This wasn’t just cricket; it was a cultural moment that redefined the Australian summer. Cricket has long been the heartbeat of Australia’s sporting calendar, but this series felt different. It wasn’t just about bat and ball—it was about who we are as a nation and how that identity is changing.
Historically, Australian cricket fandom was built on an ‘us vs. them’ mentality. The crowd was a monoculture, the atmosphere hostile to outsiders. Think Douglas Jardine enduring bodyline jeers, or Tony Greig painted as a pantomime villain. Visiting teams copped relentless abuse from fans, players, and media alike—a ritual that solidified the mythos of Australian dominance. But this series, particularly at the MCG, told a different story.
Virat Kohli—a polarising yet magnetic figure—embodies this shift. Once the pantomime villain in the Australian imagination, Kohli is now a symbol of cricket’s global and cultural transformation. Love him or loathe him, he is impossible to ignore. Kohli is unapologetically aggressive, refusing to bow to the old-school Australian model of sportsmanship. As cultural historian Anthony Bateman writes, “Modern cricket is no longer the exclusive property of former colonial powers; it is a space where cultural identities clash, merge, and evolve.” Kohli is at the centre of this evolution, representing a new India—bold, unrelenting, and unafraid to challenge old hierarchies.
And his supporters? They’re no longer the minority. Melbourne, home to over 36% of Indian migrants in Australia, now boasts a population where more than 5% are of Indian ancestry. These fans don’t just show up—they bring an energy and passion that has reshaped the very essence of Australian cricket crowds.
Some visiting teams are well supported in Australia – most notably England with its Barmy Army. But these are mostly travel groups who visit Australia for a cricket watching holiday. India have travelling supporters too no doubt, but what was different about this crowd is that so many were locals. First, second, and third generation Indian-Australians, students living in Australia, and children who speak with the same accent as Nathan Lyon and Travis Head.
At the MCG, this shift was palpable. Indian fans occupied entire bays, particularly at the Punt Road and City ends. They didn’t just cheer—they celebrated. Every single run was met with music, chants, and unrelenting noise. They even infiltrated Bay 13, now no longer the fearful place it once was – mostly populated by adolescents cosplaying 70s cricket yobbos, and 20 something mullet-heads trying and failing to get drunk on mid strength beer. No matter how fast you drink that terrible stuff, your body seems to metabolise and expunge it before it can cause anything approximating a decent level of intoxication.
This wasn’t just about noise or numbers. It was about power. For the first time, the balance of crowd support at an Australian Test felt even. In fact, during key moments, it tilted India’s way. It’s no coincidence that the players reflected this dynamic. Kohli, with his theatrical aggression, and Mohammed Siraj, with his fiery spells, thrived on the backing of their vocal supporters. They didn’t just endure the pressure; they thrived in it, uniting with the diaspora in a way that made the contest richer, more layered, and undeniably global.
Cricket Australia has been quick to adapt. Marketing campaigns, once dripping with jingoistic nationalism, have taken a more inclusive approach. The days of “Come on Aussie, Come on” as the sole anthem of the summer are giving way to more neutral, universally appealing messages. Why? Because alienating 5% of Melbourne’s population—or a significant portion of the broader Indian-Australian community—makes no business sense. The dollars, like the game itself, are international now.
This evolution didn’t happen overnight. The 2015 ODI and 2022 T20 World Cups both showcased India’s growing influence, but this summer cemented it. The Border-Gavaskar Series wasn’t just a cricket contest—it was a cultural shift. As cricket journalist Gideon Haigh once wrote, “The crowd is never merely the backdrop; it is a key participant in the drama of the game.” And in this series, the crowd’s transformation was impossible to ignore.
Some purists might lament this change, pining for the ‘golden era’ of Australian dominance both on the field and in the stands. But there’s no going back, and nor should there be. This is modern Australia—a mosaic of cultures where the boundaries between ‘us’ and ‘them’ are blurring. Indian Australians are as much a part of this nation as anyone else, and their passion for the game strengthens, not threatens, its future.
What next? Perhaps the Ashes next summer will see a reversion to type—a more traditional rivalry, fuelled by nostalgia and familiar hostilities. But the Border-Gavaskar Series has redefined the Australian cricket summer. It’s no longer just about us; it’s about everyone.
The cricket is better for it. So is the nation.
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