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It is merely in the past few seasons that women in the South Asian region have been acknowledged as professional cricket players. Over many years, they faced ridicule, censure, ostracism – even the risk of violence – to follow their love for the game. Currently, India is hosting a World Cup with a total purse of $13.8 million, where the home nation's athletes could become beloved icons if they secure their maiden tournament victory.

It would, then, be a travesty if the upcoming talk centered around their men's teams. And yet, when India confront Pakistan on Sunday, comparison are unavoidable. Not because the host team are strong favorites to triumph, but because they are unlikely to exchange greetings with their opposition. The handshake controversy, if we must call it that, will have a fourth instalment.

In case you weren't aware of the initial incident, it occurred at the conclusion of the men's group match between India and Pakistan at the continental championship last month when the India captain, Suryakumar Yadav, and his squad hurried off the pitch to avoid the customary friendly post-match ritual. Two same-y follow-ups occurred in the Super4 match and the championship game, climaxing in a protracted award ceremony where the new champions declined to accept the cup from the Pakistan Cricket Board's head, Mohsin Naqvi. It would have been comic if it weren't so distressing.

Those following the female cricket World Cup might well have hoped for, and even imagined, a alternative conduct on Sunday. Female athletics is supposed to offer a new blueprint for the sports world and an alternative to negative legacies. The sight of Harmanpreet Kaur's players extending the fingers of friendship to Fatima Sana and her team would have sent a powerful statement in an increasingly divided world.

Such an act could have recognized the shared challenging circumstances they have overcome and provided a symbolic reminder that political issues are temporary compared with the connection of women's unity. Undoubtedly, it would have deserved a place alongside the additional positive narrative at this tournament: the exiled Afghanistan cricketers invited as guests, being reintegrated into the sport four years after the Taliban drove them from their homes.

Instead, we've encountered the firm boundaries of the female athletic community. This comes as no surprise. India's male cricketers are huge stars in their homeland, worshipped like deities, regarded like nobility. They possess all the privilege and power that accompanies fame and wealth. If Yadav and his team can't balk the diktats of an strong-handed prime minister, what chance do the women have, whose elevated status is only recently attained?

Maybe it's even more surprising that we're still talking about a handshake. The Asia Cup uproar led to much deconstruction of that specific sporting ritual, especially because it is viewed as the ultimate marker of fair play. But Yadav's snub was far less significant than what he stated 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 attacks on Pakistan in May, referred to as Operation Sindoor. "My wish is they continue to motivate us all," Yadav told the post-match interviewer, "so we can provide them further cause on the ground whenever we get an opportunity to bring them joy."

This is where we are: a live interview by a sporting leader publicly praising a armed attack in which dozens lost their lives. Previously, Australian cricketer Usman Khawaja couldn't get a single humanitarian message past the ICC, not even the peace dove – a direct sign of harmony – on his bat. Yadav was subsequently penalized 30% of his game earnings for the remarks. He wasn't the only one sanctioned. Pakistan's Haris Rauf, who imitated aircraft crashing and made "6-0" gestures to the crowd in the Super4 match – also referencing the hostilities – was given the identical penalty.

This is not a issue of failing to honor your rivals – this is athletics appropriated as nationalistic propaganda. There's no use to be ethically angered by a absent handshake when that's simply a minor plot development in the narrative of two countries already employing cricket as a diplomatic tool and weapon of proxy war. Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi clearly stated this with his post-final tweet ("Operation Sindoor on the cricket pitch. The result remains unchanged – India wins!"). Naqvi, for his part, blares that sport and politics must remain separate, while double-stacking roles as a government minister and chair of the PCB, and publicly tagging the Indian prime minister about his country's "embarrassing losses" on the battlefield.

The lesson from this situation shouldn't be about cricket, or India, or the Pakistani team, in separation. It serves as a caution that the concept of ping pong diplomacy is over, for the time being. The same sport that was employed to foster connections between the countries 20 years ago is now being used to heighten hostilities between them by individuals who are fully aware what they're attempting, and huge fanbases who are eager participants.

Polarisation is infecting every realm of society and as the greatest of the global soft powers, athletics is always susceptible: it's a form of leisure that literally invites you to choose a team. Many who consider India's gesture towards Pakistan aggressive will still champion a Ukrainian tennis player's right to refuse to greet a Russian competitor on the court.

If you're still kidding yourself that the sporting arena is a magical safe space that unites countries, review the golf tournament recap. The behavior of the Bethpage crowds was the "perfect tribute" of a leader who enjoys the sport who publicly provokes animosity against his opponents. Not only did we witness the erosion of the usual sporting values of fairness and shared courtesy, but the speed at which this might be normalized and tacitly approved when athletes – such as US captain Keegan Bradley – fail to acknowledge and sanction it.

A post-game greeting is supposed to signify that, at the end of any contest, no matter how intense or bad-tempered, the competitors are setting aside their pretend enmity and recognizing their common humanity. Should the rivalry is genuine – demanding that its players come out in vocal support of their national armed forces – then what is the purpose with the arena of sports at all? You might as well put on the military uniform now.