Left Arm Over
He walks slowly into the centre and looks all around him.
A small smile escapes onto his lips as he looks at the familiar surroundings.
He closes his eyes and takes it all in. The sound of the random commotion around him.
The sound of the bat handle hitting the stump into the ground forcefully.
He twirls the 5 and a half ounce red and shiny leather ball, his fingers creeping over the perfectly sewn seam. He is smiling again, as he gets a good enough grip onto it. He twirls it in the air from hand to hand, watching the seam.
He walks up to the bowling end. Standing parallel to the stumps he slowly and purposefully walks back to mark his run-up.
With each step back, he is reminded of a flourish of memories that were earlier locked away.
His first yorker. His first succesful bouncer. The very first time he started getting a hint of outswing.
He reaches the end of his run-up. Same old numbers each time. 13 and a half steps. With the corner of his sole, he digs his shoes deep into the ground to mark it.
From the corner of his eye, he can see that the batsman has reached the crease and is taking guard himself.
Another wry smile. A not too tall fellow, little on the portly side. This was going to be interesting.
He turns around, and for about five seconds, he doesn't face the batsman, but instead faces the opposite direction.
His mind is clear, as are his objectives. He closes his eyes, and with them, he closes all possible outside thoughts. He imagines himself on a different plateau, a parallel universe, if you will. Nothing exists anymore.
It's just two of them out there now. Him, and the individual who stands in the way of his goal, 24 yards away. There is no sound, no motion. Time almost stands still. Not a blade of grass, nor a speck of mud is moving.
He turns around and opens his eyes.
The man is ready, he's hitting the willow into the earth. That's the signal. It's showtime...
He puts his hand up, to get the attention of the umpire.
"Left Arm Over!"
And he starts. A slight jump at the beginning, and his feet land into his run-up. There's still no sound.
He can hear himself breathe a little heavier, as he increases his speed. At the other end, there's just the sound of willow hitting earth repeatedly, at a beat that almost seems musical.
His eyes are on his target. He is ready to let go. Of everything
The sudden jump...
A forceful land...a grunt....and he lets it go...He lets everything go.
He is free.
As he slows down again, he casts his eyes at his prey menacingly. Another smile...
He has found his way back...he has come home again...
Darius Mistry
A small smile escapes onto his lips as he looks at the familiar surroundings.
He closes his eyes and takes it all in. The sound of the random commotion around him.
The sound of the bat handle hitting the stump into the ground forcefully.
He twirls the 5 and a half ounce red and shiny leather ball, his fingers creeping over the perfectly sewn seam. He is smiling again, as he gets a good enough grip onto it. He twirls it in the air from hand to hand, watching the seam.
He walks up to the bowling end. Standing parallel to the stumps he slowly and purposefully walks back to mark his run-up.
With each step back, he is reminded of a flourish of memories that were earlier locked away.
His first yorker. His first succesful bouncer. The very first time he started getting a hint of outswing.
He reaches the end of his run-up. Same old numbers each time. 13 and a half steps. With the corner of his sole, he digs his shoes deep into the ground to mark it.
From the corner of his eye, he can see that the batsman has reached the crease and is taking guard himself.
Another wry smile. A not too tall fellow, little on the portly side. This was going to be interesting.
He turns around, and for about five seconds, he doesn't face the batsman, but instead faces the opposite direction.
His mind is clear, as are his objectives. He closes his eyes, and with them, he closes all possible outside thoughts. He imagines himself on a different plateau, a parallel universe, if you will. Nothing exists anymore.
It's just two of them out there now. Him, and the individual who stands in the way of his goal, 24 yards away. There is no sound, no motion. Time almost stands still. Not a blade of grass, nor a speck of mud is moving.
He turns around and opens his eyes.
The man is ready, he's hitting the willow into the earth. That's the signal. It's showtime...
He puts his hand up, to get the attention of the umpire.
"Left Arm Over!"
And he starts. A slight jump at the beginning, and his feet land into his run-up. There's still no sound.
He can hear himself breathe a little heavier, as he increases his speed. At the other end, there's just the sound of willow hitting earth repeatedly, at a beat that almost seems musical.
His eyes are on his target. He is ready to let go. Of everything
The sudden jump...
A forceful land...a grunt....and he lets it go...He lets everything go.
He is free.
As he slows down again, he casts his eyes at his prey menacingly. Another smile...
He has found his way back...he has come home again...
Darius Mistry
posted by THE WILSONITE @ 8:06 PM
3 Comments:
At 9:52 PM,
THE WILSONITE said…
very, VERY well done.
one post i enjoyed reading, after ages.
i look forward to more like this one.
riya
At 10:58 PM,
THE WILSONITE said…
hey doris... awesome post... plz come up with more like these...
Lyandra
At 11:48 PM,
THE WILSONITE said…
honestly speaking i had well painted visual representation in tandem with your write-up. the passion you hold for the game reflects. waiting to watch all u guys blaze through ur run-ups and batter them with your bats!
Mini G
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