Kabaddi's Second Innings: From the Mat to the Market, and the Distant Olympic Threshold

Whenever Indian sport is discussed, cricket comes first. But over the past decade, a sport has emerged that has not only secured a place on television screens but has carried players out of village mud and into prime-time broadcast and brand endorsements. That sport is kabaddi.

Kabaddi's story today is split into two halves. On one side is the polished, camera-lit world of the professional league, where a stadium roars every time a raider's breath stops on the mat. On the other side is the reality that the season lasts two to three months, and a large share of players spend the remaining nine months leaning on a government job, a departmental team, or farming. Kabaddi has achieved much in ten years — but its hardest test has not even begun.

From mud to the mat: what the league changed

When the professional league launched in 2026, it was a major gamble. Kabaddi had always had popularity in India, but almost no commercial structure: no regular televised product, no market for players, no franchise model. The league changed three things at once. It gave the sport a standardised, broadcast-friendly format; it gave players a public market in which an auction determined their price; and it gave audiences a product in which teams were tied to cities rather than only to states or departments.

It began with eight teams. Within a few seasons the number reached twelve and the league's geography spread from Patna, Jaipur and Hyderabad to Tamil Nadu, Telangana and Gujarat. Play moved to the mat, the 30-second raiding rule was enforced strictly, and strategies such as the do-or-die raid entered the vocabulary of ordinary viewers. Television graphics, slow-motion cameras and commentary packaged the sport in a way it had never been presented before.

The impact went beyond broadcast. Kabaddi is frequently cited as the most-watched sports property in India after cricket. Because viewership claims and measurement methods vary across sources, that claim should be read with caution — but it is certain that the league created an audience the sport did not previously have.

Economics: a crore-rupee mat, and the uncertainty beneath it

The most visible change is money. The auction made players' prices public. Where a bid of a few lakh rupees was considered significant in early seasons, top raiders' contracts later moved toward the crore-rupee range. Franchises built sponsorship, merchandising and the matchday experience into a business. The scale of broadcasting rights and sponsorships proved that kabaddi, too, is a viable property for advertisers.

But behind that shine is a fragile structure. The league season lasts roughly two to three months. With twelve teams and limited slots, a large number of talented players remain without a team each year — and there is no official data on how many unsold players return the following season. For those who miss out, there is no alternative permanent income stream. Many players compete through jobs in the railways, police or other government departments, which means their priority is often keeping a foot in two boats.

A second weakness is dependence on a single source. The league's entire broadcast machinery has essentially been tied to one broadcaster ecosystem. That was an advantage early on, because it brought heavy investment and marketing into the sport; over the long run it is also a risk. If the size or orientation of that one partnership changes, the entire ecosystem feels it.

The national team: dominance, a fracture, and Iran's rise

Internationally, kabaddi's story was one-sided for a long time. Kabaddi became an official sport at the 2026 Asian Games, and for the next several decades the Indian men's team held near-total control. India's record in Asian Games kabaddi has been so strong that gold was treated as almost settled.

The first major shock to that assumption came when Iran began challenging India in major tournaments and eventually defeated India in an Asian Games final to take gold. That moment exposed a truth the league's glare had obscured: if kabaddi is to become a global sport, India's monopoly has to end. Iran's strength has rested on physical conditioning, disciplined defence and a core group that plays together over years. India later reasserted itself at major tournaments and restored its top position, but it became clear that a single error in any major event can now be costly.

At the same time, Bangladesh, South Korea, Japan, Thailand and a few other countries have increased investment in organised kabaddi. Their presence matters beyond competition — it is the real test of a sport's international claim.

Women's kabaddi: the most overlooked growth story

If one part of kabaddi's story is most overlooked, it is women's kabaddi. After women's kabaddi was included in the Asian Games, the Indian women's team delivered consistently strong performances and stayed among the top teams on the continent. Iran's women's team also rose quickly and became a lasting rival.

Here is the irony: in a sport that produced one of India's most successful women's teams, no comparably large, regular and televised professional league could be built for women. Attempts at separate women's competitions for a few seasons did not become a lasting structure. The result is that women players have no major income route beyond international tournaments and the domestic circuit. This is the league model's biggest unfulfilled promise — and it could have been the easiest win in any long-term strategy.

The question of ground: where will talent come from

Kabaddi's greatest strength and greatest weakness are the same thing: its base is very wide, but the system for identifying and polishing talent from that base is very thin. School- and block-level scouting, district and state competitions, initiatives such as Khelo India and a handful of regional academies are the main channels. Most raiders are spotted between the ages of 12 and 15, because technical skills are easier to learn early in kabaddi.

The problem is that the number and quality of these academies is highly uneven. Where an academy exists, there is also nutrition, physiotherapy and sports science; where it does not, talent fades before it develops. Beyond that, the ordinary school system often treats kabaddi as a co-curricular activity rather than a career option capable of giving a family economic security. Until parents are confident that a child can make a living from kabaddi, a large share of talent will leave the sport under a backup plan.

The international claim and the Olympic threshold

Kabaddi's international ambition is clear, and a place at the Olympics is its biggest goal. But the Olympic movement's conditions are strict: a certain number of national federations, organised competitions across continents, gender equality, stable governance over the long term, and genuine competitive presence worldwide. None of these is met overnight.

In kabaddi's favour is that the rules are very simple, equipment needs are minimal, and it takes viewers minutes to understand — the contest between two teams and the direct thrill of the tackle are immediately legible. The 2026 World Cup hosted in India showed that teams from various countries can play the sport competitively, though the gap between commercial claims and competitive depth around that event's format and participation remains wide.

Critics also argue that a large part of kabaddi's international achievements still rests on the Indian diaspora and South Asian communities. That is not a bad start, but it is not enough. Until a full generation of local players develops in the domestic leagues of a European or African country, the Olympic door does not look open.

Risks that are not being seen

Injury rates in kabaddi are not a minor issue. Raider collisions, knee and shoulder injuries during tackles, and repeated falls on the mat shorten careers. Even with a short season there is not enough recovery time, because players are under pressure to prove form before the next auction.

A second risk is the calendar. Coordination between the domestic league, national camps, international tournaments and state-level competitions remains poor. This increases the player's workload and affects national team preparation.

A third risk is sustainability. For any league, franchise owners need to see consistent returns. In kabaddi, revenue from ticket sales and merchandising has been limited; the bulk comes from broadcast and sponsorship. If the priorities of a team or a broadcaster change, the sport's economy can wobble.

The road ahead

The biggest misconception about kabaddi is that it is already a success story. In reality it is a promising, half-finished story. The league created heroes, built audiences and brought money — no small achievement. But the sport's lasting future rests on three questions: will players have organised year-round income and injury protection? Will women's kabaddi get the same stage and the same money as the men's game? And will a genuine generation of local talent emerge outside India?

If the answer to all three is yes, kabaddi will have a real foundation not only to stay on television but to reach the world's biggest sporting stage. If not, the roar on the mat will one day survive only in the record books.

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Editorial note: This report is not based on the analysis, translation or summary of any specific news article. It is an independent, original, evaluative news-style report built on publicly available general knowledge of kabaddi, its organisational structure and its commercial ecosystem. No figures, player quotes or events have been invented; where the limits of the facts are unclear, the language has been deliberately kept general.