Virat Kohli had just sought a review. But, his eyes hollow, he knew the irrevocable fate of his. Kohli grimaced, shook his head in angst and stared ruefully at the twilight skies. The day was not to be his, yet in a larger sense, the day was his too. After 12 years, he felt the lustre of the Champions Trophy. In this span, he had endured several nearly moments, teary nights when he left the stadium with a heavy heart of losses and spent the night sleepless on his bed. But this night in Dubai, he would sleep peacefully, probably cuddling the trophy’s replica. The aberration in the final, this was a tournament the master sculptor has helped chiselling. Donning a titular role in winning an ICC trophy has been like a revolver pointed at his head. He has conquered everything a cricketer could possibly do — love and adulation, respect and riches, countless trophies and individual milestones. In fact, he has won too much; everything cricketing-kind could offer him, the WTC mace aside. But …