India Celebrates Lionel Messi, but Indian Football Fights for Survival

The biggest sporting talking point this week was Lionel Messi’s much-publicised visit to India. Strangely, I found myself largely unmoved by the spectacle.

To be clear, I have admired the diminutive Argentine genius for years. Like millions of Football lovers, I would have cherished the chance to see him in person. Yet, choosing to stay away felt more honest, even necessary. How does one celebrate a footballing icon when the very sport he represents is gasping for survival in this country?

Estimates suggest the promoters spent close to Rs 120 crore to bring Messi to India. The figure reportedly covered a private jet, appearance fees, logistics, and security. The recovery model was predictable—corporate sponsorships, government tie-ups, sky-high ticket prices ranging from Rs 10,000 to Rs 30,000, exclusive meet-and-greet sessions allegedly costing Rs 10 lakh per person, and lucrative television rights.

It was a heady mix of money, influence, and glamour—proof that when it comes to star power, India can move mountains for a 72-hour footballing spectacle.

Now, place that against the grim reality of Indian football itself.

The past year may well mark the darkest chapter in the sport’s history in the country. The Indian Super League (ISL), India’s top-tier football competition, is currently in limbo with no buyers for its commercial rights. As the season remains stalled, nearly 300 professional Indian footballers are effectively without work.

The crisis has reached such depths that national icons like Sunil Chhetri and Gurpreet Singh Sandhu have posted public SOS messages on social media, appealing for intervention and support—an unthinkable situation for players who once symbolised hope and progress.

Reliance, which managed the ISL for almost a decade, stepped away citing mounting financial losses and irreconcilable differences with the All India Football Federation (AIFF). Lower down the football pyramid, the picture is even bleaker. This year, not a single bidder emerged for the I-League, India’s second-tier men’s competition.

While much of this disaster stems from chronic mismanagement and administrative incompetence within the AIFF, it also exposes a deeper, more uncomfortable truth—widespread indifference towards the sport itself.

Consider the numbers. The AIFF is reportedly seeking a minimum guarantee of around Rs 37.5 crore from any entity willing to own and market one ISL season, while the total operational cost of a full season stands at roughly Rs 100 crore.

In other words, the commercial and marketing rights for three entire seasons of India’s premier football league could cost roughly the same as Messi’s three-day visit to the country.

Yet, there is no rush among middle-class fans to fill stadiums for domestic matches. Corporations are not lining up with marketing budgets. State governments are absent as “partners.” Wealthy patrons are nowhere to be seen. Even the central government appears to have stepped aside.

According to a Times of India report, the Sports Ministry made it clear that the government “cannot help in funding and running the ISL,” placing full responsibility on stakeholders. This stance comes even as India prepares to host the 2030 Commonwealth Games and openly discusses a potential 2036 Olympic bid.

The national team’s struggles further underline the decline. India’s men’s side has slipped to 142nd in the FIFA rankings—its lowest position in over a decade. Recent defeats to Bangladesh and Afghanistan, once considered beatable opponents, highlight how far the team has fallen.

From being regarded as a competitive Asian side in an earlier era, Indian football has declined almost as sharply as the rupee against the dollar, now struggling even at the SAFF level.

The most painful statistic is this: India has failed to qualify for the next AFC Asian Cup. Forget the FIFA World Cup. On a continent often described as football’s weakest, India no longer ranks among the top 24 teams in Asia—a dramatic fall from a nation that featured in the previous three editions of the tournament.

All of this reinforces a long-held belief about Indian sport: we celebrate sportstars far more than we support sports.

Lionel Messi is not responsible for fixing Indian football. Expecting a superstar visit to magically transform the sport would be naive. Yet, the opportunity could have been used more meaningfully.

Instead of becoming an exclusive playground for VIPs, even a brief interaction with the under-17 boys, the under-23 men’s team, or the senior women’s side—all of whom have shown promise in recent years—could have left a lasting impact.

Until India shifts its focus from imported stardom to homegrown systems, football in this country will continue to applaud greatness from afar—while its own foundations quietly crumble.