Misogyny in Cricket Journalism: How Social Media Turned Long-Standing Sexism into a 24-Hour Professional Threat

Hook: When Cricket Debate Turns into a Judgment on the Journalist

It was a five-run defeat, but the match left one of the most enduring images from my early years in cricket journalism. Almost 24 years ago, England beat India by five runs in an ODI at Mumbai's Wankhede Stadium. Andrew Flintoff celebrated by running across the field and twirling his shirt. Sourav Ganguly later answered in kind from the Lord's balcony. Cricket remembered the episode as a story of rivalry, confidence and public theatre.

For me, Wankhede was an entry into a professional world where women were conspicuously few. Reporting cricket required knowledge, an understanding of match situations and access to players. Yet being a woman carried an additional burden: repeatedly proving professional competence. Male colleagues were often heard as experts; women were first expected to demonstrate that they understood the game.

Two decades later, the landscape has changed. Women present cricket shows, provide tactical analysis, interview players and reach large audiences through digital platforms. Yet an important distinction remains. The struggle to occupy space in the press box has become a struggle to protect professional identity and personal safety in the digital arena. Social media has given women journalists greater visibility, but that visibility has also exposed them to persistent insults, sexualized comments, racist abuse and threats of violence.

Context: Cricket Has Changed, but the Foundations of Gender Inequality Have Not

After my first major international assignment at Wankhede, my professional journey covered several defining periods in cricket: the 2026 World Cup, the 2026-08 India-Australia series and Monkeygate controversy, the 2026 T20 World Cup and the 2026 World Cup. I also had opportunities to interview players such as Sachin Tendulkar, Shane Warne and Brian Lara. Those years offered a view of cricket's political, social and commercial dimensions. One pattern remained clear: women often had to work harder than male counterparts to have their expertise accepted in the public conversation.

In the early years, there were so few women in the press box that their presence itself became a talking point. Professional comparisons were not always made on equal terms. A male journalist might be judged on reporting and analysis, while a woman could also be measured against the male predecessor who had occupied her position. Discrimination does not always arrive as an explicit insult. It can appear when a question is ignored, expertise is doubted or a woman's appearance receives more attention than her work.

In 2026, I questioned the male gaze and the representation of women in IPL broadcasting. The response included accusations that I was jealous or unnecessarily feminist. The criticism focused less on the argument than on the woman making it. That early digital experience pointed towards a larger shift. Social media gave audiences direct access to journalists, but it also weakened the boundary between accountability and personal abuse.

Today, platforms such as Instagram and TikTok play a significant role in distributing cricket content. One- to three-minute clips are cut from longer television programmes to attract viewers and direct them towards the full discussion. Impressions, shares and views have become important measures in digital editorial strategies. A commercial problem follows. The most provocative part of a discussion can be distributed after being separated from the context that gives it meaning.

Core Analysis: The New Economics of Digital Cricket Media

The traditional model of cricket journalism depended largely on reporting, editorial selection and institutional credibility. A journalist travelled to the ground, spoke to players and officials, verified events and published a report. Readers could disagree, but an institutional distance remained between the journalist and the audience. Editors acted as intermediaries in handling complaints and disputes.

Digital media has altered that arrangement. A journalist's face, voice and personal social-media account are now part of professional identity. A statement made during a television discussion can become a clip within minutes. People who have not watched the complete programme may encounter that fragment. Reactions then spread independently of the original discussion. The journalist's argument can disappear behind an attack on the journalist as a person.

The distinction between views and impressions matters here. An impression indicates how often content has been displayed; it does not establish that viewers understood its full context. Similarly, thousands of comments do not prove the quality of the journalism. Yet these figures can influence distribution and commercial performance. This creates the possibility that controversial material receives additional visibility.

The underlying problem is that a platform's measure of success and journalism's measure of success are not always the same. Journalism seeks to provide facts, context and accountability. Platform distribution systems give considerable importance to audience response and engagement. The two can coexist, but editorial quality suffers when provocation becomes more valuable than context.

For women journalists, the consequences are more complicated. A male journalist's sporting or political opinion may attract disagreement. Responses to women journalists, however, can become attacks on their appearance, sexuality, marital status or professional competence. The subject of criticism changes. Instead of examining whether the argument is right or wrong, the discussion becomes a judgment on whether the woman deserves a public platform at all.

My professional experience has taught me that a journalist's credibility should be assessed through sources, facts and reasoning. If a woman journalist criticizes a selection policy, the response should address cricket evidence and available information. Attacking her character is not a form of professional disagreement. Disagreement belongs to a healthy cricket culture; gendered abuse represents its failure.

The IPL cheerleading debate raises a related question. The commercial use of female performers in cricket entertainment deserves scrutiny. The presentation, recruitment and selection of cheerleaders, including questions about preferences for particular skin tones, cannot be dismissed as a matter of entertainment taste alone. They raise a broader issue: are female performers treated as independent professionals, or primarily as decorative attractions for male audiences?

