PARKVILLE II – THE SEQUEL

Parkville seamer Steven Healy sending one down to me as the wicket keeper and slips watch on. Brian "Happy" Hannon is backing up at the non strikers end.

If at first you don't succeed, try, try, try again.
~Proverb - attributed to T. H. Palmer 1840


Most people would argue that sequels are rarely as good as the original, and most of the time they would be correct – but today’s game could make an argument to the contrary plausible.

Due to a quirk in scheduling, we were slated to play last weekends opponent Parkville yet again. Not only that, we were playing them at our home ground – again.

Last week we meekly capitulated for seventy six and then watched Parkville pass our total with eight wickets in hand en-route to a respectable total off their forty five overs. Winning the toss and sending us in on a green top certainly aided their cause, however, our uncustomary ineptitude with the bat let us down badly.

Upon learning that we would be playing Parkville again, I could not help thinking all week about what we would do differently this time. I knew one thing for sure, I was going to be keeping an eye out for any over pitched Yorkers to avoid a repeat of last weeks freak dismissal.

Our selected team contained no less than five changes with Bobby Fisher, Sam Mitchell-Head, Conrad De Souza and Timmy Miller returning and Chris “CC” Connelly playing his first game of the year for the Fifths.

While we had lost some bowling fire power, we had gained some batting strength and regained the services of a specialist keeper in Timmy “Corky” Miller in place of the reluctantly deputizing Strachany.

Another subtle change that was going to effect me was Nat “Mr Natural” Williams intimating to me that he had a preference to opening rather than waiting around to come in at number three. I passed this info onto Strachany who admitted he was already thinking of making the change in any case. So Nat went up one in the order and I went down one. I really didn’t mind as I actually have a slight preference for number three, though to be truthful, I have come to realize that there is very little difference.

So my thinking all week was along the lines of, “if we can bat to our potential, we will be in with a big show”. I have no doubt that the other lads in the team were thinking along the same lines. While we were pole axed last week by very accurate bowling on a seam friendly pitch, Parkville themselves on an improving wicket only posted 145, though they lost only three wickets and batted in no great discomfort (other than when Harry Potter was whistling them around their ears).

This weekends match also had the special significance of being Amit Mehta’s last for the club before returning to India to work in the family business. Amit is a quiet, solid citizen and is well liked by all. I took a liking to the man from the first time I met him, so like everyone else, I was sad to see him go. Amit is always one of the first with a quiet positive word at training and after every game. I resolved that it would be a fitting send off if we could win this game for him, but fairy tales don’t always have ideal endings – so I was hopeful more than brimming with confidence.

There were so many feelings of déjà vu as I arrived at the ground and saw our lads warming up and the Parkville players also going through their pre-game routines. “Different result this week guys, different result” I thought to myself.

Strachany lost the toss yet again and we were sent in to bat…yet again! While I padded up I had a few quiet words with Amit and I am sure he was feeling emotional at the response from the lads. Today was day of payback for last weeks humiliation. At least that is what I was thinking.

Happy and Nat kicked off proceedings as I sat padded up waiting my turn. I had a morale boosting visit of a friend of mine who had specifically come along to see me play and I was keen to do well to make his long drive worth it.

The going was somewhat slow and when Nat was out bowled to Parkville seamer Healy for an uncharacteristically subdued ten in the sixteenth over, our score was only twenty six.

I charged onto the ground ready to enter the fray. I was feeling rather confident and ready to go. I met up with Happy as I arrived in the middle and he offered the following sage advice: “They are keeping low, so get on the front foot as much as possible. This bloke (Healy) swings the occasional one in too”. So keeping all that in mind, I faced up to my first delivery and as is my custom lately, the ball thudded off my pads for leg byes.

Waiting for the next delivery, bat in the air, eyes fixed on the bowler.

It was rather noticeable that the Parkville bowlers were considerably younger than ours lads. In fact, most of them looked like they had yet to start shaving. I faced up next over to the other Parkville change bowler and eventually I got a delivery angled into my problem area of my pads and lo and behold, I played a nice fore arm jab to the vacant mid on area for a single to get off the mark. It goes to show, all those leg bruising practice sessions with Happy and the bowling machine were starting to pay off.

My sole concern was when I set off for my first single, I immediately strained anew my right quadricep muscle. “Just great” I thought to myself – "this injury never seems to go away". The big positive (if there was one) is that Happy is a leisurely runner between wickets, thus it would be unlikely that I would be called through for any sharp singles.

The bowling was tight over the next couple of overs and I accumulated another two and a single all scored with the same on drive to the vacant mid on region that had hitherto been a no fly zone for me due to my technical weakness in that area. So, I was starting to feel good about the world and confident that these bowlers had no hidden tricks up their sleeve that would duly worry me.

Mid pitch discussion between overs with "Happy". I seem to be inspecting the toe of my bat, but I am actually quietly informing Happy that I have strained my quad muscle again.

What was this business of the pitch keeping low and this young chap Healy swinging the occasional one in that Happy was warning against? It was all under control as far as I could see. In fact, the only alarm had come when an errant throw from the Parkville square leg fielder smashed into my right shoulder blade as I was completing a run at the strikers end. It was a searing blow that caused me to drop my bat after making my ground. Sportingly the Parkville wicket keeper and the offending fielder came over to check if I was alright and to offer their contrition, but I could see the funny side to it all and waved them away with the words that I was OK.

The moment of impact. I am propping with pain as the ball has hit me on the shoulder blade from a wayward throw from the outfield.

Then much to my surprise, the umpires called “drinks” at the twenty over mark, not the usual twenty third over as is customary in forty five over games. This was to cost me at least another three overs of getting my eye in before playing some expansive strokes.

As I took a quick drink Strachany wondered over to Happy and I and told us (while all the while looking at me in the eye) to “push things along”. I was staggered as I was still relatively new to the crease. However, I was under no illusions he was talking to me and me only as Happy is not a big shot player and cannot change his game no matter what the circumstances.

I am not a big shot player either, preferring to stroke the ball around. The only “big” shots I possess in my armoury are the cut shot, the pull shot and the hook shot as I am essentially a back foot player. Big rain maker drives and hoicks to cow corner are simply not part of my game, but what could I do now? I mentioned my sore quad more in the hope that Strachany would understand that I was more intent on placing the ball around rather than outright brutalizing it...however, my protestations fell on deaf ears as Strachany’s next words were “it’s death or glory, go out swinging mate, it is only forty overs each today”. Later, after I was dismissed, I was to find out that it was in actual fact, a forty five over game as per normal though Strachany couldn't have known this at the time.

I was feeling rather like a sacrificial lamb at this stage and I couldn’t help thinking as I made my way back to the crease why I was being asked to throw my wicket away – because while the directive was seemingly to both batsman, there was no way that Happy would throw his wicket away for anyone no matter what the circumstances and the state of the game. Why me? I was starting to feel comfortable and I could feel a big innings coming, a good solid fifty or sixty on which to build my confidence for the rest of the season.

The first ball after drinks I duly pulled away for four runs as was my directive to play aggressively. While it was satisfying to smash a boundary from a not altogether bad ball, I was already thinking how long would I be able to keep this up before I would make a mistake? It was going to be a game of Russian Roulette, but with bat and ball instead of revolver. The next ball was not quite short enough and too close to my body to cut, but I tried to anyway and I only succeeded in bunting the ball straight down onto the pitch for no run.

The third ball was pitched invitingly about six inches outside the line of off stump at a nice length to aim a huge off drive. I had decided that as it was slightly wide of my stumps I could risk a big swipe at it as if I missed, it would likely pass harmlessly past my stumps. Moreover, as I bat a meter out of my crease, I was confident that even if by some miracle it jagged back in, it would surely bounce over my wicket. So, keeping all that in mind in the nanosecond I had to make up my mind that I was going for a big drive, I put one big stride down the wicket and swung my bat through in a huge arc. To my horror, the ball did swing in alarmingly and by playing through the line I missed and the ball somehow kept low enough that it clipped my off stump about a third of the way up.

For a bowler to pitch a delivery six or so inches outside off stump and then make it dart back in to clip off stump was world class unto itself. The fact that it also kept low so it would not harmlessly bounce over the top of the stumps was nothing short of astonishing. I congratulated the bowler after the game on his great delivery and he actually apologized with the words "it is the best ball I have ever bowled in my life". No need to apologize mate - I am still in awe.

