The 13th Men’s Cricket World Cup, marred by religious nationalism, politics, mismatched teams, and less surprisingly, commercial considerations, is set to conclude. No praise is too high for the most professional, consistently excellent Indian team that has ever been seen in a World Cup. But its stellar performance does not detract from the largely graceless atmosphere and high number of uncompetitive matches that have defined the tournament.
No doubt, sports and an element of jingoism are inseparable. Done right, sport provides a platform for the healthy expression of national pride and identity, while teaching us to appreciate skill and athleticism regardless of an individual’s national or religious leaning.
World Cups, bilateral series, and multi-national athletic events are replete with examples of good-natured ribbing between fans supporting their respective countries, learning more about their shared humanity than any differences created by man-made borders. But for that to happen, there needs to be some semblance of balance in the audience — with representation of fans of both teams. As Daniel Brettig observed in The Sydney Morning Herald, “This World Cup is a global event in name only”. The late release of the tournament schedule, coupled with mystifying delays in issuing visas ensured that the total number of fans supporting other teams did not cross four figures per some estimates — a number that would be below par even if hosting an international billiards tournament.
Without any fans for the opposition, as was the case during India’s clash with Pakistan, the worst instincts of a homogenous mob risked getting ignited. Pakistan captain Babar Azam was booed at the toss, while Mohammad Rizwan was taunted with chants of “Jai Shri Ram” while walking back to the pavilion. Gautam Gambhir, as fierce a patriot as any, wrote in his column, “It is unthinkable that a society that gave the world the very thought of ‘Whole World is a Family’ is sounding so parochial.”
Yet, away from the hostile atmosphere of hopelessly one-sided stadiums, the warmth with which cricketers from all countries, including and especially Pakistan and Afghanistan, were greeted throughout India gave us a more accurate reflection of the power of sports as a unifying force, and the limitations of identity politics in a county as vast and diverse as India.
The one-day international format is already skating on thin ice, given the ferocious appeal of T20 cricket. It’s not often that a problem statement is deployed as a marketing slogan but “It takes one day” as the tagline for CWC 2023 managed to achieve this distinction. The utter lack of context in the bilateral one-day series means that the World Cup is the last remaining source of meaning for the 50-over format. With commercial incentives so hopelessly skewed towards media rights holders, the Indian viewer will continue to reign supreme in our lifetimes. To cater to this viewing audience, the elite cricketing powers will keep playing each other with ever more frequency, exacerbating the skill gap between the top four or five teams and the rest, with little to no opportunity for newer teams like Afghanistan, the Netherlands or Ireland to emerge. All of this points to a future where ODI World Cups fade away into oblivion.
Which may not be a bad thing. The relatively benign jingoism of inter-city franchise cricket is vastly preferable to the power-hungry, typically xenophobic nationalism on display across the world today. In addition, T20 leagues offer a far more compelling value proposition, with incentives for team owners that increase the likelihood of competitive matches, opportunities for players regardless of their national origin, and an action-packed, three-hour viewer experience that suits modern lifestyles. So long ODI World Cup, and thanks for all the memories.
The writer is a consumer researcher