FC Goa set up semis date with Mohun Bagan
Put to test against a full-strength
in
Kalinga Super Cup
quarterfinals on Saturday afternoon, the reserve team of ISL double winners
Super Giant came out with flying colours in Bhubaneswar.
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The young and Indian-heavy side put up a gritty and spirited display of football at Kalinga Stadium to carve out a 2-1 victory over the Blasters. They booked a place in the semifinals against
, who made a stunning comeback in the evening game to beat
Punjab FC
2-1 with a stoppage-time winner from Mohammed Yasir.
Trailing a spirited Punjab FC till the 89th minute, Goa's relentless attacks bore fruit when Borja Herrera drew level one minute from regulation time.
As the match was heading to shootout to complete the semifinal line-up, Yasir broke Punjab FC's heart with a jaw-dropping strike three minutes into the second-half added time.
Earlier, Norberto 'Pulga' Vidal had put Punjab in the lead with a 57th-minute strike but the Argentine striker's substitution late into the game backfired for Punjab as it took the pressure off Goa defence.
Meanwhile, for the Mariners Sahal Abdul Samad opened the scoring midway through the first half while Suhail Ahmad Bhat doubled the lead early in the second.
Constant pressure from the Blasters put paid when MS Sreekuttan pulled one back four minutes into the second-half added time. But it was too little, too late.
Despite a barrage of attacks made by the Blasters frontline, Bagan stood firm with Nuno Reis – the only foreigner on Bagan roster on Sunday – showing true leadership quality on debut for the Mariners.
The Portuguese centre-back, playing for the Kolkata giants after sitting out for almost eight months, made an instant impact guarding the backline with commendable support from his Indian teammates Dippendu Biswas, Saurabh Bhanwala and Amandeep.
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Special mention should be made of goalkeeper Dheeraj Singh Moirangthem, who was like a rolling rock under the bar gathering almost all the balls shot at Bagan goal.
Bagan on the other hand had only three shots on target among the eight shots at goal while Kerala had seven on target among 18 efforts. However, precision and finesse of the Bagan attackers made all the difference.
The first goal was sublime in nature. Player of the match Salahudheen Adnan beat Blasters left-back Naocha Singh with quick twists and turns before sending in a cross into the six-yard box.
Sahal finally got the ball, and evading his marker Ruivah Hormipam with a superb first touch, took a turn and chipped it over goalkeeper Sachin Suresh to make it 1-0 in the 22nd minute.
India international Ashique Kuruniyan crafted the second goal from the left flank. He sent in an inch-perfect ball into the six-yard box for Suhail, who guided it home with ease. Bagan could have scored their third but for the Glan Martins shot hitting the left post in the dying minutes of the game.
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The Hindu
an hour ago
- The Hindu
All or nothing: The Asian Championships through the eyes of Tejaswin Shankar
I landed in South Korea two days before the decathlon. It was my first time this far east — the farthest I'd ever been from home — and I could feel a quiet sense of anticipation building up inside me. My body felt good, my mind was calm, and for once, there were no lingering injuries like the one I carried into the Nationals. Spirits were high. We were staying in a beautiful facility. And the best part? Everyone had their own room. For someone like me — who tends to travel with half a sporting goods store — this was a blessing. Ten spikes, a javelin, discus, tape, massage balls, recovery tools… you name it, I had it. My room was an organised mess, but it was my own little corner of controlled chaos. Just how I like it. The Indian team was a fresh mix of new energy. I had trained with some of them at the pre-Asians camp in Thiruvananthapuram about three weeks earlier, but this group felt different. Passionate, intense, expressive — this new generation of Indian athletes is something else. They're there to win, and they wear their hearts on their sleeves. But they also know how to have fun, how to laugh, and how to lift each other up. There was an energy about them that made me proud to be part of this transition. Since my competition started on the 27th of May, I did my pre-meet shake-out on the 26th. I felt springy, sharp, and ready. I caught up with a few friends from other countries — the usual pre-meet chats about training, competitions, and how the season's been going. One of my favourite things about international meets is the sense of belonging. This is our tribe. We may be from different places, but we speak the same language — the language of the sport, of pushing limits, of purpose. A lot has changed since my first senior international in 2015. Back then, physios and doctors were few and far between. Now, our support staff is a core part of the Indian team experience. The physios, coaches, and