Cricket: More Than Just a Game
“Fellow delegates, honorable chairs, and most esteemed guests…” The voice of the delegate of China echoed through the Chennai MUN conference room. Delegates leaned forward in their chairs, pens scribbling on notepads as they listened. Drafting a resolution to the global nuclear disarmament demands one’s full attention, but I could only pray for a six: cricket’s equivalent of a home run that’s capable of changing the momentum of a game. Physically, I was in Chennai. Mentally, I sat in the stands of a stadium in Ahmedabad watching eleven Indian cricketers chase the 2023 World Cup victory.
As the committee continued its debate, I considered my own: should I watch the match on my phone? I knew I shouldn’t. Months of practice led me to this conference. My hand reached for my suit pocket anyway; cricket controlled me. I slipped out my phone, silenced it, and hid it behind the table. My placard read “Democratic Republic of the Congo,” the nation I spent weeks learning to embody. Even then, I was with India.
The room remained silent and in focus…until my screen glowed bright red and the text VIRAT KOHLI OUT covered my screen. I gasped audibly—a knee-jerk reaction. Eyes turned to me, then to the other phones in the room that buzzed with notifications that read the same horrific message. Delegates stopped mid-speech. Pens fell to the floor. The room erupted. Chairs banged their gavels to reestablish decorum, but it was to no avail. Even in a serious and professional MUN conference with delegates tasked with global problems, cricket was the main focal point. Nuclear bombs could wait; Virat Kohli couldn’t.
Even in a serious and professional MUN conference with delegates tasked with global problems, cricket was the main focal point. Nuclear bombs could wait; Virat Kohli couldn’t.
So how did cricket become the sport that 1.5 billion Indians love, adore, and devote their lives to like a religion? Its origins trace back to Tankari Bandar, a coastal village in the west of India. In the 18th century, sailors of the British East India Company were left stranded on the shore, waiting for the tides to rise. To kill time, the sailors played cricket. Over the years, cricket trickled through the local Indian population, even becoming an opportunity to “beat the colonizers at their own game.” However, the sport only became the obsessive sport it is now after Kapil Dev led Team India to their first victory at the 1983 Cricket World Cup. An underfunded and underestimated team, whose own supporters didn’t believe in them, defied the odds to beat the dominant West Indies. From that day, cricket stitched itself into the cultural fabric of India.
Today, that cricket fever is ever-present, especially in the India-Pakistan rivalry. Any India-Pakistan match was always marked in my mental calendar weeks, maybe months, in advance. As the day approached, conversations with friends centered around the match. And on that long-awaited day, all plans unrelated to the match had to be cancelled. Year after year, I’d dream of watching this match in person, and I finally got that chance at the 2023 World Cup.
The train to the stadium was packed with Indian fans chanting songs and anthems. As the train turned the corner, the stadium came into view, and the carriage went silent in awe. Squishing my way past the crowd of people, I pressed myself against the glass and stared at the stadium where my childhood dreams would be fulfilled. Walking to the stadium, horns blared, and flags waved in the air. Even in the world’s largest stadium, every seat was filled, creating a sea of blue India jerseys. All 132,000 fans singing "Jana Gana Mana”, the national anthem of India, sent chills down my spine. The stadium’s roar, unity, and passion for the sport were a bucket-list experience that proved just how important this game is to India. And this experience was made all the sweeter when India came out on top.
Delegates continued debating resolutions on nuclear disarmament. But as the match progressed, the irresistible urge to stop everything and watch cricket became too much for the committee to handle. Committee chairs gave up their futile attempt to keep the debate alive. They succumbed to the will of the group and projected the match for the last hour of the conference. As the conference came to a close and the bus to the airport got going, I tuned in to a spotty livestream, refusing to let go of the match. After a momentary pause for immigration and check-in, I planted myself in front of a TV that displayed the match.
It was the 40th over. Australia needed 16 runs to win with seven wickets in hand. On came Jasprit Bumrah and Mohammed Siraj, the two best bowlers in the Indian team. As they took turns bowling the final overs, the runs slowed. Wandering travelers stopped around the TV. Employees abandoned their posts to see history in the making. My eyes were stuck to the screen, unaware of anything around me, just as I had been in the MUN conference. A hush fell over the terminal.
A wicket fell! The crowd of travelers erupted into cheers. I sprang out of my seat and turned to high-five my friends beside me. Little kids jumped up and down. A smile grew on my face and the faces of everyone around me. Without thinking, I joined the celebrations of the crowd, clapping, cheering, and praising the brilliant play alongside strangers caught up in the frenzy. My hand patted my chest to calm my racing heart. The hope of a win, though probably delusional, lifted the spirits of everyone there. I turned back to the TV, hoping to see a replay of the wicket.
Instead, my spirits were instantly shot down when I saw Australia score the winning two runs on the very next ball. I sank back into my seat. My smile turned suddenly into a blank stare. There was a lag. People continued to celebrate the wicket for at least 15 seconds before realizing that India had lost. My head hung heavy in my hands. People exchanged glances and shook their heads in disbelief at what had just happened. My mind tried to rationalize the loss, searching for reasons to blame it on. Frankly, none of that mattered. It was tough to sleep that night. The match replayed in my head again and again and again: each dropped catch, each wicket, and the moment of loss were recurring nightmares. And sleeping on a plane didn’t make it any more comfortable.
Cricket unites a nation in a shared heartbeat of hope: the joys of winning, the sting of defeat, and a lasting belief that Team India will bounce back better and stronger.
Though this roller coaster of a day ended in heartbreak, I learned something that I hadn’t learned after years of being a cricket fan. My obsession with cricket isn’t necessarily driven by a hunger to win, but rather an impulsive urge to do everything in my power to be there when the team wins. But this isn’t unique to just me. Cricket unites a nation in a shared heartbeat of hope: the joys of winning, the sting of defeat, and a lasting belief that Team India will bounce back better and stronger. That’s why cricket is far more than just a game to India: it’s a religion.