Chapter 4: The trial(2)

The first part of the test was all about reaction time. The coach had set up a machine to simulate fast deliveries, and the balls would come thick and fast, testing Mak's ability to react in a split second. Mak crouched behind the stumps, tightening his grip on his gloves, positioned himself, feet spread, knees bent, body low, ready to move in any direction. His eyes locked onto the ball feeder, watching the trajectory of each delivery closely.

The first ball shot out of the machine, fast and straight. Mak's gloves snapped up, cradling the ball neatly. No problem. The second delivery came right after, skidding low toward the leg stump. Mak anticipated the change, dropping to one knee and scooping the ball cleanly into his gloves. He didn't even have time to register the applause from the sidelines before the third ball was released. This one was a sharp bouncer, and Mak had to leap to his right, gloves extended. His fingers brushed the ball just before it flew past him, and he clung to it, landing hard on the ground, but with the ball safely in his grasp.

The coach nodded approvingly but wasted no time, sending the next ball his way. This time it spun viciously, darting toward Mak's off-side. He had barely crouched when he saw the ball dip. His heart raced as he adjusted his position, leaning forward and stretching out his left glove, intercepting the ball just before it reached the ground. The sharp spin tested his concentration, but Mak remained focused. He couldn't afford to miss a single one.

Next up was the test of stumping. The coach called over a batsman to simulate a game situation. This was Mak's chance to show off his quick reflexes and awareness. The first few deliveries were straightforward—the batsman played defensively, and Mak kept his position, tracking the ball, ready to pounce if the batsman made the slightest mistake. Then came a quicker ball, and the batsman stepped out of his crease to play a shot. Mak saw his opportunity. In a fraction of a second, his gloved hands whipped the bails off, even before the ball had completely reached him. The coach blew the whistle, marking it a perfect stumping. Mak's heart swelled with pride.

But the test wasn't over yet. The next ball was slower, giving the batsman more time to react. He took a big swing, missing the ball by a whisker. Mak stayed alert, watching the batsman's feet dance just outside the crease. Without hesitation, he lunged forward, collecting the ball cleanly and slamming the stumps before the batsman could recover. Another perfect stumping.

The drills shifted to leg-side catches. Mak's body ached from the earlier dives, but he knew this was one of the most critical tests. He crouched low, knowing that leg-side takes required not only quick reflexes but also swift lateral movement. The first ball was wide down the leg-side, a tricky angle, but Mak was already in motion. His left leg stretched out, body twisting as he reached for the ball, his glove swallowing it with a satisfying snap. The second ball, even wider and lower, forced him into a full dive, but again, his gloves connected perfectly with the ball. His body hit the ground, sliding, but his hands stayed firm around the catch.

Next, the coach moved to the standing-up test, where Mak would have to keep close to the stumps for slower deliveries. It was one of the most difficult challenges for a wicket-keeper, and it demanded impeccable concentration. The first few deliveries were slower but unpredictable. Mak stood right up to the stumps, leaning in as the bowler sent in a flighted ball. The batsman missed, and Mak's hands moved as quick as lightning to grab the ball before it could slip past him. The next ball drifted toward the leg stump. The batsman flicked at it but missed, and Mak instinctively lunged, taking the ball at an awkward angle.

Mak's concentration was unwavering. The third ball came faster, with a sharp turn off the pitch. His gloves hovered just above the stumps as he waited for the ball to edge. The batsman played and missed, and Mak immediately reacted, his fingers brushing the bails in a fluid motion. Another stumping. His precision had improved with each attempt, his instincts becoming sharper.

The final part of the test focused on catching edges. The coach called for a slip cordon, and Mak would stand up close, simulating the moments when a batsman edged the ball. The first ball came off the bat's edge with a thick sound, and Mak had to dive to his right, extending his gloves just in time to pluck the ball out of the air. His reaction was flawless. A second edge was softer, and Mak had to move in quickly, sliding across the pitch as the ball flew off the bat. He intercepted it cleanly, keeping it from hitting the ground. The last edge was the trickiest—a fine glance that forced Mak to leap backward and to his left, but his body and mind worked in harmony. His gloves snatched the ball out of the air just before it escaped.

