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It's only in recent years that female athletes in the South Asian region have been acknowledged as serious cricketers. Over many years, they endured scorn, censure, ostracism – even the risk of violence – to follow their love for the game. Currently, India is staging a World Cup with a prize fund of $13.8 million, where the home nation's athletes could emerge as beloved icons if they achieve their first championship win.

This would, therefore, be a travesty if this weekend's talk centered around their men's teams. And yet, when India face Pakistan on Sunday, comparison are unavoidable. Not because the host team are highly favoured to triumph, but because they are not expected to exchange greetings with their rivals. The handshake controversy, as it's been dubbed, will have a fourth instalment.

If you missed the original drama, it took place at the end of the men's group match between India and Pakistan at the continental championship last month when the India skipper, Suryakumar Yadav, and his squad hurried off the pitch to evade the usual friendly post-match ritual. Two same-y follow-ups transpired in the knockout round and the championship game, climaxing in a protracted presentation ceremony where the new champions refused to accept the cup from the Pakistan Cricket Board's chair, Mohsin Naqvi. It would have been comic if it weren't so tragic.

Observers of the female cricket World Cup might well have hoped for, and even pictured, a alternative conduct on Sunday. Female athletics is intended to offer a fresh model for the sports world and an different path to toxic traditions. The sight of Harmanpreet Kaur's team members offering the fingers of friendship to Fatima Sana and her squad would have sent a strong message in an increasingly divided world.

It might have acknowledged the mutually adverse circumstances they have overcome and provided a symbolic reminder that politics are temporary compared with the bond of women's unity. Undoubtedly, it would have deserved a place alongside the other positive narrative at this tournament: the displaced Afghanistan players invited as guests, being brought back into the sport four years after the Taliban forced them to flee their homes.

Rather, we've collided with the hard limits of the female athletic community. This comes as no surprise. India's men's players are mega celebrities in their homeland, worshipped like deities, regarded like royalty. They possess all the benefits and influence that accompanies stardom and wealth. If Yadav and his team can't balk the directives of an strong-handed leader, what hope do the female players have, whose improved position is only newly won?

Perhaps it's even more surprising that we're continuing to discuss about a handshake. The Asia Cup uproar led to much deconstruction of that particular sporting tradition, especially because it is viewed as the definitive symbol of sportsmanship. But Yadav's snub was far less significant than what he said immediately after the first game.

Skipper Yadav deemed the victory stand the "perfect occasion" to dedicate his team's victory to the military personnel who had participated in India's strikes on Pakistan in May, referred to as Operation Sindoor. "I hope they continue to motivate us all," Yadav told the post-match interviewer, "and we give them further cause in the field whenever we have the chance to bring them joy."

This is where we are: a live interview by a sporting leader openly celebrating a armed attack in which dozens died. Two years ago, Australian cricketer Usman Khawaja was unable to display a solitary humanitarian message approved by the ICC, including the dove logo – a literal emblem of peace – on his equipment. Yadav was eventually penalized 30% of his match fee for the remarks. He wasn't the sole individual disciplined. Pakistan's Haris Rauf, who imitated aircraft crashing and made "6-0" signals to the crowd in the later game – similarly alluding to the conflict – received the identical penalty.

This isn't a issue of not respecting your rivals – this is athletics appropriated as patriotic messaging. There's no use to be morally outraged by a absent greeting when that's simply a minor plot development in the story of two countries already employing cricket as a political lever and instrument of proxy war. Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi clearly stated this with his post-final tweet ("Operation Sindoor on the games field. Outcome is the same – India wins!"). Naqvi, on his side, proclaims that athletics and governance must remain separate, while double-stacking positions as a government minister and head of the PCB, and publicly tagging the Indian prime minister about his country's "embarrassing losses" on the battlefield.

The lesson from this episode is not about cricket, or the Indian side, or the Pakistani team, in separation. It's a warning that the concept of ping pong diplomacy is over, for the time being. The same sport that was used to foster connections between the nations 20 years ago is now being utilized to inflame tensions between them by people who know exactly what they're doing, and huge fanbases who are active supporters.

Polarisation is affecting every aspect of society and as the most prominent of the international cultural influences, athletics is constantly vulnerable: it's a type of leisure that literally invites you to choose a team. Plenty who consider India's actions towards Pakistan belligerent will nonetheless champion a Ukrainian tennis player's entitlement to refuse to greet a Russian opponent across the net.

If you're still kidding yourself that the athletic field is a magical safe space that unites countries, go back and watch the golf tournament highlights. The behavior of the Bethpage spectators was the "perfect tribute" of a golf-loving president who openly incites animosity against his opponents. We observed not just the erosion of the typical sporting principles of fairness and shared courtesy, but the speed at which this might be normalized and nodded through when sportspeople themselves – like US captain Keegan Bradley – refuse to recognise and penalize it.

A handshake is meant to signify that, at the end of any contest, no matter how intense or heated, the participants are putting off their pretend enmity and recognizing their common humanity. Should the rivalry is genuine – if it requires its players emerge in outspoken endorsement of their respective militaries – then what is the purpose with the arena of sports at all? It would be equivalent to don the fatigues now.