GAME OF DEATH: The RCB Stampede: A Reminder of Cricket’s Doctrine of Money
Leslie Xavier
CRICKET is a religion in India. Religion, yes!
The statement clichéd to the point of absurdity by the cricket commentators of the world – doesn’t need validation. Certainly not the kind Royal Challengers Bangalore attempted to, through a show of strength in their city on the fateful afternoon of June 4.
While reflecting on the death of 11 fans, the plight of almost 50 others seriously injured, and the countless others suffering to various degrees – from the scars left by the loss of a loved one, to the trauma of witnessing a celebration turn to tragedy – one is forced to banish the sporting victory to the deeper, unopenable vaults of memory.
We are talking about a stampede here – a tragedy that plays out almost in a loop in India, mostly connected to religious gatherings. In their aftermath, the victims get assigned a statistical existence – a number – and their identity becomes that. Soon, the numbers are forgotten too, barring those who were directly impacted and caught in the compensation bureaucracy. In India, life, as the proverb goes, moves on fast.
So here is a reminder of this year’s tragic losses: In Bengaluru, the stampede killed 11. A month back, on May 3, in Bicholim, North Goa, it was 7. At the New Delhi Railway Station on February 15, it was 18. And in the January 29 stampede at the Maha Kumbh, it was 30. Let us jog our collective memories to the narratives of the three other disasters mentioned here. Cricket is a religion in India, indeed. And last week, 11 of its followers died on one of the game’s altars.
But what power does the game in the country serve? Who is cricket’s God? Well, Sachin Tendulkar is passe. Cricket in India follows the doctrine set by money.
The game is a capitalistic juggernaut of which the Board of Control for Cricket in India (BCCI) holds the throttle, the Indian Premier League (IPL) is the engine, and the RCB, one of its many wheels. In collusion, the stakeholders of the game have made it what it is today: A money-making behemoth, a perpetually dangling carrot to distract the masses from real issues, with no socio-cultural roots or humane and ethical accountability.
The country’s cricket fandom and culture are built on the foundations laid by the followers of the national team. They are bound by national identity. The emotion that corrals the Indian cricket fan when they support the Men in Blue in action – governed by nationalistic fervour (another religion?) – still has its anchoring points in the society, albeit socio-political. However, the emotions of the IPL fans towards their teams are largely shallow, connected only by the fact that the team calls its home in a stadium in the city where they live.
In the IPL, the strategists at the BCCI planted the Indian national team fan culture’s scaled-down version, customised to suit the city where the franchise is based. Yes, we are talking about the ‘Whistle Podu’ (CSK), ‘Duniya Hila Denge Hum’ (MI), ‘Korbo Lorbo Jeetbo Re’ (KKR), ‘Ee Sala Cup Namde’ (RCB) trope.
The team tries to woo fans, like any capitalistic brand would, through catchy phrases and crowd-activation strategies. The phrases – the mantra, a chant – connect the fans to this modern, widely accepted, religion with almost universal acceptance. And this power of sports to transcend boundaries is what the business of big leagues banks on to make a profit.
All these slogans, as soul-stirring as they are for the fans of their respective teams, are nothing but words strung by campaign strategists. The brand, or the team, is not emotionally or ethically invested in it or the fans. That noncommittal investment from the team was evident in the first official reaction from the RCB honchos after the tragedy.
"RCB mourns the tragic loss of lives and extends our heartfelt condolences to the affected families,” read the statement from the team. "Immediately upon being made aware of the situation, we promptly amended our programme and followed the guidance and advice of the local administration."
The statement reeks of the RCB’s attempt at distancing itself not only from the tragedy but also from the lakh of people who converged at the M Chinnaswamy Stadium that afternoon. Suddenly, they became strangers, otherised even. The irony: Until seconds before the tragedy, they were all part of the RCB family.
For the franchise, the priority revolved around the great PR opportunity that is part and parcel of the business they are running. A victory after 18 years, led by Indian cricket’s superstar, who will not be around for too long as the face of the franchise. This was solid gold for them as a business. The bigger the gathering, the better. Tragedy should work the same way, too, albeit conversely: The bigger it is, the worse its ramifications should be for the stakeholder.
That’s wishful thinking, considering who all played a part in the RCB disaster. Yes, the champions of the 2025 IPL season. The Karnataka state government. The BCCI. The Karnataka Cricket Association, too. And all of them played their part before distancing themselves from the tragedy, not taking responsibility, or expressing an iota of guilt or compassion (in actions). They all issued press statements. But nothing was done that could become a valid statement of intent to and for the people.
Everybody wanted to have a slice of the RCB victory pie. So the state government, its mechanism, its ministers all towed the line set by not just the club but a larger entity: the power-money nexus.
Sports, much like religion, wield unfathomable power. Of course, it has to do with the money. Non-taxable money in case of the IPL, and that’s a debate that has been ongoing now: How BCCI’s cash cow is exempt from tax since it is a sport, and not an entertainment enterprise. The nexus that led to the collusion of government and a business venture on this occasion (IPL and the RCB) is deeply rooted in how it gives the stakeholders an avenue to sway the masses. The proof of that power is evident in the infrastructure-stifling number of people who turned up in central Bengaluru for the victory parade.
This kind of sway in a democratic set-up means possible electoral inroads and gains. A Nero-esque situation that no political party would have passed.
The stakes were indeed high for the government, which opened the roads to disaster, celebrated it, till the wailing became loud enough in and around the stadium for them to stop.
The dust is settling in the streets of Bengaluru, and the collective conscience of the Indians, who mourned for the victims, no doubt. But if one seriously feels for those who died, then it is time to call a spade a spade. It is time to call the IPL, its teams, and the cricket establishment for what it truly represents.
The IPL has had a huge economic impact not just on the game in India but across the world. Its success and the money it generates have pushed the BCCI as not just the controller of the game in the country but also the cricket-playing world. It’s a small world, yes, but it’s under the BCCI now.
In India, a summer sans IPL is unthinkable. It creates a business ecosystem and a flow of black/white/grey money that ensures the pockets and power interests of the players (not just cricketers, but the real players) are served. The much-touted cricket culture is nothing but a pretty vague and abused idea driven by consumerism, and nothing beyond. The game is consumed, not lived. Not anymore. Not when fans die because of capitalist greed.
And in the business of billions, if 11 fans died, that would be too small a change to prick the conscience of the bookkeepers. The total revenue basket of the IPL this season, for instance, is estimated to be Rs 48,390 crore. This includes revenue from advertising, broadcast rights, sponsorships, team revenues, and other commercial ventures. The 11 will naturally get lost in the countless zeros in the revenue figure. The 11 will also naturally get lost in the sea of fans, who have already moved on to the next tournament that the Indian cricket team will play.
So, where do we stand now in all of this? Well, cricket remains our religion. And, as a country, we remain happily fooled by bling showcased as the game, business sold as sports culture, and last but not least, death justified as an unfortunate but inevitable eventuality: A byproduct of a larger process, which nobody takes accountability for but are happily reaping its benefits.
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