The Technology Era: From DRS to Data Analytics, How Cricket Is Changing the Way It Decides

One of cricket's most enduring qualities is that it never lets an argument die. After any match, from the tea stall to the television studio, the same question echoes: was he out or not? Over the past fifteen to eighteen years, the answer to that question has gradually moved away from the eyes of the umpire standing on the field and towards cameras, sensors and algorithms. This shift is not merely technical; it has reshaped the power structure of the game, the strategy of captaincy, the trust of spectators, and even the economy of players' careers.

When the Decision Review System, or DRS, was first used in July 2026 at the SSC ground in Colombo during the India-Sri Lanka series, very few understood that this was not an experiment but the beginning of a permanent change. At the time DRS was seen as an optional facility, to be used only if both boards agreed. Today it is mandatory in nearly every major ICC tournament, and no team can imagine taking the field without it.

But DRS is only one part of this story. The real revolution lies in the machinery behind it: ball tracking, UltraEdge, Hawk-Eye, and now GPS vests, workload monitoring and machine learning models. This article attempts to understand that journey: where technology came from in cricket, what it changed, what it could not change, and what lies ahead.

The birth of DRS and its first decade

DRS did not arrive in a day. In the late nineties and early two thousands, television broadcasts began showing technologies like Hawk-Eye: ball trails, pitch maps, wagon wheels. These were primarily entertainment tools, not decision-making tools. But as soon as broadcasters began showing how wrong an umpire's decision had been, pressure began to build. If technology can tell us whether the ball touched the bat, there is no logical basis left for ignoring that information.

In 2026 the ICC permitted trials in Test cricket, provided both boards agreed. The first opportunity came in the India-Sri Lanka series, where Sri Lanka showed enthusiasm. In the early phase the number of reviews was limited and the technology itself was raw. Ball tracking's predictive model was far less refined than today's, and umpires had little technical training.

The first decade still proved several things. First, that technology changes player behaviour: when a batsman knows a review is in hand, he is less likely to thrust his pad forward with the same certainty on LBW. Second, that the profession of umpiring changed; the umpire became less a decision-maker and more a process manager. And third, that technology brings new debates with it, debates for which no clean answer exists even today.

India's long resistance, and its reversal

India's stance is the most interesting chapter in the DRS story. The BCCI opposed it for years. There were several reasons: doubt about the technology's accuracy, cost, and the argument that the same technology is not available in every series, and therefore it breaks competitive uniformity. This objection was not entirely unreasonable; if one ground has Hawk-Eye and another does not, the rules become unequal.

But there was another layer to this resistance, rarely acknowledged. On subcontinental pitches, where spin bowling dominates, ball-tracking prediction is at its most uncertain: spin, bounce and drift together create difficulty for the model. For a team whose greatest weapon is spin, adopting DRS was a risk.

The reversal came in November 2026, when India used DRS in a home series for the first time, in the Rajkot Test against England. The decision was taken at the administrative level, driven by the realisation that other teams were gaining an advantage while India was denying itself. Since then India has not only adopted DRS but established itself among the teams that use it most efficiently.

This shift illustrates how technology in sport is tied to politics. DRS was never a neutral instrument; it was always surrounded by the question of who gains and who loses.

How the technology actually works

Fans often conflate three distinct technologies, though they do different jobs.

The first is ball tracking, commonly known by the Hawk-Eye name. Multiple high-speed cameras track the ball, and software projects its future path from its trajectory. This predictive path determines whether the ball would have hit the stumps. The difficulty is that this is a prediction, not a measurement: the actual data for the ball's journey after it strikes the batsman's pad simply does not exist.

The second is UltraEdge, which is sound-based. When the ball touches bat, pad or helmet, each contact produces a sound at a different frequency. Microphones capture it and display it as a spike on a graph. Often this device proves decisive, especially when the camera angle is unclear and the umpire cannot see.

The third was Hot Spot, which used thermal imaging to show where the ball had made contact. It was used for some years but was gradually phased out due to availability and cost. Today it is largely absent from mainstream broadcasts.