Colorism and the male gaze are relevant concepts. Colorism describes social preferences that privilege lighter skin over darker skin. If an entertainment system repeatedly favors a particular presentation of women, its selection criteria deserve examination. However, without recruitment data and official policies, it would be inappropriate to make a definitive allegation against an entire organization. Raising a question and proving an allegation are separate processes.

The responsibility of cricket's commercial structure also becomes visible here. Competitions such as the IPL depend heavily on their brands, broadcasting and audience experience. Presenters, journalists and entertainment performers are part of that product, alongside the players. Yet public information about the institutional arrangements protecting their safety and dignity remains limited. When a woman journalist receives persistent sexualized and violent messages because of her work, the issue extends beyond an individual social-media account. It becomes a question of workplace safety in the industry.

Cricket, Politics and the Changing Boundaries of Public Criticism

A second example emerged from the debate over Pakistani players in The Hundred. The selection of Abrar Ahmed by Indian-owned franchise Sunrisers Leeds triggered controversy beyond cricket. Sunil Gavaskar made comments about the purchase of Pakistani players that invoked the deaths of Indian soldiers and civilians. I challenged that argument. Much of the online response that followed turned into personal attacks rather than a discussion of my position.

The episode exposed a tension between the commercial interests of franchise cricket and national political sentiment. The franchise model is built around bringing international talent into a common competition. But political relations between India and Pakistan make the arrangement particularly sensitive. For some audiences, evaluating a Pakistani player's recruitment solely through skill, availability and team requirements is insufficient. On the other hand, turning a player entirely into a political symbol because of nationality also limits the recognition of his professional identity.

A franchise signing may be a cricket decision, but its public consequences do not necessarily remain within cricket. That distinction matters. A senior former player has every right to express an opinion. A journalist must also be free to criticize it. Reputation does not exempt anyone from scrutiny, and criticism does not grant anyone a licence to threaten a journalist.

Years of watching matches from both the ground and the numbers have taught me a practical rule: examine the underlying assumption before accepting a conclusion. The same principle applies here. If nationality becomes the sole basis for judging a player's professional selection, the competitive structure of the sport is affected. If a journalist who challenges a political statement is attacked, the credibility of public debate is affected. The two problems must be understood separately.

The Contrarian Angle: Greater Visibility Does Not Always Mean Greater Power

Women's presence in digital cricket media has expanded. They reach larger audiences and influence mainstream cricket discussion more directly than before. A conventional assumption would be that greater visibility automatically produces greater institutional power. The available experience does not support that conclusion without qualification. Greater visibility can also increase the reach and frequency of personal attacks.

This cannot be measured through one viral post or one abusive comment. Repeated messages, sexualized remarks, racist language, political accusations and threats of violence create a different kind of professional pressure. Some messages directed at me have included language threatening physical violence. Security professionals should assess the credibility of a particular threat, but dismissing it as ordinary online humour would also be irresponsible.

There is another important risk: self-censorship. If a journalist knows that discussing a sensitive issue will bring sustained personal attacks, she may avoid the subject the next time. Editorial independence does not require a formal order to silence a journalist. Persistent intimidation and fear can also change professional decisions.

A qualification is necessary. One journalist's experience is not statistical proof of the entire cricket-media industry. Establishing the rate at which online abuse has increased would require systematic evidence: experiences of women and men journalists, complaint volumes, platform responses and patterns over time. Personal testimony can reveal the nature of a problem; industry-wide conclusions require broader evidence.

Social-media companies have a central responsibility. Reporting systems should distinguish violent threats and sexual harassment from ordinary disagreement and give them appropriate priority. Employers should also provide clear safety protocols, legal assistance, mental-health support and access to security professionals when necessary. Expecting a woman journalist to manage thousands of online attackers alone is a way of avoiding institutional responsibility.

Cricket boards, leagues and broadcasters must also clarify their role. They establish codes of conduct for players, enforce discipline on the field and regulate spectator behaviour. Comparable arrangements should exist for media workers. If an official programme or broadcast becomes the centre of a campaign targeting a woman journalist, the institution should not simply say that social media is beyond its control. It cannot control every post, but it can create procedures to protect its employees and contributors.

The Forward Signal: At What Cost Will the Next Generation Become Cricket Journalists?

Cricket's digital expansion is unlikely to stop. Short videos, live discussions, podcasts and social-media analysis may become even more important in the coming years. Women's expertise and participation are essential to this market. Yet an industry's progress should not be measured only by the number of women visible in front of a camera. It must also be measured by whether they can express their views without gendered abuse and threats of violence.

For me, the greatest difference between the Wankhede press box and today's digital studio is not technology. It is accountability. Earlier, inequality could be seen within an editorial institution; today, the same problem can spread across global digital platforms. Cricket has given its audiences a shared language, but the industry also has a responsibility to keep that language respectful.

The next major test will not be how much space women receive in cricket broadcasting, but how independently and safely they can use that space. If the next generation of women journalists has to calculate the cost to personal safety alongside every piece of analysis, the digital success of cricket media will remain an incomplete measure of progress.