Hockey India’s announcement of free tickets for all matches of the Hockey India League (HIL) 2025–26, starting December 28, has been welcomed in many quarters as a step towards accessibility.
At one level, the intent is noble. Stadiums look better when they are full, television visuals improve, and a sport that has struggled for sustained public attention gets a chance to reconnect with fans. But scratch beneath the surface and the decision raises uncomfortable questions about value, sustainability, and the long-term vision for India’s national sport.
Accessibility is important. But so is value. And the uncomfortable truth is this: when a product is always free, it rarely commands respect.
The fundamental question Indian hockey must confront is not whether fans are unwilling to pay, but whether they have been conditioned not to. For decades, domestic hockey in India has oscillated between neglect and tokenism. Free entry has often been the default, not as a strategic choice but as a symptom of deeper structural issues weak marketing, poor storytelling, inconsistent scheduling, and a lack of star-driven narratives.
Free tickets, by themselves, are not a strategy. They are at best a short-term tactical tool. Even those running Indian hockey know this. The danger lies in mistaking activity for progress doing something so as not to be accused of doing nothing.
The IPL comparison is inevitable, and rightly so. Cricket did not become a juggernaut simply because it was popular; it became popular because it was packaged, marketed, and invested in with clarity of purpose. The IPL attached a premium to the experience financial, emotional, and aspirational. That model cannot be copy-pasted onto hockey, but it can certainly be adapted. Other sports globally have done so without diluting their identity.
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A ticket price is not just about revenue. It is a psychological signal. It tells the fan that what they are about to watch has worth. It helps create a more serious, invested audience people who plan their day around the match, who bring families, who contribute to atmosphere rather than noise. It also aids organization, crowd management, and overall matchday experience. Contrary to popular belief, paid entry often reduces hooliganism because attendees have skin in the game.
Ironically, even India’s premier domestic cricket tournament, the Ranji Trophy, has historically offered free entry. Few have watched finals without paying a rupee. Yet no one argues that Ranji cricket is a thriving spectator product. Free entry has not translated into packed stands or commercial viability there either. The lesson should be obvious: price alone does not build an audience, but the absence of pricing often undermines perceived value.
That said, context matters. HIL does not enjoy the popularity of the IPL or even the revived Pro Kabaddi League. Kabaddi’s turnaround was not driven by ticket pricing but by television slick production, consistent scheduling, regional identity, and storytelling that turned athletes into recognizable faces. TV resuscitated kabaddi; it can help hockey too, but only if the ecosystem supports it.
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The deeper issue behind empty stands is trust. Parents still hesitate to see hockey as a viable career for their children. Players worry about post-retirement security. Domestic pathways remain fragile. Until grassroots professionalism is assured coaches paid on time, players contracted transparently, leagues run predictably spectator interest will remain shallow, whether tickets are free or paid.
Star power also matters. Ranchi hosting HIL matches without fully leveraging MS Dhoni’s cultural pull is a missed opportunity. You don’t need him on the turf; you need him in the narrative. Associations between icons and events create legitimacy, draw sponsors, and pull in the casual fan who might otherwise stay away. Advertisers, ultimately, chase numbers. Whether those numbers come from free tickets or paid seats is secondary. What matters is scale on-ground attendance, TV ratings, digital engagement.
Fill the stadiums first, some argue, and monetization can follow. That argument has merit, especially in a country where live sports culture outside cricket remains fragile.
But free entry must be time-bound, targeted, and strategic not a default setting. Schools, colleges, grassroots clubs, and first-time fans are ideal beneficiaries. Premium sections, even at modest prices, can coexist. Hybrid models create choice, not confusion. Indian hockey does not need lip service rooted in nostalgia. Being labelled the national sport decades ago means little today. Most Indians can name 50 cricketers but struggle to recall five active hockey players. That is not a failure of fans; it is a failure of the system.
Free tickets may fill seats in the short term. But unless Indian hockey reclaims value economic, emotional, and aspirational it risks remaining a sport people watch only when it costs them nothing. And that would be the biggest loss of all.
