Every time the rain-gods put in a little overtime, Frank Duckworth and Tony Lewis are invoked for their system of modifying the parameters of the one-day international to get past the interruption. But the Duckworth-Lewis rules are applicable for more than just rain-breaks; any interruption, however bizarre, falls under their purview. Indeed, if a giant foot were to descend Python-like onto the playing area, it would be Duckworth and Lewis, rather than Terry Gilliam, who would be called in to decide how the match would change because of all the rough created by the footmark.

The application of the Duckworth-Lewis method to crowd trouble, however, as was done during the recent Rajkot one-dayer between India and the West Indies, sets a dicey precedent. The arguments for it, of course, will cite it as just another interruption - which, technically, it is - and point out that a system already exists for exactly such an eventuality, so why not use it?

But when the rules were drawn up, neither Duckworth nor Lewis could have had serious crowd trouble in mind, for it differs from other interruptions in that it is of a man-made nature and should therefore be controllable. More importantly, the crowd trouble often stems directly from events on the field, and in such a scenario, one has to look beyond merely awarding the match to the team ahead.

The nub of the problem lies in identification. In the packed stadiums that are the norm in India, it is incredibly difficult - even by freeze-framing closed-circuit camera feed - to point out a single bottle-thrower. To make matters worse, a natural desire to avoid getting enmeshed in the bureaucracies of the law leads to an obdurately uncooperative crowd, and under these constraints the onus then shifts onto the authorities to avoid the incidents, rather than merely identify and punish the culprits.

The one sure way - beyond nets, tightened security and closed-circuit cameras - to deter the crowd is to demonstrate that drastic consequences will ensue, and little could be more drastic than awarding the match to the visiting team. They may or may not deserve it, but setting an example is, in the larger interests of the game, much more important.

Admittedly, it is hard on the hosts if they are dominating the game at that stage, and sympathies will undoubtedly lie with them. At Rajkot, for example, with India almost cantering to a win and Virender Sehwag on fire, only the most hard-hearted could have failed to feel sorry for them if the match had been awarded to the West Indies. But keeping the bigger picture in mind, it must be done; the reward - a crowd that understands that it could cost its side the game, rather than merely end it sooner - is well worth it.

Dissenters also contend that such a policy sets up a situation whereby tourists from abroad could create a ruckus to see the match ceded to their side. It is a less probable evil; not only are tourists extremely wary of falling afoul of the law outside their own country, but they are marginally easier to pick out in a crowd, if only by giant kangaroos, Union Jacks or other such paraphernalia.

Rajkot happened in part because no firm action was taken at either Jamshedpur or Nagpur. There was no precedent set; that must not occur again. Once an example is made of such a case - and once it has been made clear that firm action will be taken unhesitatingly - we may not have to look beyond one such match to ensure that Rajkot - or Jamshedpur or Nagpur, for that matter - does not recur.

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