Alongside these are stump cameras, third-umpire checks for front-foot no-balls, and replay systems for run-outs. The point to note is that each technology answers a different question, and no single technology can deliver a complete decision.

Umpire's call: the most tangled knot in the system

DRS's biggest philosophical problem is umpire's call. When ball tracking shows the ball striking part of the stumps but not fully, the on-field umpire's decision stands. If a captain reviews and the outcome is umpire's call, the review is retained even though the decision has not changed.

This rule is more a political compromise than a technical necessity. The argument is that Hawk-Eye's prediction carries a margin of error, and decisions within that margin should not be overturned by a machine. But this compromise produces an odd outcome: the same delivery, the same track, but two different results, because it matters whether the on-field umpire originally said out or not out. In other words, the final decision is determined not by technology but by the initial human estimate.

To fans this feels inconsistent, and it is certainly psychologically uncomfortable. But the alternative, handing prediction entirely to the machine, is even less reliable, because then you are treating a forecast as final truth.

The 2026 World Cup final, and an unnamed error

The sharpest example of this entire debate is the 2026 World Cup final. The match went to a Super Over, the Super Over was also tied, and England were declared winners on boundary count. But something happened in that match that later became a major controversy.

In the final over of England's innings, a shot off Ben Stokes's bat reached the boundary via an overthrow. The umpires awarded six runs, when under the rules it should have been five. When the rules were examined closely, it became clear that there had been an error in the run calculation, and that single run could have changed the eventual result.

Interestingly, DRS was present in that match, but this error did not fall within its scope at all. DRS covered LBW, catches and certain selected cases; there was no technical mechanism for checking run tallies. In other words, in the biggest match in the world, the element with the least technological oversight proved decisive.

After that incident, there were calls for technical oversight of scoring and run calculation as well. But the problem is that this is not a technical problem but a human-process problem, and embedding technology into every process is neither practical nor good for the pace of the game.

Taking a review is now a skill

In the early days, captains' approach to reviews was emotional. Reviews were burned in anger, under pressure, or amid crowd noise. Today the situation is different. Teams have review strategies, and many teams relay signals from the dugout after watching the television feed.

This creates an interesting paradox. The rule says the review must be requested by a player, but in practice the decision is taken by an analyst sitting in the dugout watching the replay on screen. Several former cricketers have objected, arguing that this is not the use of technology but its misuse.

In practical terms, three clear rules of review have emerged. First, conserve reviews in the first innings, because they are most valuable in the last. Second, be cautious with spinners, because the risk of umpire's call is highest there. Third, save reviews against batsmen whose pads the ball generally misses outside off stump.

What these rules mean is that DRS has added a new dimension to captaincy. Captains who are good at this arithmetic gain a direct advantage in the match.

Data analytics: a bigger change than DRS

If DRS is visible, data analytics is the part that is not. Over the past decade the way teams prepare has changed fundamentally. Earlier one heard things like he did that before; now one hears things like this length works against him.

The clearest example is matchup mapping. Shot maps for every batsman, length maps for every bowler, and pitch behaviour data for every ground are compiled. This determines which bowler is brought on against which batsman, and when. This information existed earlier too, but as experience and intuition; now it exists as numbers.

In Indian cricket this shift is often associated with Rahul Dravid's coaching tenure, whose preparation style has long been regarded as systematic and process-driven. But this is not the contribution of one individual; it is a change across the whole ecosystem, domestic cricket, A tours and franchise scouting included.

Another interesting layer is that data has begun to prioritise impact over style. Earlier the question was how a batsman plays; now it is how many runs he scores, in what situation, against which bowling, and in what conditions. This shift seems fair, but it has a side effect: it can hurt players whose value does not show up statistically.

Workload and sports science

Another face of technology does not appear on the field but in the dressing room and at the training ground. GPS vests, heart-rate monitors, sprint-load tracking and recovery data are now routine for major teams.

Its clearest effect has been on the management of fast bowlers. In the case of a bowler like Jasprit Bumrah this has been visible: his workload has been managed regularly, and he has been rested across several series. This strategy has also been controversial, because fans want the best players to play every match. But given the modern cricket calendar, this management has become unavoidable.

