When you are having a season
which is below average, as a cricketer it becomes very annoying as well as
depressing fact of life. Having played as a number-3 batsman in all the teams I
represented from school to junior level states; to have more than 10 games in
succession with a highest score of just 17 not out was a troubling thing. Not
only could I not score as freely as I would have liked, my role in the team
also slumped to someone who was just a blocking guy, used as a shield to play
out the opposition bowling searing through the top order as and when such a
need arose.
Selection in top eleven depended
not on my batting skills but on the fact that I was also a useful bowler who
could bowl six balls at one place without conceding any extras. I bowled first
change consistently and took a couple of wickets invariably. However, I wasn’t
a go-to man for my captain in case of crisis situation. With someone who relies
more on variations in length rather than great pace, I wasn’t a first choice if
the opposition batsmen were chancing their arms successfully at anything.
There was a constant battle going
in the mind, various theories of why it is not working out were advanced,
debated and refuted. The fact that grass in Colorado grounds is thicker than
any other grounds I had played; did seem comforting on the face of it– however
deep in heart, I knew it wasn’t the outfield that had the issue.
And then in the last innings that
I played, amid falling wickets at the other end, when I was still there at the
crease blocking – struggling to get the drives past the covers and cuts through
the point – I saw a ray of hope. May be that was to be the innings that would
resurrect the lost form; prove that class was indeed permanent and I did have
it; free me from the self-doubt that inflicts every sportsman going through the
slump. At mid innings break we had lost more than half the side, and I told
myself to stay there and grind it out.
The first ball I faced after the
break – I did the most horrible thing possible. I guided one to the slip;
fancying a chance with an upper cut. Walking back was heart wrenching,
picturing the dismissal was not helping; but there was no way to avoid it
either! Why, o’why did I try to be cheeky; did not I know the fact that it was
a shot to be played when one was in good touch only? Did not I know the fact
that bowler was too slow and maximum I might have got from that shot – even if
it cleared slip – was just one run? It was a cricketing synonym for suicide – as
if I was giving fielding practice to the opposition team.
After that dismissal, I thought
to myself if I would really consider myself a batsman. Not long ago, in India I
had hit pace bowlers for sixes over the top of their heads. Not long ago,
square cut used to be a shot that was sure to yield a four whenever width was
on offer. Not long ago, I was an active batsman always busy on crease and
playing freely, scoring runs and having shots to cherish from every innings
that I played. Thoughts of past glory did not subside the present misery; they
only exaggerated it!
While going for another game this
Saturday, I told my team-mate that I needed one good innings before the end of
the season. With just 4-5 games to go; and the current form of the team, as
well as myself; it looked very remote possibility. A dreadful thought lurked in
mind, if I will be transformed as a bowler forever!! Or if I had already!!
In that particular game, I did
not get a chance to bat and bowled just one over that cost 9 runs to the team. It
was a close game and demanded complete intensity; on field. I was fielding at
long off and thinking to myself if there was any light at the end of this dark
runless tunnel. The opposition needed 30 in last 4 overs and in walked their
most explosive batsman. On the first ball he walked across the stump and lifted
it over the short fine leg for a boundary.
We knew that the only way to win
was to get that player out before it was too late. The captain called me in
from long off and asked me to go to short fine leg. Looking at his stroke-making he thought there
would be a chance of a skier at short fine leg and trusted me to take it.
Usually when one is out of sync
with game, fielding is an aspect that reveals it the most. Fumbles become
regular and sky catches become nightmares. How one fields is a great sign of
one’s connect with game!
On the next ball; batsman again
hoiked one more time – bowler being the tallest guy in our team ball went only
up in the distance and not far. It was exactly between me and the man standing
at midwicket; “mine” shouted I while running towards the square leg umpire.
High as it was, it gave ample
amount of time to position under the ball nicely and put my hands up in
anticipation. Hard as one’s hands are usually when not in regular practice – it
bounced off once; however composed judgment, position and calmness ensured that
I gathered it easily on second attempt without any panic.
That catch was the only saving
grace from that game; however it did something wonderful to me. Those who play
cricket, know it enough that when you take skiers comfortably and confidently
you are at peace and joy with the game! It rekindled the kinship with the sport
I love!
It was joyous realization that
even when runs were dried, connect with cricket remained vivacious, active and
joyous!!
Hopefully runs will follow too!
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