, the unseen and the unforeseen has been an effective deterrent, in fact detrimental to progress. Not only do we behave skeptically about the new, but resist them with a dogged resilience. The trait is all too obvious during the infant stages. But what about cricket which is anything but an infant. The problem with cricket as an institution is that it has left its infancy far behind, a long time ago, but hesitated in accepting puberty, rejected accepting the turmoil of adolescence.