When you consider that from the stumps to the popping crease it is nearly a meter and half. Factor in that I bat about a meter out of my crease and that the ball bounced a further meter and half in front of me when I lurched forward to drive. That would mean that the ball bounced at the very least three and half meters from the wickets and still did not bounce over the stumps as you would reasonably expect. The bowler certainly intended to bowl an inswinger, but there was no way known he could have anticipated that the ball would skid through so low and hit my off stump about half way up. Not even the top of the off stump mind you!

Simply unreal.

Playing a defensive push to cover.

Unlike other weeks, this time I was extremely angry with myself and my over optimistic shot selection. I was rendered hors de combat by a ball that was far too good to be disrespected by my overly ambitious attempt at crashing an off drive to a ball that seamed off the pitch almost sideways and kept low in the bargain.

In any normal course of events, I would have thrust my arched defensive bat with my front pad somewhere near. Even in the likely event that I played down the wrong line (it was an excellent ball after all), I most likely would have inside edged the delivery either into my pad where the ball would have probably bounced harmlessly away or if I played with the bat in front of the pad, the ball may have even squirted away to square leg and a possible single.

Either way, I would have lived to fight another day, but alas, it was not to be and I was out for a very brief innings of eight. I really did feel there were many more runs left in me this day.

In any case, after watching the bombastic stroke play of my successor, Chris “CC” Connelly, I quickly realized I was merely hors d’oeuvres to the main course served up by this leviathan’s Sunday afternoon matinee display of power hitting. Chris Connelly has been playing at South Yarra for some years, but has only in recent times started to show the latent talent that has remained hidden until now.

“CC” is about six foot three in height with huge shoulders. In height and build he reminds very much of a right handed Matthew Hayden and his short back and sides and protruding ears make CC look like a throw back to the ANZAC’s. I could easily picture him in a slouch hat and khaki in a sepia tinted photo.

Almost from the first ball he faced, CC was smacking the ball to all parts of the ground like a kid playing in his backyard. No bowler was safe from punishment as he thrust his front foot down the pitch and swung his bat like a wood choppers axe.

Chris Connelly bludgeoned his way to sixty seven in little more than about seventeen overs. There was no finessing and the innings was not chanceless by any means, but boy, did this man give the ball a serious whack. When CC hit the ball, it stayed hit and many of his best hits bounced over the boundary with ease. But for some inspired fielding by at least one of the Parkville boundary riders, CC would have scored many, many more runs. All these fireworks from a bloke who rarely even shows up to training!

Finally, Parkville introduced to the attack a young slightly built South African lad by the name of Daniel Bense as their fifth change bowler. They obviously either didn’t think much of the boys bowling, or they had not seen him bowl before, because Bense immediately sprang to notice by uprooting the obdurate Brian “Happy” Hannon’s middle stump. Happy had made a laborious thirty nine when he was finally dismissed in the thirty fifth over of the innings, but his stubborn vigil had ensured that our innings was to at least attain a level of respectability.

The hitherto unheralded Bense was bowling appreciably faster than his Parkville comrades and from a height of no more than five foot nine generated surprising speed and bounce which first unnerved, then decimated our middle order which folded before this unexpected onslaught. CC’s great knock ended when he was bowled by Bense, then hero of Round Two against Canterbury - Conrad de Souza fell LBW to Bense. The rest sadly were mown down with Sam “Fairfax” Mitchell-Head perhaps a trifle unlucky that a chest high full toss he bunted straight back to the bowler (Bense yet again) was not called a no ball and Timmy “Corky” Miller getting a thick edge on the ball en-route to his pad being given LBW (also Bense).

Only Strachany managed to avoid becoming a victim of Bense’s onslaught as he was run out for a “diamond” duck when he took on the Parkville fielders arm going for a sharp single. The Parkville man had one stump to aim at from about fifteen meters and he duly hit the target running the unfortunate Strachany out by about a meter.

Bense had finished with the remarkable figures of 7 for 17 off just short of eight overs. All that his teammates had known of him was that he was a hard hitting batsman who had scored seventy two the previous week in the fourths. It was sensational stuff, but the multi talented Bense was not finished yet on what was to prove to be an auspicious day for the youngster from Durban.

Parkville commenced their innings chasing a challenging 165 to win. A reasonable total, but probably forty or so short of what it looked like it would be when “CC” was in full flight and the score was 2 for 125. The loss of eight wickets for forty runs was a dramatic collapse that changed the momentum of the game.

Bobby Fisher and Conrad De Souza opened the bowling, but no break through came as the Parkville batsmen showed great resolve in chasing the target. The score had reached none for forty three with danger-man Andy McGregor on thirty eight doing all the scoring. I could sense that all our lads were thinking “how are we going to get a wicket here?”

In such situations, I always imagine myself taking a diving catch to lift my team mates. I want the ball to come to me every ball because I want that match defining moment to come my way. The reality is that the ball usually comes along the ground and I am required only to perform teh mundane task of saving some runs, but today, it was different.

McGregor who was looking set for a very big score was batting beautifully and had not given us a single chance when he flashed at one just wide of his off stump from the bowling of Conrad “Conair” De Souza. The ball was keeping low, so it was not really high enough to cut, so McGregor hit the ball from slightly lower than stump height getting a thickish edge which flew no more than a foot and half off the ground and dropping fast to me at gully.

I instinctively realized that the ball was about to bounce about six feet in front of me when I dived full stretch forward to get both my hands under the ball by now not much more than an inch or two above the turf. As the ball smacked into my hands, I suddenly realized that every other time in my life when I had attempted a diving catch, the ball always jolted from my hands as my elbows hit the ground, so somehow I lurched into a death roll to protect my elbows as much as possible from the full impact of landing on the ground.

As my roll ended with the ball still clasped firmly in one of my hands, I found myself looking up to the sky. I suddenly realized in a flash that perhaps the umpires might think that I had taken the catch on the bounce and thus was not celebrating because it was not out. So while still prostrate on my back I threw the ball triumphantly into the air and as I laid there watching the ball heading heaven wards, I could hear the whoops of joy from my team mates. All of the above happened inside two seconds. How my brain processed everything and in perfect synergy triggered all the correct movements and trajectory of my diving body while making mental adjustments in a flash is simply amazing. It is also living proof that I can write a lot about a little!

I got to my feet just in time to be mobbed from all directions by appreciative team mates and an overjoyed Conrad who blurted out in the magic of the moment “I could kiss you”. Not macho stuff…but under the circumstances, I completely understood, though I did shoot back “a hand shake will do Conair!” I also blurted out "my wifes going to kill me when she sees how dirty I am" as I inspected my now less than pristine whites to much accompanying laughter from the boys.

Looking around at the smiling faces of my team mates, I could see in their eyes the look of renewed hope. It was as the pundits claim “a shift in momentum”. I could feel the energy levels rise.

While I had imagined myself in the overs leading up to the key moment taking a diving catch, I had actually imagined taking a sideways diving catch. Not one where I had to dive forward to a ball that was travelling fast and not carrying. The degree of difficulty was harder than what I imagined myself doing, but if I tried to imagine myself taking such a catch as transpired, I would have doubted myself and my head would have been filled with negative thoughts of dropping a catch.

In truth, the catch itself was as a result of the long hours practicing catching at both Tuesday and Thursday training sessions (our first out doors for the year). At both sessions I participated in catching drill after catching drill until my hands were throbbing with pain and my right palm going purple from bruising. I also badly jarred two fingers, one of which I still cannot bend properly nearly a week on.

But, the practice helped. If the catch came a week earlier, I would not have caught it. I either would have let it bounce in front of me and taken it on the bounce and no one would have thought any less of me. Or if by some chance I did dive, it would have bounced out of my hands.

The value of hours of practice, in some cases painful and unpleasant, gave me one of my greatest feelings on a cricket field.

Back to the game, the in coming Parkville batsman was the redoubtable Craig Baulch who had held us up last week with a well made thirty. How Harry Potter didn’t kill him is a testament to Baulch’s ducking skills. He yet again batted well and this time he made forty five before he got too adventurous and he skied a delivery from Johnny Scurry to Chris Connelly at backward point.

In the interim however, the other junior opener was dismissed by being bowled by John Scurry in the middle of a purple patch before he was to be later man handled along with our other bowlers in the partnership of the match. With the dismissal of Baulch, Parkville were 3 for 107 and still requiring fifty nine runs in about sixteen overs. A challenging task if we could keep the pressure up.

