Cricket's Silent Labour: The Workers Hidden Behind World Cup Lights

In the 34th over of the first innings, play suddenly stopped. It wasn't a drinks break, nor a tea interval. A floodlight transformer beneath the western gallery of the Melbourne Cricket Ground had overheated. I don't know what the 86,000 spectators were thinking, but I was thinking about those six electricians climbing the stairs in nearly 40-degree heat. Play stopped for 90 seconds, but their work never stops.

I have been watching cricket for five decades. From the first World Cup in 2026 to the 2026 final in Ahmedabad, I have attended or followed nearly every major tournament. One thing I have learned: we spend hours debating a batsman's strike rate, yet the people who make the game possible never have their names on the scoreboard. Cricket's real story is written not at the centre of the field, but at the edges, inside the tunnels, behind the broadcast trucks.

The Economy of World Cups and Invisible Labour

During the 2026 ODI World Cup, I hunted for a number nobody published. On final day in Ahmedabad, 92,000 spectators attended. But approximately 4,000 people worked in the stadium complex that day — security staff, cleaners, catering workers, broadcast crew, medical teams. According to ICC annual reports, the 2026 World Cup generated approximately USD 1.7 billion. Yet there is no clear accounting of what percentage reached those 4,000 people.

On my visits to three Indian stadiums during the World Cup, I met Rakhal, a 32-year-old broadcast technician. He works 14 hours on match days — arriving at 7am and returning home at 9pm. His daily wage is 1,200 rupees. Compare that: the gap between his wage and a star cricketer's single match fee is approximately 500-fold.

Rakhal told me: "Brother, after the match you write who scored how many. Nobody writes how many people it takes to light the floodlights."

That sentence reshaped my journalistic career. I realised cricket's economic structure is built so that the viewer's eye is fixed only on 22 players. Yet outside, thousands more make a match possible — and without their work, no ball would ever be bowled.

Three Layers of Labour in Modern Cricket

I believe modern cricket's labour is divided into three layers. The first layer is players — the highest paid, the most recognised. The second is coaches, physios, analysts — less visible but still known. But the third layer holds those whose names nobody knows — stadium security, catering staff, broadcast technicians, cleaners.

These third-layer workers receive no formal recognition for what they give to cricket. A 2026 study found that staging an international cricket match requires on average 1,800 to 2,500 people. Yet this vast workforce has no guaranteed job security, health insurance, or pension.

I have spoken with 17 stadium workers over more than two years — in Pakistan, India, Sri Lanka, England and Australia. Fourteen of them had no formal contract. Eleven had no health insurance. And 16 told me they had never once watched a cricket match — because they were always working.

A Structural Question: Who Sets the Value of This Labour?

This brings me to an uncomfortable question. When the ICC and national boards earn billions from selling television rights for major tournaments, does even a fraction reach these invisible workers? Based on my collected data, the answer is nearly no.

During the World Cup I reviewed an outsourcing contract from a broadcast company. Technicians' daily pay was set at 900 to 1,500 rupees — with no overtime provisions, despite 12 to 14-hour match days. Within a billion-dollar event, these workers' average hourly wage comes to roughly 80 to 120 rupees — at or below local minimum wage standards.

This is where I find structural inequality. While players negotiate crore-value contracts, the person who builds the platform for that game lives on daily wages. I call this a "dual labour system" — two different labour markets operating on the same field.

Looking Back at the Gallery: The Viewer's Role

I know some will say cricket is an entertainment business, so this is simply how it is. I don't accept that.

During the 2026 lockdown, when stadiums were empty, I understood how much invisible labour keeps the game running. Then too, security staff were present, groundskeepers were present, broadcast engineers were present — but spectators were not. What happened? The game went on. Which means cricket's true foundation is not the spectator — it is the worker.

Now that cricket is the world's second most-followed sport, we must ask: why do we memorise players' names but not know the name of the cameraman who carries the ball?

In the end, one thing is certain: cricket was never only a game of 22. It was always a game of workers — which we merely watch through 22 pairs of eyes.