How sports change. In the India of the 1970s, the mass sports were clearly hockey and football. Equipment was fairly simple to procure: a ball and in a case of hockey a ball and a stick, sometimes an improvised rather than the “proper” hockey stick. Cricket and tennis in contrast were elite sports, and required expensive bats and rackets, pads and other accoutrement.
In the 1980s and beyond, cricket grew in popularity just as hockey slipped from the popular imagination — among other things a reflection of the relative achievements of the Indian teams in both sports. Today, hockey is fading away, though occasional attempts are made to revive it. On two occasions in recent years a hockey league, with privately-backed teams and franchises, has been attempted. The commercial returns have not been worth it.
In contrast, cricket has become an everyday, everywhere pastime. Economies of scale have meant cricket bats, pads, gloves and so on are much more affordable than their equivalent in the 1970s or earlier. Of course, quality varies, and the bat one buys for a street-side game need not survive the rigours of a Test match. Nevertheless the sport is more accessible. The advent of the limited overs game, especially Twenty20 and the Indian Premier League (IPL), has also spawned a much larger cricket economy.
This means there are more positions and contracts up for offer. It also suggests that a humble, lower middle-class lad, with strong arms but a dodgy technique, or even a suspect bowling action, has a chance of making it to a couple of seasons of a tournament such as the IPL. He will not be good enough for a long career, but a short burst in the headlines will bring him a reasonable pay-cheque.
This is akin to one-season wonders and journeymen who throng the world of football: flashy newcomers who disappear after a few matches, or stodgy B-graders who stay a bit longer. They either don’t have the skills or the psychological make-up to sustain a grand career. Nevertheless, the sports market can make them financially comfortable, provided they don’t lose their heads and invest well.
The most dramatic change has come with football. Soccer is arguably more popular in India than it ever has been. It is also a money-spinner like never before. Yet, and regrettably, it remains primarily a spectator rather than participatory sport for India.
True, crowds and players still make an appearance in the leagues of Kolkata, Kerala and Goa. Yes, the Indian Super League (ISL), with its razzmatazz — a sort of IPL lite — and with corporate support for a clutch of city-based franchises, and ability to sign on ageing players past their sell-by date in Europe, is gambling on a footballing future for India.
Having said that, the money and the spending on football in India is elsewhere. It comes from satellite television subscriptions and advertising, exploiting the huge interest in the English Premier League (EPL) and a host of other European and South American leagues, as well as pan-European club rivalries. Every four years, the UEFA European Cup and the Fifa World Cup also get attention, but it is primarily the big, marquee clubs of Europe that keep the cash registers busy in India.
Expansive urban centres — Delhi, Gurgaon and Mumbai — now boast of several soccer leagues for boys and girls (and at the junior-level mixed teams). It’s a combination of serious sport and a family weekend activity, with children and parents, expatriates and upper-class Indians, all coming together. None of these children is interested in football as a profession. Having said that, most of them take football seriously and use Barcelona, Manchester United and Arsenal as reference points.
They watch a regular dose of club football from Europe on television. They have no time for a Rovers Cup of an IFA Shield. For those who can afford it, a football-connected holiday — to see a game at Anfield (Liverpool’s home ground) or perhaps in Dubai, where EPL teams turn up every now and then for a match or a short tournament — is a possibility.
A whole ecosystem has sprung up in support of these football little leagues. From expensive jerseys in the Real Madrid or Man U colours to football shoes and the rest of the kit, soccer has gradually become an expensive sport for Indian parents. There are coaching institutes, some run by former Indian players and some affiliated to European clubs in search of new consumers. Of course, the segment of Indian society being spoken about and targeted is very small. Even so, in absolute numbers — given the country’s population — it is substantial.
The evolution of football from a mass festival to a business proposition has not been unique to India. In fact, India is at the fag end of the story. British friends speak of how modern, safer stadiums have increasingly managed to keep the well-heeled and better-paying spectators in their expensive boxes away from the unruly crowds that were so famous (and infamous) in English football.
The EPL’s success as a market phenomenon has been astounding. No longer is performance in the league per se all-important, or even a sense of ownership by the local community. Pre-season tours of the United States and the United Arab Emirates, promotional events across continents, royalties from authorised club merchandise, all these bring revenue. In 2002, in the dying months of the Saddam Hussein regime, this writer visited Baghdad. On the streets of the city there were literally tens of thousands of posters of the Iraqi dictator up for sale. Posters of only one other person were visible: David Beckham.
Postscript: Other than the ISL, Indian football is hoping for a boost from the Fifa Under-17 World Cup, which it will host in 2017, and where a young Indian team will, by the grace of God and Pele, outperform expectations. If it does, we could have a different story to tell. If not, the Indian football economy will continue to be deep, but not wide.
The writer is senior fellow, Observer Research Foundation. He can be reached at malikashok@gmail.com
