Kabaddi: From the Mud Court to the Global Market, a Sport's Second Innings

The greatest irony of kabaddi is that a sport dismissed for decades as a rural pastime has become the most dependable television product in India's domestic sports market after cricket. Born on the mud courts of South Asia, the sport now speaks the language of franchise models, broadcast rights auctions, player auctions and digital retention data. This report traces that transformation — of the rules, of the market, and of the players who gave the sport a new meaning within a single generation.

One clarification is necessary. This is not coverage of a single match, series or news event. It is a structural look at the sport's organisation, its economics and its institutional development. Dates and figures are used cautiously; where solid information is unavailable, no estimate has been invented.

What the sport is: the architecture of the rules

The easiest way to understand kabaddi is to understand its core balance. Two teams, seven players each on the mat. At any moment one side is attacking and the other defending. The attacker — the raider — crosses into the opponent's half and must chant "kabaddi, kabaddi" continuously on a single breath. If the chant breaks, the raid ends. That rule is the sport's identity and also its greatest strength.

The raider's goal is to touch opposing defenders and return to his own half. A touch earns a point. But if the defenders catch and hold him, the point goes to them. If the raider puts out the entire opposing team, it is called a lona, worth two bonus points. There is also the bonus point, awarded when a raider touches a defender stationed near the boundary line in the final moments of a raid and returns. And then there is the do-or-die raid — on a third unsuccessful raid, the raider must score or be ruled out.

The structure looks simple, but its strategic density is not lower than cricket or football. Every raid is a risk calculation: how many defenders are on the boundary, which corner is open, which defender's grip is weakest, and whether scoring is worth losing your best raider. On the defensive side, every tackle is a coordinated action — no single defender tackles alone; the group surrounds the raider, breaks his balance, and the rest close the trap. That is why defensive coordination receives as much coaching as raiding.

The surface changes the game too. A mud court and a synthetic mat are two different experiences of the same sport. On mud, feet slip, turning is slow, and injury risk takes a different form. On the mat, speed is higher, tackle intensity increases, and the raider has less reaction time. The Pro Kabaddi League standardised the mat and made the sport broadcast-friendly, but it also created a technical gap between grassroots mud-court methods and professional mat methods that will take time to close.

From the akhara to the Asian Games

The modern history of kabaddi divides into two parts — before organisation and after. Traditionally it was the sport of Indian villages, schools and army camps. Rules varied from place to place, ground sizes differed, and there was no unified competitive structure.

Change began when the sport received international competitive status. Kabaddi was included as a medal sport at the 2026 Beijing Asian Games — the moment the sport needed a standard rulebook, a standard court and a standard competition calendar. India maintained dominance in the men's event across several subsequent editions, and that dominance long remained the centre of the sport's international story.

But one-sided dominance is not good news for any sport. When results seem predetermined, spectator interest falls, and so does sponsor interest. The real gift to this sport came from Iran's rise. Iran adopted kabaddi as a disciplined, physical and tactical discipline and reached the top level within a few years. At the 2026 Jakarta Asian Games, Iran broke India's dominance to win gold — regarded as the most important turning point in the sport's history. In later Asian Games India reclaimed the title, but by then it was clear that kabaddi was no longer one country's game but a competitive international sport.

In the same period, Bangladesh, South Korea, Thailand, Sri Lanka, Nepal and Japan began organised kabaddi programmes. South Korea's example is particularly notable because it built a model by embedding kabaddi in its school and club sports structure, distinct from traditional kabaddi nations.

Pro Kabaddi League: the market's new language

If the Asian Games gave kabaddi legitimacy, the Pro Kabaddi League gave it a market. Launched in 2026, the league was an interesting experiment in India's sports economy — building a league product outside cricket that would run on television, sell franchises, give players contracts and bring audiences back every year.

The first season was won by Jaipur Pink Panthers, and that win showed that team identities could be built in kabaddi. But the league's real contribution is not in results; it is in structure. It turned the player auction into a media event where the price of raiders and defenders is set publicly. It gave players contracts that let them stop depending on government jobs or small-tournament prize money. And it created a clear pathway for state-level talent — district competition to state team, state team to league, league to national team.

