From Haryana's Soil to the 'Champions League': How Deep Is Kabaddi's Second-Tier Market Really?

At the central trials in Sonipat, 6,400 names. Another 650 in Rohtak. Saurav Singroha goes for 11 lakh, Sunil Malik for 10 lakh—both below Ayan Lochab's 17.4 lakh, a young man who has not yet worn the national jersey. Ten franchises, a purse of Rs 5 crore each, more than 300 players in the auction. Reading those numbers, you would think a structure has taken shape in kabaddi's second tier. But what those 6,400 registrations prove is thirst; how much a player will earn from that thirst has not been written down by anyone. The news I got from Delhi is structural, not a star narrative. The Kabaddi Champions League has gone from eight teams to ten—new entrants Jhajjar Jaguars and Kurukshetra Knights. The other eight: Bhiwani Bulls, Rohtak Raiders, Karnal Kings, Gurugram Titans, Sonipat Strikers, Panipat Panthers, Faridabad Fighters, Hisar Hurricanes. Read those ten names together and you understand which state this competition belongs to—all ten are Haryana cities. So the banner says 'Champions League,' but its geography is a single state, where boys come up through akhada mud to play kabaddi. There is a clear reason the franchise count is rising now. Pro Kabaddi League's thirteenth season has reportedly been pushed to June-July 2027, because its old broadcast deal has ended and no new media partner has been named. I have watched India's non-cricket leagues for about a decade; that gap opens a door for new investors. But the expansion announcement mentions no broadcast or sponsorship deal. That is quiet, but a strong signal—the league's revenue foundation is not yet built. Look again at the auction figures, and the gap between prices and purse is the real story. The top price is 17.4 lakh, while each team can spend up to 5 crore. That means the stars do not consume even a third of the purse. In other words, across a 300-player pool, most players earn a very small sum; even if the full purse were spent, the average sits around 1.7 lakh. That is the picture of a semi-professional labor market. In this market 'highest price' is not a quality index, it is an index of bidding demand. I do not want to fall into that trap—who is the biggest star gets decided by performance, not price. Sunil Malik's name raises an uncomfortable question here. The report describes him as 'India's Asian Games captain,' yet his price is 10 lakh—seven lakh less than Ayan's. If he genuinely captains the senior national side, that price reflects the market's bias toward defensive or utility players; or an age-form decline; or the honorific refers to a specific period, not the current squad. I am keeping the data pending verification, because the report never acknowledges the gap. My habit as a reporter is to sense what is happening in the locker room before the scoreboard shows it—here we only see the auction room, not the inner corridors. One more angle: many will read the 6,400 trial registrations as a 'talent pipeline.' I would call it an interest indicator, not a scouting one. Screening and registration are not the same thing. Still, the interest is not insignificant—in Haryana, kabaddi and wrestling are not just games; they are the path to government jobs, railway-police-army quotas, and league contracts. For rural families this is a ladder of class mobility. That social base is what lets the league run at low cost. The Pro Kabaddi League became India's most-watched non-cricket sports product after cricket—this is a smaller version of that model, proving that entertainment packaging, auctions and prime time can sustain a non-cricket sport together. Now the difficulty that outside readers are likely to misread. Many will see this expansion as national or international progress. But this has nothing to do with international kabaddi—no bridge is being built to Iran, Bangladesh or South Korea. The global push is a separate story: a World Cup and women's league plan is mentioned in the report, but that is not this league's achievement. And a point rarely written anywhere—this league's existence is actually a result of uncertainty at the top. If the Pro Kabaddi League returns with a broadcast deal, that advantage may shrink. Meaning, proof that this lower-tier rise is durable does not yet exist. Governance matters too. Who runs this league, whether the Indian federation or the international federation recognizes it—none of this is answered anywhere. More than 300 players are in the auction, many from rural backgrounds with little bargaining power. There is no word on their contracts, insurance or injury protection. That silence is itself information. Kabaddi administration in India has a contentious history; a parallel unrecognized structure would increase risk in the sport's development environment. I am not belittling the league. The 6,400 young people who signed up for trials—some may have come here after missing out on the Pro Kabaddi League or aging out—that feeder role is genuinely useful. But what must be fixed is the difference between branding and reality. A competition of ten Haryana cities cannot be sold as a national league, and raising the purse does not prove sustainability. Without answers on revenue, broadcast and a minimum player income, the league's future cannot be judged. I wrote today's date in my notebook. If next season this league announces a media partner and a minimum wage guarantee, I will know it is changing from a project to an institution. And if it stays silent, I will assume the social emotion has not yet become commercial truth. Six months from now, when a teenager can recite the ten names from memory, his parents will ask—how secure is a future in this sport? That answer will decide whether kabaddi's second tier is just an auction room, or a real player-building factory.