God of Cricket!-Chapter 52: The County Challenge

Chapter 52: The County Challenge

[COMMENTATORS BOX – County Ground, Hove]

"Hello, lovely viewers! We are live from the picturesque County Ground here in Hove, Sussex. The sea breeze is blowing, the seagulls are calling, and I’m delighted to say I’m absolutely thrilled to be bringing you the action today."

"My name is Alan Wilkins, and I’m joined by the voice of Indian cricket, Harsha Bhogle."

"Thank you, Alan. It is indeed a pleasure. It’s not every day you get to see the Ranji Trophy champions, Mumbai, facing off against a historic side like Sussex on English soil. It’s a clash of cultures, a clash of styles."

"Absolutely, Harsha. We have a full house here at Hove. The expatriate community has turned up in numbers, and it seems the fans are as excited as I am for the first ball."

"Well, let’s not keep them waiting. Let’s look at the lineups, starting with the visitors, Mumbai."

"It seems they are batting first on this green-tinged wicket. Captain Cool, Wasim Jaffer, leads the side. He’s opening with the technician, Sahil Kukreja."

"Following them, the young prodigy who proved to be a gem when the injury crisis hit last season—Aryan Sharma. He’s listed at number four today, a promotion up the order."

"A bold move, Alan. Partnering him in the middle order is the elegance of Rohit Sharma and the grit of Abhishek Nayar."

"And keeping wickets is Vinayak Samant. The bowling attack is spearheaded by the veteran Ajit Agarkar, partnered with the spin wizard Ramesh Powar."

"And serving as the X-factor for their side is none other than the 15-year-old sensation, Aryan Sharma. You know, Alan, I’m excited to see Aryan play live in these conditions. I recently heard rumors of his British lineage; it gets the English press quite excited."

"Me too, Harsha, me too."

"Okay, moving on to the Sussex Sharks. Captain Chris Adams will be looking to make a mark."

"Mushtaq Ahmed is the danger man with the ball—the legendary leg-spinner. Their batting is bolstered by the Zimbabwean run-machine Murray Goodwin and the wicket-keeper batsman Matt Prior, who seems set for an England recall very soon."

"Okay folks, the pleasantries are out of the way. The umpires are walking out. Wasim Jaffer and Sahil Kukreja are marking their guard. James Kirtley has the new ball. Let’s get right into the match."

Crack..

The sound of leather hitting willow echoed, but it wasn’t the sound Mumbai wanted to hear.

It was the sound of an edge.

The match had started disastrously for the visitors. The English conditions, with the ball swinging prodigiously under the cloud cover, had undone the Mumbai top order.

Wasim Jaffer, usually so composed, had nicked an outswinger from James Kirtley to the slip cordon in the third over. Sahil Kukreja followed soon after, trapped LBW by a sharp inswinger.

The score was a precarious 25 for 2.

Aryan Sharma walked out to the crease, his bat tucked under his arm, adjusting his gloves. The cold wind bit at his face, a stark contrast to the humidity of Wankhede.

He met Rohit Sharma in the middle. Rohit, who had come in at number three, looked slightly flustered.

"The ball is moving like a snake, Chote (Little one)," Rohit said, tapping the pitch. "Watch the late swing."

Aryan nodded, taking his stance. He marked his guard—leg stump.

He looked around. The field was aggressive. Three slips, a gully. The Sussex bowlers smelled blood. They wanted to rip through this ’young’ Indian side before lunch.

Kirtley steamed in. He saw a 15-year-old kid and licked his lips. A bouncer was inevitable.

Kirtley released the ball. It was short, aimed right at the badge of Aryan’s helmet.

Whoosh.

Aryan didn’t flinch. He swayed back effortlessly, letting the ball sail harmlessly to Matt Prior behind the stumps. He didn’t waste energy trying to hook it; he just let it go.

"Settling in," Aryan thought. "No need to be a hero yet."

This worked for Mumbai. Five overs passed, and the scoreboard ticked slowly.

Aryan hadn’t scored a boundary, but he hadn’t looked troubled either. He defended with a straight bat, playing the ball late, right under his eyes.

Sussex’s plan to bounce him out had failed. They switched tactics. Mushtaq Ahmed, the wily leg-spinner, was brought into the attack.

"Be careful," Rohit whispered as they crossed.

"He’s got a wrong ’un that’s hard to pick."

Aryan nodded. He scanned the field. Sussex had brought the fielders in—a silly point and a slip. They were crowding him, trying to induce a mistake.

Mushtaq tossed the ball up, a tempter.

