I have become suspicious of every administrator who calls Test cricket “the pinnacle.” The phrase is usually followed by a schedule that treats the pinnacle like a storage shelf: whatever dates remain after the lucrative white-ball inventory has been arranged are deemed sufficient. So, yes, I was pleased when the BCCI announced a five-match home Border-Gavaskar Trophy beginning in January 2027. I was also unwilling to applaud merely because the richest board in cricket managed to schedule cricket.
The official home-season announcement sends Australia through Nagpur, Chennai, Guwahati, Ranchi and Ahmedabad. Five Tests create narrative space: adjustments, fatigue, selection dilemmas and the slow revelation of technique. That is what a serious rivalry deserves. But a series acquires stature through more than length. Grounds must be prepared thoughtfully, spectators welcomed, broadcasts allowed to breathe and players protected from absurd workload.
The same board’s domestic calendar announcement boasts 1,788 matches across age groups and formats. The number sounds magnificent. It also conceals the question I always ask: how many of those matches will be played on good surfaces, covered properly, scheduled sensibly and treated as something more than selection paperwork?
Five Tests are a beginning, not a rescue plan
Test cricket’s defenders often become sentimental. We speak of patience, character and childhood afternoons as if nostalgia were a commercial model. It is not. The format needs deliberate institutional choices. India can fill a marquee Test under favourable circumstances, but too many home matches begin before sparse stands because ticketing is opaque, facilities are poor or local promotion starts too late.
I have attended enough cricket in India to know the peculiar humiliation of wanting to buy a ticket and being treated as an administrative inconvenience. Online windows appear mysteriously, allocations remain unclear, entire sections look empty despite claims of scarcity, and basic information travels through rumour. The BCCI can run a global media property; it can surely publish transparent ticket inventories and open sales weeks in advance.
Then there are timings and venues. Spreading cricket geographically is valuable. Guwahati and Ranchi deserve major Tests, and a national team should not circulate only among a few metropolitan centres. But venue rotation must be accompanied by preparation: transport plans, shaded seating, drinking water, clean toilets and pitches capable of producing cricket rather than accelerated archaeology.
I do not demand five-day draws. I enjoy spin and reject the lazy idea that only seam-friendly conditions are “sporting.” I do demand a contest in which skill has time to express itself. A surface that turns from the first session can still be excellent if bounce is consistent and batters can devise methods. A surface that behaves randomly reduces elite cricket to a raffle. Home advantage is legitimate; removing the game’s grammar is not.
The domestic game cannot be a warehouse
The BCCI’s enormous domestic schedule ought to be India’s competitive advantage. We have players, regions, traditions and enough cricketing appetite to sustain a formidable red-ball pyramid. Yet domestic cricket too often becomes visible only when a star is instructed to appear or a selection controversy erupts.
I want Ranji Trophy matches marketed locally, streamed reliably and documented with proper scorecards, highlights and analysis. Every state association should know it is staging a public competition, not conducting an internal examination. Small crowds are not a reason to neglect the product; neglect is one reason crowds remain small.
Player workload is equally important. Fast bowlers cannot be treated as interchangeable inventory across Tests, one-day internationals, T20 internationals, franchise leagues and domestic commitments. Rotation is sensible, but opaque rotation prevents supporters from understanding what matters. The board should communicate format priorities and medical logic without disclosing private health details.
Selection must reward red-ball performance. The temptation to promote a player because he looks fearless in a televised T20 is understandable, but Test technique is not simply aggression slowed down. It includes leaving, defending, absorbing spells, repeating lengths and thinking across sessions. Likewise, a domestic bowler who can dismiss batters on unhelpful afternoons deserves more respect than a fashionable speed reading from a short burst.
Broadcasting has trained viewers to expect interruption
Test cricket on television now arrives wrapped in noise. Every pause is filled with sponsorship, every statistic branded and every discussion shortened because an advertisement is waiting. Commercial revenue keeps the game viable, but there is a point at which monetisation degrades the thing being sold.
A Test audience should be allowed to watch field changes, bowler run-ups, batter routines and the tension between deliveries. These are not empty spaces; they are the format’s syntax. When broadcasters cut away constantly, they teach viewers that nothing matters except the ball’s immediate outcome. That is T20 grammar imposed upon a five-day form.
Commentary also needs greater tactical seriousness. Tell me why the short leg moved, how the wind changes a bowler’s plan, why a batter has altered his guard and what the old ball is doing. Do not spend an entire session recycling career montages. If the BCCI believes Tests are premium cricket, the coverage should assume viewers possess attention rather than treating attention as a medical condition.
The counterargument: follow the audience
The board can reasonably say that white-ball cricket finances the ecosystem and reflects audience demand. I accept both points. The IPL has enlarged careers, revenue and global influence. Bilateral limited-overs matches draw broadcasters and casual viewers. Administrators cannot govern through my childhood memories.
But demand is shaped by supply. If Tests receive uncertain schedules, inconvenient ticketing and indifferent promotion, administrators cannot cite weaker engagement as a natural law. The IPL is successful partly because every detail—window, branding, timing, broadcast and narrative—is managed with obsessive clarity. Test cricket receives reverence in speeches and improvisation in operations.
There is no need to make every Test a carnival. The format’s appeal is different. But schools can be invited, local clubs engaged, affordable season tickets offered and public transport coordinated. Historic rivalries can be explained to new viewers without drowning them in sepia. Digital clips can highlight spells and tactical passages rather than only sixes and confrontations.
The five-Test Australia series is an opportunity to demonstrate that India can host long-form cricket with ambition. Use varied venues, produce fair pitches and sell tickets transparently. Protect fast bowlers. Promote the contest months in advance. Give the domestic season a visible line into national selection. Commission broadcasters to respect the pauses.
I am not asking BCCI to choose Test cricket over profit. I am asking it to recognise that its financial power creates responsibility. Other boards can plausibly plead scarcity. India cannot. If the richest cricket system allows the longest format to wither through inattention, the explanation will not be economics. It will be taste.
The calendar says five Tests. Good. Now make those Tests feel like five chapters of the country’s most demanding sporting argument, not five obligations completed before the next inventory sale. I am still not over Test cricket, and I see no reason the BCCI should be allowed to get over it on everyone else’s behalf.