doctors work relentlessly behind the scenes. And even the coaches, who once primarily raised their voices to correct us, now offer calm encouragement and insight. The culture has matured. There's a shared goal now — to win medals, yes, but also to support each other as professionals. It felt fresh and meaningful. Sharing stories: 'I always make it a point to speak to as many people as I can in the warm-up area — not because I'm overly social, but because I'm curious. I like to know what people are up to, and honestly, I enjoy a little masala' | Photo Credit: Special Arrangement I always make it a point to speak to as many people as I can in the warm-up area — not because I'm overly social, but because I'm curious. I like to know what people are up to, and honestly, I enjoy a little masala. It helps me feel grounded and human before the chaos of competition. That day, I bumped into the distance crew — Gulveer (Singh) and his gang — mellow as ever, quietly doing their thing in endless loops. Then, in stark contrast, were the 4x100m boys: loud, wild, full of energy. In a surprising twist, the usually boisterous throwers like Yashveer (Singh), Samardeep (Singh Gill), and Sachin (Yadav) were unusually quiet, focused on their work. And then there's my personal favourite duo: Pooja and Abhinaya (Rajarajan) — the firebrand next-gen of Indian athletics. Bubbly, expressive, full of energy, and always chatting. Their energy is contagious. After a good warm-up, some laughs, and a lot of banter, I reminded myself: 'You still have to compete tomorrow.' So, I made my way back to the hotel, full of warmth from the team but ready to crawl into my cocoon. My small core team had arrived by then — Wayne (S&C), Siddhi (wife), Avantika (sister), and Devesh (friend). We had a quick team meeting that night to go over logistics. Wayne handled my supplements and recovery protocols, Devesh was in charge of food and logistics for the day, Siddhi and Avantika were responsible for shoe changes, videography, and coaching cues during events. Everyone had a role, and they played it perfectly. That night was all about quiet preparation. Laying out the shoes, recovery tools, clothes, equipment, and food for the day. I had already done a venue recce the morning before, so I knew exactly where everything was. After dinner, I said my good-nights and turned off the lights by 9 pm. I had to be up at 5 am the next day — the decathlon was waiting. I went to bed, ready to compete, mind buzzing with the possibilities the next day might hold. I woke up, I felt fresh and energetic. But just as I was about to get out of bed, I glanced at the clock. 12 a.m. What? Only three hours of sleep. I thought the whole night had passed. From that point on, I was wide awake — not with panic, but with relentless thought. Nothing I did could lull me back to sleep. Just thoughts, thoughts, and more thoughts. This wasn't new; it's happened to me before, especially before big meets. So, I didn't panic. But I needed to sleep — and that was the one thing I couldn't force. Twisting and turning, counting imaginary sheep and permutations, I mentally simulated the decathlon a hundred different ways. If I do this in long jump, then that will happen in 400m… if I nail high jump, I can afford this in javelin... It just wouldn't stop. Finally, somewhere around 4:30, I dozed off — only for my alarm to go off at 5. Showtime. Behind the scenes: From Tejaswin's core team, S&C trainer Wayne handles his supplements and recovery protocols, while his wife Siddhi and sister Avantika are responsible for shoe changes, videography, and coaching cues during events. | Photo Credit: Special Arrangement ************************************************ DAY 1 I had to be up — give my body at least four hours to wake up before the 9 am start. I did my morning routine, grabbed the bag I had packed the night before, picked up six 1-litre bottles of water, and headed down for breakfast. Forced down a meal at 6 am., chased it with a few cups of coffee to kick-start this diesel engine I had become, and reached the track by 7:15. Decathlon warm-ups are different. I prefer to do one long, comprehensive warm-up at the start of the day to save energy between events. That way, all I need before each event is a short activation — and I'm good to go. The sun was already glaring — way too bright for that time. The birds were chirping. The athletes were buzzing around the warm-up track. And then: 'First call for men's decathlon 100m.' Nerves? Under control. Body? Felt fast, sharp. But something was off. I wasn't excited. This moment — nine months of preparation, sacrifice, blood and sweat — and I would rather be in bed? That was odd. But there is no time for introspection. Time to execute. We lined up in the call room. Usually, I'm buzzing before the 100m. It sets the tone for the two days. A fast, snappy start tells me I'm ready. The gun went off — I felt a slightly sluggish start, but powered through the drive phase, hit top-end speed. Usually by this time, guys are pulling up on me. But not today. I was ahead of everyone except him — Yuma from Japan, reigning Asian champ, and one of the few Asians to have ever crossed 8000 points. I crossed the line right behind him, glanced at the clock, expecting at least a 10.9. 