By the time the test ended, Mak's muscles burned with exhaustion, but his heart was filled with satisfaction. He had held his own in every aspect of the test. His gloves were dirtied from the dives, his shirt clinging to his back with sweat, but he had proven his ability. As he rose from his crouch, he caught another quick nod from the coach—one that signaled respect.

Mak knew he had passed the test, but more importantly, he had given everything he had. His wicket-keeping was more than just skill; it was the culmination of hours of practice, years of dedication, and his undeniable passion for the game. This was his moment, and he wasn't going to let it slip away.

Mr. Ranjan, watching from behind the nets, nodded. Mak was quick on his feet, his movements precise. "Good instincts," the coach muttered under his breath, making a mental note.

After the fielding and wicket-keeping tests, Mak felt his body aching, his muscles burning with fatigue. But he couldn't let that slow him down. The most important part of the trials was still ahead: the batting test. Batting was his strongest suit, and he knew that if there was anywhere he could truly shine the brightest, it was here. He walked up to the pitch with his bat in hand, the familiar weight of it giving him a sense of comfort. His gloves tightened around the handle, and his focus sharpened.

The coach had set up a good field for the batting test, and a bowler stood ready at the top of his run-up. The coach watching from the sidelines. But that didn't ease the pressure. Every ball would be scrutinized, every shot weighed for its technique, timing, and intent.

The first delivery came fast—short and rising. Mak's eyes followed the ball, his mind calculating its bounce. He rocked back on his heels, transferring his weight to his back foot, and then unleashed a perfectly timed pull shot. The ball made a satisfying sound as it connected with the middle of the bat, flying through the gap in the field and racing along the ground. The coach gave a curt nod but remained expressionless, always the tough critic. Mak couldn't rest yet. He knew he had to prove himself across every kind of delivery.

The second ball was pitched up, fuller and aimed at the off-stump. Mak shifted his weight onto the front foot, leaning into the drive. His bat met the ball at just the right angle, guiding it elegantly through the covers. His footwork was precise, his head steady. He didn't try to overpower the shot—just pure timing. The ball raced to the boundary, and though this was only a practice session, Mak couldn't help but feel a surge of satisfaction.

The bowler changed his approach now, switching to a spinner. The ball was slower, floating toward Mak with deceptive flight. It was a test of patience, and Mak knew it. He had to avoid the temptation to lash out. He watched the ball closely, reading its turn. As it dipped and spun toward his leg side, Mak moved swiftly, adjusting his position and flicking the ball off his pads with a graceful wrist shot. It wasn't about power—it was about placement. The ball slid past the fielder, and even though it didn't go for a boundary, the precision of the shot spoke volumes.

The coach then raised his hand, signaling for a different test. This time, it would be about handling pressure. They brought in two bowlers, simulating an intense match scenario. The fielders spread out, and Mak knew he wouldn't have the luxury of picking gaps easily anymore. The first bowler came charging in, delivering a fast, short-pitched ball aimed directly at Mak's body. His heart raced, but he was prepared. With a quick swivel of his hips and a snap of his wrists, Mak pulled the ball behind square leg, controlling the shot with finesse, ensuring the ball didn't carry to the fielder.

The next bowler, a left-arm spinner, floated the ball toward him. This time, Mak stepped out of his crease aggressively, meeting the ball on the half-volley and lofting it effortlessly over mid-off. The ball sailed through the air, clearing the infield with ease. He wasn't just defending anymore—he was dictating the game.

The pressure mounted with each delivery. The bowlers were instructed to vary their pace and line, keeping Mak on his toes. A slower ball came next, and Mak had to adjust quickly. He danced down the pitch, eyes locked on the ball, and timed a perfect straight drive, keeping the ball low and ensuring it traveled along the ground.

