The jobs-for-mates scandal at Cricket Australia is not going away despite sackings; there is much more at stake, Joel Jenkins writes.
In the glittering world of Big Bash millions and record women’s cricket audiences, a quiet tragedy has unfolded. A dedicated insider — a true cricket tragic– raised his hand against what he saw as contracts-for-mates and favouritism inside the national body. For his trouble, he lost his job.
His story exposed more than a $600,000 cloud deal.
It revealed a deeper fault line running through Cricket Australia: the growing tension between those who love the game with religious devotion and the corporate operators brought in to cut costs under CEO Todd Greenberg.
CJ* the whistleblower is a cricket tragic raised on the romance of the game that crossed oceans across old empires that the sun never set upon. He first fell in love with Australian cricket through the Sharjah Showdowns — Tendulkar versus Warne under floodlights, magic in the desert air.
He came to Australia carrying a Shane Warne ‘23’ locket, custom-made by a jeweller after Warne captained Rajasthan Royals to victory in the inaugural IPL.
Sport’s mandarins
Todd Greenberg doesn’t have a Shane Warne locket. In fact, he is not really a cricket man. He is part of a growing cohort of corporate mandarins who have infiltrated leadership roles in government, media, and sport — men who speak the language of efficiency, deliverables, and redundancy.
They may not love the game, but love to manage it.
This is not merely about one procurement scandal. It is about the quiet extinguishing of the very people who keep the soul of cricket alive — the tragics who work for love, not money, and who are now being shown the door by those who see the game as another balance sheet on a corporate ladder.
CJ joined Cricket Australia four and a half years ago and took a pay cut to do so. “Everyone who works at cricket does it for the love of the game and to be close to it,” he says.
Work was cricket. Life was cricket.
He played it, coached it, spoke about it too much to his wife, the kind of passion that is reserved for true tragics. When he told friends and family he was working for CA, he was proud — “so excited”.That pride has now been replaced by something else, something much heavier.
In February 2026, he sent his first internal warning to the board. By April, he had compiled the forensic report that would rock the organisation. In May, he was made redundant along with 14 others. No warning or consultation, not a cohesive reason: just another name removed while the executive at the centre of the allegations reportedly left with Greenberg’s praise for doing “a great job”.
OUT. Executive departs as Cricket Australia admits conflict of interest
Corporate sociopathy?
CJ told MWM, “I started noticing anti-patterns in the way the project work was awarded.” What began as concern about rapid hiring and workplace conduct unravelled into evidence of undeclared conflicts, bypassed procurement processes, and contractors appearing in systems weeks before any formal approval. CJ would first raise these on February 16, 2026.
He watched senior oversight roles — Head of Cyber Security and Head of Customer Experience — culled at the exact moment they might have asked difficult questions. He saw a cultural shift: rapid hires with NRL connections and similar backgrounds, many based in Sydney, while the heart of the organisation remained in Melbourne. “It created silos,” he said.
“These hires were elusive and non-transparent. ”This was no accident, he believes. “The intent was to create space for external suppliers of his choice.”
Those roles were gatekeepers. Their absence meant subordination.
Cricket Australia is meant to be a not-for-profit custodian of the game, from grassroots clubs all the way up to the national team. Yet under Todd Greenberg — brought in as a hard-nosed cost-cutter — the organisation has accelerated a cultural purge of the very “tragics” who sustain it. Previous CEO Nick Hockley was a cricket man. Greenberg is a corporate man. The difference is palpable today, according to CJ.
CJ watched the soul drain away, witnessing the culture change after six to eight months of sidelining and mothballing. The heart and soul who knew and loved the game were replaced with “former NRL ‘yes people’ who weren’t lovers of cricket.”
Why does any of this matter? Because when you remove the passionate, the custodians, the people who took pay cuts to be close to the game, you are left with something different altogether. Something transactional in a much-loved game to something sociopathic in its indifference to the human and cultural cost.
A game bigger than any of us
Despite everything, CJ still loves cricket with a pure heart. When Shane Warne died, he cried all day, and his heart ached. He still plays the game, still coaches, and still believes in the beauty of the game and the people in it. “I acted for the better of the game,” he said.
“The game is bigger than any of us.
If we all do the right thing, cricket will only become better both on and off the field.” He has little faith left in Cricket Australia’s whistleblower protections, and he knows speaking out may damage his future career. Yet he did it anyway.
Meanwhile, Todd Greenberg continues his mission of cost-cutting as revenue grew $50m last year. The States demand savings. More job losses loom. And the people who actually love the game — the ones who wear the Warne lockets in their hearts — are being quietly removed by the people who don’t.
This is what happens when corporate sociopathy infiltrates a not-for-profit that belongs to the nation. The essence of the game becomes lost in the numbers, the game itself begins to lose its soul, one redundant tragic at a time.
We should all be asking: what kind of custodians are we leaving in charge of Australian cricket?
Because if we allow the tragics to be driven out while the corporate operators remain, we will wake up one day and realise the game we loved has been hollowed out from the inside — and we stood by and watched it happen.
* Not his real name
Cricket Australia’s cloud deal at centre of ‘contracts-for-mates’ imbroglio
Joel is a writer and independent political analyst focused on the intersection of class, the state of the nation, and Australian independent policy