When it comes to gambling, be you Russian or American, your money is still gone
When I was in college, a new, all-sports network was born. We were thrilled. Anything sports-related was fine with us, and I remember being up at 5 a.m. watching speedboat racing on this thing called ESPN.
In our defense, this was at a time when there was little in the way of televised weekday sports. There were no regional baseball networks, and after Monday Night Football you had to wait four whole days for the slate of televised college games on Saturday.
So we tuned in to see those bizarre foreign sports like rugby, Australian rules football and cricket. Of all these sports, cricket seems to be the one that has really taken off — its broadcast deals are now far more lucrative than soccer.
Which brings us to the most bizarre story of the year, per The Washington Post:
“Indian police shut down what they called a fake cricket league that enlisted farmers and youths to pretend to be professional players and hired a presenter who sounded like one of the sport’s most famous commentators, in an alleged scheme that ensnared Russian gamblers.”
I confess, there’s a paragraph I never thought I’d be reading. As the kids say, there’s a lot there to unpack.
But essentially, what we have here is the “Capricorn I” of sports. The whole thing was a movie set, with the action streamed on YouTube to Russian bars. The camera angle was kept tight so you couldn’t see there was no stadium and no fans (although they dubbed in pre-recorded crowd noise), and they went so far as hiring an announcer who did a pretty good impression of the guy who kind of sounded like he is the Jim Nance of professional cricket.
They had convincing uniforms and BBC logos, and the umpires wore walkie talkies, and were instructed as to how each play should go — which they discreetly relayed to the players, who were getting paid $5 a game. There were fake schedules, fake pennant races and fake playoffs. All being duly bet on by Russians hundreds of miles away. They were into the quarter finals when a policeman grew suspicious of early morning cricket matches being played in a farm field by a bunch of dirt farmers under an array of flood lights.
Yeah, good job there Columbo. Maybe there’s work for you on the Jan. 6 Commission.
And I don’t want to let anybody down, but if I ever decide to scam some Russians, I’m not doing anything anywhere near this elaborate. The thing about scams is that they’re supposed to be easy money. This sounds like more work than an actual job.
For complexity, this makes “The Sting” look like a covered dish supper. And if Russians will bet on cricket, a sport they know nothing about, wouldn’t it be simpler to stage arm wrestling or something? Your personnel and choreography expenses are a lot lower that way.
Of course, I’m not counting the yuk factor. It has to be a hoot to know that people are falling for such a massive production. I suppose “job satisfaction” counts in faking cricket matches just as much as it would in riveting sheet metal.
Maybe 10 years ago, when America was still sane, I would have made merciless fun of the Russians for allowing themselves to be duped by such a ridiculous hoax. But even a bunch of crazy Ivans sitting around pounding vodka shooters and betting on staged sports would laugh at the notion of Jewish space rays knocking out voting machines.
Further, as we sit watching sports in America today we are deluged with ridiculous betting opportunities, including the number of practice swings a batter will take in the on-deck circle. So we can’t point fingers.
Whether you’re betting on real sports or fake sports, at the end of the day your money is just as gone.
Tim Rowland is a Herald-Mail columnist.
This article originally appeared on The Herald-Mail: Fake cricket league goes a long way to dupe some Russian gamblers
