I still remember that first ISL season in 2014. The lights, the noise, the sheer madness of it—people yelling for clubs that had literally been born months earlier. Kerala Blasters, FC Goa… names that hadn’t existed in any serious footballing sense, suddenly tattooed on shirts and banners. It was weird, almost absurd, but it felt alive. For a country where cricket eats everything else for breakfast, this was fresh oxygen. Football wasn’t just tucked away in Kolkata’s Maidan or Goa’s streets anymore—it was suddenly on billboards, TV primetime, blasting through WhatsApp groups. The ISL didn’t just bring matches, it brought theatre.
Why It Caught Fire
Indian football before ISL? Let’s not sugarcoat it. The I-League existed, sure, but nobody outside die-hard fans in Kolkata or Shillong really cared. Empty stadiums, no marketing, zero glamour. Then ISL dropped in like a Bollywood movie launch.
You had Sachin Tendulkar co-owning Kerala Blasters, Sourav Ganguly standing with Atlético de Kolkata, Ranbir Kapoor fronting Mumbai City FC. Celebrity oxygen. Retired global stars—Del Piero, Anelka, Roberto Carlos—walking on to Indian turf. People thought it was gimmicky. Maybe it was. But it worked.
Because suddenly, football felt… aspirational. City rivalries got teeth. Chennaiyin vs Kerala Blasters wasn’t just sport, it was identity. ATK vs East Bengal felt like politics, like history bleeding into a new format. Cricket had national loyalties. Football was local. And that hit differently.
The Vibe in the Stands
If you’ve never stood in Salt Lake Stadium when 60,000 throats roar in sync—you’re missing something that rattles your chest cavity. The drums in Kochi go on and on, kids climb railings with yellow flags, fireworks light up Goa. It’s chaotic. Sometimes messy. Always real.
This wasn’t “audience.” This was participation. I saw college kids bunk classes to make away trips. Families in jerseys, uncles with dhols, aunties with face paint. For young people in metros, ISL became weekend culture—watch the game, argue in bars, flood Twitter with memes.
What the Numbers Whisper
It wasn’t just noise. It showed in hard stats.
| Season | Avg. Stadium Attendance | TV Viewership (millions) |
|---|---|---|
| 2014 | ~26,000 | 429 |
| 2017-18 | ~15,000 | 367 |
| 2022-23 | ~20,000 | 300+ |
Not always rising, true. But still: football pulling in TV audiences in the hundreds of millions in India? That’s insane. Even with cricket breathing down its neck, ISL carved a slice.
The Indian Players—Finally Seen
Before ISL, Indian footballers were ghosts outside their hometowns. The league shoved them under spotlights. Sandesh Jhingan, once just a lanky defender, suddenly a household name. Gurpreet Singh Sandhu, tall, commanding—became a proper face of Indian goalkeeping. And Sunil Chhetri, already legendary, found even more stage time with Bengaluru FC.
Kids in Manipur, Shillong, Mizoram—suddenly they weren’t just dreaming about Messi or Ronaldo. They saw players from their own streets making it. That matters. Infrastructure got a nudge too. FIFA U-17 World Cup in 2017 left behind new training centers, new hope.
The Foreign Touch
Let’s be honest: some foreign stars came for fat paychecks. But others? They meant business. Zico in Goa, Materazzi in Chennai, Habas in Kolkata. They brought tactical sense. Discipline. Ideas Indian football had lacked for decades.
And the imports—Corominas banging goals for FC Goa, Ogbeche fighting every ball like his life was on it—they weren’t lazy mercenaries. They lifted standards. Indian teammates had to rise with them.
Why Young India Took To It
Teenagers today? They live and breathe football memes. Messi, Ronaldo, Neymar… plastered across TikTok and Instagram reels. Cricket may dominate dads and uncles, but football? That’s Gen Z’s cool currency.
The ISL plugged right into that. It gave them something local—jerseys they could actually buy in Indian malls, players they might bump into at the airport. Not Manchester United at 2 a.m., but Kerala Blasters at 7:30 p.m. IST. Immediate. Intimate.
The Warts We Can’t Ignore
Yeah, ISL isn’t perfect. Far from it.
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Some franchises bleed money. Without big corporates, survival looks dicey.
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Cricket’s shadow looms. Always will.
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Grassroots? Still patchy. Fancy stadiums mean nothing if kids in villages don’t get proper academies.
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And the quality—pace, skill, tactical sharpness—lags behind Japan, Korea, even Qatar.
But hey, these aren’t deal-breakers. They’re hurdles.
Football’s True Heartlands
The ISL’s smartest move wasn’t invention. It was amplification. It tapped places already in love with football. Kolkata, Kerala, Goa, the northeast.
I’ve seen towns in Shillong shut down on match day. I’ve seen barefoot kids in Kerala chase a rain-soaked ball like it was the World Cup final. I’ve seen Manipur’s girls practice on dusty grounds till night fell. ISL didn’t create this fire. It gave it national oxygen.
Where It Could Go Next
Expansion looks inevitable—more teams, more cities. But what matters is scouting. Digging deep into villages, into schools, into the northeast’s endless supply of raw talent. Building academies that don’t collapse after two years.
And yes, merging history with modernity. Clubs like Mohun Bagan and East Bengal aren’t just football teams—they’re cultural identities. Integrating them with the ISL structure is crucial.
And the dream, wild as it sounds: India at the FIFA World Cup. Laugh if you want. But remember, Japan only kicked off their pro league in the 1990s. By 1998, they were at the big show. Football grows fast when given the right soil.
Final Word
The ISL is loud, messy, commercial—sometimes more Bollywood than Barcelona. But it’s working. It’s creating new fans, giving players a stage, building a culture that was always bubbling but never broadcast.
Football in India was always alive, tucked in corners. The ISL didn’t invent it. It stitched the corners together and gave it a microphone.
Every time I spot a kid in Delhi wearing a Kerala Blasters jersey, or hear chai shop debates in Guwahati about ATK’s formation, I know this: football’s not a fringe obsession anymore. It’s here. It’s growing. And the story’s only getting started.
Ajanta Mehra is a journalist and cultural commentator with a passion for exploring India’s fast-changing landscape. From politics and business to cinema and social trends, Ajanta brings a sharp, human voice to every story. She believes good writing should feel like a conversation — insightful, honest, and rooted in real life. When she isn’t writing for Desi Today, you’ll probably find her reading regional literature, sipping masala chai, or chasing down the next untold story.
