The most interesting thing about cricket, perhaps, is that it inverts the Rich World and Poor World. In the cricket economy, the West is poor. The Indian subcontinent is rich. Of course, we're talking money here, the standard way 'rich' and 'poor' are spoken of, nowadays.

The most fascinating upshot of this inversion can be seen in some price data; in a market system, they say, prices-like bikinis-reveal sufficient information to draw conclusions from, even if they leave some people thirsting for more. So here's the metric we have chosen: the broadcast spot rate for 10 seconds of commercial air time on a TV channel showing a one-day international cricket match.

During the final stages of the 2003 World Cup in South Africa, advertisers were paying up to $3,000 (Rs 1,38,000) for a 10-second spot to reach TV screens under the Indian satellite footprint. This was more than what advertisers anywhere else in the world were paying to reach other audiences (in South Africa, Australia, the UK, West Indies, wherever). Barely a year later, advertisers are paying up to $10,000 (Rs 4,60,000) for a 10-second spot for the very first matches of the tournament underway in Pakistan, and for the same audience (well, nearly).

What does it mean? The current Indo-Pak series is a bigger event than the biggest-ever cricket World Cup. Phew!

And that too, for potentially fewer eyeballs than the last time round. The World Cup was beamed by Sony Entertainment Television's film-sports channel, SET Max, which was estimated to reach almost twice as many households as Ten Sports now, which is beaming the current series (admittedly, this channel's reach is expanding like there's no tomorrow even as you read this).

Regardless, by global comparison, it's still an awesome audience. Sure, vast numbers of women (and some men) have little more than a score-checking interest in cricket. So classic household data tells us nothing about the actual size of the potential audience. But everybody knows the passion that cricket evokes. Crowds will gather round TV sets at tea stalls, barber shops, market corners, anywhere-even airport departure lounges. All included, guestimates suggest that well over 300 million individuals in the region are the sort for whom the closest TV set in humanly reachable distance will become a magnet during the period of the matches (five one-dayers and three tests).

That's a lot of people. More people, come to think of it, than everybody put together in the West who can tell the game apart from a chirpy insect, let alone explain what a finger-in-the-air signifies.

That's the swing. The game has moved decisively towards the subcontinent. This is where the millions are. This is where the money is. Rich subcontinent. Poor West. This is where cricket has come to be a hysteria-evoking spectator sport of market-moving proportions. In the UK, the 'gentleman's game' is of rarefied interest, at most.

The irony, at least perhaps to the Anglo-Dutch originators of the game, is that 'cricket' is also a metaphor for cultural sophistication (dare one say, wealth). Cricket is not just adherence to rules, but adherence to a certain 'way' of gentlemanly behaviour. Painful as it is, we must admit to the presence of cricket hooligans in our midst-those who see the game in primitive, unremittingly adversarial, terms.

Thankfully, we do have large numbers of cricket connoisseurs amongst us too-those who could help enlighten the rest on the game's refinement. What's on and what's not on, for instance, in honourable cricket. What detached passion can do for performance. What it means for a batsman to, say, 'get both eyes in', 'assess depth of field', 'talk with his bat', surprise the orthodox by turning a certain kind of delivery into another sort of value-added stroke, and even get to 'set his own field'. Likewise, what it means for a bowler to, say, 'use the seam', 'engage the batsman', turn confrontation to conversation, surprise with swing, and even get to 'command the strokes'.

If it all goes well, those 10 seconds should be worth every cent of the $10,000. It's not for nothing that cricket is known more for its mind quotient than jock quotient. In its most admirable form, cricket is a game of chivalry, not chauvinism.