The Politics of the Asia Cup: A Tournament Caught Between Calendar, Commerce and Cricket

In recent years, most of the debates around the Asia Cup have been less about the cricket played on the field and more about the calendars decided at the table. I keep three notebooks — one for over-by-over match notes, one for clippings about broadcast and rights news, and one for questions only: why this tournament exists, who it exists for, and how long it can survive. This article is the product of that third notebook. One thing I have observed repeatedly over the years: to understand any multi-team tournament, reading its scorecard is never enough. You also need to understand who set its window, who is broadcasting it, and whose revenue is tied to it. The Asia Cup is a particularly interesting example, because it has been discussed more for its politics and its schedule than for its cricket. In my experience, three things always run together in cricket — calendar, commerce, and cricket itself. When all three align, you get good cricket. When calendar and commerce run ahead and cricket is left behind, you get tournaments whose format is difficult to understand, whose matches feel less important, and whose purpose comes under scrutiny. The Asia Cup has always had a fundamental problem — it is a regional tournament that must find space in a global calendar already crowded with bilateral series, the IPL, World Cups, and now the World Test Championship. Finding that space is not easy for any regional tournament, and if the tournament sits in a region with political tensions, the matter becomes even more complicated. When I look at the history of the Asia Cup — from 2026 to today — it is clear that its format and hosting arrangements have changed repeatedly. Sometimes it was played in T20 format, sometimes in ODIs, sometimes a hybrid model emerged, sometimes teams dropped out, sometimes they returned. This instability is not merely a format issue; it is a sign that the tournament has never found a stable identity. The most interesting question for me is this: is the Asia Cup a sporting competition that happens to have a business model, or a business model that happens to contain cricket? To seek an answer, you have to think about the tournament's rights, broadcast deals, and scheduling, not just pitch reports and playing elevens. One thing I have observed consistently since 2026 is that India and Pakistan do not play bilateral series, yet they meet in the Asia Cup and ICC tournaments. This is a very clear signal that a large part of the Asia Cup depends on the match that is watched most around the world. If that match did not happen, the tournament's broadcast value would fall considerably. Here a deep irony emerges. On one hand, the tournament's business model rests on that India-Pakistan contest; on the other, making that contest possible requires the organisers to construct a hosting arrangement all teams can agree to. And when political tensions rise, agreement becomes difficult, and the tournament has to find routes like the hybrid model. In my ledger, this is the tournament's biggest structural weak point — its business model depends on something that offers no guarantee of stability. A tournament whose broadcast value draws a large share from a single fixture cannot hold its price over the long run, because it depends on the availability of that fixture, which is determined by political circumstances rather than sporting needs. Speaking of this year, the organisation of the Asia Cup 2026 has again brought forward the same debates that have appeared before — hosting, scheduling, and who plays where. These debates are not new, but their repetition shows that the tournament still has no permanent solution. I remember when I first started collecting data on Asia Cup rights, the most striking thing was that format decisions often appeared influenced not by cricket's needs but by broadcasters' needs. A big India-Pakistan fixture, a big broadcast window, and a schedule placing that fixture in prime time — these are all linked. But here I become suspicious of one of my own habits. In recent years, saying the Asia Cup exists only for the India-Pakistan match has become a trend. It is an attractive claim because it contains a grain of truth. But if you repeat it without evidence, it becomes a story that is easy to tell and hard to prove. So I ran a small experiment. I took the list of matches from recent Asia Cup editions and tried to see how many were genuinely competitive — meaning the result remained open until the last over, or both teams had an equal chance of winning. The result was not surprising, but it was useful — some matches were very close, but many were also one-sided. This shows the tournament's cricket value is not confined to a single fixture. But there is another catch here. Even if the tournament has several close matches, they receive less promotion because a large part of the media focuses on that one big fixture. This is a cycle in which the tournament's cricket is not weak, but its promotion does not do that cricket justice. Here I recall another lesson learned over the years — I have learned more from empty seats than from any post-match press conference. When you look at attendance at a tournament's matches, you learn how much the tournament matters to spectators. Attendance at some Asia Cup matches has been good, but some matches have shown empty stadiums. That gap shows the tournament's appeal remains uneven. Now something I think is least heard in this whole debate. We see the Asia Cup as a tournament, but we do not see who it is for. Is it for the players? Is it for the spectators? Is it for the