Six Balls, Three Wickets and an 'Incomplete' Over: A Rules-Desk Reading of the Ranji Trophy's DRS Gap

At the Feroz Shah Kotla in Delhi, during a Ranji Trophy match, the 17th ball of the innings produced a moment that the scorecard recorded in just three words: 'lbw, not out.' But what actually happened on the field left a question that the Ranji Trophy's playing conditions do not answer. A fast bowler sent down an inswinger, the batter pressed forward onto his pad, and the umpire did not raise his finger. The batter gestured for a review—but the Ranji Trophy group stage has no DRS. Play did not stop, because there was no provision to stop it. Three balls later, the same batter was clean bowled, and off the next delivery the new batter also returned to the pavilion. Three wickets in six balls—yet that one 'not out' left no record, because the system to record it was not there.

I have followed these Ranji Trophy matches for several years now, and every season the same pattern repeats: domestic cricket has no DRS, and the reason given is always 'cost.' I went back to the Laws Desk, because the frame everyone missed was right there. The BCCI's domestic calendar has separate broadcast and technical agreements for the Duleep Trophy, the Syed Mushtaq Ali Trophy and the Ranji Trophy. The Hawk-Eye, UltraEdge and ball-tracking package that is standard in the IPL and international matches is nowhere to be found in pre-knockout Ranji fixtures. This is a question of cost, but the bigger question is who wrote this into the playing conditions and who did not—and why the need was never felt.

From a referee's eye, the problem is not technology but protocol. DRS is a process—the team's review, the on-field umpire, the third umpire, the three frames of ball-tracking (pitch, impact, wicket), and the 'umpire's call' margin. The absence of technology in Ranji does not mean the absence of process—but the absence of process directly affects a player's career and a team's points table. Had DRS been available for that 'not out' delivery, the decision could have been overturned after three frames. Overturning would have meant not just one wicket—it could have changed the entire complexion of that innings. This is where the Delhi newsroom taught me to check the clause before the headline. The clause says: in the Ranji Trophy, 'the field umpire's decision is final.' That sentence is not a technical shortfall; it is a structural choice.

In recent years the BCCI has expanded broadcast coverage of domestic cricket—Syed Mushtaq Ali Trophy matches are now streamed, and those streams include replays. But showing a replay and granting a review are two different things. Broadcast replays serve 'entertainment,' while DRS serves 'justice.' On the same frame, two different purposes—and the board has clearly chosen the first, because it is cheaper and carries no code-of-conduct risk.

Another peculiarity of the Ranji Trophy: DRS is used only in knockout matches, and only in the last few seasons at that. This means there is an 'inequality gap' between the group stage and the knockouts. A team that plays the group stage without reviews suddenly finds itself under review pressure in the knockout. This happened in the 2026-24 season—one team's captain burned two reviews in a knockout because his players had never practised it. This is not a difference in technical skill but a 'procedural inequality' that can directly affect match outcomes. I have observed such inequalities over a long period, and what surprises me most is that no one makes it an issue.

One argument is that Ranji has no DRS because there are too many matches—38 teams, multiple venues, and deploying a technical team at every venue is impractical. That argument is not entirely wrong, but it answers 'why not' rather than 'what.' The question is whether playing without DRS is helping player development or depriving them of international-level review skills. When a batter is dismissed in Ranji and has no practice in understanding his own dismissal according to 'umpire's call' standards, how will he develop a proper understanding of reviews in international cricket? This question is less about playing technique and more about the 'training system.'

The interesting thing about the industry is that DRS's biggest benefit is not to umpires but to the strategy of batters and bowlers. DRS has deterred batters from the 'pad-first' strategy, because they know that if the ball is going on to hit the stumps, the umpire's decision can be overturned. Domestic cricket does not have that pressure, so bowlers attack the pad relentlessly, batters play 'safe,' and the scoring rate stays slow. This directly affects the quality of Ranji cricket. I started writing the Laws Desk column in 2026, when DRS was a nightly argument during the series against England. At that time I noted one thing: opposition to DRS often comes from those who do not benefit from it—and support from those who do. Who benefits most from the absence of DRS in Ranji? The bowler who appeals for every ball that hits the pad, even if the ball is going down leg.

Let us return to that over at Kotla. Three wickets fell in six balls, and nowhere in the scorecard is it written what the first ball was like. Is this a 'limit of the system' or a 'choice of the system'? When you run a tournament series where players' futures are decided, and you tell them 'the umpire's decision is final,' you are inevitably also saying 'room for error exists, and we will not correct it.' That is an admission—and one that is never publicly acknowledged.

The VAR summer taught me to wait for the line, not the roar. On the Ranji DRS issue, the line is this: the technology is ready, the broadcast is ready, but the 'clause' to include it in the playing conditions is not there. And until that clause is added, every season will produce overs like this one that leave no record. The board must decide whether it regards domestic cricket as a 'development ground' or merely a 'selection funnel.' If the former, DRS can start this very season. If the latter, no ball from that over will ever be recorded in history—and no one will ask whether it was right or wrong, even though we all know it could have been either.