The GOAT of Cricket

*Harare, Zimbabwe — July 2016*

The sun had only just begun its slow climb over the Harare Sports Club, spilling long shadows across the glistening outfield. A quiet wind rustled the trees beyond the stands. The world around it was still asleep, but for one boy inside a hotel room overlooking the ground, dawn had brought no rest.

Ishaan Verma sat at the edge of his bed, his bare feet planted firmly on the cold tiles. In his hands, he held something sacred — his first ODI jersey. India blue. Crisp, new, with **"VERMA 23"** stitched boldly across the back. He hadn't worn it yet. He hadn't even unfolded it.

On the chair beside him, rested a smaller item — older, faded, and creased at the edges: a handwritten letter.

*"When you score your first century for India, look up. I'll be there. Forever cheering." — Dada.*

He ran a finger over the ink. Then folded it gently and placed it in the lining of his kitbag, close to the heart.

---

### Welcome to the Big League

The Indian team had landed in Harare two days prior. Unlike the frenzy of Port of Spain or the airports of Mumbai, Zimbabwe greeted them with calm. No screaming fans. No clicking cameras. Just cool air, stillness, and space to think.

Ishaan, though, had barely found a moment's peace. The nerves clung to him like sweat.

At breakfast, he joined Rohit Sharma and MS Dhoni at the corner table. Neither asked questions, but both knew.

"Nervous?" Rohit finally asked, sipping black coffee.

"A little," Ishaan admitted.

Dhoni set his fork down. "Good. You should be. Just remember—when the first ball comes at you, it doesn't care who you are. Respond with your bat, not your name."

The message was simple. Pure. Dhoni, as always.

Team meeting followed. The coach outlined conditions, match-ups, and batting orders. Ishaan sat still. Alert.

"Ishaan opens with Rohit," the coach concluded.

No cheer. No drama. Just soft claps and nods. But Ishaan's pulse quickened.

---

### The Cap and the Walk

At the Harare Sports Club, the crowd was small but spirited. Children waved flags. Vendors shouted out deals for roasted maize and cool drinks. The ground buzzed gently, not roaring — but quietly humming with promise.

Rohit walked over and handed Ishaan his debut cap.

"You've earned it. Welcome to the big league."

Ishaan knelt, kissed the brim, and slid it on. His fingers trembled for a moment. Then steadied.

India won the toss. Batting first.

As Ishaan walked out with Rohit, a hundred silent dreams marched with him.

---

### Maiden Over, Measured Steps

The first over belonged to the bowlers. Chatara was sharp, on the money. Ishaan left two, defended three, and mistimed one.

Maiden.

Between overs, Rohit leaned in.

"Relax. First runs are always the toughest. Then the game becomes yours."

The next over, Neville Madziva offered width. Ishaan leaned in, caressed the ball through point — four.

The crowd clapped. So did the dressing room.

And just like that, the lock was broken.

---

### Rhythm and Roar

From there, he found his pulse.

A flick past midwicket.

A back-foot punch through cover.

A shimmering straight drive off a half-volley.

By the ninth over, he was 53\* off 34. Rohit had begun playing second fiddle.

Harsha Bhogle's voice floated from the commentary box: *"Every now and then, Indian cricket finds a new rhythm. Today, it wears the name Ishaan Verma."*

Rohit reached his fifty and departed soon after. KL Rahul and Manish Pandey had short stays. But Ishaan stood firm.

He advanced against Sikandar Raza, lofting him clean over extra cover for six.

He reverse swept Sean Williams. Twice.

He ran hard. Sweated buckets. Never looked fazed.

---

### Century Rising

Nineties came fast.

Madziva bowled short — pulled with disdain for six.

99.

The next ball: a slower one flicked off his hips to fine leg.

Single.

*103 off 51 balls.*

Helmet off. Arms raised.

Then the gaze — upward. Straight to the sky.

In the Indian dressing room, Dhoni smiled. Rohit applauded. Kohli's tweet followed instantly:

> *"A special knock by a special player. Welcome to the party, Ishaan Verma."*

---

### A Statement Made

Ishaan fell for 112 in the 37th over, caught at long-off trying to accelerate. But the damage was done.

India posted 310/6.

In reply, Zimbabwe started bright. But Bumrah's opening spell shattered momentum. Chahal dried the middle overs. Sran cleaned up the tail.

221 all out.

India won by 89 runs.

Ishaan Verma — *Player of the Match.*

---

### Afterlight

Back at the hotel, night crept in with soft winds and heavy skies.

Ishaan sat on his bed, still in full kit. He scrolled through messages.

One voice note stood out.

**Meera Verma**.

Her voice was fragile, breaking at the edges:

> "I saw every ball, beta. Every single one. He would've loved it. He did love it. We're so proud. Come home soon. But don't forget why you play."

Ishaan didn't respond.

He placed the phone beside him, lay back on the bed, and stared at the ceiling.

One tear. Just one. Quiet and slow.

This wasn't a peak.

This was a foundation.

The dream was no longer distant.

He *was* the dream now.

And it was only beginning.