This is the eighth in a series exploring the future of cricket by Eddie Fitzgibbon, a Wisden board member and strategic advisor specialising in cricket with a focus on the USA market and sports technology, and the first looking at several growth markets, one in each key territory. Read part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six and part seven and get more from Eddie on his Substack and connect with him on LinkedIn.

In the last article, we asked a simple, terrifying question about cricket’s future: “Cool, now what?”

We explored how the sport has the means. We have the technology, the capital, and the interest. What we lack is the meaning, the structural design to turn that attention into belonging.

If you want to see what that "meaning" looks like in the raw, unpolished real world, you do not look at the traditional empires. You do not look at the Lord's Long Room, where tradition often masks stagnation. You do not even look at the corporate boxes of the IPL, where the product is polished to a high sheen.

You look at the places where belief outpaces infrastructure.

You look where the crowds show up hours before the gates open, not because they were marketed to, but because they just have to be there.

You look at Nepal.

There are moments in the lifecycle of a sport where a country becomes impossible to ignore. Sri Lanka in 1996. Bangladesh in the early 2000s. Afghanistan in the 2010s. Nepal is that moment for the 2020s.

Most cricket boards would kill for what this nation possesses by accident. They have a capital city that effectively shuts down for a national team match. They have a fanbase that behaves less like a group of spectators and more like a sovereign wealth fund of attention.

This is the first in our series on the ‘growth markets’. We are starting here because Nepal isn’t just an emerging market.

Nepal is the blueprint.

How I became an ‘Emerging Markets’ guy

I have been a ‘cricket guy’ since before I can remember. Three years old, helmet on, pads strapped, trying to copy the batting stances of the players on TV.

But I grew up, like many of us, with the traditional picture. Cricket was Australia, India, England, Pakistan and maybe South Africa or Sri Lanka in there. Associate cricket lived in the background. It was vaguely interesting, a nice story, but it felt peripheral to the ‘real’ business of the sport.

That changed when I began running the World Cricket League (WCL). Suddenly, the map expanded. ‘Cricket’ meant Samoa, Uganda, Hong Kong, and Italy. It meant passion that didn’t match budgets. It meant national teams travelling with nothing more than hope, passion and borrowed kit bags.

My conversion moment happened in 2010. Leading into my first WCL event (Division 4 tournament in Italy) the shadow of a previous tournament in Kathmandu loomed large. Everyone spoke about a game against the USA where a stoppage had spiralled into a full-blown riot at the Tribhuvan University (TU) Ground.

At first, I misunderstood the story. I assumed the controversy was technical, perhaps a dispute over a boundary count or an umpiring error. I remember thinking, "Who riots over a Net Run Rate calculation? How did the crowd even figure out the math that quickly?"

But I was looking at it like an administrator, not a fan. The truth was far more visceral.

They didn't riot over decimal points. They rioted because they were losing.

The day the crowd intervened

It was February 2010. WCL Division 5. The stakes were simple but brutal. Promotion to Division 4 kept the World Cup dream alive. Relegation meant a hard road back to the top of the pile of Associates.

Nepal were playing the USA. The Americans were cruising. They looked set to defeat Nepal at home, a result that would deny the hosts promotion. For the thousands packed onto the grass banks of the TU Ground, this was not an acceptable outcome.

This wasn't just a sporting loss. It felt like a national grievance.

As the realization of defeat set in, the crowd didn't just boo. They intervened. It started with noise, then anger. Then came the projectiles. Rocks and stones began flying onto the pitch. The scene descended into absolute mayhem. Riot police were deployed to hold back a wave of frustration that had physically spilled over the boundary rope.

The match was halted for 45 minutes. The players were rushed off. To an outsider, it looked like anarchy. To a local, it was a refusal to let the dream die.

When the match finally resumed, the conditions had changed. The interruption forced a recalculation of the targets under the Duckworth-Lewis method. Ironically, the disruption and the shortened game shifted the mathematics in Nepal's favour. They scraped through on Net Run Rate.

