Manoj was the first to go
Venkatesh was second
Naturally I’m the next one in
The last man now is beckoned

Helmet hides my sweaty brow
And offers me protection
From the ball about to be swung
In my face’s direction

The fiery paceman runs at me
Fire raging in his sight
My legs tremble at the prospect
Of my horrible plight

All my plans have gone blank
I close my eyes and swing
Hoping I won’t be the one
To make him a hattrick king

I edge the ball into the skies
It sails up, up and over
On the roof of the stadium
The birds are seeking cover

My captain on the other end
Comes and pats my back
“You’re the first to smash him
He’d want his ego back”