RCB has always been a reflection of Bengaluru itself — resilient, creative, optimistic and endlessly hopeful

By invitationDanish Sait (A.K.A Mr Nags)
Sports teams do something unique: they democratise belonging. They give millions of people a piece of something larger than themselves. For me, RCB wasn’t just a cricket team. It was a representation of the city I belonged to.

Mr Nags was a character designed to resonate with Bengalureans — from the way he spoke to his mannerisms and choice of words. To this day, I’m not entirely sure how the headband became part of the look, but it certainly added to the madness. As the years passed, the team behind the content grew. People like Kritharth Srinivasan and Arjun helped shape what the content eventually became. But the core idea never changed: humanise the players.

Fans often see athletes as superheroes. We wanted to show that they were also people who could laugh at themselves. And the players embraced it wholeheartedly. They were all willing to poke fun at themselves, laugh at their own shortcomings and participate in something playful.



What continues to amaze me is how RCB treats everyone associated with the franchise — players, support staff, media personnel and crew members — with the same affection and respect. Year after year, they made me feel like I was part of the team. I never imagined Mr. Nags would last beyond a season, yet here we are more than a decade later.

But RCB’s greatest strength has always been its fans. They come first. That’s why we’ve always gone to great lengths to give supporters genuine access to the team. The RCB Insider was never just about matches. It was about poolside conversations, flights, hotel corridors, team buses and spontaneous moments behind the scenes. Fans want authenticity. They want to know the personalities behind the jerseys. That openness created something special.

There were seasons when we came heartbreakingly close. The 2016 final still stings. For a while, it felt like the trophy was ours before it slipped away. In many ways, the team’s story mirrored the fans’ story. We kept showing up. We kept hoping. Eventually, hope became our identity. Nowhere is that feeling stronger than at the Chinnaswamy Stadium. When 40,000 people are singing, cheering and believing together, you realise a cricket team can become something far bigger than cricket. What’s even more remarkable is seeing that support across the country. Whenever RCB travels, players often remark on how every venue feels like a home ground. Everywhere you look, there are supporters dressed in red and gold. The loyalty is extraordinary.

That’s why last year’s triumph felt different. I was on the field shooting when it happened, and nobody wanted to leave. Everyone kept talking about one thing: they couldn’t wait to see how Bengaluru would respond. Then the videos started pouring in. Fireworks lighting up neighbourhoods. Auto drivers celebrating. Flower sellers in KR Market cheering. People dancing in the streets. Messages from fans who had waited nearly two decades for that moment. What moved me most was the feeling that the victory belonged to everyone — especially the supporters who stayed through every heartbreak.

I’ve been with this team for 13 years as Mr Nags. That’s long enough to understand that loyalty is never really about trophies. It’s about showing up. It’s about believing. It’s about finding joy in the journey. That is why I’ve always believed RCB is a reflection of Bengaluru itself — resilient, creative, optimistic, emotional and endlessly hopeful. And that’s why, no matter what happens next, I’ll always feel like a small part of this story.


(as told to Madhu Daithota)