11.2. What??? I was stunned. I'd run faster with a groin injury four weeks ago. And now, at 100%, this? But decathlon teaches you one thing — analyse later. For now, stay composed. You have to separate yourself from your emotions between events. That's what makes a decathlete. Before I could even blink, we were at long jump — switched spikes, warmed up. Three jumps. You must register a mark. First jump — 7.28m. A solid start, but Siddhi told me I was a shoe-length behind the board. I had more in the tank. Second jump — 7.29m. Third jump — also close. But not the 7.40m I had trained for. Not even close to the 7.37m I jumped while injured. Tejaswin greets Yuma on the field. | Photo Credit: Special Arrangement Something wasn't clicking. Panic started creeping in. My strongest events were slipping. And it's not like I could make it up later — discus, vault... there's a ceiling to how much I can claw back there. Shot put was next. I was spiralling. Legs jittery, hands shaky, mind in chaos. My competitors were all over 13m. My first two throws? 12.80, 12.81. One throw left. The pressure was enormous. Another bad event and I'm out of medal contention. See, I'm not a balanced decathlete. My strength is Day 1. That's where I build my lead. Day 2? It's more about damage control. If I don't build that cushion on Day 1, I'm toast. So, I stood in the circle. One last throw. I took a breath. This is it. Either I crumble, or I fight. Glide. Explode. GRUNT. 13.79m. A new PB. I was back! Next was high jump — but I had two hours to reset. I dug around, trying to understand what was going wrong. Came across something called 'pre-start fever' — a psychological condition due to stress and nerves that mimics fatigue. Pair that with my three hours of sleep. Probably explains it. Wayne and I made a plan. Lunch. Contrast shower — 30 seconds hot, 30 seconds ice, repeat 4–5 times. Caffeine. Nap. Wake up. High jump warm-up. It worked. I crashed for 45 minutes. Best thing that happened that day. I woke up fresh, sharp. The PB in shot put had lit a fire. I felt like myself again. High jump is my bread and butter. It's where I must gain ground. If I miss here, I'm a sitting duck on Day 2. I opened at 2.01m — after most had bowed out. Cleared it easily. Then 2.04, 2.07, 2.10, 2.13, 2.16, 2.19 — all first attempts. At one point, I saw Gulveer start the 10K. Between jumps, I clapped and cheered. It helped distract my mind — my little mental trick. But… okay, this may sound un-athlete-like: the 10K got annoying. The track was swarming with skinny distance runners. Every jump, I had to look left and right, make sure no one was running through. Still, 2.19m was a season best. I went for 2.22m — just missed it. As I took my last attempt, Gulveer crossed the finish. I was thrilled for him — but secretly wished the race had been scheduled differently. That 2.22m was within reach. (Sorry, Gulveer. I made up for it later by screaming my lungs out for the 5K.) Last event of Day 1: the dreaded 400m. One lap of pain. I remembered legendary coach Clive Hart's 4 Ps of the 400m — Push for the first 100, Pace the next 100, Position yourself the next 100, Pray the last 100. I nailed the first three… but forgot to pray. That last 100m hit like a truck. 50.10. Not a bad score at the end of Day 1. But the real test? Morning of Day 2. When you have to hurdle over hip-height barriers that suddenly feel like Mt. Everest. So post-400m: recovery mode. Massage, ice bath, food, compression gear, activation. In bed early. Slept like a rock. ************************************************ DAY 2 I woke up feeling much better. Body ached like I got hit by a bus — which is completely normal. If you can crawl out of bed, you're good to go. Breakfast. Bags packed. Time to go again. Charging ahead: Tejaswin (second from right) started Day 2 with a near-perfect hurdles race. | Photo Credit: Asian Athletics Hurdles were up first. The most unforgiving event when you're tired. I needed a solid race to create a cushion before vault. I was dialled in. But warm-ups dragged. Heat 1 was delayed. Then I saw a crowd, medical personnel, stretchers. Heard whispers. Yuma had fallen. The reigning champ. who was second in the standings — breathing down my neck. For a second, I thought I had gold locked. But I knew better. Without Yuma, silver was a realistic goal. If everything went right, maybe even gold. As I was getting ready for my race, I saw him come out, neck-brace on. Concussed. Walking out, ready to run hurdles. I couldn't believe it. This event is hard with full senses. He was about to do it while concussed. I put the focus back on me. Ran a near-perfect race — 14.58 — and extended my lead. Yuma? 14.53. Next up was discus. Now this one — this one always gets to me. My relationship with the discus is like that of two old friends who respect each other but rarely get along. I've