CHAPTER 33: THE SEMI-FINAL DAY MATCH [6]

Chapter 33: The Semi-final Day Match [6]

The ten-minute innings break felt charged with a strange, reversed energy.

On the Spring Dale side, there was a casual, relaxed air.

Their players lounged on the grass, laughing and sharing jokes.

Their two openers, Captain Rohan Sharma and his partner Sameer, padded up with the unhurried ease of men heading for a routine net session. The chase was a formality.

On the Shanti Vidya Mandir School side, there was a tense, coiled silence.

The players sat in a tight semi-circle on the ground, gulping water, their knuckles white on their bottles.

They were showing their exhaustion and their nerves. Coach Sarma didn’t sit. He paced in front of them, his shadow falling over each player like a judge.

Raghav, his arm throbbing in its plaster cast, stood beside him.

His Intelligence Boost had long since faded, leaving him with the cold, analytical 25 points of his base Cricket IQ. He was scanning the relaxed SDI batsmen, his mind racing.

’They are arrogant,’ he thought. ’They think 86 is a gift. They’re not expecting a war.’

Sarma stopped his pacing. The team looked up.

"Listen," he growled, his voice low and guttural.

"86 is not a score. It is a fortress. Every single run they take, they must bleed for. I want fielders so close they can smell what that batsman had for breakfast."

He pointed to his chest. "I want noise. I want pressure. Every block, every leave, I want you to cheer like it’s a wicket. Do not let them breathe. Do not let them get comfortable."

He jabbed a finger at his lankiest bowler.

"Parag. You have the ball. You are not a bowler. You are a sniper. You have one job: find the crack."

The umpire called for the teams. The Shanti Vidya Mandir School players rose, their faces grim but set with a new, hard resolve. They ran onto the field, not with a jog, but with a sprint.

Rohan and Sameer, watching them, shared an amused smirk. ’How cute,’ their expressions said. ’They’re trying.’

The Shanti Vidya Mandir School team formed a tight, desperate huddle.

"For the school!" Vikram, his voice hoarse, yelled. "For the fight!"

"FIGHT!" they roared, the sound echoing in the mostly empty stadium.

They broke and sprinted to their positions. The field Sarma had set was hyper-aggressive. Two Slips, a Gully, a Short Leg.

They were hunting.

Rohan Sharma took his stance. He was relaxed, his shoulders loose.

[Score: 0/0. Target: 87]

Parag, a tall, awkward medium-pacer who relied on movement, held the ball. He was nervous.

[Ball 0.1] Parag ran in. His first ball was a "loosener." Full-Length and so wide outside the Off-Stump that Rohan didn’t even flinch. He just watched it, a look of almost bored contempt on his face, as it went through to the keeper.

The keeper, Rohan (the other Rohan, Don Bosco’s keeper), fired the ball back, hissing "Good ball, Parag! Good pressure!"

[Ball 0.2] Parag found his line. A perfect Good Length delivery, on the Off-Stump corridor. Rohan Sharma, the "batsman," played an equally perfect, "textbook" Forward Defensive Block.

The ball hit the middle of his bat and dropped dead at his feet. It was a statement of superiority.

[Ball 0.3] Parag pitched it up, Fuller, trying to entice the Drive. Rohan, a master of the "textbook" himself, played a beautiful, flowing Cover Drive.

He didn’t hit it hard. He just "placed" it, expecting an easy single to get off the mark.

But the Cover fielder, Ajit—the "Wall"—remembered Sarma’s words.

Bleed for it.

He threw himself, a full-length, desperate sprawl to his right, his body skidding on the perfect grass.

He got a hand to it, stopping the ball just a few feet away. No run.

A huge "WOAAAAH!" erupted from the Shanti Vidya Mandir School field.

Rohan, who was already halfway down the pitch for his casual single, had to stop, turn, and scramble back.

He glared at Ajit, his rhythm broken. He was annoyed. The formality was being interrupted.

[Ball 0.4] Parag, inspired by the fielding, delivered another good ball. Rohan blocked.

[Ball 0.5] Parag again. Rohan, getting impatient, tried to force a run. He pushed the ball firmly towards Mid-On and took a step. Gourav, at Mid-

On, sprinted in, his head down, and attacked the ball. "NO!" Rohan yelled, sending his partner Sameer scrambling back. No run.

The pressure was on.

[Ball 0.6] Parag, growing in confidence, saved his best ball for last. He ran in, his long arm coming over the top.

He delivered a Good Length ball, on the Off-Stump, but this one... this one seamed away at the last possible second.

Rohan, forced to play, pushed at it. The ball beat his edge.

Whoosh.

THWACK.

It slammed into the keeper’s gloves.

[End of Over: Maiden. Score: 0/0. Target: 87]

A maiden over. The Shanti Vidya Mandir School team was electric. They clapped, they shouted, they converged on Parag, patting his back. "YES, PARAG! THAT’S THE LINE!"

The Spring Dale dugout, which had been laughing, was now quiet. Rohan Sharma, walking to the non-striker’s end, was not smiling.

On the sideline, Raghav watched Rohan’s feet. He had seen it.

