Men’s Cricket vs Women’s Cricket? I’m Watching Both, Thanks.

17.04.2025

I don’t usually take online comments too seriously, but there’s one that pops up every so often and always makes me pause:“Who watches women’s cricket?”

Hi. Me. I do. Loudly. Happily. Consistently.

And if I’m being honest, I often enjoy it more than the men’s game. That’s not to say I don’t watch or enjoy men’s cricket — I grew up with it. It taught me so much. But over time, I’ve come to realise how much I love what the women’s game brings to the table. Not because it’s trying to be men’s cricket. Because it isn’t. And it shouldn’t be.

That’s the problem though, isn’t it? People come into women’s cricket expecting it to look exactly like the men’s game. Same speed, same boundary count, same style. And when it doesn’t, it’s suddenly boring, or less skilled, or not worth watching.

But how could it be the same? The game has grown under completely different conditions. And when you take that into account, you start to see that comparison isn’t just unfair. It’s unnecessary.

Different journeys, different standards

Men’s cricket had decades of investment and steady support before it became the global powerhouse it is today. Boys had full pathways from junior cricket to domestic and then international setups. It was structured and consistent, and it built a standard that took generations to refine. Of course, a lot of that was shaped by the societal expectations of the time.

Women’s cricket didn’t have that luxury. Until recently, most players weren’t full-time professionals. Some had to balance cricket with full-time jobs. In India, top women’s retainers were less than one-tenth of what the men received. Only in the past few years have we seen equal match fees and genuine investment, like the WPL selling team rights for over 4,600 crore rupees. That kind of money was unimaginable not long ago. That kind of money tells you people are paying attention now, but it also highlights how much catching up there’s been to do.

So, when someone says, “The standard isn’t the same,” well, no, of course it isn’t. But it was never a level playing field to begin with.

Strength looks different here

One of the comments I hear a lot is about boundary size. “Too small,” some say. As though shorter boundaries somehow mean lesser cricket. But men and women are built differently. That’s just biology. Men have more upper body strength and fast-twitch muscle fibres. It’s why elite male pacers bowl at 145 to 150 kilometres per hour, and women’s pacers are typically in the 110 to 125 range. That difference affects how quickly the ball comes onto the bat, how much power it carries, and how far it travels.

So yes, women’s games use a lighter ball and shorter boundaries. Not to make the game easier, but to make it balanced. That doesn’t mean it’s lacking anything. It just means the skills on display are expressed differently.

You can see it when you watch how the game is played. There’s more focus on timing and placement. Batters are constantly working gaps, taking twos, rotating strike, and building pressure through smart cricket. It’s not about muscle. It’s about craft. Laura Wolvaardt’s cover drives are some of the prettiest shots you’ll see in any format. And bowlers like Sophie Ecclestone don’t need express pace, they control the game with flight, dip, and turn. In men’s cricket, bowling spin at the death is seen as a gamble. In women’s cricket, it’s a common tactic. Slower pace makes big hitting more difficult, especially with the field spread. I don’t find myself missing anything. It’s still cricket. It’s still skill. And it’s still brilliant.

Seeing myself in the game

I’ve never needed to see myself in a movie character to enjoy a story. I’ve never obsessed over celebrities or craved representation. But weirdly enough, it was when I realised I preferred watching women’s cricket that I understood why representation really does matter.

As a kid playing with boys who could effortlessly score boundaries, I used to feel deflated. The truth is, they were better batters than me, and I was batting where I probably deserved to. But younger me didn’t see it that way. I thought I was lower in the order because I couldn’t hit boundaries. And that felt like failure. But it wasn’t. No one told me that my game could look different. That timing and placement were just as valuable. That maybe I didn’t need to be a six-hitter to be a good cricketer.

I wish someone had.

That’s what representation does. It shows you that the version of the game you play, or love, or dream about, it’s valid. And seeing someone else play it that way, on a big stage, can mean everything.

Comparison is natural, but not necessary.

And we’re seeing more people connect with that now. The 2020 Women’s T20 World Cup final brought 86,000 people to the MCG. The WBBL is breaking TV records. The WPL in India had over 10 million people streaming the final. If you’re still asking, “Who watches women’s cricket?” you’re just not paying attention.

Even at grassroots level, more girls are picking up the bat because they see themselves reflected on the screen now. They see possibility.

And the growth hasn’t been limited to traditional cricketing countries either. Tournaments like the FairBreak Invitational have opened the door to players from over 35 nations. Teenagers from Brazil, Rwanda, Austria. Some of them have never played full-time cricket until they stepped out onto that stage. It’s how the game grows, by letting more people in, earlier. Something the women’s game is doing really, really well.

Let it be 'Women’s Cricket'

I know I’m never going to play men’s cricket. Even if I hit every gym session and trained every day, I’m still a woman. My body’s built differently. And that’s not a flaw. It’s just a fact. I don’t need to be like the men. I want to watch people who play the game the way I do. I want to see the strategies that work for us. I want to see where we take this sport when it’s ours to shape.

We’ve spent so long trying to prove that women’s cricket deserves to be here. But we’re past that now. It’s here. And it’s thriving. And honestly? I don’t think we need to keep comparing anymore. You don’t have to pick a side. You can love both. I do. I still watch the men’s game. Still celebrate their milestones. Still admire the brilliance. But women’s cricket? That’s where I see something new, something exciting, something that reflects a little more of what I recognise in myself. And I think that’s worth paying attention to.

I know some international players have said it frustrates them that it’s called women’s cricket at all, that we don’t just call it cricket. I get that. I really do. But I also think there’s power in the name. Let it be called women’s cricket. Let people watch and say, this is women’s cricket, not men’s cricket, not a copy of it, but something that stands on its own. A different rhythm, a different style, a different story to tell. And as international cricketers, you’re the ones shaping that story. You’re showing the world that this version of the game has something to offer, not just to women and girls, but to anyone who truly loves cricket.

So the next time someone throws around the same old question; “Who watches women’s cricket?” Just know there are plenty of us, smiling quietly, already watching. And we’re not going anywhere.