Then came the real test: handling yorkers. The bowler was tasked with delivering a series of fast, toe-crushing deliveries aimed at the base of the stumps at random interval. Mak knew this was the moment that would separate him from the others. A well-executed yorker could end a batsman's innings in an instant, but Mak had practiced this scenario over and over again. The first yorker came in hard and fast, but Mak anticipated it. He jammed his bat down just in time, digging out the ball with a solid block. The sound of bat meeting ball echoed around the net, solid and secure.

The next yorker was even sharper, swinging in late at the last second. Mak was already moving, his bat angled perfectly to deflect the ball safely into the leg side. He wasn't trying to score runs with these—he was showing the coach that he could handle high-pressure situations, that he could survive when bowlers were targeting his weakness.

The final part of the batting test focused on his ability to rotate the strike. The coach instructed the bowlers to tighten their lines, keeping the deliveries on a good length just outside off-stump. Mak had to maneuver the ball into the gaps, taking quick singles and keeping the scoreboard ticking. He knew that this was where a lot of young players faltered, trying too hard to hit boundaries when a simple nudge into the gap could do the job.

Mak adjusted his stance, ready to face the next ball. The bowler sent in a good-length delivery, and Mak leaned forward, gently guiding the ball into the gap between point and cover. He didn't try to hit it hard—just enough to get it past the infielders. He called for a quick single, imagining the pressure of a real match situation where every run counted. His footwork was sharp, his awareness even sharper, and he managed to rotate the strike seamlessly.

By the time the test ended, Mak was covered in sweat, his shirt clinging to him. His arms ached from the constant swings, his legs felt heavy from the quick running between the wickets, but he felt alive. This was what he lived for—the bat in his hand, the ball speeding toward him, and the thrill of outwitting the bowler. He had faced every type of delivery thrown his way—pace, spin, yorkers, bouncers—and had come out on top.

The coach watched him closely as he walked off the pitch, nodding once again in approval. Mak had shown not only his ability to score runs but also his adaptability, his awareness of the game, and his mental strength under pressure. This was the moment he had prepared for, and he had delivered.

Mak stood tall, feeling the weight of the trials lift off his shoulders. He knew that no matter what happened next, he had given everything he had. This was more than just a test—it was a statement of his commitment, his passion, and his love for the game.

The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows as the trials drew to a close. Mr. Ranjan gathered the boys, his hands clasped behind his back.

"You've all shown effort today," he began, his voice steady but firm. "But this is just the start. We'll announce the final team tomorrow. Go home, get some rest, and be ready for the next challenge."

As the boys dispersed, Mak felt a mixture of relief and anticipation. Tomorrow, he would know whether all his hard work had paid off.

As Mak and Raghav continued their walk home, the sky was now painted with streaks of pink and orange. The pressure of the trials momentarily faded into the background as they talked about school, their practice schedule, and the growing pile of homework. For Mak, the cricket field had always been a place where everything else—school, math tests, family expectations—could be pushed aside.

"Looks like we're in for a wait until tomorrow," Raghav said, breaking the silence as they walked. "But hey, that batting was top-notch. Especially that six."

Mak chuckled softly, but his mind was already on what lay ahead. He knew that Raghav was right—it had been a good Trial, but he couldn't shake the nerves. The coach's words about staying on the team resonated with him, and it felt like the real challenge had only just begun.

Raghav's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "So, what's your plan for tonight? More math with Aisha?"

Mak groaned. "Don't remind me. I barely survived yesterday. I just hope I can manage to focus on school with the team announcement tomorrow."

"You've got this," Raghav said, giving him a reassuring pat on the back. "You've always been good under pressure."

Mak smiled, appreciating the support, even as the weight of uncertainty still pressed down on him. Tomorrow was another day, and the trials would be behind him. But the real journey—being part of the team, keeping up with schoolwork, and making sure he didn't let his father down—was just beginning.