The Dressing Room Of Eden Gardens

Fighting A Losing Battle

Kolkata, 2001- Day 3- Session 3

Sachin wakes Rahul up, making him go take a shower to help with his fever before he leaves for batting. He needn't have bothered. The way Sourav and Laxman were batting, they meant to occupy the crease. And occupy it for long.

There was a challenging smirk on Sourav's face, taking the sledging head on. It did not help Sachin's anxiety at all. He had yet to figure out the Ganguly pendulum of emotions. Anger was both his strength and his weakness. Either Sourav was on his way to a career defining innings or he was going to get worked up and give his wicket in irrational anger.

Laxman on the other hand looked like he was playing in his backyard, so tranquil and relaxed was his body language. That man was a beauty, anybody who had laid eyes on his batsmanship for even five seconds could attest. There was something in the way he played, the soft caress of his bat stroking the ball to the boundary, that just couldn't be replicated. He had never had to fight too much for Laxman, just show any selector worth his salt a footage of his batting. Nobody in their right mind would ever not back Laxman and now he was proving just why; playing with prime Australia like a cat playing with its meal.

Even if defeat was in the books, it was pleasing to watch, gave him hope even. An even balance to Sourav's dangerous dance.

He glanced at Rahul beside him, padded up and ready. He was still running a fever though it was milder than what it had been a day or so before the match. His face was pale, eyes sunken in and screwed up as he concentrated hard on the figures on the screen.

"Relax your brows, you will give yourself a headache," Sachin intones finally, even he was getting a headache seeing that deep frown.

Rahul shakes his head, an edge of frantic in his motion, "Didn't practice. Not in the zone,".

"You shouldn't even be playing," Minz grouches. The man had been cribbing about Rahul and Laxman's decision to play since the last four days. Apparently, he had not cribbed enough.

Sachin rolls his eyes but forces himself to move on. There was too much tension in the room already, "You will get there when you enter the field, save your energy please. For the team's sake,".

"This is for the team," Rahul says decisively, ending the discussion firmly.

Sachin sighs and turns back to the screen. Sourav was two runs away from a half century. A comforting sight, man tended to score good numbers once he crossed that mark. He watches as Mcgrath lipped something at their captain, something that instantly causes Sourav's face darken as he snaps back, his eyes blazing. It must have been something that had really gotten under his skin because Sachin saw it coming before it happened, the ball nicking an edge straight to the keeper as finally the Australian strategy bore a result. He draws in a sharp breath watching the finger go up, not a doubt in the umpire's eyes. Rahul gets up and leaves. A wicket. A very important wicket of their last fit batsman. He had immense respect for Rahul- man had played off some eighty balls the day before while running a fever- but there was little chance that in this condition, he was going to be able to hold the Aussies off with Laxman. Most they could hope for, was a fifth day defeat, instead of a third day one. For once, he hated Sourav's emotional flamboyance. Couldn't the man have kept himself in check just seeing what fucking occasion it is. Maybe he was angry with himself more than he was with Sourav but he still rounds on Sourav as soon as he walks in, on his way to the showers, still fully geared up.

"Really Ganguly?" He spits, an awful feeling taking over him "Couldn't have kept your pride in check just for today?!"

"He was making comments about my relationship with my wife," Sourav hisses before pursing his lips, trying to not make the atmosphere worse. He doesn't succeed and ends up throwing his helmet across the room with an anguished, frustrated yell before marching to the bathroom and banging the door shut.

Sachin shuts his eyes, berating himself. He hadn't scored either. He hadn't done anything. Sourav had still played, played good. Sachin was the asshole here. Well. That was hardly anything new. When he opens them, he is more aware of the boys watching him out of the corner of their eyes, ashamed and heads hung low. He hates himself a little more for it, but he was used to it. Used to it all. He sits back down and watches, watches his boys fight a losing battle.