A Tumbler Full of Tales - ICT and beyond

The Prince (Dethroned?) [Ft. Shubman Gill and Virat]

The Prince (Dethroned?) [Ft. Shubman Gill and Virat]

A/N - When Gill made his debut or even after, I could see the makings of a beautiful player. Maybe not the greatest or the best but a player cricket will not forget with ease. There was that spark just underneath that young exterior. When he played for KKR, for ICT or for GT. And the affection for him still remains strong.

But the present days show me a tired youngster, one who could probably benefit from an attentive ear, a ruffling of his hair. A warm embrace. Maybe, in him, I see a young Virat had he not had his MS Dhoni. I see a young man with tremendous potential but who has been burdened with too much too soon.

*Thwack*

The ringing of the nets and back.

*Thwack*

Again the ringing.

*Thwack*

The third ball which had middled the bat. The third decisive shot and Shubman flung his bat unto the ground causing it to splinter right down the middle of the arch.

"Argh!" He screamed and pressed his hand right over his eyes, face unencumbered by helmet. It was a direct flouting of the rules set down and yet he could not care less. His body shook from tiredness and moments later he felt the rough surface of the pitch underneath his knees.

No Helmet, no pads; Shubman felt almost naked as he faced ball after fast ball and yet it all mattered so little.

So what if he gets injured? He was not essential to anyone, to anything. The world will keep moving.

He looked around for a spare bat and found one soon enough; at least the cricket gnomes were keeping his supplies updated and intact.

*Thwack*

The balls were being magnetically drawn to the middle of his bat, but then what did happen during the matches? And to think that he was almost three sheets to the wind.

Shubman grinned and swayed the slightest bit; he adjusted his grip and tried to go over to the bowling machine to change the bowling speed and to fiddle with the directions but the pitch wobbled alarmingly before his eyes.

"Should not have had that third one," he mumbled to himself, trying to get his thoughts in order. Was it the third one? Or had it been the fourth? Maybe more? "Virat would be so disappointed with you, Shubi! You cannot play, cannot captain and you are drunk to boot."

The mumbles continued and Shubman blocked another couple of balls.

"Not middling any anymore?" He took a contemplative look at his bat.

"What exactly are you doing, Shubman?"

"Me? Nothing. Actually..." Shubman stopped, held still for a moment and frowned. "That was not my voice?"

"No? That was mine."

Shubman turned and there stood the King of Indian Cricket, the person whose Heir apparent he was supposed to be.

"Virat Bhai? The great Virat Kohli? Here? This is the GT side of the ground, Bhai."

An eyebrow was lazily raised. "Is it really, Shubman? Take another look, will you?"

Shubman Gill, the disheveled captain of the Gujarat Titans took another look and even his, not so reliable eyes, could see the difference.

"Oh. This is the RCB side?"

"Uh huh." Virat nodded.

Shubman looked around; the cricket supplies were scattered around and the broken bats lay around. "These items?"