Even the King Stumbles: Revisiting Virat Kohli's Rare Double Ducks

In the grand tapestry of cricketing greats, Virat Kohli stands, well, pretty much at the very apex. A colossus of the game, a batsman whose willow seems to conjure magic more often than not, tallying centuries with an almost bewildering regularity. And yet, even for King Kohli, there have been these moments.

Brief, jarring moments when the unthinkable happened, when the bat went utterly silent, not just for a single ball, but for two, in successive international outings. It's a rare, almost unsettling discord in his magnificent symphony of runs, something we don't often linger on, perhaps out of sheer, protective disbelief.

Picture this: March 2011.

India, playing at home, locking horns with a formidable England side in a One Day International series. Virat, then a younger, though already undeniably formidable, force, stepped onto the field. In the very first match, a hush descended across the stadium as James Anderson, the master craftsman with the new ball, found his pads – or perhaps the edge.

LBW. A duck. Annoying, yes, but honestly, it happens to the best of them, doesn't it? One can simply brush it off, look to the next game. But then came the second match. The weight of expectation, the hope for a quick turnaround, perhaps a tiny bit of internal pressure. And yet, almost uncannily, history repeated itself.

Tim Bresnan this time, a dismissal, if memory serves, caught by James Tredwell. Two ducks. Consecutive. In international 50-over cricket. A proper jolt, you could say, for any batsman, let alone one destined for such unparalleled greatness.

It really does make you wonder, doesn't it? What must have raced through his mind? The collective gasp from the crowd, amplified, perhaps, by his own internal monologue.

For a player known for his unwavering focus and meticulous preparation, these were truly uncharacteristic moments. A brief, almost surreal detour from the seemingly predestined path of endless run-scoring.

Fast forward a few years, to February 2014. The cricketing landscape had shifted somewhat, and Kohli was even more firmly entrenched as a global superstar, but New Zealand offered a different, equally stern challenge.

This time, the red ball, the purest form of the game: Test cricket. In the first Test, a duck. Neil Wagner, a bowler known for his relentless short stuff and fiery spells, got him. Caught by Brendon McCullum. Disappointing, no doubt, but again, you think, he’ll bounce back, he always does. Then, in the very next Test, the very next innings for that matter, Trent Boult found his rhythm, swinging it wickedly.

Another duck. And once more, caught by McCullum. The sheer statistical anomaly of it, being dismissed for zero in consecutive international Tests, against a high-quality pace attack, it’s just... something else entirely.

These instances, these almost forgotten footnotes in a sprawling, glittering career, they don't, in truth, diminish the legend of Virat Kohli.

Quite the opposite, perhaps. They serve as a stark, humanizing reminder that even the titans of the game, those we often perceive as invincible, are, deep down, flesh and blood. They face their moments of struggle, their fleeting slips, their frustrating blips, just like anyone else. And for a brief period, twice in his illustrious international journey, the bat of King Kohli fell silent, leaving a rather peculiar, yet undeniably human, mark on the scorebook.