GEORGIE PARKER: T20 World Cups are about making money with India the main driver of the tournament
It’s hard to get excited about a global tournament that is played every two years, but there is one simple reason it’s being put on so soon after the last one.
I love cricket. That’s the problem.
If I didn’t, this would be easy. I’d either tune in without a thought or ignore it completely.
Instead, here we are again: another T20 Men’s World Cup. The fourth since 2021. Four in three years. At some point, World Cup stops sounding like a pinnacle event and starts sounding like a marketing gimmick.
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By continuing you agree to our Terms and Privacy Policy.And yet, here’s the contradiction, it’s still better than another meaningless bilateral T20 series pretending to matter.
At least a tournament gives us context, stakes, something resembling consequence.
So yes, I’ll take a World Cup over a random three-match hit-and-giggle series every time. But that doesn’t mean I have to pretend the frequency isn’t absurd.
The uncomfortable truth is that T20 keeps the lights on. Short-format cricket brings in the money, and India is the printing press.
Indian audiences, broadcasters and sponsors drive the sport, and they love T20 cricket.
That money flows through the ICC and, in turn, keeps smaller cricketing nations alive. Strip that away and world cricket collapses into a handful of wealthy boards playing amongst themselves.
Five-day cricket (when it goes the distance) retains a cultural authority that T20 has never quite captured.
So, when India win (like they so often do), world cricket in a way also wins, and the cycle for the next World Cup begins.
What I struggle with is how manufactured these tournaments can feel. Group draws that just happen to give us India against Pakistan every time.
This isn’t the Ashes. It’s not a rivalry built on shared history and cricketing culture. It’s politics, conflict and real-world tension dressed up as sport.
During the last World Cup, they had to play at a neutral venue.
This year, Pakistan have refused to play India, not buying in to their political games, which says a lot.
From an Australian perspective, there’s a different kind of distance. The tournament sits behind a paywall.
Australia probably won’t win. And, quietly, many of us don’t seem to mind. Test cricket still reigns supreme here. The Ashes still define us. Five-day cricket (when it goes the distance) retains a cultural authority that T20 has never quite captured.
Is that arrogance? Or simply honesty? There’s something uncomfortable about the mentality T20 seems to encourage: if we win, it matters; if we lose, it never did. It’s that “I didn’t even like you anyway” energy after a bad date. I don’t like that as a cricketing mindset.
And yet, I want to like it. T20 is loved all over the world. It’s fast, fun and it brings new fans into the game. Like it or not, it’s the future.
So, I’ll watch. Of course I will. I love cricket.
Will I enjoy it? I’m not sure. For all the noise and colour, it still doesn’t have the beauty of a Test match or the weight of an ODI World Cup. It hasn’t earned that by building up a storied history.
Maybe one day it will. For now, I’m watching out of loyalty, hoping it wins me over and maybe a smaller nation can upset a powerhouse team and remind me it means more than I realise.
