The Power Structure of Asian Cricket: A Game Caught Between Politics, Market and Associate Members

Decisions taken inside the Asian Cricket Council do more than set a tournament calendar. They determine which board plays at home, which one has to travel, how media revenues are shared, and which member nation gets a place on the big stage. Cricket politics in Asia has therefore never been simply about the sport. Here the game, the market and diplomacy sit at the same table, and it is usually the quietest voice that belongs to the one most eager to play. The Asian Cricket Council brings under one umbrella full members such as the Board of Control for Cricket in India, the Pakistan Cricket Board, Sri Lanka Cricket, the Bangladesh Cricket Board and the Afghanistan Cricket Board. Alongside them sit associate members including Nepal, Oman, the United Arab Emirates, Hong Kong, Malaysia, Singapore, Kuwait, Bahrain, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, Thailand, Maldives, Bhutan, China and Japan. The associates are more numerous, but decision-making power and the bulk of the money remain with the five full members. That asymmetry is the central structural problem of Asian cricket today. One does not need statistics to see which way the balance tilts. India is the world's largest cricket market and the largest source of money for Asian cricket as well. Broadcast rights, sponsorship, audience numbers and player valuations all revolve around India. A board with access to that market naturally carries more weight at the council table. This is not a secret bargain but an open economic fact, and it forms the backdrop of every major decision in Asian cricket. This is why the presidency of the council matters far more than its symbolic value suggests. By convention the post has often rested with leadership connected to the Indian board. When that leadership later moved to the International Cricket Council, Indian influence in the Asian body did not diminish. Subsequently the head of the Pakistan Cricket Board was handed the council's command, a move widely read as an attempt at diplomatic balance. But the transfer of a post is not the transfer of structural power. Presidents of Asian cricket change; the market does not. The most sensitive point in this entire architecture is the India-Pakistan relationship. The two countries have not played a bilateral series for years, and that freeze sits not with the cricket boards but with political authorities. The consequence is that even organising a multilateral tournament becomes an exercise in bilateral diplomacy. When India declined to play in a tournament hosted by Pakistan, the solution emerged not from the playing regulations but from a political understanding. That understanding was the hybrid model, under which some matches were staged in Pakistan and the remainder at a neutral venue. Whether it is described as a temporary arrangement or a pragmatic compromise, it set a precedent available for every future impasse. Most importantly, hosting is no longer simply a right of organisation; it has become a negotiable commodity. A tournament that should have belonged to one country was carved up among several. In the following cycle the same situation surfaced more starkly. After India refused to travel to Pakistan, the contest between the teams was staged on neutral ground. The question is not only where the matches were played, but where spectators sat and which board's account received the ticket revenue. When a host country cannot stage the game on its own soil, hosting loses both economic and cultural meaning. The blow lands not only on the Pakistan board but on the credibility of the regional structure as a whole. In the search for an alternative arrangement the United Arab Emirates proved the easiest option. It has international-standard grounds, favourable weather, easy travel and administrative readiness already in place. But this option carries a problem of its own. When major contests are repeatedly played on neutral ground, the game begins to detach from its domestic setting. The local audience, the local excitement and the atmosphere of a particular patch of earth all fall away. What is discussed least in this whole sequence is money. Broadcast rights for regional tournaments are large contracts, and the distribution of that revenue among members has always been contentious. Full members receive shares several times larger than associates, and even among teams there is a gap between those reaching finals and those eliminated early. The distribution system is determined less by development goals than by market power. A curious consequence of this system is that the success of a regional final benefits the weakest member least. A broadcaster that has bought the rights will pay for a premium fixture, not for a match involving an associate side. The result is that associates must fight separately for domestic visibility within their own tournaments in their own countries. The great irony of cricket administration is that the goals of developing the game and commercialising it frequently stand opposed. Development requires distributing opportunity: more teams playing, more countries hosting, more matches reaching local audiences. Commercialisation demands that only the most sellable fixtures recur. The Asian council faces this fork at every turn. No regional administration can forget that its players' futures rest on the bids of the biggest league. A player who commands a high price in the Indian Premier