Cricket has always evolved — sometimes gracefully, sometimes by force. But the unveiling of Test Twenty on October 16, conceived by sports entrepreneur Gaurav Bahirvani of The One One Six Network, feels less like evolution and more like erosion. Sold as a revolutionary “fourth format,” this new hybrid — part Test, part T20 — could end up stripping cricket of the very thing that made it beautiful: its patience, its poetry, its purpose.
A Test in Name Only
On paper, Test Twenty sounds clever: 80 overs in total, two innings of 20 overs per side, all wrapped up neatly in a single day. It promises the strategic nuance of Tests and the entertainment punch of T20s. The results — win, loss, draw, or tie — mimic tradition, while the structure is designed for the modern attention span.
But let’s be honest: this isn’t a reinvention of Test cricket. It’s a repackaged short-form product dressed up in nostalgia. What makes a Test isn’t just two innings and whites — it’s the slow burn, the psychological tug-of-war, the narrative that stretches and morphs over five days. Compressing that into a few hours doesn’t preserve the format’s soul; it suffocates it.
The Fast-Fooding of a Fine Meal
We’ve been down this road before. T20 was meant to be a supplement, not a substitute. It was the dessert that ended up replacing the meal. The explosion of franchise cricket — from the IPL to The Hundred — has already tilted the balance irreversibly toward entertainment over endurance. Players now retire from Tests at 30 to chase league contracts; boards prioritize broadcast windows over bilateral series.
Now, Test Twenty threatens to finish what T20 started — to turn even the last bastion of cricket’s authenticity into another bite-sized commodity. The message is clear: if something doesn’t fit the digital clock, it doesn’t deserve to exist.
The Allure of Technology, The Absence of Soul
The format’s biggest boast is its AI Discovery Engine, a data-driven system using motion sensors and video analysis to scout talent “impartially.” It’s a fascinating tool — but it misunderstands what cricket’s romance is built on. Algorithms can identify technique; they can’t identify temperament. Data can measure bat speed; it can’t capture the quiet defiance of a batter surviving the last hour in fading light.
Cricket’s legacy is human. It thrives in imperfection — in the missed edge, the fading pitch, the weary spell on the fifth morning. To replace that with AI-driven metrics is to miss the point entirely.
Innovation or Invasion?
The first Test Twenty season, set for January 2026, will feature six global franchises — three from Indian cities, and three from Dubai, London, and the United States. Predictably, the emphasis is on global reach and television appeal. Once again, the game’s guardians are confusing growth with glamour.
Cricket doesn’t need another format; it needs conviction. Test cricket doesn’t need a facelift; it needs faith. The answer to declining Test interest isn’t to dilute it — it’s to defend it, to invest in it, to tell its stories better.
What’s Left When Everything’s Shortened?
Test Twenty might market itself as innovation, but it risks being an obituary. Test cricket isn’t just a format — it’s the conscience of the sport. It’s where cricket’s mythology lives, where legends are forged not by sixes but by survival.
We’ve already lost enough of the game’s soul to the ticking clock of commercial convenience. The question now is simple: when every version of cricket is fast, who will still have the patience to watch the game unfold slowly — beautifully — as it once did?
Thank You
Faisal Caesar




