Cricket analysis and opinion: The Asia Cup’s hidden game

Each time the Asia Cup is staged, the scoreboards practically write themselves. 

Bangladesh seeks to restore their reputation at the international level, Sri Lanka asserts that continental cricket glory isn’t a two-horse race, and India and Pakistan face off in a match that seizes the world’s attention, leaving the other six teams peripheral.

Once again, the tournament has re-established its presence in the United Arab Emirates (UAE), remaining as predictable as ever, writes the Cricket Paper’s Megh Mandaliya. 

Much like its predecessors since 1984, this Asia Cup will centre on one of cricket’s fiercest rivalries, India versus Pakistan, as if cricket in South Asia is seldom played in isolation.

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A battle off the field

The Asia Cup has always been more than 22 yards, and the same dance has repeated for decades. The UAE’s emergence as the host for 2025 is a subtle nod to that. 

With India reluctant to travel to Pakistan, citing security concerns and Pakistan adamant in its opposition, the compromise, yet again, is Dubai, Abu Dhabi, and Sharjah. 

This establishes the ideal setting for an associate member, such as the UAE, to project itself as cricket’s “neutral ground”.

The UAE has mastered the art of hosting marquee events over the past few years, be it the T20 World Cup in 2021, the Indian Premier League (IPL) during the pandemic, the Champions Trophy in 2025, and the 2018, 2022, and now the 2025 Asia Cup. All this stems from a bilateral compromise.

The supposed compromise, even during the Champions Trophy earlier this year, was always less about logistics than it was about who controls the narrative of Asian cricket.

Needless to say, the Board of Control for Cricket in India (BCCI) bankrolls much of the world cricket today, and when India resists undertaking a journey to Pakistan, the reasoning is outlined as security-focused and pragmatic. 

Pakistan, by contrast, is left with little recourse but to be the aggrieved party. Compelled time and again to cede hosting rights, the Pakistan Cricket Board (PCB) recasts this marginalisation into a narrative of resilience.

But the discussion has moved past the issue of staging alone; it now extends to the very question of whether the fixture should take place, and in the midst of it all, the Asia Cup emerges as a litmus test of cricket’s ability to remain unaffected by politics.

Should it even happen? A reminder from Birmingham

The question becomes more insistent each year. To some, cricket between the neighbours is a diplomatic tool; it underscores that collective passion can sometimes surmount even the sharpest divisions.

But when ripples reached Birmingham earlier this year in the second edition of the World Championship of Legends (WCL), a dissenting view started to gain ground. 

A veterans’ tournament whose sole purpose was to prompt nostalgia made headlines for all the wrong reasons after India Legends pulled out of two games against Pakistan Legends.

Players such as Shikhar Dhawan, Suresh Raina and Harbhajan Singh did not take the field, and the facilitators confirmed the withdrawal was politically motivated. 

The fallout was immediate. Pakistan Legends, in response, imposed a blanket ban on Pakistani players featuring in future WCL editions.

Sponsors and media houses are complicit, too. Travel giant EaseMyTrip also decided to yank its sponsorship from the tournament, citing an inability to endorse matches featuring Pakistan.

What was meant to be a gentle stroll down memory lane, distant from the ICC rankings and points table, turned out to be another proxy battle. 

Off the field, on the agenda

Is this sportswashing? In a sense, yes. Not by its intrinsic meaning, which typically refers to a Gulf-style template of addressing domestic issues by staging mega-events, but its subtle relevance in South Asia cannot be ignored.

The Asia Cup doesn’t sit on that mega-level scale yet, but for boards and governments, it offers soft power in a more regional frame.

For Pakistan, even the partial hosting rights are a form of currency, and every international fixture in the country becomes a press release in itself. 

For India, spurning to play across the border is not just a security position but a representation of authority: the game goes where the BCCI wants it to go.

When India and Pakistan meet annually, political turmoil and historical tensions momentarily recede; for a brief window, cricket takes centre stage, quietly serving as an indirect form of sportswashing that often goes unnoticed.

Therefore, the rivalry between India and Pakistan is a mirror. A win is not just a win; it becomes a statement. 

A loss is not merely a defeat; it is a resource for the other side’s storyline. Neutral hosting is characterised as a gesture of diplomacy, even when compromise is forced rather than voluntary.

The game continues

The Asia Cup, henceforth, will always remain two tournaments at once. The first is the familiar duel on the field; the second unfolds off it, where boards and governments are trying to sculpt resilience or dominance through cricket. 

The recently-concluded WCL, the Asia Cup concessions, and the sponsorship withdrawals are all part of this ecosystem. Rarely do the harder questions break through: what chance does the Asia Cup have of being seen as just a game of cricket?

Sportswashing doesn’t always land in a billion-dollar stadium or oil-rich campaign; sometimes it manifests in who plays where, who declines to travel, and how these decisions are presented. 

When India and Pakistan again lock horns on September 14 at their perennial favourite, the Dubai International Stadium, the scoreboard will tell only half the story. 

That’s the hidden game of the Asia Cup, one that shows no sign of slowing down.  

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