Cricket Mania: A Fatal Fascination
On a balmy Bangalore evening, where mangoes ripen and traffic crawls with eternal resignation, thousands of cricket lovers gathered to celebrate their beloved Royal Challengers Bangalore’s much-awaited IPL victory. What could have been a euphoric carnival turned, tragically, into a stampede — and not the metaphorical kind seen on ticketing websites. Real feet, real panic, real lives lost. But don’t worry, dear fanatics — the good news is: RCB finally won!
Some might call it a tragedy. Others, a national shame. But in the grand scheme of our collective cricketing hysteria, it’s just another ‘unfortunate incident’, soon to be drowned by the cacophony of sixes, selfies, and sponsor logos.
A Gentleman’s Game Turned Gentleman's Bank Account
Cricket, let us remember, was once the Briton’s way of spending a leisurely afternoon in starched whites, sipping warm beer under overcast skies while debating empire and etiquette. It was a pastime of the gentry — a chance to avoid real work while pretending to engage in noble competition. Fast forward two centuries, and their former colonies — especially India — have elevated this genteel past-time into a hyper-capitalist circus where leather balls and English willow generate revenue greater than many GDPs.
A game designed to make you late for dinner now keeps millions up past midnight, addicted to scoreboards and fantasy league updates. The colonisers are long gone, but their bat-shaped baton has been picked up with ferocious devotion. We’ve taken the empire’s leisure, polished it with patriotism, and turned it into our collective obsession.
From Empire-Building to Ego-Branding
One of the finest myths sold to us along with railways and bureaucracy was that cricket bred character. Cricket, they said, moulded the British into empire-builders — gallant men of discipline, strategy, and stiff upper lips. This charming lie took root in colonial soil and flourished after independence. Suddenly, every Indian boy with a bat in hand wasn’t just playing a game; he was participating in the grand postcolonial dream — a chance to beat the English at their own game, preferably at Lord’s.
But alas, the dream has turned into a meme.
Instead of building nations, we now build stadium-sized egos. Instead of nurturing discipline, we now nurture brand endorsements. The cricket field has become a battleground not of character, but of corporate logos, celebrity appearances, and sponsored post-match hugs. And nationalism? That’s so passé. Now it’s about *Namma Bengaluru* versus *Amchi Mumbai*, or *Chennai Super Bests* versus *Sadda Punjab*. Regionalism rules the roost, while nationalism watches from the dugout, chewing saunf, *zuban kesari* or whatever it is they chew.
The Pantheon of Pitch Gods
In India, cricket is not a game. It is a religion. And cricketers? Living deities. They don't walk — they glide, preferably through VIP entrances. The gods of Olympus rode chariots. Ours ride on ads for hair oil, mutual funds, and gutka-free chewing gum. Their batting averages are debated with the seriousness of constitutional amendments. Their hairstyles make headlines. Their toe injuries are national crises.
And look who’s marrying whom! While mere mortals swipe left, our cricketers swipe right into the hearts of Bollywood's leading ladies. For some actresses, it seems, the only upgrade from a “star” is a “centurion.” If power couples were cricket teams, India would be 10 wickets up before lunch.
Naturally, money follows. The BCCI, once a humble cricket board, now commands more political clout than half the Cabinet. Franchises are mini-empires, complete with their own armies of PR managers, astrologers, nutritionists, and fan influencers. Stadiums are temples, and tickets are priced just a little below your monthly salary — all in the service of watching millionaires toss coins and chew gum.
Political Runs Without Boundaries
And what of the politicians, those wily wizards of populism? Oh, they know a good thing when they see it. The cricket field has become the new parliament, where real power is wielded — albeit with bats, not bills. From stadium inaugurations to impromptu dressing room sermons, politicians are always just one selfie away from trending.
Some have turned cricket administration into their private playground, while others have ensured that contracts, tenders, and team selections mysteriously align with their campaign donations. The line between cricketing glory and political gain is now as thin and blurred as the third umpire’s camera angle.
A Billion Fans, A Few Broken Bones
Back to Bangalore. As the stampede unfolded and chaos reigned, the questions we should have asked were smothered under banners of celebration. Why was crowd control a joke? Why was a victory parade organised with the logistical planning of a school picnic? Why were people, mostly young, crushed — not by opposing fans, but by their own blind devotion?
Because somewhere along the line, we forgot that cricketers are entertainers, not messiahs. They play. We watch. That’s the transaction. But in India, we pay with more than money — we pay with our attention, our adoration, our blood and bones, if needed.
Stop Worshipping. Start Watching.
Dear fan, the time has come to reconsider your place in this hierarchy of hysteria. While you sit in traffic for hours to glimpse your team bus, your star batsman is flying private and sipping imported protein shakes. While you fight over tickets, he’s negotiating brand deals. While you chant and cheer and climb barricades, he’s climbing the Forbes list.
Your life — that fragile, one-chance miracle — is worth more than a selfie with a man who swings a bat for a living.
Watch cricket if you must. Enjoy the game. Applaud a good innings. Boo a dropped catch. But stop worshipping. Stop surrendering your soul to a scoreboard. Stop dying for men who don’t know you exist.
Let the billionaires play. Let the politicians pose. Let the brands bombard. But let the fans live — with dignity, with perspective, and with the knowledge that no sport, however thrilling, is worth a life lost in the name of “support.”
Because when the dust settles and the hashtags fade, no one will hold a candlelight march for a fan crushed under the weight of another man’s fame.
Cricket may have once built empires, but today, it breaks crowds.
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