My name is Ambul Thiyal-Anga. As you would have guessed by now I’m a cricketer. More specifically an opener, by name, at times even by trade.
I have an extensive repertoire of strokes but only play few, that is how good I am. Or how good I was. You see, I hit a rough patch a while ago.
My confidence had eluded me. But no more.
My timing was amiss. But No more
Nay, no more.
Ambul Thiyal-Anga was called into action, as he so often is, against the might of the Indians recently. It was my chance to prove to the world the legend of Ambul was not faded but spreading wider. To prove that to the ones that gave up on me that I’m stronger, faster, well drilled like a finely tuned machine. All clock work like a fresh off the mill Swiss chronometer.
Yes I was ready.
I walked to the middle to face the new ball, fearless as I had done before. But this time It would be different. This time, it would be all my way. The daunting chase ahead of me did not make me nervous. Rather it made me acutely aware that this was where Ambul Thiyal-Anga was meant to be at this moment. This is the moment that Ambul would re capture his lost throne.
A brisk few boundaries boosted my already brimming confidence. I was set. Today would be my day. I reach a half century. The crowd goes wild in the stands. I acknowledge them briefly. Knowing that I would soon be gaining more adulation’s when I reach the milestone I am destined for today. Even the opposition sense it. They are not dealing with a mere mortal. I can see it in their eyes. The fear. The loathing. The hint of jealousy. I’m not perturbed.
The bowler runs in. I already know his plan. I’m two steps ahead of him. He is unaware. My foot moves into position with a serenity that amazes even me. The bat flows through. My muscles searching , aching, for the perfect moment to make contact, but at that most glorious moment I’m distracted, by someone in the crowd perhaps.
It is over. I have edged it and the brutish keeper has snuffled up the chance. For a moment , disbelief. From bowler, keeper and even umpire.
I am out.
I stand there, bat in hand. Pin drop silence all around. I move back into my stance. Practice the perfect sensual shot that was meant to have been played.
But that I did not.
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