worked on it, I've refined my technique, I've visualised it a hundred times — but still, every time I step into that ring, I'm not quite sure which version of me is going to show up. I wasn't expecting miracles. I just needed to hold my ground. My warm-up throws were decent — not amazing, but enough to give me hope. My first attempt went out to 36. Second attempt — a bit more aggressive — landed around 37. I knew it was safe, not a PR, but enough. Enough to move on. Then came pole vault — the monster in my story. The event I had dreaded the most. I had been training, working on my run-up, on getting more consistent, but let's face it — it's still a relatively weak event for me. Especially when you're trying to survive among men who are clearing 4.70–4.90m on autopilot. I opened low at 3.80m and cleared it easily. That gave me a little boost. Then 3.90m — again, clean. I tried 4.00m to see if I could sneak in a little buffer but missed all three. Still, I was still very much in contention. The medal equation was now real. At this point, it wasn't just about competing. It was about surviving with enough juice left for javelin and the 1500m. Now going into javelin, we had five guys fighting for three medals, and I was sitting in third. Still, I believed I could win gold. I was feeling great — javelin had been coming along well in training, and I knew I had one of the strongest 1500m races in the field. Remember how shot put went? Two bad throws and then one big heave that changed everything? Javelin was the exact opposite. My first throw — as soon as it left my arm — I knew it was a personal best. It landed cleanly around 56 or 57 meters. I pumped my fist… but the joy was short-lived. I had barely — just barely — stepped over the foul line. It wouldn't count. Now I had two throws left, and my best throw wasn't measured. In the zone: Tejaswin in action during the javelin throw event of the decathlon. | Photo Credit: Asian Athletics The second throw was more conservative, more controlled — it only went 50 meters. And suddenly, I wasn't just thinking about gold slipping away. I was staring at the possibility of finishing outside the medals altogether. The other guys chasing the podium had strong throws lined up. My third and final throw: 51 meters. Not enough. It would all come down to the 1500m. By the time a decathlete reaches the final event, you're running on fumes. Forty-eight hours of emotional highs and lows, two sleepless nights, your body wrecked. At that point, it's not about fitness — it's about grit. It's about willpower.\ We were all in the combined events area waiting for the 1500m, and the mood was tense. Everyone was quiet, in their heads, calculating the permutations — times, medals, margins. Bags were packed. Nothing more to do but run. And then, the skies opened. A torrential downpour — not a drizzle, not a shower, but a full-on tropical storm. It was so bad the organisers stopped the women's 10,000m race mid-run. I've never seen that in my life — not even in a school meet. It felt surreal. Luckily, the rain let up just in time for our start. No delay. We were ready to be done. With Yuma having pulled out earlier due to injury, four of us remained in medal contention: India, China, Taiwan, and Japan. The equation was clear. For India to medal, I just had to finish ahead of Taiwan and Japan. For India to win gold, I had to beat the Chinese athlete by 10 seconds. It was an easy decision: all or nothing. I already had a medal from the last edition. This time, only gold would be enough to cap off the Asian Championships the way I had dreamed. Before the race, I made a point to thank every decathlete. Once this race ended, we would all go our separate ways — but until then, we were brothers. Win or lose, we had fought together. And I was grateful. The race began. I surged to the front right from the gun. I was going for it. My legs started dying around the 1km mark, but my spirit was soaring. I was running for something bigger than points — for the effort, for the journey, for the people who had carried me here. In the last event of the decathlon, the 1500m, Tejaswin clocked 4:37, missing the overall gold by 3 seconds. | Photo Credit: Asian Athletics I crossed the line in 4:37 and turned around, eyes locked on the track. 1… 2… 3… 4… 5… 6… 7 seconds. The Chinese athlete crossed. I needed 10. I had missed gold by 3 seconds — just 16 points. But in that moment, that wasn't what I thought about first. My instinct was to embrace every single athlete at the finish line. They were all winners — not winners of medals, but conquerors of their own fear, doubts, and inner demons that haunted us across these two days. My silver was confirmed. After the usual photos with the national flag, a few minutes with my support team, the Indian coaches, and the athletes who cheered me on, I returned to the resting area. As I sat down, processing it all, my thoughts drifted to Yuma — lying quietly in a corner with his team doctors. He wasn't in pain from injury — it was the heartbreak. A gold medal that should've been