Dhoni's Last World Cup - The Tragedy of the Fallen Hero

[Prakat]

Things are not how they used to be.

 

My knees, my comrades in battle, are the first ones that come to my attention each day I wake up nowadays. Earlier they were just there, reliable, always there and ready for action. Now I have to nurse them into match-ready fitness. Age and batte have done a number on them.

 

An old proverb in my grandfather's village goes that a man's virility is in his knees and that without them he is impotent. As a wicketkeeper this rings doubly true.

 

As I pad up, the voices of my critics echo down the dimly-lit corridors, penetrating into my mind. "He is past his sell-by date!" they say. "The Old man needs to move out." some say derisively. It doesn't hurt, because what I do, is for them as much as it is for myself. But I wonder if they may be right? Doubt. My old friend, my ancient conspirator. I smile with familiarity. We meet again.

 

The crowd roars with unabashed anticipation. They know what I am capable of. I too know what I was capable of. Maybe I can do it one more time. Once more into the fray, one more time into the darkness. But one voice rings out above all, "He is bringing the team down!" and then I remember, long back, when nobody knew me, and nobody trusted my judgement. Funny, how even after all this time life can still bring us back to where it all began.

 

I mistime an uneasy stroke down the pitch and consider how things are not how they used to be. I caress the handle of my trusty bat, take my guard once more and beneath the roar of the stadium, whisper silently to myself, "We were heroes...."

Edited July 3, 2019 by Prakat

[Yoda-esque]

..if only I had listened to my alter ego

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