The league's biggest economic impact was converting kabaddi from filler content to premium content. Earlier, television channels aired kabaddi when nothing else was available. After the league, kabaddi had its own prime-time slot. That shift is not small — it shows audiences were not merely watching a sport, they were watching teams, players and stories.

Money, contracts and the player economy

The most honest measure of any sport's maturity is how much its players earn and how secure that income is. In kabaddi the picture is mixed.

At the top level, league contracts produced a major jump in income for many players. Raiders were most in demand because raiding connects directly to points and points to results. But the most valuable players have often turned out to be defenders — a reliable tackler offers stability that an inconsistent raider cannot. That is why several of the largest contracts in league history have belonged to defenders.

Further down, the picture is different. State-level and district-level players still lack a dependable source of steady income. Many play while relying on jobs in government departments, railways, police or education. That system offers security but also limits competition — a player with a job thinks twice before taking a risk.

Another change is emerging slowly: professional management. Players once managed their own training, injuries and careers. Now good organisations add sports science, physiotherapy, nutrition and video analysis. The faster that spreads, the more sustainable the sport becomes.

The national picture: India versus Iran

At the international level, kabaddi's story now revolves mainly around two teams. India has depth — a large population, a strong domestic structure, and constant high-level competition created by the league. Iran has discipline — centralised training, clear physical preparation, and a strategy focused on slowing the pace of Indian raiding.

This rivalry is a blessing for the sport. A strong rival pulls any sport out of complacency. For the Indian team, the Iranian challenge made it necessary to rely not only on talent but on reading opposing defences, varying raid pace and maintaining discipline during tackles.

At the third level are teams like Bangladesh and South Korea, not yet able to directly challenge the top two, but whose presence raises the competitive standard. For any sport's development it is essential that a competitive middle layer forms beneath the top, otherwise the competition becomes bipolar and tires out.

The stars: from raider to defender

Much of kabaddi's popularity rests on the identities of its players. Like any league product, it needs faces.

In the raiding tradition, names like Anup Kumar and Rakesh Kumar are the foundation stones of the sport's first era — they carried the game into the league age and their popularity drew audiences in the early seasons. Ajay Thakur left his mark on crucial innings for the national team and built the image of a raider who performs better under pressure. Rohit Kumar combined raiding and leadership, and Deepak Niwas Hooda raised the all-rounder's role to the importance it deserves.

But if one name changed the meaning of raiding in the league era, it is Pardeep Narwal. His defining quality was courage more than technique — taking risks for bonus points, choosing unusual angles to break defensive structures, and repeatedly doing what opposing teams did not expect. He proved that in kabaddi a single raider can change the course of a match.

On the defensive side, players like Manjeet Chhillar showed that a tackle is not a reaction but a plan. And Iran's Fazel Atrachali is the clearest example of how a foreign player can become the biggest name in the Indian league. This is a very important signal — kabaddi's market no longer depends only on Indian players; it is importing as well as exporting.

Women's kabaddi: the fastest-growing segment

One aspect of kabaddi's story is often underestimated: women's kabaddi. Women's kabaddi became a medal sport at the 2026 Guangzhou Asian Games, and since then the Indian women's team has consistently performed strongly at the international level.

This is not merely symbolic progress. Women's kabaddi has shown that the sport is equally rich for any gender. In women's matches, raid speed, defensive coordination and tactical depth are no lower than in men's matches.

But structural inequality remains large. The broadcast, sponsorship and audience base that the men's league has is absent from the women's league. For women players, the most reliable income sources are still government jobs and international competition awards. This gap is the biggest challenge to the sport's long-term development, because until half the population has a professional career path, the sport cannot reach its full talent potential.

Grassroots: from mud to mat

Kabaddi's strength lies in its grassroots and so does its weakness. In India the sport exists naturally in schools, villages and local competitions. Other sports took decades to build such a large natural base; kabaddi did not.

But a natural base does not mean an organised base. Children playing on mud courts have only just begun to receive proper coaching, proper nutrition and proper injury management. Most talent still comes through a system where study and work run alongside sport. That produces players, but not professionals.