Strachany then grabbed the wicket of Foletta leaving Parkville 4 for 112 and I am sure we all started thinking that the initiative had again tipped further in our favour. Parkville batsman Stu Mills was joined at the crease by bowling hero Danial Bense. Mills must be about six foot four tall and one hundred and twenty kilos. A veritable man mountain. He contrasted sharply with Bense who as stated earlier is about five foot nine and would have to run around the shower to get wet.

The two Parkville batsmen then set about dismantling our bowling in an assault that was as brutal as it was unexpected. Both batsmen seemed to have little trouble in not only finding the boundary, but in many cases clearing it by a long way. Mills made fifty four not out to see Parkville home, though he was dropped on at least one occasion. Bense the seven wicket hero was dismissed for a barn storming forty five which included four big sixes. One of which cleared both our boundary riders on the “fat”side of the ground (the pavilion end) when they were standing on the chalk. The ball cleared the boundary, the embankment and narrowly averted killing the scorers. The pint sized South African proved to be an inspired cricketer who is easily better than the level he was selected to play.

Parkville requiring nearly four runs an over after the loss of their fourth wicket with sixteen or so overs to play, passed our total with ten overs to spare and then continued onto the fortieth over where they finally declared with the fall of Benses wicket and the score resting on 5 for 210.

Even though we played much better than the week before, we were yet again hammered. The depth of Parkville was either astonishing or they simply have no idea what they have on their hands with some of the players playing their first or second game of the year against us.

Yet again I felt absolutely devastated to have lost. It is apparent that we are appreciably older on a per capita basis than most of our opponents, but the gulf in age between our bowlers and Parkvilles attack was stark.

At the end of the game back in the club house, Strachany kept an upbeat, positive perspective on the days events. Chris Connelly was easily man of the match for the Yarras and got to drink his hard earned free beer from the pewter goblet. The encouragement award which isn’t actually an award per se, just an honourable mention went surprisingly to me for my catch and all round effort in the field as well as my effort to keep the talk up.

I actually am not a talker on the field (though a prolific one off it), but constant encouragement is a necessity to keep spirits up on the field. Strachany is our resident cheer leader who keeps the onfield chatter going even when others tire and go quiet. I had noticed when Strachany is bowling and thus unable to be the cheer leader because of the concentration required to bowl, we go all quiet. So I stepped up to keep the chat going, particularly when Strachany was bowling.

It is one of the more unglamorous facets of the game – but everybody has to do it.

Irrespective, sitting back in the club room, I was shattered and wondering how we can get on the winners list. I also was annoyed that I had failed with the bat two weeks in a row. I need a big score and I need it soon. I am batting well, but so far the score book is not showing it. However, I know the big score will come, I just hope it comes soon.

See you all next week!

Vic Nicholas
Melbourne

N Williams b S Healy 10
B Hannanb D Bense 39
VJ Nicholas b S Healy 8
C Connellyb D Bense 67
CA De Souza lbw b D Bense 5
S Mitchell-Head c & b D Bense 3
A Mehta c DJ Marson b D Bense 0
*D Strachan run out(G Foletta)0
T Miller lbw b D Bense 1
J Scurry b D Bense 0
R Fisher not out 0
Extras (0nb,16w,8b,8lb) 32

Total 165
Overs 45

ROUND THREE – PARKVILLE CC

Looking focused during throw downs before going out to bat.

"He that is afraid of bad luck never knows good"
~Russian Proverb

After yesterdays game, I can honestly say that I have experienced almost everything that the game of cricket can throw up in terms of ways to be dismissed. The score book will say:

VJ. Nicholas Bowled 0

But in no way does it convey the drama and the freakish nature of the dismissal when read as such.

I arrived at our home ground nearly an hour before the start of play and the lads were already engaged in catching practice when I walked up with my kit bag slung across my shoulder. I said my hellos and then I strolled out to take a look at the pitch because there had been some drenching rains during the week. As soon as I saw the wicket I noticed it had a green tinge to it. Now everything I have ever read about green wickets is that they favour seam bowlers and offer some movement and bounce.

The round one match played here a fortnight ago offered up a feather bed wicket with true bounce and no hidden tricks. Last week at Canterbury we were served up an almost Sub-Continent style slow and low bounce deck which offered nothing to the bowlers at all.

How would I have to adjust my game to deal with this pitch? I thought to myself. I spoke to Brian “Happy” Hannon – our resident veteran and he simply told me to get my front foot forward as much as possible. “Just great”, I thought to myself – that is pretty much the same advice I was given for the first two weeks and they were vastly different pitches to this seam friendly pitch.

Strachany lost the toss and duly informed us that the opposition had put us in to bat. I rushed off to pad up still trying to figure out how the pitch would behave in the opening half hour. Once padded up I made my way outside and decided to face some throw downs to get my eye in, but again, I had to give this up after a few minutes as it made me sick with nerves all of a sudden.

I waited on the grassy embankment for the fielding team and umpires to make their way to the middle and summon us out. When the time came, Happy and I made our way out with not much being said other than Happy offering to take strike to the first ball.

Walking out to the crease.

The opening delivery of the day delivered by the Parkville fast bowler flashed by Happy’s off stump and Happy let it go. The next delivery sailed down the leg side for a wide and beat the diving keeper. I set off on a run and yelled out to Happy “there is two if you want it?”, but as I turned to charge back down the pitch for the second run, I noticed that Happy had his back still turned and had only just made it to the bowlers end. So one bye it was.

I then looked around the field to see where each fielder was placed and in my customary habit I did not bother taking middle. I just stood one meter out of my crease and faced up to the next ball. The Parkville fast bowler then promptly sent down a wide down the off side which I left alone and then I held out my arms signaling a wide to the umpire who then did the same towards the scorers.

I don’t know what made me do that, as I think it would just irritate the opposition. I thought to myself, don’t do that again – don’t give them any ammunition. The next delivery was an absolute corker – it pitched short of a length, cutting into me sharply off the pitch and beat my bat thudding into my thigh pad. The “ooohhhhs” of the opposition fieldsmen sounded out and I thought to myself “great ball mate – but, you aren’t going to get me out bowling there”.

The next ball was also short of a length, but this time just outside off stump and it took off from the green pitch passing me at about chest height. I was momentarily tempted to have a flash at it, but withdrew my bat at the last moment as I realized it was slightly too close to my chest to get my arms free to cut. As the ball smacked into the keepers gloves the fielders “ooohhhss” went up again in unison. This time the first slip shot out “this bloke hasn’t got any idea”, to which I shot back, “yeah, I have no clue” with a broad smile on my face. I have always found that the best way to diffuse opposition sledging is to agree with it in a jocular manner and the keeper and first slip smiled back looking slightly sheepish.

The next ball fizzed harmlessly by through to the keeper having been pitched short and wide. Infact, I expected it to be called a wide, but this time the umpire vacillated and did not call the wide. Yet another ball flashed by in a similar manner, though this one was somewhat closer to my off stump, but not close enough for me to again let the ball pass harmlessly by.

The bowler then bounded in and pitched one short of a length, but this time speared into my body, but I got behind it and I played the ball down towards short mid wicket off the middle of my bat where the fieldsman picked it up and there was no run as the umpire called “over”.

Happy and I met mid pitch and Happy offered “It was great that you left the wide stuff alone…wait until you get your eye in”. I nodded and we went back to our respective ends. The other opening bowler was a tallish left arm pace bowler. His first ball was short and happy guided the ball around the corner to fine leg for an easy single.

I am sharing a joke with the umpire at the non-strikers end.

I prepared myself to face up to the next delivery. I again stood a meter out of my crease to cancel out any chance of LBW and also to reduce the possibility of getting bowled if I had a swing and a miss. Bowling from the other side of the wicket, I made the mental note to open up my stance a bit so I would be a bit more front-on to the left arm bowler. He charged in and let fly with an over pitched Yorker that speared in to my pads.

Did it swing in through the air?

I don’t honestly know as it all happened in a blur. Happy told me later that it did swing in through the air, but I couldn't say if it did. The ball missed my bat and front leg and hit my back foot on the half volley and I turned around in time to see it deflect to the first slip fieldsman who caught it to much excitement of the watching wicket keeper.

The appeal went up loud, but I was not alarmed…surely, it was sliding down leg side and would not be LBW…and I didn’t hit it, so I can’t be out caught either. The umpire stood and stared momentarily and then he started walking towards the square leg umpire seeking some kind of confirmation. I thought to myself, “well I am not LBW here…he is thinking maybe I hit it…” and after what seemed and eternity but was probably no more than a dozen seconds, the umpire raised his finger and gave me out much to my chagrin.

