Three thrones stood on a grand pedestal bang in the centre of the sprawling room that could perhaps host a mini cricket match of its own. Two chairs further flanked the podium, facing a gargantuan set of doors that’d put the ones in Kyiv and Delhi to shame. A few tape marks littered the floor between the entrance and shark seats, with a giant TV screen next to them and a matt pitch with plastic wickets rolled parallel to the setting. Six white Kookaburras kept on the surface shone brightly in the overly-lit tank, but were heavily outnumbered by all the cameras and mics that surrounded them. 

The pacer instinctively took a couple of steps towards his captain as if seeking shelter, and a telling cough emanated from Dhoni’s throat. 

“Well, as long as it’s not a woman,” Srini dismissively quipped while the five gentlemen took to their designated spots.

“Sharks I'd introduce myself but honestly I don't need any,” an uncomfortable amount of confidence reeked from Rachin’s voice as he began. Before the Sharks could take objection, ‘Jatt da Muqabla’ faintly began to echo in the background.

“Don't worry about it,” Rachin continued, “ambient music follows wherever I go. Anyway, after my product demo at the World Cup, I wanted to make a confession. My father has already debunked my name's rumoured origins but he never revealed the truth. I've always been inspired by you Sir Jadeja and the name's no coincidence. Here, I have even mastered the Rajput bat swing.”

“SORRY, I definitely did not mean to do that,” the young buck continued, ignoring the guttural moaning of Conway, even though his steely expressions said otherwise.

“Well, I guess I HAVE TO open now for the entire season.”

“What the hell are you doing?” the veteran blurted out.

“Practicing my craft in wait of taking over as a Super Shark, thanks to you,” the Maharashtrian sneered while the trauma of ‘22 flashed before his senior colleague’s eyes.

The doors opened once again to reveal a motley crew of varying personalities. The ever-charismatic Ajinkya Rahane was suited and booted like it was the 1950s all over again with a shiny Ranji Trophy in his hand. The pride was writ large all over his face as he purposefully strode forward, expecting the men in front to clamor towards him in order to get a glimpse of the silverware. However, before he could present it to them, Daryl Mitchell’s two daughters leapt from his arms to sprint towards the thrones. Dhoni and Fleming scooped one each, their eyes betraying a look of adolescent awe.

Unlike his colleagues, Jadeja caught the face of his long-term Indian teammate droop into a frown. He placed a reassuring hand on Rahane’s shoulder and pointed him to the huge glass cabinet beyond the cameras housing the five IPL trophies.

A smattering of applause made the duo shift their attention back to the others. The cameras were busy snapping away as Daryl stood in between the three Super Sharks, holding a jersey featuring in big bold letters, ‘Welcome to the Dad’s Army.’

Once normalcy had resumed, Chahar prodded ‘Ajju bhai’ to go ahead with the pitch. The Mumbaikar shot a nervous glance at Dhoni but with nothing doing, he pulled up his neatly made PowerPoint presentation. 

“So, what about you?” Fleming asked after taking Sameer Rizvi to take the floor.

“I average 49 in T20 cricket,” the youngster replied with his chin up.

“Suresh bhai has vouched for me.”

“Well done but this is big boy stuff, a letter of recomme…,” Fleming’s voice trailed off as Dhoni’s puppy eyes and ear-to-ear grin distracted him. Sameer seized the opportunity to put up a clip of Raina’s highlights on the screen, only mirrored to make him appear right-handed.

“OH, MY PRECIOUS!” a teary Dhoni leapt up from his seat, taking everyone by surprise, and whole-heartedly hugged Sameer. The rest of the sharks breathed knowing sighs, apart from Chahar who seemed to reciprocate the look of awe on the young gun’s face.

Dhoni quickly regained his bearings and asked his colleagues why they were one short of the quota. As if scripted, a voice immediately echoed on the surround speakers in the arena.

The Sharks immediately folded their hands in respect and chalked down Shardul’s name on their respective lineup sheets. The middle-order maestros thereafter took their leave and were replaced by the bowlers, even as the producers announced the important parts were done and it was time to wrap up.

Curiously, two members of the contingent were blatantly disguised. While one’s mask seemed to resemble Muttiah Muralitharan, the other limped in with a wig akin to Lasith Malinga’s legendary curly hair.

“For god’s sake Maheesh, this is completely unnecessary. You are ACTUALLY good,” the Kiwi berated the Lankan.

Taking the cue, Srini walked up beside the duo and handed the Malinga look-alike a clipboard with what seemed to be a contract. The individual immediately straightened up, revealing himself to be none other than Matheesha Pathirana. He confidently strode towards the mat, picked up a brand new Kookaburra, and slung a deathly yorker at the base of the middle stump – the speed gun next to the pitch read a ghastly 150.

The next to seal their spot was Tushar Deshpande courtesy of a rousing speech where he appealed to Dhoni how “Economy is a myth conspired by analysts to rob the gentleman’s game of its purity; who says you cannot shoulder arms when needing 50 in 20 balls, who says you cannot concede 13 runs an over at the death?”

Mustafizur Rahman attempted to take a similarly deceptive route by showing Jadeja and Srini a clip of him breathing fire in orange, but alas, the duo could not convince Dhoni to join their prestigious club. A shy and discouraged Mitchell Santner had to be shoved into the limelight by Fleming, who insisted the orthodox spinner had to be there since there clearly were not enough Kiwis in the lineup. The pitches had taken on a vilely chaotic nature due to the production crew’s constant insistence on how the bowlers did not really matter, but the Sharks willed their way through the section.