The shift to playing on mats has created a new need — technical conversion. A technique correct on mud can prove wrong on the mat, and vice versa. It is therefore essential that players be trained on both surfaces from the junior level, otherwise a large share of talent will be lost during the transition.

Coaching, science and injury management

Kabaddi is a contact sport. It involves collisions, falls, and stress on knees and shoulders. That means injury is not an exception but an expected risk. At the professional level this is met with sports science — load management, recovery protocols, movement screening and rehabilitation.

But at lower levels this is still a luxury. Where there is no physiotherapist, players learn to endure pain and then retire early. That is a loss not only for the player but for the sport, because a player's peak years are the sport's most valuable asset.

On the coaching side, the biggest change is that kabaddi is no longer considered merely a game of motivation and physical strength. Today opposing teams' raiding patterns are analysed on video, data is gathered on defensive positioning, and decisions taken during raids are converted into numbers. Teams using this analysis are clearly ahead.

Challenges: season length, dependence and transparency

Kabaddi's biggest structural challenge is season length. Only a long, continuous season can make players full-time professionals and keep fans engaged year-round. A short season ends quickly and the sport drops out of public conversation in the months between.

The second challenge is dependence on broadcast. Kabaddi's revenue model still rests mainly on television and centralised league broadcast. That is risky because if broadcast deals change, the whole ecosystem is affected. A sustainable model requires state associations, local leagues and clubs to build their own separate audience bases.

The third challenge is transparency. In any sport, the quality of governance matters as much as the talent of players. Selection processes, contract terms, medical support and post-retirement support all need clear rules. Where these rules are vague, access rather than talent starts deciding outcomes, and the sport loses its greatest advantage — the open path of merit.

The fourth challenge is the pace of geographic expansion. If kabaddi is to go beyond India and Iran, it must invest in markets where returns are not yet visible. That is difficult, but it is the only route.

Broadcast and the digital audience

One big advantage kabaddi has is its duration. A match finishes in roughly an hour. Compared with cricket that is very little time, and for today's audience that matters enormously. Short, fast, result-focused content works better on digital platforms.

The shift to digital has opened a new door for kabaddi. Clips, highlights, short videos and social media content are taking the sport to audiences who will not watch a full match but will watch an exciting raid. This shift matters especially among younger viewers.

But there is a trap here too. Short content delivers popularity, not loyalty. If the sport remains limited to clips, the audience will connect with excitement rather than teams. Sustainable popularity requires that long matches, season narratives and team identities remain intact.

The distant Olympic possibility

The idea of including kabaddi in the Olympics has been discussed for a long time. It is an attractive goal, but it must become a roadmap rather than a dream.

Securing an Olympic place requires certain conditions — enough member nations, clear and standardised rules, regular international competitions, an anti-doping system, and global geographic expansion. Kabaddi has done well on some of these; much work remains on others.

The biggest obstacle is geographic. As long as the sport remains largely confined to South Asia and Iran, the global claim stays weak. That does not mean abandoning the goal, but it does mean first investing in markets where the sport is still new. Exhibition matches alone will not popularise kabaddi in Europe, Africa and the Americas — local leagues, local coaches and local players are needed.

Conclusion: what the next innings depends on

What kabaddi has achieved in the past decade is remarkable for any traditional sport. It built a professional league, raised player incomes, developed international rivalry and created an audience base that did not previously exist.

But the question of the next innings is not how popular the sport can become. It is how sustainable it can become. Popularity is a wave; institutions are a foundation. A sport with only a wave and no foundation runs for a few years and then stalls.

The sport's greatest capital is its accessibility. It requires no expensive equipment, no large stadium, no special training from childhood. An open ground and seven friends are enough. That accessibility is the sport's greatest strength and also its greatest responsibility — because if the system fails to convert that accessibility into excellence, the sport will lose its biggest blessing.

The real test will now take place off the field — in the transparency of contracts, in equal investment in women's sport, in the quality of grassroots coaching, and in the question of whether the sport can genuinely go global beyond India and Iran. The day those answers arrive, kabaddi will no longer need an identity to be explained.