The curious case of IPL sporting loyalties

Indian Express

4 hours ago

Written by Vishal R Choradiya
At the 18th edition of the Indian Premier League (IPL), which ended on June 3, the Royal Challengers Bengaluru (RCB) finally laid their ghosts to rest. After nearly two decades of unfulfilled promise and perennial heartbreak, the team secured its maiden title, sending its long-suffering fan base into a frenzy. The celebrations spilled out into the streets of Bengaluru, culminating in a grand victory parade the next day, cheered on by hordes of ecstatic supporters. For those who have stood by the team through crushing defeats and elusive dreams, the triumph no doubt felt personal, almost like vindication. But this very intensity of emotion, this deeply felt bond between the team and its fans, begs a more probing question: What explains such unwavering loyalty, especially in a league as commercially constructed and geographically arbitrary as the IPL?
To explore this, one must first acknowledge the peculiar structure of the IPL itself. Unlike traditional club sports rooted in local histories and communal memories, IPL teams are corporate franchises named after Indian cities or states, but rarely composed of individuals who hail from them. Players and coaching staff are shuffled around at auctions like assets, their affiliation to a team based more on monetary bids than regional connection. In the case of RCB, the incongruity is stark: Apart from symbolic gestures, like sporting the Kannada slogan 'Ee Sala Cup Namdu', there is precious little that ties the team to Bengaluru. Most players, past and present, have no connection to the city by birth, language, or residence. The team has never been a reflection of the city's cultural or sporting ecosystem — it is, rather, a brand operating under the city's name.
This phenomenon is not unique to RCB. Every IPL franchise operates under a similar logic. Chennai Super Kings (CSK), Mumbai Indians (MI), Kolkata Knight Riders (KKR) — all trade on the symbolic capital of the cities they are named after, while fielding teams that, for the most part, have little organic relation to those places. The few exceptions — like M S Dhoni's association with CSK — are themselves the product of sustained marketing and narrative-building rather than any real civic affiliation. Dhoni is from Ranchi, after all, and Virat Kohli, the face of RCB for all 18 seasons, was born and raised in Delhi. That he has never played domestic cricket for Karnataka and does not reside in Bengaluru seems to matter little to fans for whom he has become synonymous with the city's cricketing hopes.
One could argue that Kohli and others like him have 'adopted' their IPL cities in a broader, metaphorical sense — much like professionals who relocate to new cities and build new identities. But such reasoning only underscores the performative and constructed nature of these affiliations. The truth is that sporting loyalties in the IPL are shaped not by local rootedness but by a carefully curated spectacle, engineered to evoke belonging, pride, and passion. Franchise owners, marketing teams, and broadcasters collaborate to sell a version of regional identity that is palatable, entertaining, and above all, profitable.
From this perspective, what fans are loyal to is not so much a 'team' in the traditional sense, but a franchise — a commercial enterprise that exists to generate returns for its investors. The only constants are the owners; players, support staff, and even team philosophies are ephemeral. Yet, fans invest emotionally as if these franchises represent enduring traditions or civic values. This dissonance, between the reality of corporate sport and the illusion of local identity, is both striking and troubling.
It becomes more so when we consider the commodification of fan emotion. Through relentless advertising, cinematic teasers, anthems, merchandise, and high-voltage pre- and post-match programming, the IPL transforms cricket into a grand, immersive spectacle. Fans are not merely spectators but consumers, their attention monetised through ad revenues, brand endorsements, and fan engagement platforms. There is little room for critical thought or dispassionate appraisal.
To question the basis of one's loyalty is to risk exclusion from the communal euphoria that the league thrives on.
This is not just about entertainment; it is about power and profit. The league's structure leverages people's yearning for identity, community, and a sense of belonging, only to repackage and sell it back to them. The IPL trades on regional pride while remaining indifferent to the actual lived realities of the regions it invokes. The fan, in this economy, is both the product and the consumer — an avatar of what French philosopher Guy DeBord called the 'Society of the Spectacle', where images and appearances displace authentic relationships and experience.
DeBord argued that in such a society, the spectacle is not merely a collection of images, but a social relation mediated by images. This describes the IPL perfectly: City names, team chants, and celebrity endorsements create a symbolic universe that feels intimate but is, in truth, transactional. The experience is real, but its foundations are manufactured. The joy of victory and the agony of defeat are deeply felt, but they are orchestrated within a system designed primarily for profit.
To be clear, none of this is to begrudge fans their celebrations, nor to question the sincerity of their emotions. Joy, after all, is joy, however mediated. But in the heady afterglow of RCB's long-awaited triumph, it is worth asking what exactly we are celebrating. Is it a city's sporting victory, a vindication of fan faith, or simply the success of a well-executed brand strategy?
Perhaps it is all of these at once. But if the IPL is to be more than a polished performance, if its fans are to be more than brand ambassadors, then a little critical reflection might be in order. Loyalty is a beautiful thing — but it need not be blind.
The writer is an assistant professor with the Department of Professional Studies, Christ University, Bengaluru