his, taken not by a competitor, but by fate. I realised then: my medal wasn't complete without acknowledging his impact. I wrote him a letter — not just for him, but for myself. To thank him. For pushing me. For being the standard. For reminding me that real heroes don't wear capes. They fight. And whether they win or lose, they leave it all on the field. ************************************************ DAY 3 ' Avinash Sable cruise to a dominant gold in the steeplechase — so smooth, so in control.' | Photo Credit: Asian Athletics My competition was over. The emotions had settled, the celebrations were done, and my body was in a million pieces — but my soul was content. Yet the Asian Championships were far from finished. For TJ the athlete, yes — but not for TJ the lifelong track and field lover. I took the next morning off to rest, but by the evening, I was back at the stadium. Watching. Cheering. Supporting. Living the sport in its purest form. ************************************************ DAY 4 The very next day, the men's high jump final was scheduled. India's brightest hope, Sarvesh, was competing, and I was there, loud and proud in support. But equally important was witnessing Sanghyeok Woo perform in front of his home crowd in Korea. What a show he put on — every jump felt like a celebration of sport. Later that evening, I watched Avinash Sable cruise to a dominant gold in the steeplechase — so smooth, so in control. And then came Jyothi Yarraji's incredible gold in the hurdles. Her surge between hurdles 7 to 10 was a masterclass in both technique and tenacity. She didn't just win — she snatched it. There were many unforgettable moments, but two stand out. One was the night of the women's high jump final. That morning, I got a message from Pooja — 'You better be at the stadium tonight.' I even got a call from her coach, Balwan Singh reminding me. Pooja, to me, is the next big thing in Indian athletics. She's fearless. As she moved through her warm-up, I noticed something different. Gone was the pronounced hop in the middle of her approach. Instead, she was attacking the curve with a speed and rhythm I hadn't seen before. I walked up to her and said, 'The only thing that can come between you and a medal is you yourself. Keep doing what you're doing — you've got this.' Pooja bagged gold in high jump, becoming the youngest Asian champion from India. | Photo Credit: Asian Athletics She didn't need me after that. She didn't need anyone. Her coach had done his job. And she was ready. A double personal best at just 18 and a continental title? That's not potential — that's power. That's presence. That's a flex. The second moment was quieter — but just as powerful. It was the night before the men's javelin final. I had just returned to the hotel after Pooja's competition, and when I connected to Wi-Fi, I saw multiple missed calls from Sachin Yadav's physio. I called back immediately. 'Nothing urgent,' he said, 'but Sachin wants to talk.' When Sachin came to my room, he looked calm on the outside. He's a towering guy — even taller than me — but I could see the nerves in his eyes. This was his first big international meet. Expectations were high. Pressure was heavy. Before he could even say anything, I said, 'Let's go get ice cream.' That was it. No motivational speeches. No deep strategy. Just a breather. A small moment to forget the weight of the world and remember that he belongs here. ************************************************ DAY 5 The next day? He launched a monster. Just centimetres shy of beating the Olympic champion. It wasn't just a medal, but it was a statement: he's coming. Sachin Yadav launched a 'monster' in javelin throw, just centimeters shy off gold medallist Arshad Nadeem. | Photo Credit: Asian Athletics The one thing I truly realised at this Asian Championships is that the Indian athletics team of this decade feels very different. I saw myself in transition — from being the young rookie who made senior teams at 17, like Pooja is now, to becoming one of the older guys in the squad at 27. But one thing hasn't changed: my intention has always been to go out of my way to make the younger ones feel welcome. Because I remember what it was like to be in their shoes a few years back — unsure if I belonged, quietly doubting myself. The truth is, if you've made the team, you've already done something right. You do belong. And sometimes, reminding someone of that doesn't take a motivational speech. Sometimes, it's as simple as showing up, sharing space, and grabbing an ice cream. I'm genuinely excited about the kind of athletes coming out of India right now — brave, talented, and hungry. This isn't a one-off. This is just the beginning for Indian athletics. Related Topics Asian Athletics Championships
Hans India
an hour ago
- Hans India
RCB Victory Parade Stampede Causes Internet Storm