The outcome was controversial. But the lesson for me was permanent. The spark wasn't tactical. It was primal.

The truth hit me fast: Nepalese fans are built differently.

This wasn't the polite applause of a Test match crowd. This was an obsession that bordered on dangerous. In traditional markets, fans leave early to beat the traffic when their team is losing. In Nepal, they refused to let the game end until they found a way to win.

Years later, in 2025 at the TopEnd20 in Darwin, I saw it again. Nepal played. The stadium filled with blue jerseys. Darwin, of all places, sounded like Kathmandu.

That was the lesson. If you want to see cricket’s future, you go where the passion is.

The organic rise: Evolution, not revolution

Nepal didn’t follow the typical colonial script. It wasn't a Test nation legacy project. Its rise was catalysed by a realization in the late 2000s: Cricket was the one global sport in which Nepal could realistically compete with, and beat, its wealthier neighbours.

That realization sparked a revolution from the grassroots up. It wasn't built on millions of dollars of ICC funding. It was built on a conveyor belt of talent that emerged from the dusty maidans of the country.

This era produced a golden generation.

It started with figures like Binod Das, a fast bowler who carried the bowling attack and built credibility in the early years when few were watching. He laid the cultural groundwork for what was to come.

Then came the movement. Paras Khadka, a charismatic, all-round leader who took over the captaincy in 2009. Khadka wasn't just a captain; he became the face of the sport, a national icon who turned cricket from a pastime into a source of national identity. Under his leadership, the team developed a resilience that mirrored the fanbase.

But talent needs direction. That arrived in the form of Pubudu Dassanayake. The former Sri Lankan international and Canadian coach arrived and professionalized the setup. He realized that while Nepal might lack the resources of India or Australia, they could match them in fitness and fielding. They are now arguably the fittest and best fielding side in the world.

He instilled tactical rigour and physical standards that were previously unheard of in Associate cricket. Between 2008 and 2012, they cracked the code on youth development. It wasn't a high-cost academy system. It was pure, competitive Darwinism. They honed talent in provincial competitions with brutally high standards.

This pipeline produced the stars we know today. Sandip Lamichhane, Gyanendra Malla, Rohit Paudel. They were not accidents. They were the result of a system that demanded excellence.

The watershed moment came in 2014. Nepal qualified for the T20 World Cup in Bangladesh. When they took the field, the world finally saw what the locals had known for years. They belonged.

The paradox: Success vs. chaos

However, cricket in Nepal has never been a straight line. From 2014 to 2016, the nation defined the paradox of modern cricket.

On the field, they were surging. Off the field, the Cricket Association of Nepal (CAN) was falling apart.

Political interference, financial mismanagement, and governance dysfunction reached a breaking point. In 2016, the ICC suspended the Cricket Association of Nepal. For almost any other Associate nation, this would have been a death sentence. Funding dries up. Pathways close. Interest wanes.

Most countries would have collapsed. Nepal didn’t.

This is the part of the story that proves the investment thesis. When the ‘platform’ (the board) broke, the ‘product’ (the cricket) survived because the customers (the fans) refused to let it die.

The community doubled down. Private benefactors stepped in to fund tours. Players managed their own logistics. And crucially, the private sector filled the void.

The Everest Premier League (EPL) launched during this period of administrative darkness. It was a proto-franchise experiment, run privately, that brought international stars like Chris Gayle and Dwayne Smith to Kathmandu.

It proved an economic truth that should prick up the ears of every investor reading this: Few nations on earth produce more elite cricketers and higher engagement metrics per dollar spent than Nepal.

The arrival: September 2025

If the 2010s were about survival, the 2020s are about arrival.

The defining moment came recently, in September 2025. In a T20I series in Sharjah, Nepal didn’t just play the West Indies; they dismantled them.

