B S Dara
bsdara@gmail.com
The 2025 ICC Asia Cup, which opened under clouds of bitterness, has ended with a thunderclap. India, undefeated throughout the tournament, humiliated Pakistan not once, not twice, but thrice in the space of two weeks , a clean 3-0 sweep. The crescendo was the Dubai final, where the men in blue thrashed their old rivals to clinch a record ninth Asia Cup title. Yet, when the smoke of fireworks cleared, there was no glittering silverware in Indian hands. Instead, there was a phantom gesture, India’s captain Suryakumar Yadav lifting an “imaginary trophy,” the players laughing, arms aloft to the sky, and the crowd roaring its approval
Why? Because India had refused to accept the cup from Mohsin Naqvi, Pakistan’s Interior Minister and the chair of the Asian Cricket Council. The refusal was more a principle. To have accepted it from the very hand that represents Pakistan’s ruling power, a government accused of sponsoring the Pahalgam massacre earlier this year , where 26 innocent Indian civilians were slain , would have been a betrayal of memory, a desecration of grief.
More than a tournament, this Asia Cup wasthe extension of April’s brutal four-day aerial war between India and Pakistan, missiles, drones, dogfights in the sky, bases struck and destroyed. It was fought under the shadow of Operation Sindoor, Prime Minister Modi’s name for India’s retaliatory campaign. “Outcome is the same , India wins,” Modi declared after the final, repeating his earlier parliamentary speech. The metaphor was clear: whether on battlefield or cricket field, India had asserted supremacy
Some called it jingoismbut for millions of Indians still mourning the Pahalgam victims, the metaphor rang true. Sport and war were no longer separate theatres. Cricket itself had become a weapon of diplomacy and more accuratelyof defiance.
Naqvi, the ACC chief who also wears the hat of Pakistan’s Interior Minister, insisted on presiding over the trophy ceremony. India made it clear they would not accept silverware from him. Rather than quietly stepping aside, Naqvi petulantly withdrew the trophy and medals altogether, leaving the victors to pose with shadows and emojis. It was a farce unworthy of an international competition, yet perfectly emblematic of Pakistan’s politicisation of cricket.
To critics who carp that India disrespected “the spirit of the game,” one must respond: what spirit was left when PCB’s own head politicised the event with war-tinged tweets? When Pakistani players mimed crashing jets and mock gunshots towards Indian fans?
When even the handshake, that simple gesture of mutual respect, became impossible because Indian players had buried their comrades and countrymen earlier this year?
From the very first match, India’s stance was stark. No handshakes at the toss. No smiles at the close. Three matches, three cold shoulders. Was it rude? Certainly. Was it justified? Absolutely. A neighbour that exports terror, cannot expect courtesy on the crease.
Pakistan’s head coach lamented that “even when Indo-Pak relations were worse, we still shook hands.” But he forgets: never before had an Interior Minister of Pakistan sat atop the ACC dais, never before had a PCB chief so nakedly entwined cricket with war narratives. This was not “sport as bridge.” It was sport as theatre of humiliation. India, by withholding its hand, was holding its line.
History reminds us that athletes, too, protest when principle demands. Cassius Claylater Muhammad Ali, disgusted by racial injustice at home, famously threw his 1960 Rome Olympic gold medal into the Ohio River. He would rather lose a medal than betray his conscience. India’s cricketers did the same in Dubai.
They refused a trophy not because they disdained it, but because the hands offering it were tainted. Better an empty podium than a poisoned chalice. Better a shadow trophy held aloft in jest, than a gleaming cup that mocked the tears of Pahalgam.
Yet let us not be distracted by theatre alone. On the field, India’s dominance was breathtaking.
Unbeaten in the entire Asia Cup, sweeping aside Sri Lanka, Afghanistan, and , most memorably , Pakistan, thrice.37 victories in their last 40 T20 internationals, stretching back to 2023 , a streak unmatched in cricket’s annals.Nine Asia Cups in the cabinet, cementing India as the continent’s unchallenged master.
More than just cricketing strength, it is the projection of a nation’s confidence, its preparation, its unity of purpose. Pakistan, by contrast, appeared fractured, politicised, bereft of resilience. Their sledging was loud, their performances limp. Their cricket mirrored their polity: divided, defensive, delusional.
No less shameful were the words from Pakistan’s cricket establishment. In the midst of the tournament, PCB officials tweeted analogies to “military victories,” dragging sport into the gutter of propaganda. Such behavior only underscored India’s wisdom in refusing symbolic courtesies. When the governing body of cricket doubles as a megaphone for military triumphalism, cricket ceases to be sport. It becomes an extension of the battlefield.
By contrast, India’s players donated their match fees to the Indian Army, a gesture of solidarity, not provocation. Pakistan’s squad tried to mirror it by pledging to “victims of Indian attacks,” a symmetry that fooled no one. One was solidarity with defenders of the homeland. The other was a political stunt, absolving their own state of culpability.
Critics may wring their hands that “no one looks good” after this fiasco. They are wrong. India looks good because it looks strong. It looks principled. It looks unwilling to bend knee to hypocrisy.
Sport is supposed to ennoble. But sport cannot exist in a vacuum, isolated from blood and memory. To insist that Indian players should smile, shake hands, bow for trophies, is to demand amnesia. India chose remembrance instead. In doing so, they elevated their victory beyond runs and wickets, beyond finals and medals.
The contrast is stark. India , a rising power, dominant in technology, economy, and yes, cricket , versus Pakistan , riven by politics, faltering in sport, consumed by military obsessions. In Dubai, the cricket field became a metaphor for the subcontinent itself: one side confident and conquering, the other petulant and floundering.
India’s victories were not only over eleven men in green, but over the mindset that has shackled South Asia for decades, the politics of grievance, the addiction to victimhood.
The Asia Cup 2025 will not be remembered for its cover drives or yorkers. It will be remembered for its theatre of principle, the handshake denied, the trophy spurned, the shadow lifted. And in that theatre, India triumphed thrice, on the scoreboard, in the conscience, and in the symbolism.
Like Ali’s medal in the Ohio River, the Asia Cup trophy will rust in irrelevance. The image that will endure is of India’s players grinning under fireworks, holding nothing, yet holding everything.
India won the tournament. India won the moment. And, most of all, India won its pride.
The post When Champions Refuse the Cup appeared first on Daily Excelsior.