Why Ranji Coverage Is Shrinking While Stadium Crowds Grow

On the third tier of Eden Gardens, I saw something that never makes it to the scorecard. Bengal vs Saurashtra, Ranji Trophy, first session of day two. Behind the pavilion, on a wooden bench, four schoolboys sat with notebooks and pens. One of them marked every ball — dot, single, four. I asked who the notebook was for. He said, 'Sir, our school teacher told us that if we want to watch Ranji, we should keep our own scorecard.' The boy plays under-16. His notebook had 92 overs recorded from day one.

That was the moment I realised the debate around Ranji Trophy coverage over the past few years is less about data and more about perspective. Old cricket readers know that the Ranji scorecard once graced the back pages of newspapers. In 2026, when I entered this beat, a Ranji match report ran to 800 words, and if a century was scored, it stretched to 1,200. Today, the same report is squeezed into a 300-word box, and often it's just agency copy.

But here's a contradiction I feel every day. Over the past five years, crowd numbers at Ranji matches — especially outside the big cities — have grown. Not in Kolkata, perhaps, but at centres like Rajkot, Indore, and Mohali, school and college kids are at the ground from 9 am. These are the same spectators who learned cricket by watching the IPL on television, and now they come to the ground to learn Ranji's classical nuances. In my 'Fan File', one name has been logged for three seasons — Arjun, 19, from Barasat. He comes to every Bengal home match, sits near the boundary, and tells me which bowler is losing his line.

So the question isn't whether Ranji is dying. The question is why the coverage budget is shrinking while new eyes are joining at the ground. The answer lies in the boardroom, not on the pitch.

After the IPL arrived, the structure of domestic cricket coverage changed, and not just in newspapers. Before 2026, a reporter covering a Ranji match had to be at the ground for all three days. He knew how a batsman came in during the second innings, which bowler changed his line in which over. That was 'stand-first' reporting, where the journalist stood at the ground and watched, not off a TV feed.

Today, most domestic match coverage is based on scorecards and board press releases. The reason is simple — fewer reporters, smaller budgets, and the ease of agency copy. But the effect is that the Ranji story that unfolds on the ground — like a young fast bowler's first over, or a veteran batsman's struggle — no longer reaches the reader.

My argument is that the Ranji coverage crisis is a direct consequence of cricket administration's priorities, not of audience interest. Board money goes into the IPL and international cricket, and domestic cricket is treated as a 'feeder'. But a feeder also needs a record. If you cut Ranji coverage, the next generation won't have stories of their heroes.

I have an example. In 2026, when Saurashtra won the Ranji Trophy, I was in Rajkot. After the final, I spoke to four young players. One of them said, 'Sir, we want to grow up and play Ranji because we saw their pictures in the newspaper as kids.' Today, if Ranji pictures don't appear in the paper, where will the next generation get that inspiration?

But there's a counter-view I can't ignore. Some say Ranji coverage shrinking is natural because Test cricket's popularity has grown and audiences now want only big matches. I disagree. In my experience, audience interest hasn't declined — the method of coverage has changed. In 2026, when I covered the FIFA U-17 final at Salt Lake Stadium, I spoke to 40 spectators. Many were first-timers at a stadium. The excitement in their eyes isn't there in a TV viewer. The same applies to Ranji.

The real challenge is that the coverage structure has changed, but no new structure has replaced it. Earlier, newspapers printed every match report. Now that space is empty. Digital platforms don't give Ranji the space they give the IPL. The result is that a tournament that is the backbone of Indian cricket is slowly disappearing from the media map.

I have another piece of evidence. Last year, I checked my paper's archive — between 2026 and 2026, Ranji coverage declined steadily, while Test coverage remained stable. So the IPL didn't kill Test cricket; it hollowed out Ranji. This isn't just about data, it's about priorities.

Now the question is what the solution is. The first step, to my mind, is that both the board and the media must build a new model for Ranji coverage. For instance, every state association should webcast its home matches, and local reporters should be given access. This will lower the cost of coverage and bring stories out.

But most importantly, we must stop seeing Ranji as just a 'trial'. It's a tournament where players are made, and so are their stories. If we don't write those stories, the next generation will have only the IPL scorecard to search for its heroes.

As I came down from that third tier at Eden Gardens, the schoolboy was packing up his notebook. I asked, 'Coming tomorrow?' He said, 'Yes, I'll come on the third day too.' I asked, 'Why?' He smiled, 'Because I think a century will be scored here, and I want to see it.' I'm wondering — will there be a reporter there next year to write that century down?