One of the three stories with same opening lines but different themes that I have written for sulekhachallenge1. This is ‘really fiction?’(The other two are ‘real’ and ‘fiction’)

I knew this would change everything but as I stood there transfixed, I felt helpless.

            Across the pitch, the bowler was charging towards me with a demonic look on his face. He was the most celebrated bowler in the world and hoped to lop me off in this over. I had to move, to act and prove myself. Unfortunately, my delayed reflexes cost me. The bouncer connected on to my helmet before I could duck and only the metal guard prevented a fractured jaw and loss of teeth. A collective groan of disappointment resounded across the stadium. Some began to boo. The captain who was the batsman across from me shrugged his shoulders and looked away. I was truly helpless. I couldn’t even tell him.

            When the previous batsman was out and returning back, I had begun descending the stairs from the dressing room. And that was when it had happened. Amidst jostling people and noisy crowds, I had heard him clearly. Close to my ears. “Lose this match. Will be compensated beyond your dreams...or you will pay for it.” I had stumbled in my steps. I wanted to stop and look at the men around and shout for the coward to come forward. But I didn’t do it. I knew all the cameras were now focused on me- the batsman coming in at this crucial juncture. I had walked on to the field as if nothing had happened masking the sea of turmoil within me.

            The clapping of the crowd brought me to my senses. The bowler was coming in again and I braced myself. What should I do? The ball didn’t connect and again the crowd was exasperated. I knew that the commentators were already mercilessly writing me off. If I failed in this match, my career in international cricket was almost over. I knew that right at that moment, the selectors were watching me keenly with a list of replacements in their hands. And so were the bookies. Crores must be riding on this match and by the end of this evening; princes and paupers would be made. We had come to the last over of this game and a hush had shrouded the stands.

The captain was walking towards me and I went forward expecting a mouthful. He merely came close enough and after few minutes just walked back! No admonishments or even suggestions or strategies for the final over! I was stunned. He was certainly under great pressure but had he lost faith in me or was he underperforming too? Why did he not make a few more in the last few overs? A cold chill traversed my spine. How many were in this? Our star batsman who was out for a duck? Or the fielders who had dropped three simple but important catches earlier in the morning? Or the coach whose leanings I had always doubted? Our opponents already had the swagger of the winners-could they have also a hand behind this? I was confused at a time when I could hardly afford to be so.

It is well known that the results of many a game is decided far away from the pitch and pavilion. Was this their modus operandi? How had they contacted the others? During practice sessions? Or night outs? Players’ rooms were now out of bounds. Through friends and relatives or total strangers? Innuendos or blatant blackmails like the one I had just received. How were they fixing this one? Why did they target me too? I was not known as a match winner. Did they just want me to support my captain? Was he in charge? He was looking at the dressing room. For any gestures? God! I had to force these speculations out of my mind and concentrate.

Suddenly my situation was clear to me. Even if we lost this match, I probably could make enough money and could afford to be off International cricket. I would still be in domestic cricket ending up as a future commentator, coach, manger or even selector. And if I won this match for the country, I might get a new lease of life but the bookies would hound me. But if we won this match, and the CAPTAIN hit the wining shots, I would get the best from both the bookies and selectors! There I was in the middle of the ground, playing the final balls, during the crucial minutes, my mind filled with thoughts most far fetched from any plans of how to tackle the bowler. How many more players had gone through this predicament before me? And the irony was that it was happening right in the middle of all the people who loved cricket!

Three dot balls-the captain was under stress. The fourth one we managed a single. I was at the strikers end. I looked up and around at the crowds. A sea of blur faces- shouting, singing, swaying and clapping. All here despite the tribulations and failures in their personal life. All here, only to cheer for us, hoping we will win for their country. All here, believing that we were their heroes!

 Two balls to go and we had to post five runs. Going by my previous records, I had never scored a winning shot. I could just fail this one too. Fail the fans, the selectors yet be a hero for the bookies. They will certainly cozy up for future. This was just the beginning.....The ball came hurtling. Front foot forward, I lofted it up. Sure enough, there was a fielder waiting for its descent. I closed my eyes. Job done, I was helpless....The crowd was silent before erupting in rapture. The ball had skimmed over the fence for six! We had won the match! The captain was hugging me with relief on his face. I did not bother to dissect the reason for it.

Jogging back to the dressing room, I knew this had changed every thing.