August 20, 2000 Chief Executive's Secretariat, Islamabad 16:00 Hours
Shaukat Aziz, my Finance Minister, was looking at the whiteboard with a mix of fascination and horror. Lieutenant General Tauqir Zia, the PCB Chairman, just looked confused.
"Sir," Shaukat adjusted his tie. "You want to list the cricket teams on the Stock Exchange? Like a cement factory?"
"No, Shaukat," I said, pacing the room. "The Stock Exchange is for the elite. I want to list them in the streets."
I drew a pyramid on the board.
"The billionaires—Shah Rukh Khan, the Mian Manshas, the Ambanis—they will own 51% of the franchise. They are the Controlling Partners. They bring the glamour."
I circled the bottom of the pyramid.
"But the remaining 49%? We float it. We sell it to the public. The 'Fan Equity Model'."
The $5 Revolution
"We price the share at $5," I announced. "Or 250 Rupees. The price of a good meal."
"Why so low?" General Zia asked. "We could charge more."
"Because I don't want investors, General," I explained intensely. "I want armies."
I turned to the two men.
"Imagine the Indian fans. They have the world's best batting lineup. Sachin, Ganguly, Dravid. But what is the one thing they have been crying for since 1947?"
General Zia didn't hesitate. "Fast bowlers. They have none."
"Exactly," I grinned. "They look at Wasim Akram, Waqar Younis, and Shoaib Akhtar with pure envy. They don't just want to watch them get wickets; they want them on their side."
The Vote: The Weapon of Choice
"This is where the share comes in," I drew a ballot box on the board.
"Every share buys you a Vote in the 'Draft Strategy'. The franchise management has to listen to the majority shareholders."
"Imagine the Mumbai Sultans," I painted the picture. "The shareholders in Colaba and Bandra realize that to win the cup, they need a left-arm pacer. Who do they want? Wasim Akram."
"So, what happens?" Shaukat asked.
"They campaign!" I shouted, spreading my arms. "They will run the ads for us! They will print posters. They will flood the radio stations."
I looked at Zia.
"General, visualize this: A procession in Bombay. Usually, when they march regarding Pakistan, they are burning flags. But this time? They will be marching with banners of Wasim Akram. Chanting 'Sultan ko Mumbai lao!' (Bring the Sultan to Mumbai!)."
"They will buy shares just to have the voting power to draft him. We create a bidding war fueled by nationalism turned inside out."
The Revenue of Noise
"And we monetize the noise," I added, turning to Shaukat.
"How do they cast their vote? They can't all come to the boardroom."
I wrote on the board:
Premium Rate Phone Lines: "Dial 1-900-VOTE-WASIM." We charge $1 per call.
Postal Ballots: Special 'Franchise Postcards' sold at post offices.
SMS Voting: A new technology, but growing.
"If 10 million Indians call to vote for Shoaib Akhtar to join the 'Delhi Daredevils'... that is $10 Million in revenue just from phone calls. We split that with the Telecom companies."
"And the publicity?" I laughed. "It's free. We don't need to spend a rupee on marketing. The fans will fight each other on the streets to prove whose strategy is better. 'Should Calcutta buy Waqar or Saqlain?' The debate will consume the Subcontinent."
The Dividend of Peace
"But here is the real genius," I said, leaning over the table. "The Dividend."
"At the end of the tournament, the team's profit is distributed back to the shareholders. If the 'Mumbai Sultans' win because Wasim Akram took 5 wickets in the final... the Indian shareholder gets a check."
"Think about the psychology, Shaukat."
"An Indian fan is now financially incentivized to cheer for a Pakistani bowler. He doesn't see a 'Pakistani' running in to bowl. He sees an 'Asset' that is protecting his investment."
The Scale
"It creates a banking revolution," Shaukat calculated rapidly, his banker brain finally catching up. "The float money from the share purchases... the transaction fees from the voting... the capital flow from India to Pakistan and vice versa..."
"It will be massive," I confirmed. "We are selling them ownership of their own dreams."
The Inner Monologue
As Shaukat and Zia left, buzzing with the logistics of setting up premium phone lines and share certificates, I sat back.
I smiled at the thought of the Shiv Sena in Mumbai trying to stop a crowd of angry shareholders who just wanted their team to sign the best bowler in the world.
You can fight an ideology, Aditya thought. But you cannot fight a shareholder meeting.
"Brigadier," I called out. "Get the Marketing team. I want the slogan ready."
"What is it, Sir?"
"'Don't just watch the game. Buy the player.'"
I looked at the map of Bombay.
Get ready, Wasim. You are about to become the most expensive elected official in India.