Overpowered Cricket system

The media frenzy that followed Nitish Reddy's announcement was unlike anything the cricketing world had ever seen. Television screens, social media feeds, and newspaper headlines exploded with debates, accusations, and polarized opinions. Every channel, every anchor, every influencer seemed to have something to say.

"Traitor! That's what he is," barked a panelist on a primetime news show. "After everything this country gave him—the fame, the fortune, the love—he's turned his back on us. Playing for Ireland? It's a slap in the face to every Indian fan!"

The anchor nodded solemnly, fanning the flames. "Do you think this decision was premeditated? Could it be that Nitish Reddy never truly cared for India?"

Another panelist cut in, her voice sharp. "Let's not forget the man lost his family because of the public and media harassment. Have we become so blind with pride that we can't see what we've done to him?"

The first panelist scoffed. "Oh, so now we're the villains? He's the victim? Spare me. Cricket is bigger than one man. If he can't handle the pressure, he doesn't deserve to play for India."

Across the country, similar debates played out on countless screens.

In a newsroom, a senior editor was shouting at his team. "Find me every clip, every tweet, every piece of footage we've ever run against Nitish. We need to spin this into a redemption arc. The public is shifting, and we can't afford to be on the wrong side of this."

"But sir," a younger journalist hesitated, "just last month, we called him a disgrace and a liability."

The editor waved dismissively. "That was last month. The narrative's changed. People love an underdog, especially one they've wronged. Start the headline drafts with 'From Villain to Victor' or something equally dramatic."

Meanwhile, social media was a battlefield.

"He's a traitor. Plain and simple," one tweet read, amassing thousands of likes. "India made him, and now he's running to Ireland for money. Disgusting."

Another user fired back. "Are you kidding me? This man was hounded, humiliated, and abandoned by the same people who now want to call him a traitor. Let him live his life."

A particularly viral post read, "Nitish Reddy isn't a traitor. He's a survivor. We broke him, and now we're angry he's choosing to rebuild himself elsewhere. Shame on us."

Amid the chaos, a tweet from cricket legend Sachin Tendulkar caught everyone's attention:

"Cricket is a game of resilience. Nitish Reddy has shown more strength than most of us ever will. Let us respect his choices and support him, no matter where he plays."

The tweet sent shockwaves across the internet, dividing opinions further. Some applauded Sachin's wisdom, while others accused him of siding with a "traitor."

At a coffee shop, two fans argued passionately.

"He's gone too far this time!" one exclaimed, slamming his cup on the table. "Leaving the Indian team? For Ireland? He could've retired with dignity if he didn't want to play for India."

The other fan shook his head. "And do what? Stay in a country that turned its back on him? Let's not forget he was declared guilty by everyone before the courts even gave him a chance. You'd leave too if you went through half of what he did."

"Still," the first fan retorted, "he could've stayed and fought. That's what real heroes do."

"Real heroes?" the second fan said, his voice rising. "Real heroes don't have to die proving themselves to people who don't deserve it. Let him go. Let him find peace."

In a sports channel debate, the anchor tried to reign in her fiery panelists.

"Let's focus on the upcoming 2025 Champions Trophy. How does Nitish's absence affect the Indian team's chances?"

A former cricketer leaned into his microphone. "India will feel the loss, no doubt. Love him or hate him, Nitish was one of the finest all-rounders we've ever had. His ability to deliver under pressure is irreplaceable."

Another panelist rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. India's bench strength is incredible. We have young players hungry to prove themselves. The team will move on just fine."

The former cricketer frowned. "It's not just about talent. It's about experience, composure, and versatility. Nitish could turn games around single-handedly. You can't replace that overnight."

At Nitish's apartment, the man himself sat in silence, his phone buzzing incessantly with notifications. Rohith, his lawyer and closest ally, sat across from him, scrolling through the headlines.

"They're calling you everything under the sun—traitor, survivor, opportunist, genius. It's exhausting just reading it," Rohith said, tossing his phone onto the table.

Nitish leaned back in his chair, his face devoid of emotion. "Let them say what they want. They've already said the worst. None of it matters anymore."

Rohith hesitated before speaking. "Are you sure about this Ireland decision? The Champions Trophy is next year. India could use you, and you know it."

Nitish's jaw tightened. "And what has India done for me, Rohith? Besides rip me apart, destroy my family, and then pretend to care once it was too late?"

"I get it," Rohith said gently. "But you're still passionate about cricket. You love the game. Don't let their hate take that away from you."

Nitish looked out the window, his eyes distant. "I'm not giving up cricket. I'm just done playing it for people who only cheer when it suits them. Ireland didn't betray me. India did."

At the BCCI headquarters, officials huddled in an emergency meeting.

"What are our options?" the president asked, his tone urgent. "The public is losing it over Nitish's announcement."

"We can't force him to stay," one official replied. "He's within his rights to play for Ireland. It's not like he's retiring."

Another official interjected. "But we need to address the narrative. If we let this spiral, it could damage our image. Fans are already questioning how we handled the allegations against him."

The president sighed. "Release a statement thanking him for his contributions and wishing him well. Keep it diplomatic. We can't afford to stoke the fire."

In a sports bar, fans debated heatedly as a cricket match played in the background.

"Did you see Sushant's interview?" one fan asked. "He said Nitish saved him from financial ruin. How can anyone call him a traitor after that?"

"Because it's not about what he did off the field," another fan argued. "It's about loyalty. Playing for Ireland feels like a betrayal, no matter how you spin it."

"Loyalty?" the first fan scoffed. "Loyalty is a two-way street. The country abandoned him when he needed it most. What did you expect him to do—just forgive and forget?"

As the days passed, the discourse only grew louder. Some fans clung to their anger, unwilling to forgive Nitish for leaving. Others rallied behind him, painting him as a symbol of resilience and survival. Celebrities, former players, and influencers continued to weigh in, each adding fuel to the fire.

For Nitish, the noise was distant, like a storm raging on the horizon. He had made his decision, and no amount of public debate would change it. The Champions Trophy loomed, but it was no longer his concern. His focus was on the future—a future where he could play cricket on his terms, free from the chains of public opinion.

As he sat in the quiet of his apartment, he opened a notebook and began jotting down strategies and goals for his upcoming journey with Ireland. The anger in his heart had not faded, but it had been tempered into something more potent: resolve. The world had taken so much from him, but it hadn't taken his love for the game.

And that, he decided, was more than enough to keep going.