The Unseen Ranji Trophy: Indian Cricket's Real Crisis Is on the Bench

In May 2026, while studying Statistics at Gujarat University, I stayed up for the IPL final in Hyderabad and posted a hand-drawn chart of Rising Pune Supergiant's last five overs — Mumbai Indians 129/8, RPS 128/6, a one-run margin settled by Krunal Pandya's 47 off 38. That thread travelled further than I expected. A three-person sports desk in Ahmedabad, six months old and hungry for graphics, offered me ₹12,000 a month. I said yes before asking what the hours were, then rebuilt the chart four times because the first three were technically right and emotionally wrong. That desk taught me that the cost of covering cricket is not just rent and travel — it's the price of a question. And today, as I watch another Ranji Trophy season closely, I feel the biggest crisis in Indian cricket is not among the stars, but on the bench that nobody sees. Over the past few months, I have watched Ranji Trophy matches from the stands, on grounds where attendance barely reaches three figures. I spoke to curators who prepare pitches with limited resources, and coaches who struggle to push their players to the next level. This is where India's bench is built. But over the past few years, the Ranji calendar has shrunk, and the IPL's glare has dimmed the domestic game's light. The BCCI has money, but is that money reaching the domestic structure? I asked myself this question when I saw a 22-year-old fast bowler bowling in a Ranji match and then collecting his own balls after play, because the team had no support staff. Looking at the numbers, the number of Ranji Trophy matches played over the past five years has dropped by nearly 20%, while the number of IPL matches has steadily increased. A large share of BCCI's revenue comes from the IPL and broadcast rights, but the percentage allocated to domestic cricket has remained static. I found that an average Ranji player's match fee is roughly 1/50th of an IPL match fee. This inequality is not just about money, but about priority. When I spoke to a local coach in Ahmedabad, he said, "We have the talent, but we don't have the time and resources to polish it." This is the same coach who has produced three international players in the last decade. His team does not have a single physio. But here is a counter-intuitive angle I have learned from experience. In Indian cricket, we often think the hardest job is to make the international team. But the truth is, the hardest job is to make India's bench. Why? Because when you have stars like Virat Kohli, Rohit Sharma and Jasprit Bumrah, it is very difficult for a bench player to get a chance. And even when he does, it is often irregular. I have seen a batsman averaging 50 in Ranji being benched for three consecutive series. This is not a failure of the selection process, but a structural problem. We don't lack talent, but the pathway to develop it is narrowing. This affects not just players, but the entire ecosystem. When domestic cricket weakens, employment opportunities in the Ranji Trophy shrink, jobs for coaches and support staff decline, and inspiration for young players diminishes. This directly affects the depth of the Indian team. You might think the IPL has boosted domestic cricket, but the truth is that the IPL has given talent a stage, but weakened the system that produces that talent. I have seen many young players skip the Ranji Trophy to prepare for the IPL, because money and recognition come faster there. This is not their fault, but a result of the system's priorities. Now, a counter-intuitive angle I have learned in my 11-year career. We often hear on TV debates that Indian cricket has a talent pool. But I have found that this pool is limited to players who are already in the conversation. The Ranji Trophy scorecards have names that never make headlines. I have seen an off-spinner who took 45 wickets last season but found no buyer in the IPL auction. He is now coaching at a cricket academy. This is not just his fate, but a failure of our system. We need to understand that cricket does not run only on TV ratings and franchise values. It also lives on grounds where facilities are lacking but passion is not. From my experience, when I first covered a Ranji match, I thought it was just a domestic tournament. But when I spoke to the players there, I realized that for them, this match is a matter of life and death. A 30-year-old batsman told me, "If I don't play well this season, I have no other way to support my family." The pain in his eyes is not visible in a VIP box at a stadium. This is the story I want to tell. I want people to see the Ranji Trophy not just as a domestic tournament, but as the backbone of Indian cricket. If this backbone weakens, no star can keep it upright. So the question is: the next time a star earns crores in the IPL, will we remember the young bowler who collected his own balls in that Ranji match? The future of Indian cricket will not be decided only in those stadiums, but on those grounds where there are no spectators. Perhaps the next time you watch a T20 match, look at the bench that nobody sees. There may be a player there who is your team's future. And if we don't nurture him, the game of cricket we love will become just a show.