The DRS cat needs urgent skinning

Philosophers and travel agents. The only sets of people who get away with saying it's the journey and not the destination that matters. If you're not happy where you are, and trying to reach a better place - metaphorically or literally - you will disagree.

Over the last five days, an absolute classic of a match played itself out at Trent Bridge, a venue that is storied, steeped in history, respectful of tradition and has yet kept itself relevant by taking enough baby steps to ensure it hasn't been left behind by the sand running down the hourglass. Despite a new stand that looks like it was prefabricated in Mars (or Detroit) and installed on England's greenest turf, Trent Bridge still looks like a cricket ground rather than a sports stadium.

For fans, the good folk who run cricket at Nottingham had clearly done something right, given that each of the 17,500 seats on offer were taken in advance for all five days. At a time when cricket seems to think it has to leave the past behind in order to compete with other sport, and indeed other forms of entertainment that might filch the advertising dollar, Trent Bridge showed that there was scope - no, that it was desirable - to stay in touch with the past while modernising.

Cricket's debate over the use of technology to help umpires get decisions right could do with a bit of the same spirit.

For starters, the argument - all parties concerned weren't civil enough to settle it through a debate - has become binary to an extent that does George Bush's 'you are with us or against us' school of thought proud. In the red corner is India, represented by the Board of Control for Cricket in India, and in the blue corner is the opponent, neither champion nor contender, represented variously by the International Cricket Council, the Federation of International Cricketers' Associations or AOSA (Any Other Suitable Acronym). The moment the idea of Decision Review System was floated, it became clear that this was not fully thought through. There was no way it could have been, for in cricket's global structure, there was no opportunity for an expensive broadcaster-driven technology to be trialled at a lower level before being introduced on the world stage.

This was an idea that had to find its feet on the international stage, and unfortunately, the ICC chose to dip its toe in the muddied waters of an India-Sri Lanka Test series in 2008. If ever a bowler was born to live by DRS, it was Ajantha Mendis, a debutant mystery spinner who bowled a dozen different deliveries that either went straight or deviated a centimetre this way or that. Expectedly, the Indian team used the new tool as a crayon-generation child might an iPad. In reality, India's stance on DRS hardened there, before the BCCI could even formulate policy on the subject.

The system, which has since been refined, was not thought through, and the people who had to use it each day and live and die by it were untrained to do so. As a concept it was worth aspiring for, but in practice, it would never be given a chance. India's players have, at various times, in their personal capacity voiced support for the DRS. But, in private, their views are different - and this is unconnected to the thinking of their employers. If the DRS issue was put to an anonymous vote in the Indian dressing-room, the result would be unanimously against. When a toddler eats spinach for the first time, he's unlikely to take to it, and even the odd early adopters are quick to conform when they see their friends spitting up.

If the DRS debate has become one of India versus the Rest of the World, it is only because it has been allowed to become so.

At Trent Bridge, the chatter was not about whether DRS was good or not, but about how it might be best used. For a journalist from India, this was unusual in the extreme, because back home, DRS is only encountered in ICC tournaments, all three of which are limited-over affairs. In short, while the world has been using DRS, and trying to figure out how best to make it work, India, who oppose it vehemently enough to ensure it's not a part of any bilateral ties, are not part of the conversation.

At Trent Bridge, the DRS debate simmered from start to finish. And it was not a mere coincidence that the most eloquent part of the conversation came in the form of a question rather than an answer. "The DRS was introduced to get rid of the howler, but we've gone through five days when the DRS has ruled on every minor call, but let the howler stay," said Malcolm Conn, the veteran Australian journalist, in a moment where hammer met the head of the nail, to both captains. Neither Michael Clarke, who used DRS in an Indian way, nor Alastair Cook, who took home a clean sheet, had any insight to offer.

The DRS was introduced to remove the howler, but clearly wasn't being allowed to do so. The major issue, obviously, was that Australia had used their two unsuccessful reviews before the game-breaking howler came along.

If the whole point of DRS was to eliminate the howler, it had failed. While we blame Australia for using the system badly, we may as well look for a solution.

Counter-intuitively, there's a case to limit unsuccessful reviews from two to one. This means that no team can afford to gamble - either on technological failure or third-umpire negligence - and will only question the on-field umpire's decision when they positively know it's wrong. The second solution is to make reviews unlimited, but penalise unsuccessful ones differently. The most straightforward thing to do would be to dock the team runs - different numbers for T20, ODI and Test per wrong review - but even more sophisticated avenues remain open.

Since it's the captain who ostensibly rubber stamps every review (and cops fines and suspensions for slow over rates), he could pick up points, as a negligent driver does on his license, for every unsuccessful review. When they add up to something significant, he can then be fined or suspended.

There are many ways to skin the DRS cat, but firstly everyone needs to agree that it needs skinning. Until that point, we'll be stuck with eloquent questions, no answers and be bumbling along, literally and metaphorically.

And, the travel agents and philosophers are the only ones who won't complain.