It is the best of times and the worst of times for the Indian cricket fans. Their dream of having a side that can beat anyone anywhere has come true, but at a price.
In the winter of 1983, when West Indies toured India for a six-Test series, cricket was not just a sport, it was theatre.
India had stunned the world by beating Clive Lloyd’s men at Lord’s to win the World Cup, but the West Indies did not take kindly to being dethroned. They arrived in India to reclaim supremacy, and every venue turned into a battleground.
Before the Eden Gardens Test even began, close to a hundred thousand people packed the stands to watch Sunil Gavaskar face Malcolm Marshall with the new ball. There was tension, anticipation, even fear, because fans didn’t just come to watch their team. They came to watch a contest.
Gavaskar was dismissed for a golden duck by Marshall at Eden Gardens in 1983(Getty Images)
One ball later, Gavaskar was gone to Marshall, and the stadium gasped together. West Indies won by an innings and 46 runs, but Eden was houseful every day. The opponent demanded respect, and the duel was the attraction.
Contrast that to today. In the Ahmedabad Test, India dismissed West Indies for 162 in 45 overs, piled on 448 with three centurions and a fifty from the captain, then bowled them out for 146. Victory by an innings and 140 runs. Efficient. Clinical. Forgettable. But the result was obvious before the toss.
India have won many home Tests by an innings, but why does it now feel empty? Because sport is built on competition. Athletes do not become legends by beating weak opponents. They become legends when pushed to the brink by equals.
Martin Crowe was one of the few batter Wasim Akram feared (Getty Images)
Gavaskar vs Marshall. Miandad vs Lillie. Sachin vs Warne. Pietersen vs McGrath. Lara vs Muralitharan. Allan Donald vs Steve Waugh. Wasim Akram vs Martin Crowe. These were not just contests, they were narratives. Today, can anyone name a rivalry that sparks global anticipation?
Instead, fans debate whether cricket is getting boring. The recent five-Test series in England, where every match went to the fifth day with both teams capable of winning, felt like a revival. Tension. Uncertainty. Personality.
Yet only months later, the Asia Cup ended as a procession. India beat UAE chasing 58, beat Pakistan twice, beat Oman, beat Bangladesh, tied once with Sri Lanka but won the Super Over, then beat Pakistan again in the final. Only one close game.
When one team arrives not as favourites but as inevitable winners, discussions shift from cricket to memes, handshakes and missing trophies. When optics overshadow the contest, the sport is too predictable.
Muralitharan vs Lara was another battle you just had to watch (Getty Images)
In Delhi, India played a Test on a Saturday and the Arun Jaitley Stadium was empty. Yet more than 15,000 fans attended a Ranji Trophy game between Delhi and Railways only because Virat Kohli was playing his first domestic match in 13 years.
A video of Rohit Sharma practising drew a sea of fans on the same day.
Fans are not coming to watch India beat weaker sides. They want stars or a challenge. With Kohli and Rohit retiring from Tests, star power has dipped.
But star power alone is not enough. Sport becomes compelling when dynasties are tested. Clive Lloyd’s West Indies dominated, but rivals fought back. Ricky Ponting’s Australia crushed teams, but the 2005 Ashes became immortal because England stood up.
Serena Williams reigned, but challengers made Grand Slams must-watch. Federer, Nadal and Djokovic drew millions because they fought each other. Barcelona were unstoppable, but El Clásico was still war. Even gladiators did not fight foxes. They fought lions. Dominance is not the problem. Lack of resistance is.
India has now become the superpower it once feared. Financially, structurally and athletically, no one matches them. The BCCI’s centre of excellence in Bangalore has over 40 practice pitches, elite fitness and rehab facilities and even a full ground that hosts international warm-ups.
This new found dominance is largely thanks to the Indian Premier League. Over the course of the last 18 seasons, India has produced a talent pool unlike any other nation. Today on any given day India can put out three teams to play three different formats of the game and still take on any country in each of the formats.
On paper, this is a golden era. In reality, the gap is so wide most teams cannot push India. If fans know the result before the match starts, why watch?
Virat Kohli once proposed that India stick to five Test centres like Australia and England to ensure full crowds and consistent atmosphere. Eden Gardens, Wankhede, Chepauk, Chinnaswamy and one more could host every Test. But state associations resisted, and as a consequence Eden went six years without a Test.
Few battles on the cricket field were as tightly contested as Warne vs Tendulkar (Getty Images)
With South Africa’s visit later this year, it will be Eden’s first Test since 2019. India has stadiums that can fill five days with ease, yet Tests are taken to half-empty venues in the name of fairness.
The five-centre model started will not fix everything. The real issue is not where cricket is played, but who India plays. Only England, Australia, New Zealand and South Africa challenge India, and even they cannot do it consistently. Without strong opponents, there are no battles. Without battles, there are no heroes. Without heroes, there is no story.
Before the 2011 World Cup, the anticipation in India felt seismic. Months before the tournament, every conversation, television debate and newspaper headline revolved around one question: Can India win at home? Fans memorised squad combinations, argued over team balance, skipped work to watch warm-up games and packed stadiums hours before the toss. Streets were silent during matches. TV ratings broke records. Every player was a household name, not because of social media reach, but because their performances carried weight and emotional investment. The World Cup felt sacred.
Today, despite India being the financial superpower of cricket and featuring in almost every ICC knockout, the hype has thinned. Leagues run year-round, players are overexposed, and fans are fatigued by constant cricket.
Social media outrage has replaced genuine build-up. Stadiums don’t always sell out. People tune in for highlights, not entire matches. The World Cup is no longer a once-in-a-generation spectacle. For many, it is just another tournament in an overcrowded calendar, stripped of the magic that once stopped the nation in its tracks
Fans do not crave perfection. They crave pressure, resistance and the feeling that anything can happen. The greatest moments in sport were hard-fought, nerve-wracking and unforgettable. Cricket does not need saving from formats. It needs saving from predictability.