Bengaluru: The Karnataka government's celebratory zeal turned into a tragic nightmare as a stampede during Royal Challengers Bengaluru's (RCB) IPL 2025 victory parade claimed 11 lives and injured 33 others near M Chinnaswamy Stadium. The Congress-led administration, under Chief Minister Siddaramaiah, is now under intense scrutiny for its alleged insensitivity and negligence, with netizens and opposition leaders alike slamming the government for prioritising political mileage over public safety. The incident has sparked widespread outrage, with many holding the government directly responsible for the preventable tragedy. RCB's first IPL title win in 18 years was a historic moment for fans, culminating in a victory over Punjab Kings by 6 runs on June 3. The Karnataka government which was seen eager to bask in the glory of Bengaluru's triumph, rushed to organise a victory parade within 12 hours of the win. It is a stark contrast to other IPL teams like KKR, MI, and CSK, which held their parades 2-3 days later with proper planning, and the Indian T20 World Cup team, which waited 5 days. The parade, which began at Vidhana Soudha and was meant to culminate at Chinnaswamy Stadium, drew an estimated 2-3 lakh fans, far exceeding the stadium's capacity of 35,000. The situation spiralled out of control when a small gate at the stadium was breached, leading to a deadly stampede. The outrage on social media has been palpable, with netizens demanding accountability from the Congress government. The opposition BJP has also seized the opportunity to criticise the government, with leaders like Amit Malviya labeling the incident as a result of "lack of basic administrative foresight" and Chalavadi Narayanaswamy calling it "unforgivable." The government's response has done little to quell public anger. Chief Minister Siddaramaiah announced Rs. 10 lakh compensation for the families of the deceased and ordered a magisterial inquiry, but his statement, "Over two to three lakh people gathered. No one expected such a crowd," has been met with disbelief. Critics argue that such a turnout was entirely predictable given RCB's massive fanbase and the significance of the win. Deputy CM DK Shivakumar apologised for the overcrowding and cancelled the procession, but his earlier presence at the airport to greet the players has been cited as evidence of the government's attempt to politicise the event. The RCB victory parade stampede has exposed deep flaws in the Karnataka government's approach to public safety, with netizens and opposition leaders united in their demand for justice. The 11 lives lost and 33 injuries sustained are not seen as mere statistics but is a stark reminder of the cost of political insensitivity. For RCB fans, what should have been a moment of triumph has been overshadowed by tragedy, leaving a bitter taste in the wake of their long-awaited victory. The Congress-led Karnataka government now faces a reckoning, as Bengaluru mourns and the nation watches, demanding that such a preventable disaster never happens again.
New Indian Express
an hour ago
- New Indian Express
India tour of England: Off to England with hopes high
CHENNAI: "Overwhelming" is how Shubman Gill described when he first got to know about the possibility of becoming India's Test captain. It is understandable considering about 12 months ago Gill was almost dropped from the Test team. He was, in fact, left out of the playing XI for the Boxing Day Test in Melbourne last year. Indian cricket has hit the fast forward button since the 3-1 drubbing they received Down Under, conceding the Border-Gavaskar Trophy. R Ashwin retired mid-tour, Rohit Sharma and Virat Kohli have called it a day in the longest format and Gill is the new India men's Test captain. On Thursday, he was at the BCCI headquarters, alongside head coach Gautam Gambhir addressing the media before leaving for England for the five-Test series. As Gill walks out onto the field in Leeds with the India blazer on for the first Test on June 20, he will not just be a young captain leading a side, but also a team with a very inexperienced batting line-up. They have not yet nailed down the batting order as yet. It will be done after the intra-squad game and ten-day camp before the first game. Among the top five who are expected to play, only KL Rahul has played more than 50 Tests (58). Gill, himself, has played only 32 behind Rishabh Pant (43). In fact, the most experienced batter in the squad would be Ravindra Jadeja (80). Gill, and Gambhir, remain positive with the 18-member team they are taking to England. "I think pressure is there in every tour to win as a team. Definitely, two experienced players who have played in our team for such a long time and won so many matches, it is difficult to fill their space, but as such, there is no different pressure. I think the batting combination and bowling combination with which we are going, the team has a very good mix of experience and talent," Gill said. "It is a five-Test series in England. Everyone is excited. It is another opportunity to do something special for the country. For me, the most exciting thing is that we have got really quality players in the squad who are really willing to go out there and express themselves and do something special," Gambhir added.
