The hopeless romanticism that Yuvraj Singh embodies

The slightly dirty white sphere kissed the blade somewhat curtly and flew towards the man in the red shirt. Within a few yards, it touched the ground and raced past him. Back at the centre of the ground, someone else was running too. The white line was getting closer. He simply had to draw his willow beyond it – that’s all that mattered right then.

And he did it. He has done something he couldn’t for the last six years. He looked up at the skies, arms aloft in gratitude, letting the feat sink in. The wait had been long, agonising and unfathomably frustrating. But now, here it was. Finally, Yuvraj Singh scored a century in an ODI.

There were no extravagant celebrations. The emotions welling up inside him were too strong; like little wild birds in captivity, they longed to break free, and Yuvraj struggled to refuse them release. The restrained tears gave it all away as he stared at the man in the dressing room who had stood by him against the world and had believed in the cricket left in him.

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Yuvraj thumped his chest twice with the end of the handle. He had surrendered his heart to this game more than a decade ago. And now, at 35, none except the skipper had been convinced that Yuvraj was still good enough. Even as the entire dressing room stood up and cheered for the man in the middle, Virat Kohli realised he has won his first important battle as captain.

Yuvraj wasn’t done. Out came the helmet as he soaked in every bit of the crowd’s appreciation. He had toiled so hard, endured so much for this moment, and now he didn’t want to let it go. But he had a job at hand, a match to win. And deep inside, he knew he was ready for more.

It had been difficult for Yuvraj – ‘difficult’ is probably an understatement for what he has had to go through – ever since cancer forced him out of cricket in 2011. He wasn’t getting any younger and with 20-somethings fighting for every inch of place in the Indian squad, a comeback seemed possible only in a utopian world.

Donning the blue jersey barely felt the same anymore. Critics found bliss in the shortcomings that had cropped up in his technique, while pundits and ‘fans’ prepared eulogies for his dwindling career. Calling him back into the team was considered a regressive step, and hence was not a popular opinion on all accounts.

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With months to go for the Champions Trophy and the 2019 World Cup, and a very realistic prospect of a finished career looming over him, Yuvraj had to shun ordinariness for the unimaginable, if he were to merit his selection for the England series at home. A daddy hundred followed by a double century in the Ranji Trophy implied he had managed to do just that.

Yet, plenty doubted whether he could slay the ghosts of his past. Post-cancer Yuvraj was, after all, merely a shadow of the man who had won India the Natwest final, had demolished Stuart Broad for six sixes in an over, and had seen his country through against Australia in the World Cup. Yuvraj 2.0 struggled with confidence every time in the middle. Unfamiliar failures inside the 22 yards had strangely replaced thumping of fists and passionate roars.

So when Yuvraj walked into the middle in the sixth over at Pune with India chasing 351, the general anticipation bordered around a duck or a single-digit score that would effectively hammer the last nail into his coffin. Too many runs to make, too many demons to execute.

Determination can do wonders, however. The steely stare that followed the six off David Willey in the first ball of the eighth over had vintage Yuvraj written all over it. A clean boundary five deliveries later indicated Yuvraj was en route something special. The omens were beginning to turn worse for England.

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Destiny is a funny thing. For all the promise Yuvraj was displaying on the field, he would be dismissed in a puerile fashion even before he reached his 20. Four days later, he would go on to score his highest in limited overs cricket and in the process, outscore Sachin Tendulkar to become the highest run-getter for India in ODIs against England.

Yuvraj knows that this may have been the last time. He isn’t as consistent as Kohli or as irreplaceable as Tendulkar, but once in a while, it is him who weaves magic with his strokes, as romantic poets did with their ink.

For Yuvraj, poetry is in the fearless backlifts, beauty in the controlled pulls, rhapsody in the lyrical drives. For Yuvraj, tonight was the deserved fairytale he had dreamed of.