When the BCCI confirmed that Prasidh Krishna would miss the New Zealand ODI series because he needed more time to rebuild his bowling workload, I felt no urge to manufacture a villain. Injuries happen; fast bowling is an unnatural act performed at speed by a human spine. The reported update, summarised in this account of his withdrawal, may reflect sensible caution rather than failure. My objection is larger. Indian cricket operates such a congested, format-hopping system that every individual injury disappears into the word “workload,” a bureaucratic fog that explains everything and therefore nothing. A bowler rests from one series, returns in another format, travels with a third squad and is evaluated against a calendar supporters cannot see.
I grew up believing a fast bowler’s season had a shape. He built rhythm through overs, arrived at a Test series hardened rather than hurried, and recovered before the next campaign. That memory contains nostalgia, I admit, but not fantasy. Today an Indian quick can move from franchise cricket to T20 internationals, then be asked to lengthen his spells for Tests, then return to fifty-over cricket where the tactical demands change again. The body does not experience these as coloured jerseys. It experiences accelerations, decelerations, landing forces and insufficient recovery. Administrators speak of three formats as commercial products. Tendons receive them as one continuous invoice.
A squad is not a warehouse
India’s depth has become an excuse for treating bowlers as replaceable units. If Prasidh is unavailable, another tall quick arrives; if that man breaks down, the talent pipeline produces a third. Supporters are told to marvel at abundance. I do marvel, but depth should enable careful careers, not make damaged careers easier to conceal. The public record of India’s expanding T20I programme illustrates how much international cricket now competes with Tests, ODIs and franchise commitments. Every match can be justified alone. The absurdity appears only when they are stacked.
Prasidh’s case matters particularly because his attributes are valuable in Test cricket: height, bounce and the ability to make a batter play from a length that looks leaveable. India spent decades searching for pace depth, then finally developed a group capable of taking twenty wickets abroad. That asset should be managed around major Test assignments. Instead, selection often feels reactive. A player’s availability is announced series by series, while supporters learn about “load progression” only when he is ruled out. If there is a long-term plan, it is guarded with the secrecy of a team combination.
The BCCI will argue, with some force, that medical details are private and that competitive planning cannot be published. I am not asking for scans or daily bowling counts. I am asking for principles. How many high-intensity overs does the board consider sustainable across formats? When is a bowler prioritised for red-ball preparation? How are IPL loads incorporated? Who has final authority when franchise, player and national team incentives conflict? England and Australia do not solve these problems perfectly, but their selection conversations more openly acknowledge format prioritisation. India often pretends every series is equally important until the squad reveals otherwise.
Test cricket pays the hidden price
Limited-overs cricket can replace a bowler for four overs and move on. Test cricket exposes incomplete preparation. A quick must return for a fifth spell after lunch on the fourth day, maintain control when speed drops, and recover in time to do it again. Match fitness cannot be downloaded in a net session. When bowlers are protected from domestic red-ball cricket yet arrive short of sustained overs, the national side inherits the contradiction. We save them from bowling so that they may be ready to bowl, then discover they are not ready because they have not bowled.
I am not campaigning for every international to slog through the Ranji Trophy regardless of circumstance. Sports science exists for a reason, and old cricket romanticised harmful endurance. But selected domestic appearances should be treated as preparation rather than punishment. A fast bowler targeting a Test tour needs controlled spells with a red ball, changing conditions and actual batters who refuse to cooperate with the training plan. The board’s medical and selection teams should coordinate those appearances months ahead.
The ODI format suffers too, though administrators seem reluctant to admit they no longer know what place it occupies. Bilateral fifty-over series persist because broadcasters require inventory and boards have contracts. Yet teams rotate heavily, context is thin and players oscillate between World Cup planning and experimentation. If an ODI series is important enough to schedule, it should have a coherent competitive purpose. If it is chiefly a revenue obligation, the board should at least stop feeding the machine with players whose rehabilitation or Test preparation is more valuable.
What a credible policy would look like
First, India should identify a central group of fast bowlers by format, with overlap acknowledged rather than celebrated. Second, each should have planned red-ball blocks protected from optional white-ball assignments. Third, injury returns should require match-specific readiness: a bowler fit for four T20 overs is not automatically fit for ten ODI overs or a Test day. Fourth, the board should publish aggregate availability data every season—days lost, recurrence rates and transitions attempted—without exposing private diagnoses. That would let us judge whether management is improving.
Franchises must be part of the bargain. The IPL is not an external invader; the BCCI created and governs it. Asking franchises to respect workload while refusing to create enforceable, transparent rules is managerial theatre. If a centrally contracted bowler needs caps on consecutive matches or high-intensity deliveries, those conditions should be settled before the auction and applied consistently. Otherwise the player becomes the least powerful person in a negotiation conducted in his name.
There is also a cultural problem. We celebrate a fast bowler for playing through pain, then blame the medical staff when he disappears. We demand express pace every spell and complain about rotation. I have participated in that romance myself. The answer is not to make cricket bloodless, but to distinguish courage from poor planning. A bowler choosing to finish a decisive spell is sport. A system repeatedly placing half-prepared bowlers in avoidable danger is administration.
Prasidh Krishna may return stronger, and I hope he does. His withdrawal could prove that caution worked exactly as intended. But Indian cricket cannot keep presenting each absence as an isolated weather event. The clouds are connected: an overcrowded calendar, uncertain format priorities, franchise pressure and inadequate public accountability. BCCI has the money, personnel and player pool to build the world’s best fast-bowling programme. What it lacks is the willingness to tell us what that programme is. Until then, every injury update will read to me like another small bill for the board’s addiction to playing everything.
