CSK vs RCB: When a fixture became a feeling

All eyes were on the Chennai man at the centre of the RCB dressing room. Dinesh Karthik, straddling two worlds as broadcaster and late-career professional cricketer, broke into an evocative post-game speech. "We all know how proud our franchise is and how our fans are... and we gave them a treat to watch. Also, you've got to understand the gravity of this game..."

Karthik was talking at the close of a match that sliced through the haze of fours and sixes that was IPL 2024. The clock had ticked well past midnight but outside, on the Queens, Cubbon and MG Road roads embracing the M. Chinnaswamy Stadium in Bengaluru, an impromptu, full-blown after-party raged. What began with banter and a celebration of a memorable turnaround of RCB's season slowly descended into public nuisance. Well past midnight, a group of fans scaled one of the fire trucks near the stadium to hoist an RCB flag, at which point the local police swung in to quickly restore order.

A little distance away, on the internet, amid the generous exchange of vitriol, a different kind of policing took over: "What are you even celebrating?", "Tell us, how many IPL titles you have again?", "Can't wait to welcome RCB to Chennai..."

As the IPL enters adulthood, the Chinnaswamy clash of May 18, 2024 may have become the flashpoint that turned CSK vs RCB into something more than a marketing construct. For the first time in a while, RCB, CSK and their respective fans entered that fixture standing at a crossroads that only one could traverse. The fact they had the fate of the other in their hands caused the supporters to identify with one another in a way they could not tolerate.

So, how did it get to this point?

Interestingly, in 2009, RCB beat CSK in the first-ever knockout game between these two franchises. Any notion of a rivalry though was continuously smothered by the general excellence of the Chennai teams that followed. CSK won every match of note, including a Qualifier 1 and a Final in 2011, and a Qualifier 2 in 2015. However, even amid the blur of games in the IPL, moments and feelings from this fixture refused to fade.

In 2013, with two required off the final ball, RCB seemed to have clinched victory when RP Singh had Ravindra Jadeja caught at third man, only for the bowler to foot-fault, handing CSK a no-ball and the win. The cameras panned to Virat Kohli, whose face cycled through emotions of nervous anticipation, ecstasy, and devastation in the span of three seconds.

A year earlier, Kohli was at the centre of another heartbreak, conceding 28 runs in a single over to Albie Morkel when RCB needed to defend 43 off 12. In 2018, MS Dhoni famously crashed RCB's party with an ice-cold 70* off 34, finishing with a classic six. But a year later, he fell just short trying to get 26 in the final over. Almost always, RCB were the ones trying to puncture the great CSK bubble, and also the ones left picking up the pieces.

No titles, no away wins in Chepauk since 2008, and a lopsided 21-11 head-to-head record in CSK's favour: by every metric, this is a rivalry that shouldn't exist. At 16-14, CSK have a closer contest with Punjab Kings. Their bouts with Mumbai Indians too are fought on more equal footing, with both teams tied on five titles. But rivalries in sport aren't built on numbers alone. They are forged by geographies, histories, and identities. Karnataka and Tamil Nadu, where the two teams are based, share deep economic and cultural ties, with large Tamil populations in Karnataka and vice versa. Yet, beneath the surface, tensions always simmer, rooted in language politics and, most infamously, the long-standing dispute over sharing the Kaveri river.

These political undercurrents have surfaced at the Ranji Trophy level. Former India fast bowler Venkatesh Prasad recalls a famous clash where Karnataka, beaten at home by a Krishnamachari Srikkanth-led Tamil Nadu side, saw fans hurl plastic chairs onto the field in frustration. During last season's RCB-CSK showdown, Prasad likened the clash to its Ranji Trophy counterpart. It was a curious comparison, given that the IPL operates in a transient, corporate ecosystem where players aren't tied to teams by domicile. In fact, a common gripe among fans of both franchises is their reluctance to field local talent.

But while history and politics provide some backdrop, the IPL rivalry as it exists today was shaped just as much by branding and identity. CSK and RCB weren't just two teams; they were two ways of being, built differently from the top down. CSK presented itself as an earthy, local and massy team in line with the understated persona of its ownership. RCB, with its superstar players, felt like a franchise born in the plush UB Towers on Lavelle Road in the heart of Bengaluru's CBD and somewhat detached from the city's larger identity.

