On the Boundary of Review: Does Technology Bring Justice to Cricket, or Only More Drama?

Last night in my Chattogram flat, I froze the same frame for the third time. The ball-tracking showed the ball striking the pad outside the stumps, but by a margin of millimetres. The word that surfaced on the screen was 'Umpire's Call'. The batter walked away with his head down, the bowler raised both arms in celebration, and thirty thousand spectators in the stadium fell silent at once. That single inch, which the technology itself calls its margin of error, wrote the fate of the entire match. I pulled out my notebook right then, because it felt as though the whistle had blown and the rulebook had started breathing. In cricket today, the review system is no longer merely technology; it is a legal proceeding, where every frame is a witness and every call is testimony. From seventeen years of watching matches, I can say that a review sometimes reveals the truth and sometimes only breeds doubt. The difference turns on one question: does technology make the decision, or does it supply evidence for the decision? The answer is less simple than it appears. The review system was born in 2026. It was first used in a Test between Sri Lanka and India at the Sinhalese Sports Club in Colombo, when the ICC launched an experimental framework aimed at reducing on-field umpiring errors. That path from experiment to permanence rests on three pillars: ball-tracking, UltraEdge, and at times HotSpot. Each carries its own limitations, its own margin of error, and its own chain of evidence. In Test cricket each team receives two reviews per innings, and one in the shorter formats. A successful review is returned; a failed one is spent. Inside this simple arithmetic hides a complex strategy: using a review is not about seeking truth, it is about taking a risk. Teams now conserve reviews, spend them in the right situation, much as a lawyer holds back proof for the final verdict. At the heart of ball-tracking lies a confession that many spectators do not know. The technology itself declares that it has a limit of error. Whether the ball would have struck the stumps is entangled with the uncertainty of the tracking. When the ball pitches and turns, that uncertainty grows. Estimating the path of a spinner's delivery after pitching is among the hardest tasks. From this uncertainty was born the idea of 'Umpire's Call'. If ball-tracking shows the ball hitting such a fraction of the stumps that it falls within the technology's margin of error, the on-field umpire's decision stands. In other words, the technology is not the judge there; it simply says, I cannot be certain. At the 2026 T20 World Cup, Virat Kohli publicly questioned Umpire's Call. His argument was simple: if the technology shows the ball hitting the stumps, why should the final decision rest with the umpire? The ICC argued that ruling while ignoring the margin of error would produce even more wrong calls. Both sides are partly right, and the controversy lives inside that partial truth. Here is my first objection. We summon technology to catch errors, but when technology admits its own error, we hand the decision back to the very person whose error it was summoned to catch. That is a circular argument, one that depends more on process than on justice. UltraEdge carries a subtler problem. It catches sound and declares whether the ball touched the edge of the bat. But between sound and time there is a gap. When the bat strikes the ground, when the ball hits the pad, or when the two are separated by milliseconds, the sound evidence becomes misleading. The technology is accurate, but the technology's input is not always accurate. When I watch a contentious review, I try to separate three things. First, what actually happened. Second, what the technology says. Third, what the law says. When a gap opens among these three, controversy is born, and that gap widens most because of delay. Delay is my second objection. A review takes on average a minute and a half to two minutes. Play stops, the bowler's rhythm breaks, the batter's focus drifts. The question is whether this delay buys justice or merely holds the audience. Broadcasters like reviews, because there is drama, graphics, and tension. In my eyes, this is where the theatricalisation of technology occurs. Ball-tracking is a judicial instrument, but its on-screen presentation turns it into an element of entertainment. When the ball hurtles toward the stumps on the giant stadium screen, the crowd applauds, as though it were a moment of play and not of judgment. That transformation is not harmless. But I do not want to stop here, because a simple anti-technology narrative is not mine. My problem is not with technology but with its management. The hand that operates the technology, the body that sets its limits, the broadcaster that selects its frames, are the true architects of the decision. Consider a scene. A technology called HotSpot could once provide evidence of the bat's edge. But it is expensive, and not every ground has its cameras. So the same law, the same game, yet two different laboratories: one yields evidence, the other does not. I have never understood how justice can be confined within geographical boundaries. Here