FOR a game often regarded as more cerebral than spectacular, the politics of cricket are remarkably rumbustious. Two years ago, to much dismay, the three biggest countries in the sport united to effect a coup at the International Cricket Council (ICC), the organisation that sits atop the game. The governing bodies of cricket in India, England and Australia insisted that their men be permanently installed at the head of powerful ICC committees. They also called for the fixture list to be liberalised, so that they could cherry-pick their opponents (and play more games amongst themselves). Worst of all, they demanded the ICC redistribute funds away from smaller and amateur teams and towards the giants. To ensure the compliance of other ICC members, India, by far the biggest draw in the game, threatened to withdraw from showpiece events like the World Cup and the World Twenty20. The rest were left with little choice but to kowtow. The proposal was adopted at the first available opportunity. It was a rotten deal. Concerned that the game was being marginalised, a modest protest movement sprang up among concerned fans and journalists. A three-minute silence was held outside The Oval stadium in London before a big match in August 2015, to mourn “the death of cricket as a global sport”. A documentary, “Death of a Gentleman”, was released, arguing that cricket's administrators were guilty of prioritising financial security over the sport's appeal and accessibility. In the face of such mighty vested interests, it all seemed puny.

Unbeknownst to the protesters, however, momentum against the coup was already well advanced. The source was a surprising one: the Indian administration that stood to gain most of all from the changes.

Among the new positions created by the ICC was that of chairman. To nobody’s surprise, the post went to N Srinivasan, the president of the Board of Control of Cricket in India (BCCI), who was the architect of the new deal. It appeared to cement Mr Srinivasan as the most powerful man in world cricket. Between his two roles, he was now overlord of the international game, as well as being responsible for the Indian national teams and the world’s most lucrative domestic competition, the Indian Premier League (IPL).

Yet cracks soon began to appear. Remarkably, Mr Srinivasan had been allowed to run not only the IPL but also a team that competed in it—the Chennai Super Kings—with all the potential for conflict of interest that this suggests. In January 2015 the Indian Supreme Court ruled that Mr Srinivasan could not stand for re-election as the president of the BCCI unless he divested his ownership of the Chennai franchise. Mr Srinivasan refused and was replaced by Jagmohan Dalmiya, a veteran administrator. When Dalmiya died in September, the BCCI elected Shashank Manohar (pictured), a rival of Mr Srinivasan. Within a month, Mr Manohar had also taken his treasured role as ICC chairman. Mr Srinivasan’s fall from grace was complete.

From the outset it was clear that Mr Manohar, a lawyer by trade, was dubious about the direction the ICC had taken. "You cannot make the poor poorer and the rich richer, only because you have the clout," he explained. Refreshingly, he also suggested that his two interests, as head of the BCCI and the ICC, would undoubtedly come into conflict.

At the latest ICC meeting, held in Dubai this week, it was clear that they already had. At Mr Manohar's insistence, the ICC board agreed to carry out a “complete review” of the restructuring that had been undertaken in 2014. The guarantee that representatives from England, Australia or India would run the executive and finance committees has already been thrown out. The role of ICC chairman is to be made independent. These are important moves that indicate a clear change of direction.

But Mr Manohar still has some way to go. No mention was made of repealing the changes to how ICC revenue is distributed. This is the most direct threat to cricket's future: it makes it more difficult for smaller nations, such as New Zealand and Sri Lanka, to produce competitive teams—to say nothing of growing the game in countries that cannot yet support professional leagues. Afghanistan, Canada and Hong Kong need more, not less, financial assistance. Mr Manohar must also address the changes to the fixture list. Before the coup, the ICC's schedule compelled teams, rich and poor, to play each other once every five years. Without that imperative, it will be too easy for the Big Three to avoid answering the phone to their smaller counterparts. But, for as long as Mr Manohar is able to remain above the politicking fray, cricket has a chance to begin to heal itself.