Aryan’s eyes narrowed. ’He wants me to drive against the spin.’

Instead of taking the bait, Aryan used his soft hands. He stepped forward, smothered the spin, and gently tapped the ball into the gap at cover point.

"Yes, one!" Aryan called.

Rohit responded instantly. They scampered through for a single.

Aryan was playing the role of the orchestrator. He wasn’t blasting the ball; he was rotating the strike, keeping the scoreboard moving, and frustrating the bowlers.

But the Mumbai fans in the stands, including a certain girl in the VIP box, were waiting for something more.

Rohit Sharma, on the other hand, was growing in confidence. Facing a medium pacer from the other end, Rohit saw a ball drift onto his pads.

Crack!

With that signature elegance, Rohit flicked the ball through mid-wicket. It raced to the boundary.

"Nice shot, Bhai," Aryan said, punching gloves with Rohit.

"It’s opening up," Rohit grinned. "Let’s shift gears."

But just as they started to build momentum, Mushtaq Ahmed struck back. He bowled a googly that bamboozled Rohit. The ball missed the edge by a millimeter.

Rohit looked shaken. "Damn," he muttered.

The pressure was building again. Sussex tightened the screws. Dot ball. Dot ball. Dot ball.

Aryan, watching from the non-striker’s end, heard the chatter from the slip cordon.

"He’s stuck! He can’t get it away!" Matt Prior chirped from behind the stumps.

Aryan’s eyes glimmered. He looked at the field placement. Mid-on was up inside the circle. Long-on was back.

Mushtaq Ahmed was bowling to him now. The veteran spinner rubbed the ball, planning his next trick.

Aryan tapped his bat. "System," he thought.

[System Active]

[Trait: Gap Piercer (Incisive Pass) - Ready]

[Skill: Switch Hit (Cruyff Turn) - Ready]

Aryan didn’t need the Switch Hit yet. He needed precision.

Mushtaq ran in. He flighted the ball, aiming for the rough patch outside off stump, hoping to turn it back in.

Aryan saw the trajectory instantly. He didn’t just defend this time.

With a quick shuffle, Aryan moved to the pitch of the ball. He didn’t try to overhit it. He relied on pure timing.

Thwack.

It was a lofted inside-out drive over extra cover. The shot was liquid grace. The ball soared over the infield, looking like it had a mind of its own as it plugged the gap between the sweeper on the boundary and the deep cover fielder.

Four runs.

"Shot!" Rohit yelled.

But Aryan wasn’t done. The very next ball, Mushtaq dropped it slightly short, trying to adjust.

Aryan rocked back. He saw the gap at mid-wicket.

Whack.

A powerful pull shot. It wasn’t in the air; it skimmed the grass like a tracer bullet, piercing the two fielders who dived in vain.

Another boundary.

The pressure valve had been released. The Sussex captain, Chris Adams, frowned and started moving fielders.

"He’s seeing it like a football," Mushtaq thought, adjusting his cap.

The partnership grew. 50 runs. Then 70. Mumbai had recovered from 25/2 to 95/2.

Rohit reached his half-century with a glorious cover drive. He raised his bat to the applause of the crowd.

But cricket is a funny game. Just as Mumbai looked comfortable, tragedy struck.

Rohit, trying to push the run rate, called for a risky single. He tapped the ball to point and ran.

"No, no!" Aryan shouted, hand raised.

Rohit was halfway down the pitch. He tried to turn back, but Luke Wright, the fielder at point, was electric. He picked up the ball and threw down the stumps at the striker’s end with a direct hit.

"OUT!"

Rohit lay on the ground, disappointed. He walked back for a well-made 52..

Gasps of disappointment could be heard from the Indian fans. They had stabilized, but now they were exposed again.

The new batsman, Abhishek Nayar, walked in. He looked nervous.

"Just stay with me," Aryan told him. "Don’t do anything rash.".

The overs ticked by. Tea break approached. The score was 130/3. Aryan was batting on 44.

Just before the break, Sussex brought back their strike bowler, James Kirtley, hoping for one last wicket.

Kirtley was steaming in. He wanted Aryan.

First ball: Bouncer. Aryan ducked.

Second ball: Outswinger. Aryan left it.

Third ball: A verbal volley from Kirtley. "Hit it if you can, kid!"

Aryan smiled. His eyes started glimmering as if he had seen gold in front of him.

He looked at the field. Kirtley had a fine leg back and a third man back. He expected Aryan to play safe before Tea.

"Let’s give them something to think about," Aryan thought.

Kirtley ran in. He aimed for a yorker on the off-stump to cramp Aryan.

