The GOAT in the room

And it is painful, to see a saviour, a hero, the man who always stood on that burning deck, flailing badly.

Dear Virat… King Kohli…. not sure how to begin this open letter, but let me dive straight in. Bro, you have to put us out of your misery. I feel your time in Test match cricket is up. That busy strut to the wicket, that animatic waving of the arms with the MC BC celebrations, that sheer energy that you exhibit, now has a hollow ring to it. The fitness cannot disguise that the form has faded, that stony face—does it hide a sadness or are you just immune to anything, do you still believe you’re the greatest? Rohit, in comparison, his feelings are transparent, Ashwin has retired. Now there’s just you.

That number four position you bat at, the best batsmen usually bat there, Sachin, Lara, Root, Viv, Kane all played there, to navigate an innings, accelerate, anchor,  when India’s in trouble, you look to your number four batsman to bail you out. Sadly, now we’ve stopped believing, that you can, the way you once could. And it is painful, to see a saviour, a hero, the man who always stood on that burning deck, flailing badly.

There’s an elephant in the room, excuse the pun, a GOAT in the room, an uncomfortable silence, the commentators, silent, the narrative, the conversations that were so concentrated on you, the adoration, the awe that followed you, the roar that accompanied you when you took the field, is deafening in its indifference. For an ex-genius, there is nothing worse than a lack of expectation. The camera isn’t following you when you train.
An invincible becoming invisible. That is happening.

Here’s my thing, the glamour is fading, the gloss is gone, the glitz, tarnished, the longer you hang around. The maze of mass media, the smoke screen of social media, your PR team, is keeping alive the mirage. Ash’s retirement should be a hint—no one’s gonna tell you anything—no one’s saying it, because your aura is awesome and a bit scary. No coach, no captain, no cricket board has the courage to sit you down and say, “Dude hang up those boots, before we’re forced to drop you from the squad.” Virat, don’t overstay your welcome—Australia has shown you up, England in July will be embarrassing, this weakness outside the off stump, it ain’t going away.

From the millions of know- it-all armchair critics, to the knowledgeable few, are watching you like a hawk, as I’ve watched all the extra special players, when do they call it a day, when the body gives way, or when the ambition, and the hunger lessens. You’re 37, and you are moving to the UK with the family. Look I’m not a cricketer, and god knows I’ve loved watching you play, but how many chances are they going to give you… this isn’t form bro, this is fitness. In cricket there are the haves, the have-nots and there are you, the hallowed few – “the I have everything”.

We’re tiptoeing around the truth, walking on egg shells. The truth is that you’re pretty much done, but there is a stubbornness—of course, you may well step down yourself, post the Aussie tour, but July 2025 isn’t far off, give Agarkar and co time to rejig the team.

You, your childhood coach, Ravi Shastri, Anoushka could feel I’m talking through my hat, and maybe I am, but I’m entitled to my view, coz I’m a fan, whose fandom is waning. Sadly, I fear I’m not alone. Don’t go from Greatest Of All Time, to “he was once great”.

Rahul daCunha is an adman, theatre director/playwright, photographer and traveller. Reach him at rahul.dacunha@mid-day.com

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