broadcasters? Or is it for the boards that organise it? In my ledger, the answer is that it is for everyone, but for everyone in different ways. For players, it is another tournament in which to test their fitness and form. For spectators, it is a tournament with some big matches. For broadcasters, it is a tournament where big matches can deliver good returns. And for boards, it is a tournament that also carries political messages. That is why, whenever the Asia Cup is staged, we should look at which interests are attached and which decisions are being made on the basis of those interests. This is not merely a sporting competition; it is a place where sport, commerce, and politics meet. Another aspect that is often overlooked is the fans. Asia Cup audiences do not come only from India or Pakistan; they also come from Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, Afghanistan, and Nepal. For these countries, the Asia Cup is a platform where they can play against bigger teams and build an identity. The Afghanistan team is the best example. In recent years, Afghanistan has produced some good performances in the Asia Cup, and those performances have given the team a new identity. For Bangladesh too, the Asia Cup has been an important platform, because it has given them the chance to play big matches. But there is a challenge for these teams as well. The entire atmosphere of the Asia Cup often forms around the India-Pakistan fixture, which pushes the performances of these other teams into the background. This can be frustrating for teams that want to achieve something through their hard work. Here a one-sided debate grows louder — should the Asia Cup not be built around India-Pakistan alone? Raising this question is fair, but the answer is not so simple. If you remove that fixture, will the tournament's broadcast value survive? Probably not. And if broadcast value does not survive, where will the money needed to stage the tournament come from? This is where the Asia Cup faces a structural problem. It is a tournament that needs the fixture it cannot always stage stably in order to build its identity. On the other hand, dependence on that fixture gives the tournament a very narrow identity. Now a difficult question, perhaps the least asked — is the Asia Cup actually being branded like a bilateral series? If so, that would be to underestimate the strength of a multi-team tournament, because if a tournament's entire attention is on one fixture, what meaning remains for the others? I do not have a precise answer, but I have an observation. In recent years, several Asia Cup matches have produced moments when the tournament's real cricket value surfaced — an emerging team, an unknown player's performance, or a match in which a big team lost. These moments are the tournament's real strength, and they should be given more space. Now to the part I like least — the decision-making process. Asia Cup schedule and format decisions are often made very late, and at times it seems these decisions are influenced more by administrative needs than by cricket's needs. This instability is not good for cricket, because teams need time to prepare, and if the schedule arrives late, preparation suffers. Here I have another point to make, one that some may find unpleasant. A large share of the Asia Cup's business model depends on the Indian broadcast market, because India's cricket audience base is very large and it is an attractive market for advertisers. This means many of the tournament's decisions are made keeping Indian market needs in mind. This is a fact, and it must be acknowledged. But there is a nuance here. Saying the Indian market dominates is correct, but saying that means the tournament is only for India is an oversimplification. The participation and contribution of other countries in the Asia Cup are also important, and underestimating them would be wrong. Another point often overlooked is player fitness and workload. The Asia Cup schedule is often very busy, and players have to play many matches in a short time. This can affect their fitness, and if they get injured, their future careers can be affected. In my experience, the tournament schedule should take player workload into account. If a player has to play many matches in succession, fitness suffers and injury risk rises. This is something organisers should take seriously. Now, in the final part of this article, I want to say something I think is most important in this whole debate. For the Asia Cup to build an identity, it needs a stable format, a stable schedule, and a stable broadcast model. Until these three are stable, the tournament will not find a permanent identity, and it will remain surrounded by controversy and debate. But this stability is not easy, because many interests are attached. Boards have their interests, broadcasters theirs, and players theirs. Bringing them all together is not easy, but it is necessary. A model is only an argument that consents to being checked. The Asia Cup's current model also needs checking — is it right for cricket, is it right for spectators, is it right for players? If the answers to these questions are not right, the model needs changing. The next time you watch an Asia Cup match, do not look only at the score. Also look at when that match is being played, on which channel it is being broadcast, and which interests are attached behind it. Perhaps then you will see the tournament's real picture, which is far more complex than the scorecard. And perhaps then you will also understand why a tournament with such good cricket remains surrounded by so much debate. The answer is not in the cricket, but in the decisions taken outside it.