The monsoon clouds over Bengaluru were retreating, leaving behind a sky of washed-out blue and the lush, verdant grounds of the National Cricket Academy (NCA). It was September 2009.
The Compaq Cup victory in Sri Lanka was a sweet mory, but it was already in the rearview mirror. The Indian cricket machine never stopped. The next destination was South Africa. The tournant was the ICC Champions Trophy.
Often called the "Mini World Cup," it was a tournant where there were no minnows, no warm-up gas against weak opposition. It was the top eight teams in the world, thrown into a pit to fight for survival.
---
The BCCI selection committee had announced a squad that was a terrifying blend of legendary experience and explosive youth.
Captain: MS Dhoni.
Batsn: Sachin Tendulkar, Rahul Dravid, Gautam Gambhir, Suresh Raina, Virat Kohli, Dinesh Karthik.
All-Rounders: Yuvraj Singh, Yusuf Pathan, Siddanth Deva.
Bowlers: Harbhajan Singh, Amit Mishra, Ashish Nehra, RP Singh, Praveen Kumar, Ishant Sharma.
The group draw was brutal. Group A.
India.
Australia (The defending champions).
Pakistan (The arch-rivals).
West Indies (The unpredictable powerhouses).
It was the "Group of Death."
---
The training camp at the NCA was unlike anything Siddanth had experienced. In the U-19s, it was about skill developnt. In the IPL, it was about strategy. Here, amongst the seniors, it was about perfection.
Siddanth stood at the top of his run-up in the center wicket practice. The sun was beating down.
At the batting crease stood Rahul Dravid. The Wall.
Dravid was preparing for his coback into the ODI side. He looked focused, intense, sweat dripping from his helt grill.
"Bowl what you'd bowl in the 48th over, Sid," Gary Kirsten shouted from the umpire's position. "Pressure scenario. Field is up."
Siddanth nodded. His mind analyzed the situation. Dravid expects the yorker. He's set himself to dig it out.
He ran in. The rhythm was smooth.
He didn't bowl the yorker.
He bowled the "Heavy Ball". Back of a length, aiming for the splice of the bat, at 148kph.
Dravid, expecting the full ball, was montarily hurried. He rose on his toes, his wrists rolling over the ball instantly to keep it down. The ball thudded into the pitch and died.
"Good ball," Dravid muttered, tapping the pitch.
Next ball. Siddanth went wide on the crease. He angled it in.
150kph. Reverse swinging yorker.
Dravid's bat ca down like a portcullis. Clack. The ball was jamd out to mid-on.
Dravid nodded again. "Better."
It was a masterclass in high-performance training.
Later, Siddanth padded up. He faced Harbhajan Singh and Amit Mishra in tandem.
The dust on the practice pitches was loose. The ball was turning square.
Siddanth didn't try to hit every ball for six. He practiced the rock-solid defense, the forward press, the soft hands.
He batted for two hours without getting out.
When he walked out of the net, Sachin Tendulkar was waiting.
"Your head position is better," Sachin observed, handing him a bottle of water. "You're not falling over to the offside anymore. That balance suits you."
Siddanth smiled, drinking the water. "Trying to build a base, Paaji. Can't just hit sixes in South Africa. The bounce will get you."
"Exactly," Sachin said. "South Africa tests your back foot. If you can punch off the back foot, you rule the Highveld."
The week flew by in a blur of sweat, ice baths, and tactical etings. The team was bonding. The divide between the "Seniors" (Sachin, Dravid, and Gambhir) and the "Youth" (Siddanth, Virat, Raina, Ishant) was bridging. They were becoming a single unit.
---
The day of departure arrived. The team bus took them to Bengaluru International Airport for the flight to Johannesburg.
The mood was high. They were T20 Champions. Confidence was flowing.
They boarded the plane. It was a spacious business-class configuration.
MS Dhoni sat with Gary Kirsten, discussing strategy maps.
Sachin put on his noise-canceling headphones imdiately, disappearing into his world of music.
Yuvraj Singh and Harbhajan were at the back, already starting a loud ga of cards.
Siddanth found his seat in the middle row. He had the window.
Next to him sat Virat Kohli.
Behind him sat Ishant Sharma, the lanky fast bowler with a mischievous streak that rivaled Yuvraj's.
"South Africa," Virat said, buckling his belt. "Bounce. Pace. I love it. I'm going to hook everything."
