My heart is pounding. Hands and feet shaking.
A voice enters my head.
“Don’t run too hard. One more injury, and you’re done for good.”
“Breathe,” I say to myself quietly. I am sweating already, and the match has not even started. Why did I ever think this was a good idea?
This is recreational indoor soccer.
And yet, fear takes over me.
****
Two decades earlier, there is a nine-year-old boy in Mumbai.
At this age, cricket is his whole life. He talks cricket, he walks cricket, and yes, he plays cricket too.
He has spent a couple of years in his school team. Batting at number three, he stays till the end and wins a match for his team.
Full of confidence. Dreams brewing.
And then, just like that, it is time to move to the United States.
He leaves excited. But little did he know that his days of playing cricket with a team are over. Backyard games with his brother will have to do.
That boy is me. One of the many with a Broken Cricket Dream.
****
Roll forward to March 2015. The Cricket World Cup is in the air. ‘Tell Me You Got the Power’ is on TV and in our souls.
It’s a beautiful sunny Spring Sunday, the eve of the Pakistan vs Australia quarter final. I decide to channel my inner Rahat Ali, the left arm quick, in my backyard.
I run in. Jump. And Crack.
This was not a regular ankle twist I could just walk off.
Yep, you read that right. I had a career ending injury playing an imaginary game all by myself.
On a bright note, I was able to watch each and every ball of this match resting on my sofa, the match that produced one of cricket’s great spells, Wahab Riaz versus Shane Watson. And who dropped Watson’s catch during this intense spell? You guessed it right. Rahat Ali.
Anyway, I digress.
College would come and go. The desire to play never left, and I would casually play badminton, tennis, racquetball, or volleyball. But the moment I pushed myself to play a high impact sport like basketball, the story would repeat.
Left ankle, right heel. Ten years, same story. Lack of warmup, one bad landing, back on crutches.
Same old, same old.
****
Soccer was my next favorite sport to watch on TV after cricket. I played with friends as a kid, but nothing more than that.
Playing FIFA for 20 years was the most soccer experience I had, and I was average at that.
Honestly, I thought I had missed the bus. Never tried out in school, never played in a club.
Last year, I found out about an indoor soccer facility and signed up for a pickup membership. What is the worst that could happen?
Some days, it was intense 5 v 5s. Other days, casual 2 v 2s. And sometimes, just me, a soccer ball, and an empty ground for an hour.
Something was starting to click. But two months in, warmed up, with ankle support and all, I still managed to fall over and hurt my heel. Out for a couple of months.
This time, I thought it was really over. Maybe sports writing is what I was meant to do.
****
The great thing about the American Midwest is you are practically hibernating for the winter. This gave me some time to reflect.
What if I gave sports one final shot? So, I signed up for the recreational soccer league as a free agent. An actual league with a referee and a scoreboard.
Alright, back to the first game of the season. My first official match at any level at the age of 29. Voices running in my head.
Then, the whistle blows.
One pass, then another. I am gassed out in five minutes. But an hour later, we miraculously win a last-minute 6–5 game after being down 0–5 at half time.
What a feeling. Celebrating with a group of people I did not know at all.
The season has not lived up to Game 1. Somewhere between the losses and the missed goals though, pieces are falling into place. Teammates are becoming friends, we are playing as a team, and my stamina? Well, it’s getting there, no longer huffing and puffing every two minutes.
Somewhere along this journey, I stumbled upon a sense of self-belief that I never knew existed within me.
As Henry Ford once said,
“One of the greatest discoveries a person makes, one of their great surprises, is to find they can do what they were afraid they couldn’t do.”
What began as a broken dream turned out to be an exercise in overcoming fear.
****
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BCD#412 © Copyright @Nitesh Mathur and Broken Cricket Dreams, LLC 2023. Originally published on 05/20/2026. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Broken Cricket Dreams with appropriate and specific direction to the original content (i.e. linked to the exact post/article).