Aryan anticipated it. He didn’t block. He didn’t drive.

He moved across his stumps.

[Skill Activated: The Helicopter (Roulette)]

Aryan’s wrists snapped like a whip. He dug the near-yorker out, but his follow-through was exaggerated, sending the bat swirling over his head.

BOOM.

The connection was sweet. The ball rocketed off the bat, not along the ground, but soaring high over deep mid-wicket.

The fielder on the boundary looked up, but he was merely a spectator.

The ball sailed over the ropes, over the stands, and nearly hit the commentary box.

A massive SIX.

The stadium exploded into life. The polite applause of the County ground turned into a roar.

"Wow, I could really use a player like that in the IPL," thought a man in a sharp suit sitting in the

VIP box, adjusting his sunglasses. It was none other than Vijay Mallya, the owner of the Bangalore franchise, scouting for the inaugural season.

------

The stadium erupted into cheers after Aryan hit that monster six.

One might say the local fans were expecting the young Indian side to fold under the pressure of the swinging ball.

But the 15-year-old had proven them wrong. That shot brought up his half-century in style.

Aryan Sharma: 50* (68 balls).

Coach Amre couldn’t stop smiling on the balcony. "Hey Kulkarni," he said, drawing the attention of the Assistant Coach.

"Make notes on Aryan’s bat swing speed and give them to me after the match. I need to train him differently," he said, drawing a confused stare from Kulkarni.

"He’s generating power from his hips, not just his shoulders. It’s... unique."

Assistant Coach Kulkarni nodded, jotting it down.

The Tea break was taken.

When play resumed, Sussex had a new plan. They put two fielders in the deep on the leg side. They were going to bowl short at Aryan, testing his resolve.

It seemed Sussex’s plan had been seen through. Aryan didn’t take the bait.

He played defensively for the first twenty minutes after Tea. He let the bouncers go. He blocked the good length deliveries.

"Silent but deadly," Wasim Jaffer muttered from the dressing room..

Mumbai was now 160/3.

Abhishek Nayar was struggling at the other end. He edged a ball from Mushtaq Ahmed, but it fell just short of slip.

Aryan walked down the pitch. "Breathe, Abhi. Watch the hand, not the pitch."

Nayar nodded.

The partnership grew slowly. Sussex bowlers were getting frustrated.

They started bowling straighter lines, trying to attack the pads.

This was what Aryan was waiting for.

Mushtaq Ahmed bowled a flipper. It skid on fast.

Aryan read it out of the hand. He leaned back, creating room, and with a beautiful Late Cut

he guided the ball past the slip fielder.

It raced to the third man boundary. Four runs.

The next ball, Mushtaq tossed it up.

Aryan skipped down the track. He didn’t slog. He hit it inside-out over cover—the most difficult shot in cricket against a leg-spinner turning the ball away.

Crack.

The ball pierced the gap like a laser beam. Another four.

The fielders looked demoralized. The Mumbai score moved to 198/3.

Aryan was now on 75.

Unconsciously, the Sussex fielders started getting complacent. They expected Aryan to attack, so they pushed the field back.

This allowed Aryan to drop the ball with soft hands and steal singles.

"He’s manipulating the field like a veteran," Commentator David Gower noted. "He puts the fielder back with a boundary, then takes the single. Risk-free cricket."

Suddenly, a lapse in concentration from Sussex.

Luke Wright bowled a short, wide delivery. It was a gift.

Aryan’s eyes widened. He slashed hard. The ball flew over point for four.

That brought up the Mumbai 200.

But then, disaster struck at the other end.

Abhishek Nayar, trying to match Aryan’s tempo, attempted to sweep Mushtaq Ahmed. He missed the line completely.

Thud.

"Howzat!" Mushtaq screamed. The umpire’s finger went up instantly. LBW.

Mumbai 210/4.

Ramesh Powar walked in. The heavy-set spinner was known for his bowling, not his batting, although he could hit a long ball.

"Just stay there, Ramesh," Aryan said. "I’ll take the strike."

Aryan took charge. He started farming the strike.

He would take a single on the last ball of the over, or hit a boundary early and then rotate.

He moved into the 90s.

92... 96... 98.

The crowd sensed the century. A 15-year-old scoring a century at Hove against a Division 1 County side.

James Kirtley came back for a new spell. He had the old ball, which was reversing.

First ball: A searing yorker.

Aryan dug it out just in time.

Second ball: A reverse-swinging inswinger. It hit Aryan on the pads.

"HOWZAT!"

