Social Media Changed the Face of Cricket Journalism, But Risks Grew Too

Twenty-four years ago, I had the chance to watch an India-England ODI at Wankhede Stadium. England won by five runs. Andrew Flintoff ran across the outfield twirling his shirt. Sourav Ganguly responded in kind at Lord's. Back then, I thought cricket was just a game. But now, all these years later, I understand that the game was an institution where women like me had little space. After that match, I covered the 2026 World Cup, the 2026-08 Monkeygate series, the 2026 T20 World Cup, and the 2026 World Cup. I interviewed legends like Sachin Tendulkar, Shane Warne, and Brian Lara. That experience became my identity. But with that identity came loneliness. I was often the only woman in the press box. I was compared to my male predecessor. I was repeatedly told I was the 'first woman,' which meant my competence would be questioned. In 2026, I wrote an article about the male gaze and sexism in IPL broadcasting. That article gave me my first taste of online hatred. I was accused of jealousy and feminism. Back then, I thought it was an isolated incident. But when I returned to cricket through 'The Scoop,' the situation had changed. Instagram and TikTok had become integral to cricket coverage. Short clips were being made from longer shows. Impressions and views were determining what would be broadcast. This change wasn't just technical. It was a change in the economics of journalism. Traditional journalism valued established credibility and deep reporting. Digital platforms value engagement, distribution, and repetition. This economics introduced me to a new problem. My opinion was no longer just a debate; it was a product. And attacking that product was easy. The biggest example was the Sunil Gavaskar controversy. Gavaskar had said that including Pakistani players in Indian-owned Hundred franchises could indirectly contribute to the deaths of Indian soldiers. Abrar Ahmed's selection by Sunrisers Leeds became a political issue. I opposed Gavaskar's statement. My argument was clear: sport and politics are separate. But that argument made me a target. I was accused of being a traitor. My sexuality, my political beliefs, and my racial identity were attacked. That attack wasn't limited to words. I was even threatened with sexual assault. One person explicitly said he would kill me. This was the same cricket where I had started my career. But now, my very presence had become a challenge. I hand-coded four thousand two hundred balls before I trusted a dashboard. That experience teaches me that data never tells the whole story. Numbers show how many runs were scored, but they don't show how much hatred the woman journalist who reported those runs had to endure. My model was clean, but the result wasn't. This contradiction troubles me. Social media was supposed to democratize journalism. Instead, it made it more dangerous. Women who were once alone in the press box are no longer alone on social media. They are accompanied by thousands of anonymous people ready to silence them. I have seen how the IPL used cheerleaders as decorative objects. Choosing predominantly fair-skinned women is a sign of colorism and patriarchy. Eight of 32 NFL teams have eliminated cheerleaders. That change is necessary. But cricket is yet to make that change. My conclusion is simple: cricket institutions must treat the safety of women journalists as a structural responsibility, not a public relations issue. Until that happens, we will keep losing talent. We will keep losing voices that could have made this game better. The next time you watch a cricket match, remember that the woman in the commentary box might be facing hatred on social media at that very moment. That is the price we are currently paying. The question is how long we will keep paying it.