Cricket’s Trust in a Blockchain Ledger: A Possibility Seen from the Locker Room

I cannot forget the notebook on the bench in Abahani’s locker room. During the 2026 derby, Drago Mamić switched from 4-4-2 to 4-3-3 at halftime; after the match, the scorer’s handwritten notebook showed every ball’s account. Abahani won 2-1. Nobody called it blockchain then. But that notebook was the real contract of the game: once written, it could not be changed by one person’s power. That evening I learned the rhythm of Abahani. Since then, whenever I think about technology and the trust of sports, that notebook appears before my eyes. In Sylhet, the World Cup was chalk lines and bare feet, not whiteboards. During the 2026 Russia World Cup, the football I saw in the lanes of Sylhet had a different language. Schoolchildren practised balance on sand; some did not know the name of Germany’s goalkeeper. But they understood that failing to move the ball quickly under pressure gives the opponent an advantage. From then on, my rule of journalism has been: translate tactics first into human language, then into the language of technology. In 2026, empty stadiums were full locker rooms. After Bashundhara Kings won five matches, the league was suspended because of the coronavirus. I drove foreign players to solo training and bought their groceries. Trust is built then, without a scorecard. From this experience I say that the real history of any game begins with a relationship of trust. Now consider a technology called blockchain entering the accounting of sport. In short, blockchain is a distributed ledger where new entries are added in multiple places, and nobody alone can erase old entries. In cricket, every match is really a continuous account. Runs, balls, wickets, overs all join like a chain. So the natural question is whether this chain can be kept on a blockchain. My answer is yes, but first we need to know what problem we are trying to solve. Trust in Bangladesh’s domestic cricket is still local. The Abahani-Mohammedan rivalry and the scores of Sylhet’s grounds pass from generation to generation by word of mouth. Official records live in handwritten scorecards, and also in the memory of the tea-seller near the field. If data is kept on a big server in Dhaka, but the people of Sylhet’s ground cannot verify it, technology has increased the distance, not reduced it. When I speak of the current generation, I think of Shakib Al Hasan’s bowling intelligence, Mushfiqur Rahim’s stubborn resistance, and Liton Das’s aggressive starts. Every ball of an international match is now preserved; many domestic league scorecards remain scattered. That imbalance tells us where attention is needed. Bangladesh Cricket Board’s data infrastructure has changed slowly. Many domestic match scorecards are still spread as PDF files. In franchise leagues, venue, match fees and contract news reach the media in fragments. Here, blockchain’s first meaningful use could be the permanent publication of scorecards, ending disputes over appeals or statistical errors. For that, regular and reliable data from every ground is needed. Technology is not a magic wand. From my years of watching matches, I have learned that spectators do not forgive a wrong scorecard. In a Dhaka club match in the 1980s, one run was missed, and a riot broke out at the ground. Nobody forgave the scorer’s error. If ball-by-ball data is stored on multiple computers so that everyone sees the same numbers after the match, both genuine mistakes and deliberate changes will be caught. That is blockchain’s core promise: transparency, not a camera. The first condition is a data standard. If a scorer says ‘4 balls’ and the computer wrongly records ‘4-ball over’, preserving it on a blockchain will preserve the error. Technology does not legitimise mistakes; it merely records them. We need a format for ball type, wicket type, bowler’s length and fielding position. Many grounds in Bangladesh do not yet have that consistency. I have often spoken about my daily locker-room notebook. Pages of a notebook can be altered, but I used photographs and timestamps. I am not technology, yet my method was about preserving information: what I saw, I wrote with a timestamp, not with emotion. Blockchain is a larger version of that notebook—a ledger from which entered information cannot be removed. But like a notebook, it must be used with honesty. However, not every account belongs in a new ledger. Contracts and transfers matter too. Franchise cricket careers are short; contract money sometimes arrives early, sometimes late. A smart contract can automatically release payment when a player plays a certain number of matches. For example, if the contract says ‘the next instalment will be paid after five matches’, and the match data is on a blockchain, the payment can happen by itself. But code does not understand form or injury. A captain may keep a player out for tactical reasons—a smart contract cannot judge that. So I am cautious about allowing technology to control human decisions. In the locker room I have seen trust become bigger than a contract. A player knew which bowler his coach was saving him for; he did not agree, but his anger lessened when he knew the reason. A smart contract will not replace that conversation. It can make the visible parts of a contract accountable. In the noisy transfer market, people often fight over who paid what and which instalment is pending. An open, verifiable contract registry would reduce rumours. But private information must not become public; we must stay careful about that. Recently there is news about fan tokens, NFT tickets, and using blockchain to prove fairness. India’s franchise league has digital collectibles; some English county clubs have tested blockchain membership. I have nothing against these experiments. But in Bangladesh’s context, a ticket app has not reached much of domestic cricket. Here the priority is digital infrastructure—player identity, match reports, scorecards, venue data. Only then can we think about a distributed ledger. In Sylhet, the World Cup was chalk lines and bare feet. If this truth is not at the centre of technology discussions, blockchain will become a toy for city internet users. Imagine if every scorecard of a district tournament were stored as open data. A young player could build a verifiable profile from age-group matches. Selectors could then rely not only on names, but on verified performances. That would be real empowerment from the ground up. Scorers, curators and groundstaff: I call them the quiet craftsmen of the game. Who cut the pitch grass? Who wrote the full scorecard? These people are absent from today’s conversation. If blockchain gives their work recognition, that will be a new beginning. Adding the scorer’s name to every match record increases responsibility. Technology should not tell the story of automation by leaving the scorer behind. Popular discussion says blockchain will end corruption. I am not so optimistic. Corruption is not a problem of information; it is a problem of power. The trust or fear inside a selection committee room cannot be written on a blockchain. Technology can show who has what record, but it cannot show whose phone was ringing. On the other hand, cricket’s current reliability was created by central authority—ICC rules, board decisions, umpires’ calls. People have learned to trust these centres. If new technology discards that social trust, it will increase cost, not safety. Besides, some information should not be open. The fears I saw inside empty stadiums in 2026 should not go into any public ledger. We must keep that lesson of privacy with us. Recently, Bangladeshi diaspora fans express club loyalty through hoodies, flags and gallery photos. Sylhet’s diaspora follows matches from far away. If club membership moves to a blockchain, diaspora fans could vote or raise funds, but they will need digital identity. Without digital identity, a token is useless. The next signal will not be an NFT announcement. It will be an open match feed from the board or a franchise team, a verifiable contract registry, or an integrated scorecard archive. Then blockchain can become quiet infrastructure, not a flash of light. And a child standing beside the chalk lines of Sylhet will be able to verify for herself that the game belongs to her, because the game’s record belongs to everyone.