League is also more available to the national side, and a player who misses out there sees his international standing imperilled too. This is an indirect influence no administration acknowledges openly, yet it shapes every discussion of selection and workload management. Pakistan has tried to answer this with a league of its own. Its franchise competition has given domestic talent both a platform and an economic base. But uncertainty over foreign participation and scheduling clashes have limited the league's reach. When the priority of the most marketable player is already fixed elsewhere, every other league must fight harder for its place. The most rapidly changing picture in Asian cricket is Afghanistan. In only a few years the team has advanced so sharply in rankings and in performance at major events that it is now treated not as a host's fill-in but as part of a tournament's possibility. The achievement confirms the principle that, given exposure and opportunity, talent does not check a passport. Yet this progress casts a shadow. Because of administrative conditions, the country's women's team has long been unable to play international matches, while the men's side holds full membership of the international council. This mismatch is a persistent flaw that is repeatedly raised but never resolved. For sports bodies the hardest question remains how to discharge a moral responsibility when a matter of human rights moves beyond the scope of cricket administration. Consider the position of the associates. Countries such as Nepal, Oman, the United Arab Emirates, Hong Kong, Malaysia and Singapore have performed well in regional competitions. Nepal's rise showed that with sound administration, audiences and players can be built without a huge population or large grounds. But the greatest obstacle for these teams is not the ground; it is the calendar. Too few competitive matches, limited preparation against quality opposition, and irregular chances to face full members all slow their development. Oman and the Emirates have infrastructure but limited depth in homegrown talent. Hong Kong and Malaysia keep trying, but their domestic base is small. Their most persistent demand is always the same: a clear year-round schedule with more frequent fixtures against full members. Meeting that demand costs little; what is missing is the will. Women's cricket is the most interesting part of this picture. The Women's Asia Cup and regional women's competitions have drawn greater attention from audiences and sponsors alike. Contests among the women's teams of India, Sri Lanka, Pakistan and Bangladesh have become far more competitive. The women's sides of Nepal, Thailand and the Emirates are also progressing. The change matters because it is building an independent market distinct from the broadcast and revenue streams available to men's teams. Youth and emerging-team competitions are no longer ceremonial either. Players emerging from them are reaching senior sides, and this has pressured larger boards to strengthen their talent pipelines. It is a healthy pressure born of competition, and the game ultimately benefits. Behind all this lies the most practical question of all: player workload. A crowded international calendar, separate franchise league calendars and regional competitions together create a schedule in which a single player may cross continents repeatedly in one year. Injuries are rising, and the most direct cause is the collision of administrative requirements. The biggest event of the coming years will be co-hosted by India and Sri Lanka. For both countries it is a major economic opportunity, but for regional cricket it is also a test. If success is measured only in tickets and advertising, the benefit to the region's other members will be limited. If instead the event is paired with a development fund, coaching partnerships and a programme of practice matches for associate sides, it could change the foundation of regional cricket. Five concrete steps could improve this architecture. First, a clear and public schedule should be released at least two years ahead so associates can plan preparation and sponsorship deals around it. Second, a neutral venue provision should be built into every hosting arrangement in advance, so that no mid-tournament bargaining is required. Third, a fixed and publicly disclosed share of broadcast revenue should be guaranteed to associates. Fourth, mandatory practice matches against full members should be scheduled during regional competitions. Fifth, given player workload, a shared understanding with franchise leagues should govern the structure of the calendar. None of these five suggestions requires a new stadium, new money or a new institution. What is required is will, and a willingness to accept that the largest shareholder in the market cannot, over the long run, hold everything to itself without harming its own interests. Healthy regional competition does not shrink the market; it grows it. Asian cricket's real strength has never been that it has the most money. Its real strength is the diversity of cricket cultures within it. The roar of packed stadiums on one side and children playing on open ground on the other are both part of the same region. That diversity keeps the game alive, and it is also the heaviest responsibility for those who administer it. The question is not whose voice will be heard in Asian cricket. The question is whether that hearing will also reach those who hold no right to host, only the right to play.