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Thirty-Three. I’m a fucking winner

Elias

I t’s Finals Day and it feels like the morning of my last board exam. Butterflies take residence in my stomach and my heart’s racing. Plus, I’m sitting in a bed alone. Technically Bash is in the other bed, but my bed is empty. As is tradition, the whole team is staying at the same hotel. We bonded over dinner last night before Coach gathered us to watch game tape and discuss strategy.

But I miss Vera.

After spending the last few days together and introducing her to my family, not having her with me is like missing a limb. This was also the most emotionally charged week of my life and she was a big part of it, so I want her. Need her. We talked for a bit last night when I got back to the room, but given my early morning start, she sent me to bed before ten p.m.

Reaching for my phone, I find a couple of reminders from Farhad about press appearances and after acknowledging them, I open the texts from Vera.

Peaches

In case you needed a reminder—you’ve got this in the bag. This day is what you were resting and training for. I’m so proud of you, superstar. I love you.

Winning this one for you, Vee. Love you more.

Peaches

Once I’m ready, I get Bash out of bed and we head down to breakfast. Because this is the big match, everyone’s on edge and hyper. But seeing the entire dining room filled with blue and yellow fills me with so much joy. As I eat, I watch my teammates head off for press, some of them still half-asleep. We’ve got a few hours before we need to be at the stadium, but early mornings are expected. When it’s our turn, Bash and I make sure to carry our coffees with us. Some of the journalists write for newspapers and set voice recorders on the table, others come with cameras and makeup teams to touch up our faces. The questions, as expected thanks to Farhad prepping us, range from how we’re feeling about the match to my relationship with Vera, to Bash and my partnership and finally who will be in the stands to watch us today.

Training was lighter than usual. There would be no point having injured players step onto the field on the biggest night of the season. But between batting practice and a thorough session with Dr. Theo, my body is jelly.

Now, the Renegades and Legends captains are on the pitch and I watch in anticipation of which way the toss will go. This whole season, we’ve batted first because the opposing team wins the toss and chooses to bowl. It’s always preferable to be the team batting in the second innings, because you know what your goal is. So when we win the toss, amusement and surprise ripples through Chepauk.

And as expected, we choose to bowl first.

To a loud stadium, the field is cleared so they can prep it for the game. The Renegades huddle for our second pre-game ritual. The first one involves tossing the wicket keeper’s gloves around the room without letting it touch the floor or land in the hands of said keeper. It’s a fun exercise we play for about fifteen minutes. The second one’s an insult battle—see who can come up with the best insult for the opposing team. Bash wins with “they're called Legends because they’re a thing of the past”.

To protect my shoulder and allow me to rest, I’m seated during the Powerplay. Our bowlers put on a good show and the fielders are spread out in all of the right places. We’ve watched enough Mumbai game-tape to understand their methods, so nothing gets past my teammates. At the first wicket, four overs in, the crowd screams so loud the ground vibrates. The next few balls go by without any runs and at the end of the sixth over, the batter is bowled out, sending the crowd into another frenzy.

There’s a two and a half minute timeout during which the fielding positions are reorganised. I adjust my cap and run out past the first circle, making sure I’m positioned in the centre so I can cover more ground. Once we’re back in the game, I tune out the shouting and chanting. It’s not easy, especially when it feels like the whole stadium is shaking with their cheers. It’s a lot harder when I’m batting, because shutting out those sounds to focus on the sound of my heartbeat is almost impossible.

The seventh over goes by uneventfully. The eighth sees Samar eyeing the pitch. He’s a damn good bowler and I’m terrified of him during practice sessions, so the batter is probably feeling something akin to that right now. The first ball is a wide, which gives the Legends a run they don’t deserve. He hits the second one, but doesn’t get the run. The third ball is beautiful, but the batter is ready for it and swings. My heart is caught in my throat as I watch the trajectory of the ball and start running backwards as it arches towards me. I raise my hands and when the leather drops into my waiting palms, I exhale loudly. I wrap my fingers around the ball and straighten up, my face splitting into a wide grin as the crowd goes wild.

The bowler and I bump chests before the rest of the team circles us. It’s a big dismissal, because this batter could have gone all the way. I look up at the large screen as the camera pans to Vera. Her fingers are in her mouth as she whistles, until she sees herself. She hides behind her mother and everyone laughs. I invited her family and seated them with mine because it’s important everyone knows how I feel about her. We return to our positions and the game continues. It’s a boring two overs with no runs or wickets.

When our fast bowler switches his hat for the ball, joking with the umpire, the stadium goes silent. He’s quite something to watch—his precision and style, the effortless way he runs up and throws always blows me away. As expected, two batters are bowled out in the first three balls. Unfortunately for us, the next batter is smarter than we give him credit for.

Despite our best planning and intentions, the next few overs give the Legends the runs they need. They’ve crossed a hundred runs and are inching their way towards one-fifty. Which isn’t crazy, but it also means we have to be smarter when we’re batting. By the time they’re at the seventeenth over, the crowd is also getting worried. They’re two runs away from two hundred and if we don’t change tactics, they might get there quickly.