Fitness standards have also changed. In the Indian team, the Yo-Yo Test and other fitness benchmarks were made mandatory, which changed the culture of player preparation. During Virat Kohli's captaincy, fitness was made an explicit selection criterion, and the effect was felt not only by the team but by domestic cricketers' preparation as well.

A significant question arises here: is a statistically fit player always a better cricketer? There is no straightforward answer. What can be measured gets measured, and what cannot, such as the ability to stay calm under pressure, drifts to the margins. This is the limit of every data-driven system.

The role of data in auctions and scouting

In franchise cricket the most commercial use of data appears at auctions. Teams now evaluate players not just by their record but by their suitability: will he be useful on this ground, in this role, at this position?

One consequence is that specialisation has gained value. A bowler who is good only in the death overs, or a batsman useful only in the powerplay, is now identified and bought explicitly. Earlier such specialisation was undervalued.

But there is a risk here too. Data tells you how a player has been in the past; it does not tell you how he will be over the next three years. Things like the age curve, injury history and the mental side do not fit neatly into models. That is why the most successful franchises are considered those that balance data with human judgement.

Broadcast and the fan experience

Technology has also affected the experience reaching the viewer. Earlier commentary told you what had happened; now graphics show it. Ball trails, pitch maps, spin revolutions, bat-swing angles, fielding maps: all of this is now routine.

There is a positive side: the viewer can now understand the game in greater depth. Things that only experts once knew now appear on screen. But there is a negative side as well: when everything is measured, some of the uncertain, accidental quality of the game shrinks. Cricket's beauty lay in that uncertainty.

Criticism: technology answers, it does not ask

Every technological system must be judged by its limits, and DRS is no exception.

The first limit is contextual. Ball-tracking prediction is weakest when the pitch is uneven, the ball is spinning and the bounce is variable. This is not a technical fault but a limit of physics: you are estimating something that never happened.

The second limit is resource-based. DRS is expensive. It is not available at every domestic ground. When it becomes a rule in international cricket but not in domestic cricket, two different levels of the game emerge: one with technology, one without. This directly affects player development.

The third limit is transparency. What happens inside the technology is not visible to the viewer. When an umpire changes a decision, a graphic appears on screen, but the parameters, error margins and algorithms behind that graphic are not made public. This is a system that runs on trust, and trust is built on transparency.

The fourth limit is human. Technology does not replace the umpire; it changes his role. And when the role changes, the criteria for training, accountability and evaluation must change too. Have umpires been adequately prepared for this? The answer is not the same in every country.

What does the future hold?

Some signals of future change are already visible.

First, automated no-balls and automated calls. Technology now checks front-foot no-balls; in future it may extend to run-outs and catches. This will speed up the game, but the umpire's role will shrink further.

Second, smart balls and sensor-based measurement. Experiments have been conducted with sensors embedded in the ball to measure spin, swing and revolutions directly. These are still experimental, but if successful they would be far more accurate than current camera-based technology.

Third, AI-based analysis. At the coaching level, machine learning is increasingly used: analysing a bowler's action, identifying a batsman's weak zones, and forecasting injury risk. These things happened before too, but now far faster and at far lower cost.

Fourth, and most controversially: will there ever be fully machine-based umpiring? Technically it is possible. Practically it is difficult, because sport rests not only on accuracy but on the human element. In cricket the umpire is not merely a decision-maker but also the manager of the game: he handles time, calms players, and makes judgements according to circumstance. Algorithms are not yet ready for those jobs.

Conclusion

The arrival of technology in cricket is not a simple story. It is a process that contains improvement and new inequality, transparency and new obscurity.

The biggest lesson is that technology is not objective. It is built by people who decide what should be measured, how far to trust it, and to what extent human judgement should be preserved. DRS's umpire's call rule is the clearest example: it is not a technical compromise but a social one.

So the right question is not whether technology is right or wrong. The right question is what we want to ask of technology, and how much authority we want to give its answers. As long as that question is alive, cricket's arguments will stay alive, and perhaps that is its greatest strength.