The mayhem that is Vicky!!!

I’m not sure how many of you truly know Vicky. For starters, he’s the kind of teammate you’d happily take a bullet for—but the kind of opponent you’d throw the gun at.

And here’s the fun part: Vicky has different personalities for different sports. It’s like watching a man with multiple athletic alter-egos. On the tennis court, he’s mean. Really mean. That’s where we first witnessed his superhuman ability to chase down absolutely anything—balls, lost causes, probably even auto-rickshaws if he tried.

But the Vicky you see on a tennis court and the one you get on the maidaan—even though they’re separated by about 40 steps—are totally different species. Chalk and cheese. Fire and ice. Federer and… well… Stuart Broad.

On the maidaan, he will argue every single decision: wide, no-ball, above the waist, below the dignity, whatever. Tooth and nail. He’ll litigate harder than Supreme Court lawyers.

But at the tennis court? He’ll give you points. He’ll offer you a point you 100% know was never yours. You almost feel like checking his temperature at that moment because there’s no way it’s the same human being.

What makes him indispensable to our cricket circus, though, is that legendary attitude of his to play at any cost. His weather forecasting skills remain unparalleled—IMD should honestly hire him. And his wake-up strategies? Iconic. This man will call your entire family—parents, grandparents, that cousin you haven’t spoken to in 11 years—just to drag you out of bed for a match.

And oh, the field placements. Vicky can single-handedly ruin vibes by moving a fielder two inches left and three inches right—only for the bowler to do something diametrically opposite. Yet he will adjust again, and again, until the bowler finally has a spiritual crisis.

But it’s all of this—and somehow more—that makes us love him. Fierce competitor, fiercer rival, and a man who leaves every drop of sweat on the ground for his team. They don’t make them like that anymore.

And to wrap it up, here’s a gem from Anshul that perfectly captures who Vicky really is.

Last match of the season. Pacers needed 12 off 2 balls. Vicky, running for Shitzy, was sprinting like a madman, creating more pressure on the fielders than their childhood report cards. In that chaos, Dinesh did a fake throw, accidentally giving away an extra run—and Harsha just lost it. Lost it as in full meltdown, pulling his hair, screaming “Fk! Fk! F**k!” so loudly that even the top floor of 2nd block probably paused and said, “Arre kya hua?”

Maidaan cricket transforming polite, soft-spoken Harsha into a wild creature? Honestly… peak comedy.