I stood there momentarily and feebly asked “how am I out?”, to which the Parkville wicket keeper shot back “look at your stumps” and as I looked back, I noticed that the leg bail was gently resting on the ground.

How did it get there?

There hadn’t been any sudden gust of wind? It must have come off when the ball deflected off my toe?

As I walked off, I tried to digest what had just taken place. The ball had hit my toe on the half volley and then en-route to the first slips hands it had barely clipped my leg bail dislodging it almost without anyone seeing it at first. If the fielding team had seen it, they would not have bothered appealing to the umpire – they simply would have rushed to embrace their successful bowler. The bowler seemed to appeal for LBW and the fielders appealed for the catch – it was the square leg umpire who noticed that the bail had been dislodged in all this commotion.

It was a freak dismissal of the likes that I could play cricket another twenty years and never again experience anything like it again. I was flummoxed, but I also was too shocked to be angry with myself for playing over the top of what should have been a gift ball to turn away for runs. I just shook my head and shrugged my shoulders at the freaky nature of it all.

That is the beauty of cricket. One mistake – and you are consigned to watching for the rest of the afternoon. I took a while to make sense of it all before I went inside the darkened pavilion to remove my padding. As I removed the last remnants of my bodily protection, I was shocked to see Nat “Mr Natural” Williams starting to also take his pads off. He had gone in and had promptly got out soon after for a duck as well. Oh dear!

Brent "Harry" Potter playing a delicate glide past second slip.

By this stage going in at number four was Brent “Harry” Potter a strapping lad of New Zealander origins. Harry Potter is someone that should be playing First grade – he is that good – however, as the Firsts play on Saturdays, due to work commitments, Harry plays Fourths on Sundays where his prodigious talents dwarf his less talented opponents (and teammates).

Harry – a left hander - announced his arrival and his bellicose intentions by getting off the mark in the most emphatic fashion possible – by smiting a massive straight driven six back over the bowlers head. “Way to go Harry” I thought to myself.

Brent "Harry" Potter playing a typically belligerent stroke.

Harry then smashed two further boundaries as well as running a single in somewhere amongst that. The boy was clearly in commanding form, being fresh from smashing a spectacular century in Round One for the Fourths and then when the Firsts played on last Sunday, he again was imperious with a match winning thirty three. On fifteen, Harry caught the malaise that had afflicted Nat and myself by being bowled by a straight delivery.

"How did I miss that?" Strachany appears to be thinking.

Strachany followed soon later – bowled for two and with the score sitting on a precarious 4 for 34, things were starting to look a bit grim to say the least. Happy who had been up the other end while all this carnage was being played out was finally out for a pain staking nine which he had compiled in a vigil that had lasted for twenty five overs. Under the circumstances, it was exactly the sort of grit we needed to overcome our situation.

Richard "Dragon" Halpagoda gets off the mark with a classic square cut for four.

Richie “Dragon” Halpagoda was the next to go for seven and the score on fifty three. New boy fill in Richie “Tricky” Dahlsen was then also dismissed for seven with the score on fifty nine. By this stage the batting collapse was in full swing. Amit Mehta was the next to go - controversially given out LBW when he smashed the cover off the ball on its way onto his pad. Justin Southern, another new lad was dismissed for eleven and the score on seventy six and that was where it ended as the last man Johnny Scurry was trapped plumb in front of his stumps first ball to a delivery that smashed into his calf just behind his pad that left him contorting in agony.

Richard "Dragon" Halpagoda playing with a straight bat.

All out for seventy six off thirty five overs. A full ten overs less than our allotted forty five. It was a shambolic batting performance – eight batsmen bowled and two LBW. Only Amit Mehta could consider himself truly unlucky in that he was given out to one that he edged onto his pad.

Richard "Dragon" Halpagoda leaving one through to the keeper.

As for the insinuation by some of the lads that I was unlucky, I personally felt that despite the freaky end result of my dismissal – it was none the less still an error on my behalf in failing to deal with a delivery that was arrowed into my one main weakness. A weakness which I have been attempting to address with Happy in the sessions with the bowling machine at Hawthorn Indoor nets. Not good enough.

After the lunch interval, we made our way out onto the field, but despite all the positive chat, I don’t think anyone really believed we were a chance to knock Parkville over for less than our total. However, a few quick wickets will usually change the mind set of a team and all of a sudden belief will come back fast.

Lining up to take the first over with the new ball was Harry Potter. I had faced him in the nets and he is appreciably faster than any of the blokes who play Fifth Eleven cricket. As I mentioned earlier, he is really a First Eleven quality cricketer. Harry bowls left arm express deliveries off a modest run up. But even off that run up, Harry generates a lot of pace. The first delivery that Harry sent down absolutely exploded off the pitch and flew through to the keeper Strachany who was standing back much, much further than to our usual bowlers at chest height. Strachany was filling in in-lieu of Timmy Miller who was seconded to a higher grade.

After this delivery an extra slip and a second gully were added giving us a slips cordon of four – easily the most you will see in Fifth Eleven cricket. The second delivery also exploded off the pitch and flew past the batsmen who meekly hung his bat out to a delivery he barely would have seen. This was pulsating stuff and I was starting to think that if we could break through early, maybe, just maybe we could be in with an outside chance. The next delivery smashed into the bat handle as the batsman tried to protect himself from the ball smashing into his face and the ball deflected away to fine leg for a single.

Harry was not impressed and he stalked back to his bowling mark and he turned around like a raging bull and charged in and bowled a hum dinger of a ball that pitched on off stump thus committing the hapless Parkville batsman to a stroke. The ball took a thick outside edge off the bat and flew like a tracer bullet to gully where Johnny Scurry held a wonderful catch at waste height.

One for one! We charged in from all directions to mob Harry and Johnny as this was exactly the start we needed. This was hostile fast bowling at its exhilarating best from Harry. The first ball to the new batsman also took off from short of a length and whizzed passed the edge of his bat.

The next over, new boy Justin Southern began with three wild deliveries - he hadn’t played any cricket for a while – but as soon as he found his radar, Justin also had the batsmen playing and missing with his fast deliveries. Hardly any runs seem to come from the middle of the bat with the ball flying off edges. Harry then took up where he left off the previous over beating the bat at will ball after ball with extreme pace. The only thing preventing him getting any further wickets was the fact that the batsmen were simply not good enough to even get any bat on ball at all most of the time. When the batsmen rarely did make contact, the ball would fly off the edge of the bat through the slips, over the slips and at least in one instance, under the slips.

I thought to myself that it must only be a matter of time before wickets started tumbling, but miraculously, they didn’t. Some how the Parkville batsmen stuck around and they did not lose another wicket until they only needed a couple runs to win.

The only interest left in the game was when Strachany asked Harry to bowl the last over before drinks and Harry at first mildly protested that he wasn’t up for it, but after some gentle persuasion from the master psychologist that is Strachany, Harry took the ball and unleashed one of the fieriest, angriest overs one could ever see. He bowled a full over of bouncers and throat balls that the bemused Parkville batsman managed to duck and weave through. Given that Harry Potter is a mild mannered sort of bloke, it was not exactly clear what had triggered this Bodyline attack in what turned out to be his last over. Even more incredible was the fact that neither umpire cautioned Harry for intimidatory bowling. It was fast, it was furious and for the batsman, I am sure it must have been scary.

It was not too long after drinks that the Parkville batsmen duly notched a crushing win. It would have been great to end the game there and then…a kind of mercy rule – but unfortunately due to percentage etc, the game had to continue until the forty fifth over was bowled. The next hour and a half was the longest ninety minutes I have ever experienced on a cricket field. It seemed to drag on for ever, but to the lads credit, they fought it out to the end. Harry showed his professionalism by chasing down hits to the deep and rifling in his throws to the keeper. I had nothing but admiration for the bloke trying his guts out to the very end. Strachany bowled his guts out as well – he truly does set a gutsy example as skipper and I could not help but silently respect his commitment to playing out the game with intensity until the last ball bowled.

Ah yes, the last ball bowled was bowled by me. Strachany was sporting enough to allow me three overs at the end of the innings and it felt good to get more real match experience to help me bridge the gap between my net bowling and my match bowling. I have been suffering from nerves when I run into bowl, but little by little I am starting to regain my match readiness.

As a young lad I used to run in and bowl fast...and I did it well. Somewhere down the line I have lost all ability with the ball in my hands. My fast days are well and truly over now – so I am trying to reinvent myself into an off spinner to lend the team with more variety. With some hard work, I am hopeful I can keep an end tight and maybe even take some wickets. Time will tell.

