Has Politics Hijacked the Asia Cup Final?

News Desk 

Islamabad: When India defeated Pakistan in the Asia Cup final last Sunday, Tilak Varma’s composed 69* should have been the story. 

His innings lifted India from a shaky 20 for 3, anchoring a memorable title win. Yet, by the time the post-match presentation began—an astonishing 90 minutes later—the cricket itself had been eclipsed.

Instead of celebrating a tournament played in the world’s most cricket-obsessed region, the spotlight shifted to a political standoff: India’s refusal to accept the trophy from Asian Cricket Council (ACC) president Mohsin Naqvi, who is also Pakistan’s interior minister.

The trophy was never formally handed over.

A predictable standoff

The clash had been brewing for weeks. India’s captain, Suryakumar Yadav, had made clear that his team would not receive the trophy from Naqvi, a polarising figure even within Pakistan. Naqvi, in turn, refused to step aside for a less controversial presenter.

What should have been a celebratory moment became a political theatre. In the hours that followed, the fallout only intensified.

Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi congratulated the team on X, framing the victory as a continuation of Operation Sindoor, a recent military skirmish with Pakistan. Suryakumar praised Modi for “batting on the front foot for India,” while Naqvi accused Modi of “dragging war into sport.” Yet only days earlier, Naqvi himself had posted a sports meme implying Pakistan’s military superiority.

On the field too, the politics had seeped in. Pakistan’s Haris Rauf mimicked crashing aircraft after a dismissal. Teammate Sahibzada Farhan turned his bat into an imaginary gun after reaching a half-century.

The cricket, meanwhile, was lost in the noise.

Cricket or theatre?

Asia Cup organisers had structured the tournament to maximise the probability of India and Pakistan meeting three times—a broadcaster’s dream.

The two heavyweights were placed in a relatively easy group alongside Associate teams Oman and the UAE, while Afghanistan, Bangladesh, and Sri Lanka were left to battle each other in a so-called “group of death.”

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When the Super Four stage arrived, scheduling quirks forced Bangladesh to play on consecutive nights, compromising player fitness. Last year, when heavy rains threatened the tournament in Sri Lanka, only India–Pakistan matches were given reserve days.

The equation was clear: the tournament revolved around India and Pakistan. Other teams became mere extras in a high-stakes political drama.

As the cricket’s commercial value soared, its competitive integrity was sacrificed.

Fallout beyond Dubai

The political theatre is unlikely to stay confined to the men’s game. At the ongoing Women’s World Cup in Colombo, Pakistan captain Fatima Sana appeared visibly uneasy when asked whether her team would mirror the men’s refusal to shake hands with India. Harmanpreet Kaur’s Indian side faces similar pressure.

South Asia’s women athletes already compete under the weight of cultural and political constraints far heavier than those borne by their male counterparts. Now they are being dragged into a conflict not of their making.

Then and now

It wasn’t always this way. In 1996, India, Pakistan, and Sri Lanka co-hosted a World Cup, defying scepticism from the cricketing establishment. Ahead of that tournament, the bitter rivals even fielded a combined XI in Colombo to show solidarity with Sri Lanka after a spate of bombings. Sachin Tendulkar and Wasim Akram wore the same jersey, shared the same team bus, and delighted fans together.

Such a sight is unimaginable today.

The shrinking soul of cricket

Asia remains cricket’s beating heart. From galli cricket in Mumbai to tape-ball matches in Karachi, from beach cricket in Cox’s Bazar to hillside games in Nepal, the sport’s cultural canvas in the region is unparalleled. Even in Taliban-controlled Afghanistan, fans recently defied armed patrols to celebrate victories in the streets.

This raw joy, however, was missing in Dubai. Instead, a final that should have united millions was co-opted as an extension of political rivalry.

As India–Pakistan tensions deepen, and as commercial forces continue to dictate cricket’s biggest tournaments, the sport risks losing the very soul that makes it special. The Asia Cup was supposed to showcase the best of South Asian cricket. Instead, it became a cautionary tale: when politics and profit take centre stage, cricket itself becomes the casualty.