Interestingly, just two months before that CSK clash, RCB took a subtle step toward forging a more local identity, changing 'Bangalore' in their team name to the more vernacular 'Bengaluru' and getting Kohli to call it a 'hosa adhyaya' - a new chapter. At the forefront of the two teams for the longest time stood two of the most popular Indian cricketers of the 21st century, Kohli and Dhoni, each embodying as well as shaping the very essence of the teams they led.

This carefully crafted branding extended beyond the teams themselves. Rivalries in sport aren't just about competition; they fulfill a deeper, almost narcissistic need for identity. Fans define themselves not just by who they are, but just as much by who they are not. CSK fans mock RCB over their former owner Vijay Mallya's fugitive status, while RCB fans fire back with reminders of CSK's two-year suspension for their ownership's involvement in the betting scandal.

But while fans are deeply entrenched in the rivalry, what about the players themselves? Does it hold the same weight within the dressing rooms? They are certainly aware of it, given the noise from the outside. At an event in Mysuru recently, CSK captain Ruturaj Gaikwad joked that his microphone malfunction may have been caused by an RCB fan. They might wake up extra motivated for the fixture, but active players rarely harbour any real animosity, knowing that the IPL's short three-year cycles and auction dynamics could see them thrown to either side of the red-yellow divide. Unlike leagues in other sports that have built rivalries over decades, the IPL remains a two-month sprint. But as international cricket's significance wanes, especially in the eyes of the next generation, these franchise loyalties could deepen, and with them, the rivalry itself.

Kohli, a central character in these contests as much for his performances as for his theatrics on the field, has previously pushed back against the idea of manufacturing rivalries. "I don't think it makes any sense," he'd said, cautioning against fostering a club-like culture. "It's very important to treat it as a league that happens for two months and not going into the club culture because in turn you want the fans to be united again when people are playing for their country, that's how I see it." It can be stated with some degree of confidence that his exuberant celebrations at the end of the Chinnaswamy game last year had little to do with the opposition, just as Dhoni's bat punch and swift walk off before the post-match handshakes were more a reflection of his passion for the game and CSK than a response to who or where he was playing.

However, at 18, the league has aged enough for players with substantial IPL playing experience to have retired and moved into broadcasting, taking with them their allegiances and personal preferences. Their presence, coupled with the rise of regional-language commentary and the evolving role of punditry, has fuelled a new edge to recent fixtures between the sides. Broadcasters increasingly seek former players who can channel the emotions of a club's fanbase, creating coverage that has shifted from a default position of neutrality to one of overt fandom.

On Star Sports Tamil, for instance, ex-cricketers openly pander to CSK supporters, at times even indulging in jabs at RCB. It's an interesting approach, especially in an era saturated with fan-driven content online. Instead of offering an alternative to the memes, television appears to be mirroring it, perhaps in pursuit of short viral moments. And while these segments undoubtedly spark engagement, a lot of it stems from fans sharing clips to express their disapproval or to rile up rival supporters.

There is, of course, a solid argument that a rivalry fuelled by social-media silliness, and not nastiness, is ideal for modern times. Because, why would you want your sports drama to be underwritten by stronger and deeper undercurrents? For years, this has been defined by CSK's dominance and RCB's longing to change the narrative. But May 18, 2024 may have altered something. It gave RCB a rare moment of triumph, one they clung to with unrestrained joy. It wasn't just a league-stage win, it was catharsis, a release from years of frustration, celebrated as though it meant more than the two points.

And maybe, for the first time in this fixture's history, it did mean more. Because a rivalry isn't just about the maths. It's also about moments. And there were so many wrapped up in those four hours last season. Did RCB truly shift the balance that night at Chinnaswamy? Or was it just another fleeting moment in a rivalry that, after all these years, might finally be real?

It's a rivalry that has started to live beyond the field, shaping conversations, fuelling social media debates, and even seeping into pop culture. In Tamil cinema's biggest hit of the year, Dragon, the protagonist is a die-hard RCB fan in Chennai, and his fiancee, a CSK supporter, is drawn to his unwavering loyalty. Maybe that's what this rivalry has always been, less about balance or stakes, and more about the need to believe it all matters just a little more than it does.