As for this particular game – it ended up being a rather heavy defeat that set back our aspirations quite a bit.

However, next week is a different game and surely we cannot be far away from our first win of the season.

Here’s hoping!

See you soon,
Vic Nicholas
Melbourne

Canterbury Tales - Round 2

Yarras Fifth Eleven: Tim Miller, Vic Nicholas, Stuart McDonald, Amit Mehta, Sam Mitchell-Head, Brian Hannon, Conrad De Souza, Robert Fisher, Gideon Haigh and John Scurry. Absent from photo - David Strachan (Captain).

"It is inevitable that some defeat will enter even the most victorious life. The human spirit is never finished when it is defeated...it is finished when it surrenders"
~ Ben Stein (1944- ) American Actor, writer and political commentator.

This weeks game will be remembered by me for pretty much all the wrong reasons.

For the second week running we batted better than the opposition and somehow conspired to lose. We took nine opposition wickets for the second week running and following on from last week where we lost only five wickets in making our total, we again only lost five wickets in our run chase.

Think about it for a moment – we have taken eighteen opposition wickets and lost only ten. Yet we have somehow lost both games!

This week I had the added distraction of having to wake up earlier than normal two days in a row as I was having my kitchen renovated. So I arrived at Canterbury’s home ground at 11:45am in a less than perfectly refreshed frame of mind.

Strachany rallying the troops.

“No problem” I thought to myself. I am not going into this game under an injury cloud like last week. I at the very least felt A1.

We had some close catching drills to sharpen our reflexes and get everyone switched on. Then we performed a drill whereby the ball is hit out to you from a distance of about thirty five metres so we could run in attack the ball and then throw it in to the keeper.

The first one hit out to me bobbled off the sparse tufts of grass, but I fielded it OK and I sent my return into the keeper. My throwing arm needs a lot of work I might add, but I haven’t had much opportunity to work on my fielding much yet as we have been training indoors so far.

Pre-game catching practice. Johnny Scurry holds a sharp chance.

The next one hit out to me, I again kneeled down to field it when I felt a sharp twinge in both thighs when I got up and threw the ball back to Timmy our keeper. As I went to the back of the queue, I suddenly realized that all was not well. Both my quadriceps were hurting like hell.

I have always laughed at blokes who get injured during a pre-game warm up drill – and as karma is no great friend of mine at times, it was this day that Mr Karma decided to pay me a visit and I had done what I thought was unthinkable – I had incapacitated myself during a pre-game warm up!

As luck was to have it, Strachany won the toss and put the opposition in to bat. Just great! I was going to have to field for forty five overs before testing my now suspect quads while batting.

I usually field at point/gully to right handers and square leg/backward square leg to left handers. As fate would have it, the Canterbury ground is rather large oval with one side being so big that even test players would struggle to belt a four much less a six to that side of the ground. It was to this side of the ground that I was forced into long, long chases that I simply could not give up because they were never going to reach the boundary and a batsman could run a five by the time a ball is returned.

With each chase, my quads started aching more and more. With each kneel to get my body behind a shot coming in my direction, I winced in pain. It got to the point that I was trying to field the ball while just bending my back rather than kneel down. I also waited for the ball to reach me on more than one occasion rather than attack the ball as it was agony to try and field normally. I am sure my team mates must have been wondering – “what the hell is wrong with VB today?” I would have loved to have gone off, but we do not bother with such trivialities like having a substitute fielder. So I had to just endure as best as I could.

Legendary Richmond iron man Francis Bourke receiving treatment back in his playing days. Circa 1980.

Canterbury is a team of classy veterans and some extremely young tyros. One of the Canterbury players is none other than the legendary Australian Football League legend Francis Bourke who played 300 games for Richmond Football Club from 1967 to 1981. Francis Bourke was not only a sublimely skilled footballer, but he also was perhaps as courageous as any player to have ever played the game. Bourke’s ability to continue playing beyond the threshold of pain was legendary having played a game with a broken leg in 1971 which was to subsequently sideline him for nine weeks. Bourke was also involved in another legendary incident in 1980 which entered football folklore when in an important match at Arden Street against North Melbourne Bourke in a collision with a team mate received a gash to his forehead which quickly saturated his face with blood which in turn seeped onto his guernsey. In those days there was no “blood rule” that requires a bleeding player to leave the field until the bleeding is stopped and Bourke shifted to the forward line. Although he could barely see through the oozing blood, he still managed to dive full-length to take a mark and then kick an important goal to ensure Richmond had a narrow win.

Francis Bourke was named on the wing in 1996 in the AFL Team of the Century and in 2005 he was named as one of only four “Immortals of the Richmond Football Club”.

Here he was walking out to open the batting for Canterbury C Grade, sixty two years old, bespectacled, but in my eyes – a legend. To those of us in the know, it was truly a humbling experience just to be on the same playing arena as the great man, to others in our team, I am sure they were wondering what the fuss was all about.

Francis Bourke made his name legend on the football field, but Francis Bourke is also a more than handy cricketer. He batted carefully and with authority and held us at bay for nearly an hour and half in compiling a patient twenty seven before he was dismissed by our surprise packet off spinner Amit Mehta when the great man was bowled by a skidding off break. It was the beginning of an auspicious day for our quiet and humble off spinner who ripped the heart out of the Canterbury top order who had hitherto defied our pace men on a rather benign wicket.

Infact the first ball of day drew puffs of dust from our paceman Stuie “Disco” McDonald. I thought to myself “Uh oh…this is a dry, dead wicket…our bowlers are in for back breaking day today”. I have never seen our pacemen exert so much energy for so little reward. The only positive was that the low, slow bounce was also stymieing the batsmen as well who were finding it difficult to get the ball away.

Conrad got the break through in his first over at first change with a full toss that was spooned to Amit who took a fine catch on what was to prove to be his day. Sometime later as it dawned on Strachany that pacemen were not causing any difficulties to the batsmen, Strachany threw the ball to our off spinners Amit and Gideon Haigh.

Our off spinners are a contrast in style with Gideon firing his off spinners in on a very tight line and length and Amit being a bit more erratic in his approach from bowling the occasional wide and full toss to bowling the odd almost unplayable ball. Amit Mehta took three marvelous wickets with two batsmen bowled and one edging a perfectly flighted off break to Bobby Fisher at first slip who took a first class catch. We were cock-a-hoop and I shouted “shabash” (“well done” in Hindi) to Amit at each celebration. I was genuinely delighted for him as Amit is such a lovely bloke.

Our comedian, errr, captain Strachany then mopped up the Canterbury tail with an inspired spell of seam up medium pace bowling taking three wickets for twenty six. In between Amit’s and Strachany’s heroics, Mark Thomas, one of Canterbury’s “grey power” brigade made an inspired fifty seven when he was involved in one of the more unluckier dismissals of the summer so far. Thomas was at the non strikers end when his fellow batsmen clouted a shot that neatly bisected Gideon and myself at point and cover respectively and raced through to the “fat” side of the ground. I had no option but to give chase in eye watering pain all of the way as my quadriceps felt like they were being ripped out with each stride. As I ran in a goose stepping manner to try and alleviate the pain as much as possible, the Canterbury batsmen seeing my discomfort decided to run a third while I must have been a good sixty five to seventy meters from the stumps. Backing me up was Strachany who was about twenty meters behind me, so I relayed the throw to him and he in turn managed to throw the ball forty plus meters to our keeper Timmy Miller who whipped off the bails with Thomas a foot short.

Simply unbelievable on Strachany’s behalf. Not just the fantastic flat throw, but the fact that he had somehow run all the way around from mid off to back me up was quite remarkable.

Towards the end of the Canterbury innings, I knew that I was in no condition to open the batting, so I informed Strachany to drop me down the order to number five – where with some rest, I figured that I might be able to bat with out much discomfort. This was more in hope than in logic.

Canterbury finished up 9 for 179 leaving us 180 to win off forty five overs. I was pretty confident that we could reel in this total as we have a pretty good batting line up. Our run chase got off to a solid start with Gideon Haigh agreeing to step into the breach left by me and Brian “Happy” Hannon our usual opener who was back replacing Nat “Mr Natural” Williams who was unavailable this week. They batted with solid determination and the score slowly mounted. Twenty, thirty, forty, fifty…we ticked off each small milestone and dared to dream of pulling off a spectacular victory. The only nagging doubt came from the fact that despite the untroubled and at times delightful batting by Happy and Gid, we started to fall further and further behind in the run rate. Neither of the lads are natural hitters, Happy plays strictly in the “V” of mid on to mid off, while Gid bats in a classical manner with a straight bat and the most sumptuous of late cuts seen this side of the First World War.