Our spinner bowls the high scoring batter out. The next one gets kicked to the curb by a beautiful catch from our wicket keeper. And with only two wickets left to their name, the batter takes an epic swing. If I hit that kind of shot, there’s a fifty/fifty chance of it going past the boundary line. I race from my position past cover to mid-off and leap into the air and grab the ball with one hand.

As I drop onto my side and roll onto my back, the familiar twinge returns. The field vibrates beneath me as a teammate helps me up. I roll my shoulders back and shake out my hand, because no matter what anybody says, catching a leather ball coming at a crazy speed directly for your hand is going to sting.

Since we’re playing the second innings and we’ve got a big score to catch up on, the coaches change our batting order again. I’ve moved up to fourth place, which means as soon as two wickets are down, I’ll be on the pitch. The minute the match starts back up, Dr. Theo is massaging my shoulder. The shot of pain during my fall was a surprise, but my arm feels fine. However, in order to ensure I don’t hurt myself again, he’s prepping me for what might be a rough game. We can beat Mumbai’s score, but I also have to be shrewd about every move.

By the end of the Powerplay, we’re at eighty runs, then two wickets fall in the seventh over. Helmet tucked under my arm, I walk onto the field and meet Bash in the middle of the pitch. Bumping gloves with my best friend, I look up to a camera and mouth I love you and the stadium erupts into cheers. Grinning as Vera’s embarrassed face fills the screen, I turn to Bash.

“The usual?”

“Heck yes,” he says and we knock bats before I slip on my helmet. ‘The usual’ is us taking turns to hit boundary shots between single runs. That way we don’t tire ourselves out and can build our partnership through to the end of the match. It’s not always successful and sometimes we can get carried away.

But if we play it right, it’ll work like a charm today.

We play like our asses and bats are on fire. We’ve been friends for a long time, and it translates into every move on the pitch. We’ve done this enough times that we’ve developed a code language even with twenty-two yards separating us. Commentators and talking heads have tried to figure it out, but we’re craftier than they are.

I hit a few fours, playing it safe, while Bash knocks the sixes like they’re going out of style. When I’m in striking position, he taps the flat side of his bat, which is a signal for me to start taking my shots. I close my eyes for a moment and breathe in, exhale and do it again. I nod at the umpire once I’m ready and we’re on.

I reverse sweep the first ball and it surprises the fielders as it flies over them for a six. I know better than to try it again, so I go with an upper cut for the second ball. I can hear the frustration from the Legends and dip my head to hide my smile. That’s two sixes in two balls. If I can keep this up for the rest of the over, it gives us thirty-six runs without moving from our position.

An adjustment of my helmet and a tap on the swell of my bat tells Bash I’m going for it. He shrugs, which is enough confirmation I have nothing to lose. So I do exactly as promised and hit every ball, aiming for different parts of the boundary line. As a kid, my grandfather always told me to never let the fielders know your next move, so switching it up is our best bet. Which works in my favour as the over comes to an end. The fans are definitely losing their minds and it encourages me to keep going for more.

By the end of the fifteenth over, I can feel the exhaustion setting in. But we’re playing a damn good game, and it would be silly for Bash and me to fuck it all up now. We purposefully make no runs in the next over, right until the last ball. Which happens to be a no-ball. The relief on Bash’s face at knowing he gets a free hit is hilarious. And my friend doesn’t do it small. He swings and sends the ball flying into the stands for another six.

We’re only two runs away from beating the Legends’s score. And because Bash doesn’t want all the glory, he taps the ball to get us one run and brings me to the striking position. Another tap on the side of his bat and I know it would be ridiculous to not attempt a six to close this out. Nodding at the umpire, I take my position as the bowler comes down the pitch and releases the ball. I watch the trajectory, step to the right and swing, hitting the ball over the wicket keeper’s outstretched hands. I aimed for a six, but the ball makes it down to the boundary line for a four.

Still doesn’t take away the fact we won.

I grin and turn as Bash comes charging at me. The stadium is roaring and I see a burst of yellow running onto the field. We separate in time for our teammates to crash into us, all of us bouncing in excitement. Everyone’s talking at once, but none of it makes sense or registers.

Through the haze of confetti and yellow jerseys, I see her.

She’s running towards the pitch and I drop my equipment and push through my teammates as she jumps into my arms. Our lips crash together as she clings to me, everything else fading away as I squeeze her. After a long moment, she pulls away and drops to her feet, beaming up at me.

“You did it, superstar.”

“You told me I would, so I did.”

She laughs, brushing my sweaty hair back and I steal another kiss. “So fucking proud of you.”

“That’s what matters.” I kiss her again and she smiles against my mouth. “Best day of my life.”

“Well, duh. You won.”

“That’s the second reason.”

“What’s the first?” she asks, head tilted.

“Having you here with me. Knowing you love me.”

And we’re kissing again. I don’t care if the whole world is watching. Because tonight and for the rest of my life, I’m a fucking winner.