On the Forward Defensive blocks, Rohan’s front foot was perfect. But on the ball he left (0.1) and the ball that beat him (0.6), his front foot was lazy. It was planted.

’He’s a "plant and drive" batsman,’ Raghav thought, his mind latching onto the detail. ’He trusts his hands, not his feet.

He hates the ball that makes him guess. He’s vulnerable to the one that moves away.’

This was the crack

The second over began. Coach Sarma brought on his little left-arm spinner, Sunil, from the other end.

[Ball 1.1] Sunil, nervous, bowled to the new batsman, Sameer. Sameer, seeing the pressure on his captain, wanted to be the hero.

He took a big step and Slogged the first ball, a crude, powerful heave over Mid-Wicket. It was ugly, but it was in the gap. They ran hard. Two runs.

[Score: 2/0. Target: 85]

[Ball 1.2] Sameer tried the exact same shot. This time, the ball turned, beat his wild swing, and just missed the Off-Stump.

"Aaaah!" the keeper screamed.

[Ball 1.3] Sameer, rattled, just blocked.

[Ball 1.4] He pushed a nervous single to Cover.

[Score: 3/0. Target: 84]

Rohan was back on strike.

Raghav, his cast forgotten, sprinted down the sideline to the Cover fielder, Ajit.

"Ajit! AJIT!"

Ajit looked over.

"Tell the keeper! Tell Parag! His front foot! It’s planted! Make him drive at the one that leaves him! Outswinger! Tell him!"

Ajit, understanding, waited until the over ended. While the fielders were changing, he sprinted to his keeper, Rohan, and relayed the message.

The keeper subtly tapped his own helmet, then signaled to Parag, who was at Mid-Off. Parag, seeing the signal, gave a curt, almost imperceptible nod.

The message was delivered.

[Score: 3/0. Target: 84. (End of Over 2)]

Parag had the ball for his second over. He was bowling to Sameer.

[Ball 2.1] Parag, his confidence high, ran in. He bowled a simple Inswinger. Sameer, still in Slog mode, just tapped it to Mid-Wicket for a single.

[Score: 4/0. Target: 83]

Rohan Sharma was on strike.

This was it.

The field was set. Two Slips. A Gully. An attacking Cover-Point.

Raghav held his breath. Parag had the message. He knew the plan.

[Ball 2.2] Parag ran in. He bowled Good Length, on that perfect, tight Fourth Stump line, forcing Rohan to make a decision.

The ball seamed in. Rohan, his front foot planted, just angled his bat and blocked it. Solid.

[Ball 2.3] Parag delivered the exact same ball. Good Length, Fourth Stump line, seaming in. Rohan, disdainful, blocked it again.

He was showing Parag that this line didn’t threaten him.

[Ball 2.4] This was the one. Parag thundered in. His arm action was identical.

The ball was aimed at the identical spot. It was pitched just a fraction fuller. It was the Drive ball. It was the "sucker" ball.

Rohan’s eyes lit up. He saw the Full ball. His front foot planted, his body coiled, ready to execute the same textbook Cover Drive he had played in the first over.

But Parag, his lanky frame uncoiling, snapped his wrist.

The ball, disguised perfectly, was not the Inswinger.

It was the Outswinger.

It pitched on Middle-and-Off, looked for all the world like it was coming in with the angle, and then, at the last second, it seamed away.

Rohan, his front foot planted like a statue, was committed. His hands, his hips, his shoulders... all were moving into the Cover Drive for a ball that was no longer there.

He couldn’t stop. He pushed.

Snick.

The sound was tiny, sharp, and absolutely fatal.

A thin, perfect Outside Edge.

The ball flew, fast and low, to the right of the First Slip.

But Coach Sarma had two Slips.

The ball rocketed straight to Gourav at Second Slip.

It came fast. Gourav, his reflexes sharp, got his hands up.

FUMBLE!

The ball hit his palms and shot up into the air, spinning.

A collective gasp of horror from the Shanti Vidya Mandir School team.

Rohan Sharma, his life flashing before his eyes, started to turn to get back in his crease.

But Vikram, at First Slip position on the field,his captain’s instincts screaming, had already moved.

He saw the fumble. He saw the ball pop up.

He threw himself.

He dove, his body parallel to the ground, his right arm outstretched, a desperate, horizontal lunge.

He snagged the rebound, his gloved hand closing around the ball just inches before it hit the sacred grass.

He rolled, and came up holding the ball aloft.

"WICKET!"

The Shanti Vidya Mandir School team exploded. They didn’t just cheer; they screamed.

They dogpiled Vikram, who was roaring from the ground. Parag was on his knees, his arms to the sky, a prayer of thanks on his lips.

The umpire’s finger was up.

[Score: 4/1. Target: 83]

Rohan Sharma, the "batsman," the champion captain, was out.

He just stood there. He looked at his bat. He looked at the celebrating mob. He looked at the umpire, his face a mask of disbelief.

His fortress of arrogance had been breached.

On the sideline, Raghav allowed himself a single, hard pump of his good left arm.

He looked at Coach Sarma. The coach’s face was stone, but his eyes were on fire.

The SDI dugout was a graveyard. The laughter was gone.

The "formality" was now a dogfight.

(To be Continued)