There’s something almost Shakespearean about cricket these days—a game that once stood as a unifying passion for millions has been hijacked by the privileged few, namely the “Big 3” (India, England, Australia), and turned into a power play.
Cricket fans in Pakistan, in particular, are feeling like the commoners in this tragic play, sidelined by politics and power, stripped of their beloved game by an elite who decide when and where the game is played, leaving smaller teams and their fans out in the cold. It’s a classic tale of class politics—and Pakistani cricket fans are sick of playing the peasants.
Let’s wind back to the Asia Cup 2023. Pakistan was thrilled to host a tournament on home soil—after years of waiting and watching, finally, they could see top international teams play on their own turf. Or so they thought.
Enter India, citing “security concerns” and refusing to visit Pakistan. The solution? A “hybrid” tournament that felt more like a cruel joke than a compromise, with most matches played in Sri Lanka and only a few in Pakistan. If this is how the cricketing elite defines fairness, then maybe they need a new dictionary.
Because in the end, it was Sri Lanka, not Pakistan, that ended up feeling like the real host. And Pakistan? Once again, relegated to the sidelines, deprived of their promised tournament, thanks to politics masquerading as prudence.
Hoping to turn the tide, Pakistan took the high road at the 2023 World Cup, agreeing to play in India. It was a move intended to put the game above politics, to show that cricket can transcend grudges.
Pakistan’s on-field performance may have left something to be desired, but the bigger message was clear: let’s leave the politics behind and let the bat and ball do the talking. However, the goodwill was fleeting. As soon as talk of the 2025 Champions Trophy in Pakistan began, India was back with the same old tune about “security concerns,” refusing to participate.
So much for sportsmanship and progress—it turns out that, for the Big 3, the only bridges they’re interested in are the ones they can control.
And here’s where it gets really rich. If Pakistan is as unsafe as Indian officials claim, then why do Indian dignitaries, actors, and cultural icons continue to visit without a hitch? Just last month, India’s own External Affairs Minister, S. Jaishankar, touched down in Pakistan without so much as a helmet, and Bollywood’s Mumtaz, along with screenwriter Moin Baig, visited the same country deemed “too dangerous” for Indian cricketers.
Apparently, the Indian government is either incredibly selective about which citizens’ lives it values—or it’s just easier to wave the security wand when it suits their narrative. However, judging by their recent stumble against New Zealand, perhaps Indian cricketers could stand to be a little more afraid of the Kiwi bowlers than anything they’d face in Pakistan.
For Pakistani fans, the loss goes far beyond a game or two. Cricket is woven into the cultural fabric here, and these repeated snubs are stripping the nation of experiences and memories that every fan deserves. And the financial cost isn’t a joke either.
Just look at the 2023 World Cup: the India-Pakistan clash alone drew 173 million viewers on Indian TV and another 225 million online, with the match generating an economic impact of $1.39 billion (₹11,637 crore) in India. Tourism, hospitality, media rights—all boomed in India because of cricket, a luxury Pakistani fans are repeatedly denied, thanks to the whims of the Big 3.
This isn’t just about missing a few matches; it’s about missing out on what cricket truly stands for. Cricket is supposed to be a celebration of skill, unity, and national pride—not a tool for the privileged to wield as they please.
For Pakistani fans, the story has shifted from excitement to alienation, from anticipation to frustration. With every refusal, every so-called “security concern,” it becomes clearer: the Big 3 aren’t just shaping cricket; they’re shrinking it, turning it into an exclusive, self-serving club. And in doing so, they’re ripping the soul out of the game.
But here’s the truth: cricket wasn’t built in boardrooms. It lives in the hearts of the fans, on the streets where kids play with makeshift bats, and in the stadiums packed with hope and passion. The Big 3 can try to guard their turf, but a game without its fans is a game on the brink of collapse.
So, here’s to the fans who refuse to be sidelined. The power of cricket doesn’t belong to a few nations; it belongs to every fan who loves the game. And until the Big 3 remember that, they risk reducing cricket to nothing more than an echo of what it once was—a game loved by millions and destroyed by a powerful few – just like my country.
About the Author: Amar Lal – Cricket fan by day and night and management consultant for the time in between.
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