Finally, Happy fell for a well made forty with the opening partnership having registered eighty four. One for eighty four is an awesome start to a run chase, but there was not much more than ten overs left to get the remaining ninety six for victory. The opening stand had eaten up nearly thirty five overs – a remarkable effort and a perfect start to a two day game, but in the circumstances we found ourselves in, not nearly quick enough. Though it must be said that the low slow bounce would not have helped the batsmen in the slightest.

Conrad De Souza then strode out at number three and played the innings of his life by stroking the ball around for a devil may care forty one not out in the remaining ten overs that got us to within seventeen of an unlikely victory. Upon Gid’s dismissal, Strachany strode to the wicket and unselfishly threw his wicket away in his effort to get the score board moving. We were now in kamikaze batting mode.

I began the walk to the crease upon Strachany’s dismissal and after only a few steps, I knew I was in deep trouble as both quadriceps started aching. “How am I going to get through this?” I thought to myself. When I reached the wicket I was greeted by a very determined Conrad who met me with the words “we have to run on everything so we can win this”. “This bloke certainly is made of the right stuff” I thought to myself as I nodded my head in agreement all the while wondering how I was going to survive this ordeal.

I usually bat a foot out of my crease to fast and medium pace bowlers, but here I stood a whole meter out of the crease to firstly have the ball “come on” to the bat a bit off the lifeless pitch and also to take the risk out of playing the big swing and miss. Batting so far out of the crease, it would take nearly a full toss to bowl me out if I took a swipe and missed.

Scoring my opening single with a push to cover. Conrad and I are both waiting for the ball to beat the fielder.

I scored my first run with a push through the covers. Conrad called me through for a single and I was in agony by the time I got to the other end. Conrad belted a number of two’s and we also ran some leg byes that careered off my pads. Such was my pain that I can barely remember much other than I played one sweet cut shot that I was praying would fly away for a boundary so I wouldn’t have to run – but as luck would have it, it stopped just short and we ran a three that felt akin to someone slicing the front of my thighs with a razor blade.

Conrad came up to me at the end of the over and was encouraging me to keep it up as he was really “on” and focused on winning the game from nearly an impossible position. I knew then that I wasn’t going to make it. If we needed four or five an over, I would have called for a runner as I am certain that we would have got them easily. But the ask now was mounting to beyond twelve an over and we needed someone capable of having a big swing at everything and running like a man possessed. Stuie “Disco” McDonald was promoted up the order to number six for such an eventuality, so I made the decision that I had to get off. I simply could not run and I was in too much pain to even try a “stand and deliver” smash and grab raid with a runner doing the running for me.

I signaled to the sidelines to let them know I was retiring hurt and for Disco to get on. But they couldn’t hear me because of crowd noise as there was some children’s presentation going on right next to our scorers with about one hundred and fifty kids and parents present having a BBQ – thus making it impossible to hear what was going on. As I walked closer and closer to the pavilion with my bat tucked under my arm taking off my gloves, they finally realized I was retiring hurt. The boys gave me a generous reception for coming off when not out – commending me on my selfless act. However, my decision was made up just as much out of the fact that I was in excruciating pain as the decision that I was better off making way for fit blokes to have a swing at victory.

I took off my pads nearly in tears. I was totally unable to render the team any assistance at all in circumstances where I would back myself in to at least make a fighting contribution. I stepped outside the dressing room to watch the denouement of our innings unfold with Conrad heroically making a forlorn charge at the now impossible target. We fell short by seventeen runs – probably much closer than anticipated considering how far behind the run rate we were at one stage. It brought respectability to a game we really never threatened to win.

Yet again, we only lost five wickets and yet again, we somehow conspired to lose a game against an opposition that man for man we matched up on quite well. For my part, I was to learn later that I had made seven – much more than I could remember making…for that matter, I couldn’t really remember much about my innings at all.

Most of the lads went home and some of us ended up back at our club house at Como where we tried to explain to our startled club mates how we yet again somehow managed to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory in quite unbelievable circumstances for the second week running. Conrad and Amit were the toast all round for their outstanding contributions as were Strachany for his three wickets and Gid and Happy’s eighty four run opening stand. However, it was all rather empty as we yet again missed out on a well deserved win.

It is coming…real soon.

See you next week!
Vic Nicholas
Melbourne

Game Day

The lads of the Yarras 5th Eleven, (Round One 3/10/09). From the front: David Strachan (C), Bobby Fisher, Gideon Haigh, Amit Mehta, Vic Nicholas, Nat Williams, John Scurry, Conrad De Souza, Sajja Kathir, Tim Miller and Nashad Alam.

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"The principle is competing against yourself. It's about self-improvement, about being better than you were the day before."
~Steve Young (1961-) Former NFL Quarterback, MVP of Super Bowl XXIX.

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I have been practicing for about six weeks now and everything has been falling into place. I have been practicing with my teammates and in addition to that, I have been practicing twice a week with a bowling machine at the Hawthorn Indoor Cricket Centre with club stalwart Brian "Happy" Hannon.

Happy generally feeds the ball into the machine and yells his encouragement or disapproval depending on what kind of shot I play and whether it is sticking to the tenets of classic batting technique or not. Occasionally when I get tired and need a break, Happy will have a bat and I in turn feed the ball to him.

Unlike myself, Happy likes the ball fired at him at a comfortable sixty five miles per hour. Sometimes I get a bit mischievous and I speed up the left wheel to eighty and sometimes even eighty five miles an hour. This coupled with the right wheel remaining at sixty five miles an hour causes the ball to be fired out with the most vicious reverse swing seen since Waqar Younis was in his pomp.

The first three balls delivered to Happy with this wicked combination swung viciously through the air hit the popping crease and bowled him leg stump. The fourth one zeroed in like an Exocet missile on Happy’s toe and he hobbled away in some pain. All the while I was laughing at poor Happy's misfortune. As long as it is someone else who is unfortunate enough to be in some pain from a cricket related catastrophe, then it is funny. When it is you that has been pole-axed by that rock hard ball, then it is not funny at all.

And it came to pass...on Thursday at my last training session with the bowling machine before the first match of the season, I was literally in superlative form. Timing the ball beautifully off the middle of the bat, eighty odd miles an hour, whether pitched up or pitched short, I was slaying them and feeling pretty good about myself and my prospects for the weekend.

Then things took a fateful turn.

Happy had decided that I was handling the pitched up bowling and the bumpers with ease, but he noticed that off my legs I tend to play the ball square rather than playing the on drive. I play in a wristy manner off my legs reminiscent of Indian and other sub-continent players. This is as a result of playing shots off my hips and legs square in my backyard cricket games all those years ago with my older brother. It is hard to unlearn something so intrinsic to ones style of play.

The first ball bounced a little and I played it off the splice of the bat to leg. Happy yelled out, "no play the on drive". The second ball speared towards my pads and I got a bat to it and pushed it around the corner. Happy was displeased and lectured me on the merits of playing the good old fashioned on drive...then it happened...

The third ball rocketed straight into my left leg...even the pads couldn't prevent the sharp pain produced by this violent impact of rock hard ball on padded leg. I hobbled and winced in agony (this was indeed Happy's revenge for my shenanigans with the bowling machine a week earlier). I was in excruciating pain, but I continued batting and after half a dozen deliveries, Happy seeing my discomfort decided to reset the bowling machine to bowling bumpers - as playing off the back foot is my default setting and where I am most comfortable. Bowlers can bowl as fast and short as they want, it doesn't bother me at all.

My confidence was now shot to pieces. Cut shots I usually put away I was barely middling. I was jumpy with defensive strokes as my leg was throbbing, so my footwork was inhibited to a large degree.

I went home and realized that this searing pain was not going away all afternoon. My head was starting to fill with negative thoughts...would I be forced to miss this weeks match? Please God no...I couldn't stomach waiting another week to start playing again. I went to club training that was held at Clayton at the Monash Centre of Sporting Excellence. I tried bowling a ball...but alas, my leg was hurting like hell and the ball would barely make it to the other end. So, I decided that there would be no bowling for me that night. The asked me to pad up and have a bat, but I declined only asking to have a bat later in the evening, hoping my leg would start to maybe feel a little better.

