RCB vs DC.

146/3. 18 overs.
The air was electric. There was no mistaking the raw emotions of anticipation and
excitement that enveloped me. The tell-tale tremors of the nerves I felt were making an
appearance. With DC scoring 164 for five, the second innings had begun. The chase,
however, had started off rather poorly for our team, RCB, with Padikkal, Kohli, and AB de
Villiers frittering away the initial overs. Then came in the unstoppable duo; along with the
flamboyant Maxwell, wicketkeeper Bharat kept upping the ante, allowing RCB to remain in
the race while facing a soaring required run-rate.  

We had just made 12 runs in this last over, it was a big one for us undoubtedly. Yet, in a split
second, I knew everything could take a turn for the worst. The high we felt now could come
crashing down in a matter of a few minutes. Bowled, stumped, caught. A couple of dot balls
and it would’ve all been for nothing. Pushing away those discouraging thoughts aside, I
focused on the screen before me.

12 balls, 19 runs
.
Easy enough. I could feel the adrenaline coursing through me. My heart pounding, I watched
the penultimate over. 4 runs. That’s it. That’s all we made. The deafening roar of the
spectators did nothing to calm my racing heart. Slowly sinking to the floor of the room, I
nervously fiddled with my fingers. This game was going right down to the wire. We needed
15 runs in one over. It seemed practically impossible. Anxiety and apprehension grabbed me
by the tongue and dried my mouth as I watched the random adverts now flitting across my
television.

Holding my breath, I watched the screen morph into the last over of this gruelling match. 
Maxwell, unafraid, started it with a much-needed boundary. However, Avesh Khan, Delhi’s
pacer struck back with a few excellent deliveries which included a yorker in the third ball.
Bharat and Maxwell defended this by taking a single run. I stood up, barely noticing my
actions. Walking around, I watched in sheer defeat as we made no runs on the fourth
delivery. The next, Bharat and Maxwell sprinted across the pitch, making two runs. On the
edge of my seat, I watched as Khan bowled the last delivery of the over. Caught in the
moment, I yelled in utmost certainty, “Wide. That was a wide.” Fortunately, much to the relief
of the team and RCB fans across the globe, my enthusiastic cheering was not a complete
disappointment as the umpire signalled a wide. 

5 runs, 1 ball. 

Every single player was on their feet, nervously watching the pitch with laser focus. Few
spectators in the stands could be seen jostling through the crowd, some standing on their
toes. The crowd was dead silent. Khan delivered a final full toss, Bharat swung his bat with
all his might, over the long-on.

Out. That had to be an out. Repeating this to myself, I looked as the ball went soaring
towards the navy blue sky and the blinding white lights. Within seconds, the leather ball flew
past the boundary, sealing the game in RCB’s favour. Beyond elated, I screamed in pure joy
and victory along with the players who blazed towards the man of the match, KS Bharat.