"Buddy," Gangaram said to the sixteenth man - the last man of the squad who doesn't get a chance to enter the field unless some miraculous tragedy befalls five of his team mates forcing them to crawl back to the dressing room on all fours. 

The floodlights were now blazing in all their glory, as night had truly set in. The opponents were making mincemeat of Gangaram's team, having managed to score a hundred and ninety-nine runs without the loss of a wicket in about just under ten overs.

The seventy-three runs that Gangaram had conceded in that one ill-fated delivery had helped them gain a substantial advantage of, well, seventy-three runs and Gangaram was seen seething and cursing.

"If only I hadn't slipped, the opponents would have scored only a hundred and twenty-six runs. We would have lost alright but would have done so with dignity and grace. I can't wait to get back and bowl," he said to the sixteenth man, a young kid who was all of twelve. 

The boy's commitment to the game until a year ago was unflinching, and the only gully he knew of was the one on a cricket field. He was desperate to make it big in the world of cricket and had considered himself lucky when he was picked by Gangaram's team. By now, he was all but sure that his career was over, having played for over a year against all the clubs in the city and having lost to all of them. Consequently, every team came to know of how hapless this team was, and it was clear to our boy that he wouldn't be picked by any of them, should he choose to leave the club. And, to add insult to injury - an injury that wasn't even his - Gangaram had asked him to wear his batting pads and bat in the practice nets.

This idiot is making me toil just so he can get back on the ground and get smashed around the park by the batsmen, the kid cursed Gangaram. Sadly, he had no choice but to comply. He took a long walk into the net, not knowing he wouldn't as much as break a sweat.

Gangaram measured his run-up, wiped the sweat off his palms by rubbing them vigorously against his headband and took a false run-up. He then retraced his steps, turned around, raised his bowling arm and stood tall.

"Left arm over," he shouted in the direction of the batsman and steamed into bowl. The sixteenth man, surprised at this shouted from the batting crease. "Left arm?"

"Yes. My right pinkie is hurt," Gangaram dangled his bandaged little finger. "I am going to bowl with my left arm."

The sixteenth man took his stance over the popping crease, watched intently at first as Gangaram ran in to bowl, and then with his mouth agape with shock as Gangaram released the ball.