When my turn did come, I was still in considerable discomfort. I lined up to bat, and I really struggled with my foot work as I was very tentative and obviously conscious of taking any more blows on my leg. I batted horribly as my mind was scrambled and my trigger movements were of a man cowardly avoiding further pain rather than getting behind the line of the ball as I am accustomed to doing.

All this put me in a tail spin - how was I going to be able to bat on the weekend? I would be letting my teammates down as I knew I was not right physically, but more importantly, I had entered a negative head space which is unusual for me as I am always upbeat and I possess a "I am going to kill these guys this weekend" mentality. All Friday and Saturday my mind was playing tricks on me.

Should I declare myself unfit?

No, I couldn't do that. Whilst I was concerned with letting my teammates down, I was even more concerned in creating eleventh hour selection headaches for my captain, the comic genius that is Strachany.

While I was thinking all this, suddenly flashbacks came back to me of my preparation before my first game of Under Twelves all those years ago. I remember going to bed the Friday night before the game with my left knee bandaged because I had injured it that week! I cannot remember how that injury occurred thirty years ago to the week, but I suddenly remembered that I went into that first match as an eleven year old under an injury cloud. I remembered that I was selected to open the batting alongside future Carlton AFL footballer Mark Majerczak. After making one run (a dab to cover for a single), I ran myself out stupidly with a mix up running between wickets.

History couldn't repeat itself?

No way, I consoled myself. For a start, I would be batting at my customary number three position and I don't believe in any superstition or any of that nonsense. I started the process of psyching myself up for the game. I watched a couple episodes of Seinfeld before going to sleep late at about 3am. I was feeling happy and excited and dreaming of playing perfect strokes.

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I awoke this morning nice and early at 11am. I ate my bowl of cereal and I felt a touch nervous, but not too much. I put my kit bag into the boot of my car and I set off for the ground with my wife following in her car (so she would not have to suffer through a whole days play).

I reached the ground early enough and sat down and watched the final overs of the Fourth Eleven game that was still in progress due to the insane scheduling for this opening weekend. I felt more or less ok, but I couldn't wait for proceedings to kick off.

Strachany called me over and informed me that I would be opening the batting! What? No time to be nervous now, I have to obey my captains wishes...even if I was not exactly enamoured with the idea. The captains tossed the coin and Burnley CC decided to put us in.

I ran inside the club rooms and padded up. I then emerged out into the sunlight with my helmet on and bat in hand ready for action. I received a few throw downs, but this only made me feel more nervous, so I stopped that and I waited for a few moments before the fielding team made their way out onto the field.

Nathanial Williams my opening partner agreed to take first ball. Scottish born "Nat" Williams is a portly lad and not overly tall. Throw in the fact that he wears spectacles and he looks anything but a cricketer and you get the picture of a bloke who I thought was the cannon fodder being offered up to the alter of sacrifice for the sake of the team. Throw in my own troubles and I was seriously wondering how long both of us would last. I immediately admonished myself for such negative thoughts and I silently repeated to myself "just watch the ball".

The first over was played out without too much discomfort by Nat - he may have even got off the mark off the last ball to take the strike at the start of the next. I cannot remember exactly now. In any case before I knew it, I was facing up to my first over in nearly twenty six years...how was I going to go?

It appears that I am playing a defensive stroke with Nat backing up from the bowlers end. A very atmospheric picture taken from the pavilion balcony. (Photo Strachany)

I played anything on my stumps defensively with a straight bat and I left anything off my stumps alone at this early stage. I got off the mark in the most anti-climactic fashion one could imagine, by edging a delivery onto my pads which deflected away to leg. Not something that I would particularly like to log into my memory bank, but at least I was off the mark. Meanwhile, Nat - who despite his Scottish heritage, sounds like he has spent the majority of his years living in the northern counties of England - started playing in a swash buckling manner by throwing safety out the window and flashing at anything wide of his off stump. He didn't middle many into the cover region, but amazingly he was edging them wide of second slip and picked up a number of boundaries in this way.

Burnley at this early juncture were operating with a medium pacer from one end and a tall young fast bowling tyro from the other end by the name of Smith who was not on the original team sheet which led me to believe he was a Saturday player who was doubling up in the Burnley Fourths on a Sunday. He was bowling at a reasonable speed and getting good bounce which suited me better than the medium pace which seemed to hold up a touch once it hit the pitch making it harder to time the ball.

Our score started to mount bit by bit...fifteen, twenty, twenty five and Nat was blazing away in a sensible manner - as other than his risky flashes past second slip, he was not going the aerial route and thus we had not given them even a sniff of a wicket taking opportunity. My only small quibble with Nat (and my own unfit self I might add) is that as he is not the most athletic bloke around, many easy threes were turned into twos, easy twos into ones and dead easy singles were being missed all together. We were clattering along, but we could easily have scored much, much more.

My moment came after about eight or nine overs. The young paceman Smith bowled a quick one just outside my off stump...probably not short enough to cut, but I threw the bat at it anyway and it caught a thickish edge sending it flying past where third or fourth slip might normally be straight to boundary.

My first boundary was not exactly one to savour, but I was relieved that it was a safe shot in the end. Later in the over Smith strayed onto my legs and I flicked it off the middle of my bat past square leg for a nicely timed boundary. Happy would not have approved if he was watching, but what the heck, it was a very sweet shot which gave me alot of satisfaction. The very next ball Smith steamed in and dropped it short bowling a bumper - instinctively I rocked back and played probably the best hook shot of my life hitting the ball clean off the middle of my bat and it sailed high towards the boundary and bounced over for yet another boundary.

That was three boundaries in a row - something I have never done. I was feeling ten foot tall by this stage. If that was the best these blokes have got, I was going to kill these guys. I thought to myself, "I am going to bat right through till the end of the thirty five overs".

Confidence was back and Nat and I - an unlikely opening combination as you would ever see - had brought up the fifty opening stand after eleven overs. We were clattering along by this stage. A double bowling change quietened us down a little bit, but that was probably more to do with the fact that Burnley had scattered the fielders almost in arc around the boundary other than the keeper and the one remaining slips fielder. We were striking the ball well straight to deep fielders for singles and sometimes for no runs at all.

By the beginning of the sixteenth over we had reached fifty nine without loss - a fair enough effort, but I started to think that we needed to start accelerating the scoring as we were reaching the half way mark of the innings in this shortened game and with wickets in hand, we really had to play some big shots.

I was not thinking of going aerial or anything silly like that, but I felt my eye was in and I had missed some easy boundary scoring opportunities by missing some pull shots off their medium pacers and not even getting any bat at all at some of their wider offerings down the leg side. It is not easy to hit balls full and wide of your legs - probably why they are called wides in shortened forms of the game at first class level. In this instance, there was nothing much we could do.

During the last over before the drinks interval, I had noticed that the field was even deeper than normal and I thought to myself, "I could drop one on either side of the wicket and get an easy single."

I should have waited until the end of the over to let Nat know what I was thinking...it was the drinks break coming up, we could take stock and I could word the lad up of my cunning plan to play cat and mouse by dragging their fielders in with short singles, and then spread-eagle them again, with some lustier blows. Easy runs just waiting to be had and as we were both set and batting beautifully without offering even a sniff of a chance, we could really put the game out of Burnley's reach.

I didn't wait, I acted immediately.

That was my first and last mistake.

I pushed a delivery in the direction of short midwicket - an easy single to be had, I called out "yes" and set off at one hundred miles an hour when only to my horror I saw that Nat had been watching the ball and then turned his head looking at me flying towards him when he finally called "nooo" with a look of terror in his eyes.

My momentum was such that I could have nearly reached out and shook Nat's hand as I applied the brakes and made the forlorn effort to turn back and make my ground. I was finally run out by not much more than a meter and half...quite remarkable that I had all but run to one end and then turned and run almost all the way back. This vindicated my belief that there was an easy single in this shot.

I was angry at myself as I walked off with all the other players following me as drinks had been called with my dismissal. Even the consolation "well played’s" by the opposition fielders as I walked off could not console me as the stupidity of my actions were sheeted home to me as I realised that I had squandered a priceless start to make a big score and make the game safe for my team.

"You schmuck" I thought to myself as I reached the steps to the pavilion shaking my head at my own stupidity. The next batsman in, the venerable Gideon Haigh passed me with encouraging words. I in turn told him to go out there and give them stick. My own teammates now shouted encouragement with their "well played Vic", as I walked up the stairs, but I had let them down with a brain fade of epic proportions.