is my third objection: unequal technology. If the review system is a tool for finding truth, it should exist in the same measure at every ground, in every series. In reality it does not. Wealthy boards buy more technology, smaller boards less. In cricket's global structure, this gap keeps widening. Now the question: is technology weakening the umpire? My answer is no; it is changing the responsibility. Once the umpire was the final judge. Now he is the first judge, and technology is the court of appeal. But if the court of appeal keeps returning the case to the first judge, what is the court's role? I raise this question deliberately, because I believe umpires are often unfairly blamed. An umpire decides in less than a second, and we judge him for an hour with high-speed cameras. That is not fair. Technology is meant to help him, not humiliate him. But here is my fourth objection, the heaviest. If technology only breeds doubt, and that doubt cracks the spectator's trust, then what is the gain? Cricket's greatest asset is its integrity. If spectators believe decisions are pre-arranged, the stadiums will empty. And I know empty stadiums well. In 2026, when the stadiums were empty, I felt that silence. During that time a player called me, weeping. Law, contract, force majeure, all live on paper, but that weeping does not hold on paper. When I discuss the review system, I remember that call. Because justice does not live only in frames; it lives among people. Now I think from the opposite angle. Suppose there were no review system. Would cricket be better? Probably not. Before 2026, countless matches changed fate on a single wrong decision. Technology has prevented many injustices. So abolishing technology is not the solution. But blind praise of technology is not the solution either. My objection lies at both ends. I hold equally responsible those who misuse technology to create theatre. The question is not technology versus humanity; the question is the integrity of the process. The integrity of the process can be read in three tests. First, transparency: is the limit of the technology openly acknowledged? Second, consistency: is the same standard applied in every match for the same incident? Third, accountability: when a mistake occurs, who owns it? With these three, technology earns trust; without them, suspicion. Writing about the cricket structures of Bangladesh and South Asia, I have repeatedly seen how trust is earned. Rules do not work merely by being written; they must be consistent in application. If the decisions of the ICC and the Asian Cricket Council are explained in the language of process, spectators accept them. The same holds for the review system. My biggest lesson came in 2026. In the early hours of the Russia World Cup, in the France versus Australia match, the first VAR penalty was awarded. I then wrote a 1,200-word explainer citing Article Three. It was shared 50,000 times. I celebrated quietly, then wondered: had I oversimplified it? That thought stays with me still. When I write about technology, I stay careful, because a simple explanation sometimes covers the truth. Cricket's review system is not simple, and presenting it as simple is not justice either. Now to the most adversarial question. Many say Umpire's Call should not exist, because it is unequal. My counter-argument: remove Umpire's Call and we get mere obedience to technology, not justice. Because technology is not perfect, and granting final power to imperfect technology is dangerous. The real question is where the limit of that power should lie. Another adversarial angle: players' emotions. Showing frustration before the cameras is a tactic, sometimes a weapon to create pressure. Coaches use reviews to break the rhythm of play and pressure the opposition. This is where the line between game and theatre blurs. In my view, a review not meant to find truth but only to waste time comes close to a breach of the law. So I want accountability defined for the misuse of reviews. Just as there is punishment for deliberate time-wasting in Tests, the standard for using reviews should be clear. That would make the game faster and deepen trust in the process. Another question nobody raises: does technology help the weaker team or the stronger one? I answer that technology is neutral, but its benefit is not equal. The team with a strong analysis unit understands review strategy better. Smaller teams often waste reviews. Thus technology creates a hidden inequality. My experience working with youth cricket is relevant here too. Young players cannot easily bear the pressure of a review. They learn by watching seniors, but the weight of the decision falls on their shoulders. Between an unfinished body and an unfinished mind, the pressure of technology grows further. So the final word is this. The review system in cricket cannot be withdrawn, nor does it need to be. What is needed is to keep technology a servant of justice, not a slave of theatre. If transparent limits, consistent application, and accountable management can be ensured, then in the future spectators will see not only entertainment on the screen, but judgment as well. The question is only this: will we control technology, or will technology control us?