The Ranji Trophy begins today, which means Indian cricket’s most important tournament will be greeted with scorecard screenshots, intermittent streams and solemn declarations about its glorious history. By evening, the conversation will return to a bilateral T20, an auction rumour or a batter’s training clip. I say this as someone who grew up believing a first-class score of 87 on a difficult pitch could tell me more about a player than a 24-ball fifty under perfect lights.
BCCI has announced a domestic season of extraordinary size. Its official release lists 1,788 matches across senior and age-group cricket for men and women. That is a logistical achievement. It is not, by itself, proof of a healthy ecosystem. A warehouse can contain thousands of books and still fail to produce readers.
Volume is not value
The two-phase Ranji structure is intended to provide recovery and accommodate India’s crowded calendar. I understand the rationale. Weather differs across regions, white-ball competitions require space, and thirty-eight teams cannot be organised by nostalgia. Yet fragmentation makes the tournament harder for the public to follow. A league needs narrative continuity: table pressure, rivalries, selection stakes and a sense that this week follows from the last.
The BCCI’s detailed season reckoner demonstrates the sheer administrative complexity. What it cannot show is whether a fan can watch the decisive morning of a close match without hunting through an app, whether local papers send reporters, or whether a young player believes four patient hours at the crease will be valued by selectors.
I do not want every Ranji match packaged like the IPL. That would be absurd and ruinously expensive. I want a professional minimum: one reliable stream per match, clear score graphics, competent commentary for marquee games, timely highlights and centralised archives. BCCI is among the wealthiest sports bodies on earth. Preserving footage of its primary talent pathway is not charity.
Broadcasting also creates accountability. A scorecard cannot show a dangerous pitch, indifferent outfield, questionable light call or batter dismissed by a ball that barely left the ground. When matches are visible, associations must defend their preparation. Domestic cricketers deserve that scrutiny because their careers can turn on a handful of innings.
Selection must reward the difficult run
Indian cricket says Test performance matters, but its attention economy says otherwise. A player can dominate first-class cricket for seasons and remain anonymous; one explosive franchise month can create a national campaign. White-ball skill deserves its rewards. The problem begins when selection systems confuse visibility with readiness.
Test batting requires judgment outside off stump, repeatable defence, fitness across long innings and the emotional discipline to survive quiet passages. Fast bowlers need workloads that reveal whether pace survives a third spell. Spinners must learn to construct dismissals when batters are not forced to attack. The Ranji Trophy remains the only broad Indian competition that tests these qualities over time.
I would require selectors to publish clearer explanations of pathway decisions without discussing private player assessments. If a prolific domestic batter is overlooked for someone with fewer first-class runs, tell us which skills altered the balance. Selection will always involve judgment, but unexplained judgment quickly looks like fashion.
Central contracts should include meaningful red-ball retainers for a wider pool of specialists. A player should not have to choose between financial security in short-form leagues and preparation for four-day cricket. We cannot mourn declining defensive technique while designing incentives that punish those who develop it.
Pitches are the curriculum
Domestic pitches teach Indian players what the system values. A green surface that rewards accurate seam bowling can be useful; a dry surface that deteriorates gradually can produce magnificent cricket. A lottery finished in five sessions teaches almost nothing. Nor does a flat road on which both teams accumulate declaration totals and exhausted bowlers protect their averages.
BCCI should expand independent pitch assessment and publish the results. Curators require resources and agronomic expertise, not merely criticism after a bad game. Different regions should retain character, but character is not an excuse for manipulation. The best Ranji season would expose players to bounce, seam, turn and long periods when wickets must be earned.
The expanded calendar also raises workload questions. Fast bowlers moving between domestic teams, India A and franchise cricket need shared medical records and enforceable rest plans. State associations cannot be expected to volunteer their best player for rest while rivals field theirs. The central body must set the rules.
Make the championship culturally visible
I want BCCI to stage a weekly domestic-cricket programme during the season: extended highlights, tactical analysis and interviews with players beyond the latest century-maker. Tell viewers why a left-arm spinner changed his release point, how a captain set up a batter, or why a team declared behind. Cricket audiences are not allergic to depth; broadcasters have trained them to expect noise.
Associations should open more grounds to school groups and local clubs. Reasonable free entry is not enough if nobody knows the match is happening and public transport information is absent. A Ranji game should feel like a civic sporting event, not a private examination conducted behind a boundary wall.
There is a counterargument that audiences have voted with their screens and simply prefer T20. I accept the preference; I reject the fatalism. Products become invisible when distributors hide them. Test cricket will never match the IPL’s scale, but it does not need to. It needs a sustainable public, institutional respect and a pathway whose incentives match the national team’s stated ambitions.
The 1,788-match headline is impressive. Now comes the question BCCI would rather we not ask: how many of those matches will be seen, remembered and used intelligently? Indian cricket does not lack fixtures. It lacks the courage to treat first-class cricket as a living competition rather than a heritage obligation.
