The Big Bash is just wallpaper TV now: Why Australia’s summer obsession became a background hum

You can almost hear the panic in the boardroom at Jolimont every time the camera pans to the outer. The lights are flashing, the flamethrowers are doing their best to simulate excitement, and the music is blaring at ear-bleeding decibels. But look closely at the stands. In Sydney and Melbourne, the cavernous voids of empty seats are the ghost at the feast.

Cricket Australia (CA) and the Seven Network will wave spreadsheets at you. They’ll tell you that TV ratings are holding up (which they are, technically). But let’s be honest with ourselves: the Big Bash League has shifted from being appointment viewing to “wallpaper TV”—something you leave on while you cook dinner or doom-scroll on your phone. The roar hasn’t just faded; it’s become ambient noise.

“The BBL was once the gateway drug for cricket fans. Now it feels like the hangover.”

How did we get here? How did the league that once pulled 80,000 people to the MCG turn into a product that feels increasingly like a developmental carnival for the IPL?

The "Zombie Viewer" Phenomenon

The broadcasters love to tout their "reach" figures (a metric that counts anyone who stumbled past the channel for more than a minute). But real engagement is measured in passion, and that currency is devaluing fast. The tribalism that drives the AFL and NRL simply doesn't exist for the Melbourne Stars or the Sydney Thunder. These are franchises, not clubs. Without history, you need star power to manufacture interest. And that’s exactly where the BBL is bleeding out.

While we are watching local grade cricketers get a run on prime time, the world’s best are cashing cheques elsewhere. The uncomfortable truth is that Australia is no longer the centre of the T20 universe; we are a feeder league with better production values.

Gimmicks Over Substance

Desperation breeds innovation, or in the BBL's case, confusion. We've had the "Power Surge", the "Bash Boost", and the "X-Factor" (RIP). Now, the suits are floating the idea of a "Designated Batter" for next season—a move designed to let aging stars bat without fielding, essentially admitting that the league is a retirement home for hamstrings.

When you have to change the fundamental laws of cricket to make your product watchable, you have already lost the argument. The game itself should be enough. Look at the Perth Scorchers: they fill the stadium because they win, and they have a distinct identity. They don't need glowing stumps or fielding restrictions to make the locals care.

The "Babar" Incident: A Symptom of Disrespect?

Nothing summed up the league's current malaise better than the recent visuals of Babar Azam being openly mocked as a "T20 liability" on-field by opponents. While it made for viral TikTok clips, it hinted at a deeper issue: a lack of genuine competitive tension. When the players themselves are treating the contest like a schoolyard scratch match, why should the punters pay $40 for a ticket?

We are left with a competition that occupies a strange limbo. It’s too professional to be fun grassroots cricket, but not rich enough to sit at the elite global table. Unless Cricket Australia embraces private ownership to inject serious capital—or drastically shortens the tournament to create scarcity—the BBL risks becoming the VCR of cricket leagues: technically functional, but entirely obsolete.

Does anyone actually know who won three years ago? Or are we just watching colours move on a screen while we wait for the footy season?