Nuclear Rivals, Corruption, and Free Tractors: The Wide World of Kabaddi

If corruption, geopolitical rivalries, doping tests, and emerging capitalism—more specifically, overturned championships, tractor-company endorsements, and mustard-oil foul play—signal an emerging sport's arrival, then consider the kabaddi revolution upon us.

Don't take my word for it, take it from the reported 50,000 people who sold out Guru Gobind Singh Stadium in Jalandhar City, India at the December 6 opening ceremonies of the 5th Kabaddi World Cup. Or from the International Kabaddi Federation's (IKF) website homepage.

For the uninitiated: picture Tag meets Red Rover meets wrestling. Multiplied by the entire world; divided by sweat-inducing awesome. Basic rules: an enemy combatant enters opposite half. His mission: touch one of the opposing four players, linking arms like brothers, then return to his side, in under 30 seconds, to receive a point. Once contact is made, the battle is on.

Like Lakers-Celtics or Yankees-Red Sox styled rivalries? Kabaddi has those trumped, oh, by about 1.5 billion people, two opposing religious states, and a few hundred nuclear weapons.

Enter India and Pakistan, the two hegemons of kabaddi; though, with apologies to Islamabad, the sport's roots are believed to have sprouted out of ancient India. Not surprisingly, Indians have practically owned newly-formally recognized kabaddi, winning every World Cup since 2004, all five of them; Pakistan, meanwhile, has three runners-up trophies (in three Cups, skipping the first two for political reasons, where Iran took second twice). And for what kabaddi lacks in 20th century history, it makes up for in 21st century problems.

Case in point: last Saturday's World Cup finals in Jalandhar, presented here in its glorious, nearly 51-minute entirety. (Go on, we'll wait). Of note: a couple of minor bench-clearing dust-ups (if they had benches, anyways), as well as a number of Punjab Television Channel banner ads for companies like Brar Seed Store, Kalsi Pumps, and Preet Tractor (with the best "catcher" and "raider" both lucky recipients of free tractors from Preet).

Spoiler alert: ultimately, the spoils went to India, defeating Pakistan, 45-42, to cap the two-week, 10-team gauntlet (and yes, the United States, England, and Iran were among them) and pocket 20 million rupees (about $315,000) in the process. Indian prime minister Narendra Modi took to Twitter for his presumably heartfelt tip-of-the-cap, and to remind India of their illustrious kabaddi dominance.

With their ninth title in nine tries (or every World Cup ever, men's and women's), the Indians cemented themselves as bully of the East Asian bloc, leaving Pakistan in the proverbial and literal dust.

Which, of course, was merely the beginning. Because, in fact, Pakistan actually dominated India for the majority of the match, taking a 26-21 lead at the end of the first half, and a 31-27 edge into the third. In the fourth, the action see-sawed; once India gained their first three-point lead, the referees (who, naturally, were all Indian themselves) immediately rang out the final "hooter"—unjustly according to Pakistan team captain and raider Shafiq Chishti.

"The organizers played a partisan role," said Chishti, whose 15 points led the Pakistani side. "The match was stopped three minutes before the scheduled close to ensure the Indian team's victory. The Indian players were applying mustard oil to their bodies so that we would fail to get hold of them. We were also not allowed to drink water."

No water. Way too much mustard oil (other reports alleged merely 'greasy balm'). A web of corrupt Indian officials. All, no doubt, contributed to Pakistan's declaration to never again return to India to play kabaddi; nor to accept the 10 million rupees prize (actually, on second thought, they will; but only under protest); nor will they go quietly into the night, launching a formal complaint.

To which, days later, the IKF responded with justice, refusing to recognize India's title. Just not because of the refs, though, but instead citing a tiny, forgotten World Cup detail: the IKF, you know, never actually sanctioned the event.

"It was just a tournament held by India in which several teams participated," IKF CEO Devraj Chaturvedi said. "You cannot call it the 'World Cup'. We were not approached by the various Kabbadi [sic] federations for approval neither did we sanction the event. We do not recognise India as the World Cup winners simply because it wasn't a World Cup."

With that plot twist, the World Cup saga presumably closed; though it's certainly not the last the world we'll hear from kabaddi. After all, the movement, the revolution, if you will, is well underway.

Two professional leagues have already cropped up: the Wave World Kabaddi League (WKL), which the Times of India is already comparing to Formula 1 with 86 games played across three continents; and the Pro Kabaddi League, sporting Bollywood movie stars, prominent Indian businessmen, and Atletico Madrid as apparent backers, with the BBC stumping for it as the next cricket-crazed IPL.

As if that wasn't enough, the English national team is championing their version of Lionel Messi. And the sport's ultimate legitimizer is seen off the field, where, despite being in its international infancy, kabaddi doping scandals pop up frequently enough to make the worlds of cycling or sprinting proud; so much so the WKL devotes an entire tab to anti-doping policy on its website.

Indeed, kabaddi doesn't look to be going anywhere but up. As for India and Pakistan? Well, that's a slightly more complicated story. But for today, anyways, here's to hoping the sport continues to grow, for mankind and kabaddi-kind alike.

No doubt, the revolution will be televised—and to the victor go the tractors.