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It's only in recent years that female athletes in the South Asian region have gained recognition as serious cricketers. Over many years, they endured ridicule, censure, ostracism – including the threat of violence – to follow their love for the game. Currently, India is staging a World Cup with a total purse of $13.8 million, where the home nation's players could become national treasures if they achieve their maiden championship win.

This would, then, be a travesty if the upcoming talk centered around their male counterparts. However, when India confront Pakistan on Sunday, parallels are unavoidable. And not because the home side are strong favorites to triumph, but because they are unlikely to exchange greetings with their rivals. The handshake controversy, if we must call it that, will have a another chapter.

In case you weren't aware of 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 captain, Suryakumar Yadav, and his squad hurried off the field to avoid the customary friendly handshake tradition. A couple of similar sequels occurred in the Super4 match and the championship game, climaxing in a protracted presentation ceremony where the title winners declined to accept the trophy from the Pakistan Cricket Board's head, Mohsin Naqvi. The situation might have seemed comic if it weren't so distressing.

Observers of the female cricket World Cup might well have hoped for, and even imagined, a different approach on Sunday. Female athletics is intended to offer a fresh model for the sports world and an alternative to negative traditions. The image of Harmanpreet Kaur's players 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 environment they have overcome and provided a symbolic reminder that politics are temporary compared with the bond of women's unity. It would certainly have earned a spot alongside the additional good news story at this tournament: the exiled Afghanistan cricketers invited as observers, being brought back into the sport four years after the Taliban forced them to flee their country.

Rather, we've collided with the firm boundaries of the female athletic community. No one is shocked. India's men's players are mega celebrities in their country, idolized like deities, regarded like nobility. They possess all the benefits and influence that comes with fame and money. If Yadav and his team are unable to defy the diktats of an authoritarian leader, what chance do the female players have, whose improved position is only recently attained?

Maybe it's even more surprising that we're still talking about a simple greeting. The Asia Cup furore prompted much analysis of that specific sporting ritual, especially because it is considered the ultimate marker of fair play. But Yadav's refusal was much less important than what he stated immediately after the initial match.

Skipper Yadav considered the victory stand the "ideal moment" to devote his team's victory to the military personnel who had participated in India's strikes on Pakistan in May, known as Operation Sindoor. "My wish is they continue to inspire us all," Yadav told the post-game reporter, "so we can provide them further cause in the field whenever we get an opportunity to bring them joy."

This reflects the current reality: a real-time discussion by a sporting leader publicly praising a military assault in which many people died. Previously, Australian cricketer Usman Khawaja couldn't get a solitary humanitarian message approved by the ICC, not even the peace dove – a literal sign of peace – on his equipment. Yadav was eventually fined 30% of his game earnings for the remarks. He was not the sole individual sanctioned. Pakistan's Haris Rauf, who mimicked plane crashes and made "6-0" signals to the audience in the later game – also referencing the hostilities – was given the same punishment.

This isn't a issue of not respecting your rivals – this is sport co-opted as patriotic messaging. There's no use to be ethically angered by a absent handshake when that's simply a small detail in the story of two countries already employing cricket as a diplomatic tool and instrument of proxy war. Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi clearly stated this with his social media post after the final ("Operation Sindoor on the games field. Outcome is the same – India wins!"). Naqvi, on his side, blares that sport and politics must remain separate, while double-stacking positions as a government minister and chair of the PCB, and directly mentioning the Indian prime minister about his country's "embarrassing losses" on the battlefield.

The takeaway from this situation shouldn't be about cricket, or the Indian side, or Pakistan, in isolation. It serves as a caution that the concept of ping pong diplomacy is finished, at least for now. The same sport that was used to build bridges between the countries 20 years ago is now being utilized to inflame tensions between them by individuals who are fully aware what they're attempting, and huge fanbases who are active supporters.

Polarisation is affecting every aspect of society and as the most prominent of the global soft powers, athletics is constantly vulnerable: it's a type of entertainment that literally invites you to choose a team. Many who find India's actions towards Pakistan aggressive will nonetheless champion a Ukrainian tennis player's right to refuse to greet a Russian competitor across the net.

If you're still kidding yourself that the sporting arena is a protected environment that unites countries, go back and watch the Ryder Cup recap. The conduct of the Bethpage spectators was the "ideal reflection" of a golf-loving president who publicly provokes hatred against his opponents. Not only did we witness the decline of the typical sporting values of fairness and shared courtesy, but how quickly this might be accepted and nodded through when athletes – like US captain Keegan Bradley – refuse to recognise and sanction it.

A post-game greeting is supposed to signify that, at the conclusion of any contest, however bitter or heated, the participants are putting off their simulated rivalry and recognizing their shared human bond. Should the rivalry isn't pretend – if it requires its athletes come out in vocal support of their respective militaries – then what is the purpose with the sporting field at all? It would be equivalent to don the fatigues immediately.