They won the first match by 19 runs. But it was the second match that sent shockwaves through the establishment: Nepal bowled the two-time World Champions out for 83, winning by 90 runs to take the series 2-0.

This wasn’t a lucky upset on a sticky wicket. It was a statement. With Aasif Sheikh smashing an unbeaten 68 and Aadil Alam ripping through the Caribbean lineup, Nepal proved that their golden generation isn't just good for Associate cricket—they are ready to beat the best in the world.

This victory does more for Nepal’s valuation than any balance sheet could. It legitimizes the asset. It signals to broadcasters and boards that Nepal is no longer a ‘development project’. They are a primetime competitor.

The modern era: The centralisation moment

Today, the chaos is receding. We are entering the era of the ‘Great Correction,’ where structure is finally meeting demand.

The suspension has been lifted. The Cricket Association of Nepal is back, but it is different. It is more ambitious. It is structurally more coherent.

If you step inside the TU Ground now, it feels like a Test nation venue. It sells out faster than many full-member venues, with an intensity that is visceral. The trees that overlook the ground are still packed with fans who couldn't get a ticket, a visual metaphor for the demand outstripping supply.

This isn't just another T20 startup. The 2025 season, currently underway, has been a revelation. With eight teams competing and international broadcasting via Star Sports and FanCode, the NPL has graduated from a local event to a regional powerhouse.

We are seeing the Sudurpaschim Royals dominate the table (at the time of writing), creating regional tribalism that usually takes leagues decades to build. We are seeing major international stars signed to franchises, validating the quality of the league.

And critically, we are seeing the infrastructure catch up. The upgrades to the TU Ground – specifically the floodlights – are a multiplier. Night cricket shifts the sport from a daytime pastime to a primetime media product.

The board was suspended, but the stadium was full. Now, the board is back, the team is beating West Indies, and the league is booming. That is the definition of product-market fit.

The investment case: Why Nepal is the template

We spoke in Article 3 about ‘The Investment Curve’. We classified markets into Formation, Growth, Mature, and Peak.

Nepal is the ultimate Growth Market.

From an investment lens, Nepal sits in the best quadrant of any global sports market: High Proven Demand / Low Institutional Capital.

Compare this to other regions.

The United States has high capital but is still manufacturing demand.

The Middle East has sovereign wealth but often relies on imported expatriate audiences.

Nepal has the hardest thing to build: the people.

1. The Diaspora Power: The Nepalese diaspora is vast and fiercely loyal. In the UAE, Oman, Qatar, Malaysia, and increasingly Australia, Nepal is often the most-supported team in the stadium, outnumbering the locals. This is a global export market for content and merchandise that hasn't even been scratched.
2. Hyper-Efficient Pipeline: The youth system works. They produce talent without the bloated costs of western academies. The cost-to-talent ratio is exceptionally favourable.
3. Low Customer Acquisition Cost (CAC): You don't need to spend millions marketing cricket to a kid in Kathmandu. They are born wanting it. The LTV (Lifetime Value) of a Nepalese fan is massive because they simply do not churn.

The verdict

Earlier in this series I talked about ‘The Great Cricket Heist,’ arguing that cricket needs to steal the best ideas from the NFL, the NBA, and the EPL.

Nepal is showing us how to steal the most important idea of all: Belief.

They have proven that you don't need a century of Test history or a billion-dollar broadcast deal to matter. You need a team that fights and a crowd that cares enough to stop a game when it isn't going their way.

Nepal isn't ‘emerging’ anymore. Nepal has emerged. The world just hasn't priced it correctly yet.

If cricket gets Nepal right, if we invest in the venues, the women's game, the creators, and the digital structure, it proves that the sport's global growth is scalable and investable.

This is the bellwether. This is the proof of concept.

And for the smart money? It’s the most underpriced asset on the map.

This is the first in a series on cricket's growth markets. Over the course of the Cricket's Growth Market series, we will touch upon interesting associate members from all five ICC regions: Africa, Asia, Americas (EAP), and Europe.