The appeal was deafening. Aryan’s heart stopped for a second.

The umpire thought for a moment... and shook his head. Going down leg

Aryan exhaled. "Focus," he whispered. "Focus."

[Skill: Focus - Activated]

The ambient noise of the stadium faded away.

The seagulls, the cheering fans, the sledging from Matt Prior—it all became background static.

All Aryan could see was the red cherry in Kirtley’s hand.

Kirtley ran in. He tried a slower ball, a knuckleball of his own.

Aryan spotted the change in grip. He waited. He waited an eternity.

When the ball finally arrived, Aryan rolled his wrists. He flicked it effortlessly through mid-wicket.

The ball rolled across the lush green outfield. One run... two runs...

The crowd stood up.

Aryan completed the second run and turned for a third just to be safe, but the ball had reached the rope.

Four runs.

Century!

Aryan Sharma: 102* (135 balls).

He took off his helmet, raising his bat to the dressing room, then to the crowd. He closed his eyes and soaked in the applause.

"What a player! What an inning!" Harsha Bhogle exclaimed on commentary.

"Remember the name, ladies and gentlemen. Aryan Sharma has arrived on the English stage!"

In the VIP box, Vijay Mallya turned to his assistant.

"What is his contract status?" he asked, sipping his drink.

"He signed a rookie contract with Mumbai Cricket Association, sir. But the IPL auction is coming up."

"I want him," Mallya said. "I don’t care if I have to outbid Ambani. Get me that boy."

-----------------------------:

[Later that evening - The Langham Hotel]

The day ended with Mumbai at 310/6. Aryan had eventually fallen for a magnificent 115, caught at deep square leg trying to accelerate.

The bus ride back to the hotel was lively.

"Century man!" Rohit shouted, slapping Aryan on the back. "You owe us dinner."

"I’m broke, Bhai," Aryan laughed. "My mom keeps my salary."

"Liar, I saw you buying those expensive sneakers," Rohit teased.

Wasim Jaffer sat at the front, smiling. "Good knock, kid. You saved us today."

"Thanks, Bhaiya," Aryan said politely.

As they entered the hotel lobby, the receptionist called out to Aryan.

"Mr. Sharma? Someone is waiting for you in the lounge."

Aryan looked confused. "For me?"

He walked to the lounge area. Sitting there, looking slightly out of place in a cricket team hotel, was a stunning girl with long dark hair, wearing a stylish trench coat.

It was Aisha.

"Hi," she said, standing up. She held a cricket bat and a marker.

"Hi...?" Aryan said, taken aback.

"I’m a big fan," she said, her confidence wavering slightly now that she was face-to-face with him. "I watched the match today. You were amazing."

"Oh, thank you," Aryan said, scratching the back of his neck. "Did you want an autograph?"

"Yes, please," she said, handing him the bat.

Aryan signed it: To a lovely fan, Aryan.

"Can we take a picture?" she asked.

"Sure," Aryan said.

She stood next to him. Aryan could smell her perfume—something expensive, floral. They leaned in for a selfie on her digital camera.

Click.

"You know, the Mumbai jersey would look good on you," Aryan joked, trying to ease the tension.

Aisha blushed. "Maybe I’ll buy one."

"I’m Aisha, by the way," she said.

"Nice to meet you, Aisha. I’m Aryan, but I guess you knew that."

She giggled. "See you around, Aryan."

She walked away, leaving Aryan standing there with a smile.

"Who was that?" Rohit appeared out of nowhere, draping an arm around Aryan’s shoulder. "Since when do you have fans looking like supermodels?"

"Just a fan, Rohit Bhai. Just a fan," Aryan said, but he watched her leave until she was out of sight.

-----------------------------:

[In the Parking Lot]

"He’s charming," Aisha said to her brother Rohan as she got into the car.

"Did you get the signature?" Rohan asked.

"Yes," she said, hugging the bat.

"Dad is going to flip if he finds out you drove all the way to the hotel," Rohan sighed.

"He won’t find out," Aisha said, looking at the photo on her camera screen.

------------

[Back in the Hotel Room]

Aryan lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The adrenaline of the century was fading, replaced by a good kind of tiredness.

His phone buzzed. A message from Ananya.

Ananya: I saw the score. 115! You’re a star! Call me when you’re free.

Aryan smiled. He was about to call her when another notification popped up.

Friend Request: Aisha Malhotra sent you a friend request on Facebook.

Aryan paused. "That was fast," he thought.

He accepted the request.

"Let’s see what the future holds," he muttered, closing his eyes.

(To be Continued)