Page 6 of Game on, Love
I stood by the bar, nursing a pint and basking in the afterglow of victory, as I thought about being in this exact spot two years ago.
Then, winning the county championship had been a dream come true, but I was still a kid with a dream. It didn’t matter that the King name was etched into the fabric of English cricket; I had yet to make a name for myself. But in the past year, everything had changed. Up until last year, I’d played in every major stadium in the world, been named the Batsman of the Year twice, had more than a dozen centuries under my belt, and had made and broken records. But each time I stepped out on that pitch, I carried the weight of my history, and still, the game only made me feel more alive than anything.
There’s always an assumption that being a fourth-generation cricketer must be some enormous burden—that I’d be crushed under the expectations, the comparisons and the headlines that screamed “Legacy of the Kings” any time I scored a century or saved a game. What they didn’t know was: I didn’t mind it one bit. In fact, I never really felt it creep up the back of my mind.
It wasn’t cockiness; I knew how hard I worked for where I was. Sure, I had the genetics, but I also had talent, and I let my game speak for itself.
In many ways, it helped that my dad raised me to never think of anything other thanme.He knew the pressure of being a generational cricketer, and though he had fallen in love with the sport, he wanted me to have a choice. He’d say, “Oliver, you’re not out there to be a King. You’re out there to be you. It’s a beautiful game, and it deserves the respect of being loved. When you step on the pitch, it should be about just you, a bat in your hands and the ball flying towards you.” I used to find it funny, but when I played my first match, I understood what he meant and that simple truth was what kept me grounded.
Guilt crept up my spine the more I thought about him. He should behere.
The man who taught me how to play, who’d been my idol, was now fighting a different kind of battle, one that didn’t involve cricket.
The one battle that changed the course of my life and the love of my game.
A heavy slap on my back jolted me from my thoughts.
“You alright?” I turned to see Rihaan grinning at me, his usual easygoing personality shining through.
Rihaan Patel, an all-rounder and, like me, a third-year player, was more than just a teammate to me. I had known him since I was a teenager. Having gone to the same boarding school and spending summers together as our Dad’s coached us made us friends, but as we grew older, became part of the same team and travelled the world together, we became family.
“Yeah, just lost in my head for a bit,” I replied, returning his grin.
Rihaan laughed, the sound infectious. “Don’t get too lost, man. We’ve got a championship to celebrate!” He raised hisglass, and I clinked mine against it. Rihaan had his issues, but if there was anyone who could persuade you to let loose and have fun like there’s no tomorrow, he would be the one I’d call. But sometimes, his definition of fun meant sitting on a couch for twelve hours, playing video games as he muted the rest of the world out.
“Here’s to another great season and good friends,” I said, the words feeling more meaningful than just a toast. Rihaan had been there for the highs and lows.
With Dad completely disappearing out of the public eye, the media were hanging onto me like leeches, and there were more occasions than I could count when he had happily provided a distraction and easily shifted the spotlight on himself. He hadn’t asked why; he just did it to protect me. Thankfully, now the off-season was about to begin, we both could catch a break from them.
“To the best damn team and friends around,” Rihaan agreed, his eyes twinkling with pride and gratefulness.
We both took a long drink, savouring the moment. Rihaan leaned against the bar, looking out at the crowd. “This place is buzzing tonight,” he observed, his gaze scanning the room.
“Yeah, it’s a good turnout...”I scanned the room again, more aware of my surroundings this time, recognising the familiar faces in the chaos before I felt my heart quicken.
I had never seen her before this moment. Still, as her eyes darted around the room, her body language screaming she didn’t want to be here, didn’t want anyone to notice she was here, I couldn’t helpbut.
Her fingers fidgeted slightly, betraying her discomfort, yet something was undeniably magnetic about her. The way her dark hair framed her face, falling in soft waves, her skin glowed like bronze dipped in honey.
Woah.
“Got your eye on someone?” I had heard him, but it was as if my brain didn’t register. I was frozen in my spot.
She hadn’t even looked at me once; no, it was clear she was searching for someone else, but she had shifted something in me.
I had never felt this captivated by someone before, and I wasn’t sure what led up to it either.
In a sea of strangers, finding her had felt like being hit by a wave that I couldn’t see coming, but instead of being drowned by it, for the first time, I found myself being pulled in, as though something deeper in my soul was finally finding peace.
I never grew up with the notion of knowing what love meant. It was merely a feeling, something only a few were fated with.
The only love I had known all my life was Cricket.
And it was the only thing that mattered.
It needed all my attention, my unwavering focus. Perfection wasn’t a relentless pursuit—the practice, the strategy, the game, it was the only passion that ever truly defined me.
It was in my blood.