By Dung Huynh 
When I first heard about the Cooch Behar Trophy, it sounded like any other cricket gig, right? Had no clue how deep it went. Just thought, “Eh, maybe I’ll try.” Big mistake. Ended up chewing through my savings and half my sanity. Here’s how it all went down.
Step One: Actually Understanding What This Thing Is
Googled “Cooch Behar Trophy India” like a madman. Found out it’s for under-19 boys, state teams only. Realized I needed to rep my state cricket association. Called up the regional cricket office – got bounced around like a ping pong ball between three different departments. Finally, some grumpy dude mumbled about trials happening in two weeks. Panic mode activated.
Getting My Ducks in a Row
Documents needed were a nightmare:
- Birth certificate – dug through dusty attic boxes.
- School stuff for age proof – principal’s signature took 3 days.
- Medical certificate – doctor almost refused ‘cause “you look fine”.
- Cricket association registration proof – lost mine. Begged the clerk for a duplicate.
Printed everything twice after my dog chewed the first set. True story.
The Journey to Hell (Sorry, The Trials)
Took a 12-hour train packed like sardines. Slept on my cricket kit bag. Showed up at 5 AM to this huge dusty ground. Saw like 500 kids already there. My stomach dropped. Guys with clipboards ignored everyone for hours. Finally yelled our names off a crumpled list. Groups of 30 got called – felt like cattle.
Survival of the Fittest (or Luckiest)
First drill: straight-up sprinting. Coach blew a whistle, we ran til someone puked (not me, thankfully). Next was fielding drills. Hit balls at us like missiles. Took one straight to the ribs. Played through the pain like an idiot.
Batting was chaos. Two bowlers sending down rockets while scouts barely looked up. I swung wild, connected twice. Felt like a fluke.
Bowling? Disaster. Pitched short twice, got yelled at. Third ball finally hit a length.
The Absolute Cruelest Part
After two days of this torture, they posted numbers on a board. Ran up, heart pounding. Scanned the list… my number wasn’t there. Felt gutted. Started packing up. Then a coach shouted, “Wait! Second list coming!” Another hour later… there it was. My number. Literally jumped and yelled. Embarrassing, but whatever.
What Actually Happens Next
Surviving trials is just the ticket in. Now you’re in camp with the state squad. Brutal schedule:
- Practice 6 AM to noon. Gym after lunch.
- Coaches dissect your technique like science class.
- Nutritionists watch your plate – no more samosas.
- Stress levels through the roof before matches.
Made the team bench first two games. Finally got on the field… and dropped a crucial catch. Coach’s glare haunts my dreams. Ended up warming the bench rest of the tournament. Still, the jersey hangs on my wall.
So yeah. “Trophy Guide”? Nah. It’s pure grind, luck, and surviving clipboards. Worth it? Ask me after the soreness fades.