As I took off my pads I thought to myself, "Gee Nat was NEVER going to run on such a sharp single - it is outside the scope of his level of fitness and it was insane of me to even contemplate it without any advance consultation of Nat himself".

"Never again" I mumbled to myself in the darkness of the dressing room. I went outside to check my score and it was all of eighteen. We had run a number of leg byes etc, so it felt like more. Also Nat had the happy habit of getting alot of the strike - thus I seemed to be spectating a fair bit.

In any case, that fifty nine opening stand should have been seventy five plus, because of poor running between wickets, Nat and I must have easily spurned the opportunity to run an additional fifteen-twenty runs.

It was poor cricket on both our parts, but on the other hand, we DID put on an opening stand of fifty nine and we did see off the new ball bowlers which is the primary task set out for opening batsmen. If someone offered me a fifty nine opening stand with my share being eighteen including three satisfying boundaries - I would have taken it any day of the week.

It *is* my first game back in twenty six years, but I was so comfortable and so untroubled by the bowling, I cannot help but think that a personal score of sixty or seventy went begging and a match winning total along with it.

As so often happens when a wicket falls, the batsmen become unsettled and another wicket falls soon after. Nat, who had been batting with gusto was suddenly bowled playing a hoick to one on his stumps. Maybe the run out was still on his mind? I felt even more guilty watching Nat walking off the field after making an entertaining thirty three.

Nat may look like the sort of bloke who would rip down a beer or three down at your local pub rather than a svelte cricketer, but today, he was absolutely heroic. I had the best seat in the house watching his buccaneering style, and I truly hope to bat with him many times more this season as it was never dull (even with the frequent problems running between wickets).

Gideon Haigh an angular looking cricketer, journalist, author and globe trotter is the living embodiment of somebody improving their cricket out of sight simply due their obsession with the game and assidious practice to improve their technique. Gid batted beautifully with a technical adroitness that would put many first class cricketers to shame. Always looking unhurried, he stroked the ball around at will and batted out the rest of the innings to finish thirty five not out.

He was ably assisted initially by Timmy Miller our stand in keeper and then Strachany our skipper playing a selfless innings and ultimately throwing his wicket away in the search for quick runs. Amit Mehta followed, a charming Indian chap who also threw his wicket away in the search for quick runs being bowled when he played across the line of a straight delivery. Gid finished the innings with resident funny man Nashi Alam - Bangladeshi by birth and comedian by proclivity - who played some flashy strokes to make some runs off the last over.

We finished at 5 for 122 after thirty five overs compulsory closure of the innings. The older heads in the team like Bobby Fisher and Strachany reckoned that we were perhaps twenty runs short of a par score and maybe fifty runs short of what we should have got after the promising start.

Strachany gave us a pep talk out onto the field to keep positive at all times and to back each other up and put pressure on the batting team with some tidy fielding. I felt a great wave of enthusiasm sweep over the lads and I was hopeful that we could give a good account of ourselves. In the weeks leading up to round one, we have been training indoors, so fielding drills have been non existent, save for one poorly attended fielding training session a couple of weeks back. So, it was on my mind that holding all our catches would be critical to our chances today.

The first over was bowled by a young Sri Lankan lad by the name of Sajja Kathir or "Sajj" for short. A tall skinny lad with an infectious smile and boundless enthusiasm. Sajj is the most unusual fast bowler I have ever seen. His whole run up consists of three steps. Looking at him, you think he is going to bowl spin and only a glance to where the keeper and the slips cordon is standing offers any hint at what is about to come. With Sajj, it is one, two, three WHANG!

Sajj is not express pace, more fast medium, but he is one hell of a surprise packet to a batsman with his unorthodox minimalistic approach to the wicket. After the first balls were pushed around by the Burnley bastmen for some runs, the batsman got over ambitious and tried to smack the third ball of the innings over cover only to spoon a catch to Nat "Mr Natural" Williams at cover who held the catch against his body. The man was on fire!

The next over Bobby "The Grand Master" Fisher took the new ball alongside surprise packet Sajj. Bobby must be somewhere in his late fifties, perhaps early sixties and looks more like a politician or a government bureaucrat than a bloke who could take the new ball with any effect. Twenty eight wickets last year would suggest that he has something up his sleeve, but this was going to be my first look at him to see first hand what all the fuss was about. Bobby sauntered in and CLONK! With his first ball, Bobby Fisher has cleaned up the batsmans middle and leg stump! As the overs went by Sajj and Bobby picked up more wickets and we seemed to be in a commanding position.

The bowling change when it came brought on Conrad De Souza - a young Indian lad - who bowled at a similar speed as his sub continental contemporary Sajj, but with a left arm trajectory and off a more orthodox long run up. Also from the other end replacing Bobby Fisher was Johnny Scurry a tall angular left arm medium pacer who is all of sixty two years old but looks somewhat younger.

Both lads bowled well and wickets continued to fall with Burnley's task starting to resemble something more difficult than deciphering Egyptian hieroglyphics. Everything was going wonderfully well and we broke the back of the Burnley batting with the score board now reading 8 for 86. Thirty seven runs still required and only two batsmen left in which to get them - surely a hopeless task?

The number ten batsman for Burnley was an old bespectacled chap who must have been in his sixties. Both he and the younger batsman both closed their eyes and threw their bats at seemingly everything. Surely this couldn’t last? They were bound to miss a straight one and get bowled.

They didn’t.

They were bound to sky a catch in the outfield. Well, they did, but we conspired to spoil a perfect day by dropping at least seven catches in the last eight overs or so. By no means were all of them hard.

I did not drop a catch, but that was probably more by dint of good fortune that nothing came my way than anything that I had done. The closest I came to a chance was when I was fielding at square leg, the old chap played a short armed jab in my direction and I just managed to a get a finger tip to it as I was jumping up in the air to try and take it. I was standing way too close and later Conrad told me that a couple balls prior to the chance, he felt I was standing a touch too close but didn’t voice his concern to me. I wish he did.

The big moment where the game was won and lost actually came rather early in this eighth wicket partnership when the two Burnley batsmen set off on a suicidal run and Nashi “Jonty” Alam fired in a great return to our keeper Timmy Miller who broke the stumps with the younger batsman out of his ground by about a foot as he was desperately sliding his bat in.

Both Amit Mehta and myself had a perfect view as I was fielding at gully and I ran around to back up the throw and Amit was fielding at point. When the umpire gave it not out, both of us turned around and looked at each other in disbelief and I then looked to the sky wondering how the only umpiring error in the whole match had come at this critical juncture. I do not want to bash the umpires as both of them did a fabulous job and umpired very sensibly – but this was a BIG moment and our fate was ultimately sealed by this and all the catches we put down.

Burnley got the winning runs in the second last over of the day – my only over of the innings. The scores were level and I ran in and bowled a wide to give them the game. What an anti-climax. I hadn’t bowled all week and I really should have known better than to ask for the ball with no preparation behind me. With the match won, the Burnley batsman smashed me to the boundary two balls in a row in between yet another wide from my wayward arm. As I ran in and bowled the last ball of my over, the Burnley batsman mishit my pitched up delivery and skied it to mid on. Nat Williams called out “mine” and got underneath it and spilled the regulation chance.

To be completely honest, I was not upset at all, because to pick up a wicket in such a terrible over would have been almost a cricketing injustice. I could only smile a rueful smile. That summed up our day in a microcosm.

We trudged off the field in darkness beaten but not bowed. “How did we lose that game?” I uttered out aloud, but really speaking only to myself. We all must have thought the same thing. From 8 for 86, we conspired to allow their second last pairing to make the final thirty seven runs by giving them let off after let off.

“Cricket is a funny game” is a quote often brought up in the aftermath of such illogical losses…but I tell you, if cricket was indeed a funny game, none of us were laughing. Strachany gathered the boys around one last time and told us it was one of the most enjoyable games he had ever been involved with and that he was proud of our positivity and efforts. We knew where we had fallen down, but it was no time for post mortems.

I trudged up the hill with my kitbag on my back in the darkness to my car in the car park and I drove home exhausted after having spent an hour or so in the club rooms. I pondered the days events from the relaxed position of a hot bath. For ninety percent of the day, I was sure we would win. It was only with about five overs to go did I realize that we were losing our grip on the game.

That is cricket in a nut shell and none the less, it was a wonderful day and I smiled to myself in that hot bath and thought, “that is why I play this great game”.

More next week!

Vic Nicholas
Melbourne