You’d be forgiven for not knowing the Commonwealth Games are happening at all. After the hangover from the World Cup, Wimbledon and The Open, there is in fact still sport going on this summer – but their low-key cousin has received little fanfare and could pass under the radar entirely. Shunted from host to host, stripped back, slimmed down and increasingly anachronistic, could this be the end for the Commonwealth Games?
This edition of the Commonwealths, held in Glasgow for the second time in 12 years, had a particularly difficult start in life – 2026 is the second consecutive Games which has seen one host pull out and another step in at the last minute.
In 2022 it was Durban, which was stripped of hosting rights over failures to meet key obligations to do with governance and funding, with Birmingham coming to the rescue. This time around, as costs spiralled out of control, the Australian state of Victoria ultimately decided, according to its auditor general, that the event was a “waste of taxpayer money” – a damning verdict.
Glasgow – with the memory of a successful 2014 event still fresh – was able to keep the event on life support, at least for one more edition. But it bodes terribly that cities consider hosting, go to the effort of having a bid confirmed, and then back out when it becomes too much of a financial burden.
The Canadian province of Alberta scrambled desperately to get out of having to host the 2030 edition, citing – you guessed it – rising costs. There is evidently still some interest in hosting a sporting event of any magnitude; Ahmedabad is expected to welcome the 2030 edition in place of Edmonton and Calgary. But how many countries can realistically afford to host a sprawling tournament of any kind? And is the cost of one which lacks the prestige of the Olympics or World Cup, or the huge tourism and revenue boost associated with them, worth it?
The current trend for major sporting events seems to be to award them to autocratic petrostates with swelling coffers, none of which are in the Commonwealth. With Saudi Arabia unlikely to join the “family” anytime soon, that means the Games are increasingly being operated on shoestring budgets.
The 17 sports on offer at the 2022 Games in Birmingham have been reduced to just 10 as a result of the last-minute hosting change and the acceptance that this will be a scaled-back event. There will be no hockey – despite Glasgow boasting the National Hockey Centre – and no racquet sports. Meanwhile, the athletics events, traditionally one of the Games’ biggest draws, will only have a crowd of 11,000 at Scotstoun Stadium, rather than nearby Hampden Park, which can fit 52,000.
Inevitably corners had to be cut. But cramming events into tiny venues risks the Games becoming a damp squib, with few spectators able to participate and experience what they are really about.
It isn’t only spectators who will miss out; many athletes have shunned the event altogether. The Games lack the allure of a World or even European Championships and this year occupy an awkward spot in the calendar, two weeks before athletics’ Europeans, which makes it difficult for athletes to do both.
For some British athletes, such as new men’s mile world record holder Josh Kerr, the pull of competing at home is too strong but others, notably Keely Hodgkinson and Dina Asher-Smith, have prioritised the Europeans, which are also held in the UK, Birmingham to be precise, this year. Athletes have to make savvy decisions about their scheduling – but the lack of quality in the field all points to the Commonwealths slipping further down the pecking order, and that in turn makes it harder to attract top competitors in future editions.
And the job of trying to resuscitate the Games has been made even more difficult by them going behind a television paywall for the first time. After 18 Games as host broadcaster, the BBC have been outbid by TNT Sports; while there will still be highlights on Channel 5 and BBC Alba, and some broadcasting on iPlayer, the Games have become another victim of the BBC’s shrinking portfolio.
The production value and coverage is sure to be impressive, but the reach of the Games will contract. No viewer is going to accidentally come across the event and get sucked into whatever is happening in the lawn bowls or netball, simply by idly flicking through channels. A dedicated sporting audience will tune in, but the potential to turn casual viewers into diehard fans has all but disappeared. In the long term, that spells disaster for a Games already struggling to stay in the spotlight.
Which is all a shame, in many ways. For many smaller nations the Commonwealths represent a unique chance to compete on the big stage; for athletes even within the UK, the event can be a stepping stone to greater, more daunting multi-sport events like the Olympics, or equally, it can be the pinnacle of their careers. British athletes get to proudly compete for their home constituent nation – Wales, Scotland, Northern Ireland, England – as opposed to pulling on a GB vest, for perhaps the only time in their professional career. Most importantly, it has been truly groundbreaking in integrating para-sport with able-bodied sport, with combined medal tables and an equal focus on both.
It has to be said though, that few events have the geopolitical and ethical baggage of the Commonwealth Games, which were known as the British Empire Games for the first 20 years of their existence and didn’t drop the word “empire” from the title completely for another 16. The awkward reality is the long-lasting consequences of colonialism, and the looting and repression of Britain’s colonies, are reflected in the wealth disparity between the nations today and the huge disparity in the medal table. Its branding as the “Friendly Games” somewhat downplays the element of competition and feels like an over-correction from its uncomfortable history.
But its vibe as a festival of sport, bringing together a diverse gaggle of athletes from all around the world, should be something to celebrate, and its squeaky-clean image offers welcome respite from the likes of Fifa and the IOC becoming mired in complex geopolitical issues they are resoundingly ill-equipped to deal with. Birmingham 2022 broke ticket sales records for the Games; there is evidently still some appetite for it.
As with the men’s football World Cup, the centenary of the event is fast approaching: both are in 2030. But as the World Cup continues to morph into an ever bigger, ever more lucrative beast, with the potential to expand indefinitely (for better or worse), the Commonwealths are shrinking. The question is do countries, athletes, and viewers still believe in it at all? This week in Glasgow should provide some answers.
