Umpire's Call — How Cricket's Review File Keeps Writing New Chapters of Controversy

In mid-2026, after a meeting of the ICC Cricket Committee in London, an announcement landed: the 'soft signal' would be abolished for good. From that day, a field umpire could no longer bind the third umpire with his own preliminary decision when referring a catch. No run was added to the Oval scoreboard that day, no match result changed. Yet in cricket's official file it was a major moment. Until then, the field umpire's signal of 'probably out' or 'probably not out' had been the yardstick of proof — where doubt existed, the decision rested on one person's split-second guess, while the third umpire held only a blurry replay. That was the hidden weakness of cricket's review system: the absence of evidence was filled by authority.

Working on VAR analysis for the football World Cup in 2026 from a small Brisbane studio, I first understood that review technology does not settle arguments — it writes them onto a new sheet of paper. Cricket's DRS (Decision Review System) had taught that lesson long before. Football's VAR and cricket's DRS are in fact chasing the same question: will technology make the decision, or merely stand as its witness?

In July 2026, a Test between India and Sri Lanka at Colombo's Sinhalese Sports Club Ground began the official journey of DRS. At first it was optional — both boards had to agree. Gradually it entered every format — Tests, ODIs, T20Is — and from the mid-2010s it became mandatory in almost all bilateral series. Each team gets two reviews per innings, which are lost if unsuccessful, and returned after 80 overs.

The rule looks simple, but hidden inside it is the finest power structure in cricket. A review is not merely an appeal to technology — it is an asset that teams hoard, spend, and sometimes regret spending in the wrong place. Late in an innings, when only one review remains, every lbw or catch decision becomes a small gamble. The umpire's decision and the team's strategy here are two sides of the same coin.

The true character of the review system emerges when you look at the grey zone called 'umpire's call'. Ball-tracking shows exactly where the ball struck the stumps; but if part of the ball hits the stumps and the rest does not, the decision stays with the field umpire. In other words, technology does not give its own verdict here — it only says, 'I do not have conclusive evidence to prove your decision wrong.' This is DRS's greatest philosophical complication.

I have seen many times that in an lbw review, the ball on the final tracking segment is entering six or seven centimetres inside the stumps — yet the 'umpire's call' keeps the out decision standing. The graphic that appears on television then feels to the viewer like mathematical proof. But in reality it is a measure of probability — a tolerance band of the Hawk-Eye system's accuracy, which can typically run from a few millimetres to a few centimetres. That is, technology too keeps a safe distance, and admits its own risk of error.

It was this contradiction that drove the abolition of the soft signal. Previously, in a catch referral, if the field umpire's signal was 'out', the third umpire needed clear evidence to overturn it; and if the signal was 'not out', clear evidence was needed to give it out. So the decision sat under the shadow of a preliminary guess. After the 2026 change, that shadow moved away — the third umpire now rules solely on the replay.

But the question is, did abolishing the soft signal end the problem? I do not think so. Because another pillar of DRS — 'umpire's call' — remains intact. That is, the third umpire became free to give a clear decision, but in the grey zone of ball-tracking, the field umpire's authority stayed. A subtle inconsistency has emerged here: on the basis of replay you increased the third umpire's authority, yet in ball-tracking the field umpire's authority remains final.

Let us open a file. Statistics since DRS was introduced show that a large share of reviews in Test cricket actually fail. Many reviews are struck down on 'umpire's call', and many are wasted simply because of a team's wrong guess. This means teams take reviews not with certainty of evidence, but under the pressure of the moment. On the last ball of a strike rotation, or in the final over of the day, a review is often taken on emotion — precisely where the cool head of protocol is needed most.

My 46 years of watching the game tell me the biggest enemy of a review is not technology, it is time. The third umpire has a window of 15 to 20 seconds in which he must decide by combining multiple angles, Snicko, ball-tracking, and slow-motion. Within that brief time a decision is formed that thousands of people will then analyse for hours. This mismatch is the real source of DRS injustice — the evidence is made quickly, but judged slowly.

Here lies the difference between football's VAR and cricket's DRS. Football's VAR looks for a 'clear and obvious error', while cricket's DRS looks for 'conclusive evidence to overturn a decision'. Both say the same thing — but the application differs. In cricket the umpire's decision is the default, and technology must present evidence against it. This balance is deliberate — lawmakers do not want technology to diminish the authority on the field.

Here lies the most counter-intuitive truth. We normally think technology weakens the umpire. But DRS has actually strengthened him — because after every review, if the decision stands, it proves the on-field call was right; and if it changes, the blame still goes to the tolerance of technology or a team's bad review, not to the umpire's personal judgement. In other words, DRS has given the umpire's decision a protective fence. Winning a review does not mean truth has won — often it is only protocol that has won.

My long observation is that the crowd's anger and the umpire's file live in different worlds. The viewer sees a graphic, a one-second decision, and a verdict. But the file contains the percentage of ball-tracking, the timing of the Snicko spike, the frame rate, and the tolerance calculations. Building a bridge between these two worlds is the analyst's job — and that is what I try to do, matching camera angles with the letter of the law.

The clearest error often hides behind the clearest and most obvious angle. I have seen many times that the angle broadcasters present as the 'ideal angle' is not actually the closest to the decision — rather, it is the most convenient. To understand the true pitch, bounce and deflection of the ball, sometimes the rear camera or the side angle is more truthful. Yet television shows the viewer the shot that tells the story most cleanly. When a review is presented as 'proof', it is really a curated shot — not the whole truth.

There is an interesting difference between Bangladesh's cricket culture and Australia's professional system on this point. In Bangladesh a review often becomes a moment of collective emotion — the gallery, the commentators, everyone shouting together. In Australia it is far more calculated — probability counting runs on the coach's tablet. But in both places the final decision is made by the same protocol. Culture changes; the law does not.

This difference itself shows that the review system is culturally neutral, but its use is culturally coloured. If a Bangladesh side loses both reviews before 80 overs, that is a failure of strategy; if an Australia side saves reviews to the end, that is discipline. Same law, different mood — and that mood is what actually shapes a match's result.

In recent years I have noticed a new trend — teams no longer take reviews only at big moments, but divide reviews as part of an innings-long tactical plan. Which bowler, in which situation, will be challenged is decided in advance. As a result, a review has become a tactical asset, just like a field placement or a bowling change. And when something becomes an asset, its use becomes a debate.

I remember my 2026 experience — at the World Cup the first VAR penalty decision arrived in just 1 minute 42 seconds, yet its controversy ran week after week. The same happens with cricket's reviews. A decision arrives in seconds, but the file never closes. Every review lays the foundation for the next match's discussion, raises new questions, demands new evidence. Here technology does not settle the debate — it turns the debate into institutional memory.

So what lies ahead? Will an automated ball-strike zone (ABS), as in baseball, come to cricket too? Tennis's Hawk-Eye has already removed humans from line-calls. In cricket, the demand to hand lbw, catch and stumping decisions entirely to the machine is growing louder. But I believe the real question is not of technology, but of trust.

However precise the protocol, a game ultimately stands on human trust — of the player, the viewer, and the umpire. DRS is a wonderful tool, but a tool cannot build trust, only keep its record. If we think of technology as the umpire's replacement, we will be wrong; and if we think of it as the umpire's witness, then every review will write a new chapter — just as it has been writing since that Test in Colombo in 2026.