"Just don't hook it to deep square leg," Siddanth teased, opening a book on sports psychology.
"Ha ha. Very funny. I've been working on it. Top edge is a thing of the past."
The flight took off. Once the seatbelt sign was off, the cabin relaxed.
Siddanth, tired from the grueling week at the NCA, decided to catch so sleep. He reclined his seat, pulled his eye mask down, and drifted off.
He was out cold within minutes.
An hour passed. The cabin was dim.
Ishant Sharma leaned over the back of the seat. He tapped Virat on the shoulder.
Virat looked up from his PSP.
Ishant put a finger to his lips, grinning maniacally. He pointed at the sleeping Siddanth.
Siddanth was deep asleep, his mouth slightly open, a small snore escaping.
Ishant reached into his carry-on bag. He pulled out a tube of minty, white toothpaste.
Virat's eyes lit up. He paused his ga.
"Watch," Ishant mouthed.
Ishant, using his long reach, carefully squeezed a dollop of toothpaste onto his finger. He leaned over. With the precision of a surgeon, he dabbed the toothpaste onto Siddanth's upper lip, right under his nose.
Siddanth twitched but didn't wake up.
Ishant added a little more to his chin.
Now, Siddanth looked like he was foaming at the mouth.
"Phase Two," Ishant whispered.
He grabbed a bottle of water.
He signaled to Suresh Raina across the aisle. Raina saw the setup and covered his mouth to stop from laughing loud.
Ishant waited. He shook the water bottle slightly.
Then, he leaned close to Siddanth's ear.
"TURBULENCE!" Ishant scread. "BRACE! BRACE!"
Simultaneously, Virat grabbed Siddanth's shoulders and shook him violently.
Siddanth's eyes snapped open.
His Reflexes kicked in instantly. The Predator's Focus flared.
In a split second, his brain registered: Shaking. Screaming. Threat.
He didn't panic. He reacted.
He shot up in his seat, his hand chopping out instinctively in a defensive martial arts move.
He grabbed the nearest thing—which happened to be Virat's arm—and twisted it, preparing to neutralize the attacker.
"OW! OW! SID! IT'S !" Virat yelled, dropping the act.
Siddanth froze. He blinked.
The cabin was stable. The lights were steady.
He looked at Virat, who was wincing and rubbing his arm.
He looked up. Ishant Sharma was collapsed in the seat behind, laughing so hard no sound was coming out.
Raina was on the floor of the aisle, gasping for air.
Siddanth looked around. The entire team was looking at him.
Even Sachin had taken off his headphones, looking amused.
"What...?" Siddanth started.
Then he tasted mint.
He wiped his mouth. His hand ca away white and sticky.
Toothpaste.
He looked at Ishant.
" turbulence?" Siddanth asked, his voice deadpan.
"Severe turbulence!" Ishant gasped, wiping tears from his eyes. "We almost crashed! But you... you have toothpaste on your face. Maybe from the shock?"
Siddanth looked at Virat. "And you helped him."
"I was a victim!" Virat protested, massaging his arm. "You nearly broke my wrist! Your reflexes are too fast, man! You went full Jackie Chan!"
Siddanth wiped the toothpaste off with a tissue. A slow smile spread across his face.
"Okay," Siddanth said calmly. "Okay. Good one. Very funny."
He reclined his seat back.
"Just rember," he said, closing his eyes again. "We have a 10-hour flight. And eventually, you guys have to sleep too."
The laughter died down instantly.
Ishant stopped laughing. He looked at Virat.
"He's joking, right?" Ishant whispered.
"I don't know," Virat whispered back, looking at Siddanth's calm profile. "He's the Devil, Ishant. He plots things."
For the rest of the flight, Ishant Sharma did not sleep. Every ti Siddanth moved, Ishant jumped.
(Siddanth, of course, did nothing. The psychological warfare was far more effective than any prank).
---
They landed in Johannesburg. The air was thin and cool. The Highveld winter was ending, but the chill remained.
They took the bus to the Sandton Sun Hotel. It was a fortress. Security was tight given the high-profile nature of the tournant.
The team gathered in the conference room that evening.
Gary Kirsten pinned the schedule on the board.
Match 1: vs. Pakistan (Centurion)
Match 2: vs. Australia (Centurion)
Match 3: vs. West Indies (Wanders)
"No warm-ups," Kirsten said. "We go straight into the fire. Pakistan first up."
Pakistan.
The team they had humiliated in the World Cup Final just three months ago.
"They will be hurting," Dhoni said, standing up. "They will be angry. They have brought back Mohammad Yousuf and Rana Naved. They are stronger in ODIs."
He looked at Siddanth.
"Sid. You scored 188 against them in T20. They will target you. They will bowl short. They will try to get under your skin. Don't let them."
"I won't," Siddanth promised.
---
The next seven days were a blur of intensity.
They trained at the SuperSport Park in Centurion. The pitch had bounce.
Siddanth loved it. Because of his templates felt right at ho on the South African soil. The ball ca off the turf with a satisfying zip.
He spent hours in the nets with Yuvraj Singh and MS Dhoni, practicing the "death overs" hitting.
He spent hours with Zaheer Khan and Ashish Nehra, perfecting the yorker with the white Kookaburra ball.
One afternoon, Rahul Dravid approached him.
"Sid," Dravid said. "Can you bowl to ? I want to practice the pull shot."
Siddanth was surprised. Dravid usually practiced leaving the ball.
"Pull shot, Rahul bhai?"
"Australia is next," Dravid said, his eyes steely. "Johnson. Lee. Siddle. They will bowl short. I need to be ready to score off it, not just evade."
Siddanth nodded. He bowled bouncers at The Wall for 45 minutes. 145kph. 148kph.
Dravid got hit a few tis. He swiveled and missed. But he kept asking for more.
By the end, Dravid was rolling his wrists perfectly, keeping the ball down.
"Thanks," Dravid said, sweating. "That was quality. You're faster than you look."
---
September 25, 2009.
The hotel was quiet. The dia frenzy outside was deafening, but inside, the team was in a bubble.
Siddanth was in his room. Virat was watching videos of Saeed Ajmal on his laptop.
"Ajmal is the key," Virat muttered. "The doosra. He releases it from the back of the hand."
"Watch his wrist," Siddanth said from his bed. "If the wrist is cocked towards fine leg, it's the doosra. If it's towards cover, it's the off-spinner."
"How do you see that?" Virat asked. "It happens in a millisecond."
"Practice," Siddanth said (omitting the Predator's Focus part). "And I watch his feet. He slows down a fraction for the doosra."
Virat nodded, rewinding the video. "I'm going to smash him."
There was a knock on the door.
It was Suresh Raina.
"Team eting. Captain's room. 10 minutes."
They walked down the hall. The seniors—Sachin, Dravid, Harbhajan—were already there.
Dhoni was sitting on the floor, a bat in his hand.
"Okay," Dhoni said. "Pakistan. We know them. They know us. But this is 50 overs. It's not 20 overs. We need patience. The Centurion pitch will do a bit in the morning. If we bat first, survive the first 10. If we bowl, hit the deck."
He looked at the squad.
"The XI for tomorrow."
He read the nas.
Sachin, Gambhir, Siddanth, Dravid, Yuvraj, Kohli, Dhoni, Mishra, Harbhajan, RP Singh, Nehra.
"Sid," Dhoni said. "You're batting at one down. But you're my fifth bowler. I need 10 overs from you. You're the bridge. Can you do it?"
"10 overs," Siddanth nodded. "Consider it done."
---
Match Day Morning
The bus ride to Centurion was electric. Fans were lining the streets, waving Indian and Pakistani flags. The noise penetrated the glass.
Siddanth looked at his phone. A ssage from his father.
"Good Luck and make us proud."
He put the phone away.
He visualized the ga.
Shoaib Malik. Umar Gul. Shahid Afridi. Mohammad Yousuf.
They were a dangerous team. A wounded team.
The bus pulled into the stadium tunnel.
As they walked into the dressing room, the sound of the crowd was a physical roar.
India vs. Pakistan.
The Champions Trophy.
Siddanth pulled on his jersey. Number 6.
He looked at Virat. Virat was bouncing on his toes, eyes wide.
He looked at Sachin. The Master was calm, applying sunscreen.
Siddanth walked out to the balcony. He looked at the pitch. It was hard. It was dry.
It was a stage.
He closed his eyes.
He opened his eyes.
"Let's play," he whispered.
The Champions Trophy campaign was about to begin.
User Comments
0 comments from readers