Aus vs NZ in the village cricket stakes...

As with every year in late November, the Test cricket roller coaster has rocked into Brisbane as the Aussie public get their first smell of cricket’s mother figure since the end of last summer.

As the New Zealanders arrive in typically understated demeanour, both sets of colonials begin three days of preparation ahead of another ludicrously short two-game Test series.

This time two years ago I somehow smuggled myself into the nets to bowl at the nation’s revered batsmen along with the touring West Indians. Surely it couldn’t happen again?

Luckily my inadequacies with the ball have gone largely unnoticed since arriving here and I weedle my way in to the Gabba nets again two days before these fierce Tasman Sea rivals do battle.

With hordes of Queensland youngsters shuffling for position, gunning for a bowl at their heroes, I have to wait patiently until the exuberance of youth has inevitably taken its toll and, worn out, a second wave of bowlers is required.

As I mark my ten pace run up and see my fellow net bowlers stride imposingly past me in doubling my distance, I bow to humiliation, sheepishly picking up my mark to skulk another four paces in the hope of reducing inevitable embarrassment.

I charge in to Michael Clarke who rebuffs my efforts with unnerving ease. Bradley Haddin, arrogant as ever, plants the front leg to swipe everybody high into the net. I can sense the first round of bowlers, fully refuelled with a bucket full of free Gatorade, jockeying for position to oust us.

Mitchell Starc replaces Haddin and I sense a slightly easier challenge. So it proves as the outside edge is beaten. I gain a yard of pace as confidence sky-rockets (I don’t care if he’s a number 10 batsman), landing the ball in a decent area to the lefty. Beaten again. Have I exposed a weakness of a soon-to-be Test cricketer? Just as I can feel the vultures of the first round bowlers circling, a good length delivery swings away from the paceman’s outside edge and crashes in to the top of off stump. Resisting the urge to wheel away in celebration and give him the big send off, I keep my head down as he throws me back the ball and let out a cheeky grin as I walk back to my mark.

‘Village cricketer captures second international wicket’ read the morning headlines in my head (the first coming two years ago, pretty much replacing the above with Sulimen Benn – must be something about left handed tail enders)!

After returning to normal playing duties in a tough one dayer and drowning our sorrows in grand fashion, Trudge the Pommie spinner and I agree, half blind, to wake up at the crack of dawn and head down to the Gabba to bowl to the Kiwis ahead of the fourth day’s play.

This time, far from the hordes of bowlers, there is me, Trudge, a 12-year-old offie and NZ paceman Trent Boult. What an attack. “Looks like it’s me and you as the quicks then Usain,” I joked to Boult. He isn’t laughing, but he hasn’t seen me bowl yet!

Opener Martin Guptill first up, followed by Dan Vettori (NZ’s #1 blind Italian), then ‘keeper Reece Young. Half an hour in, I am struggling somewhat from sleep deprivation and the lack of blood in my alcohol system.

Tim Southee is next up and, rum sweating out of my pores underneath the beaming sun, I bound in, every step more difficult, before summoning a great surge of energy at the crease and launching the ball down as quickly as possible. I watch in horror as the ball pitches halfway down the wicket and heads for the New Zealander’s head before Southee, slightly taken aback, ducks underneath it.

Shit, what was I thinking? I have just bounced a Test batsman. I apologise profusely as Southee throws the ball back with a wry smile.

Hungover to the hilt I take the rest of the session easy, chatting away to Brendon McCullum who jokes around in typical self-deprecating Kiwi fashion, while coach John Wright seems more concerned with thanking us Poms and making sure we have free tickets to the Test.

Top blokes the Kiwis. Shame that all our bowling helps diddly squat as they are rolled inside two sessions to lose by 9 wickets. My only regret is that I didn’t have the chance to bowl at my hero, Chris Martin…

What's going off out there..?

I breathed a sigh of relief as the first round of one-day games took over from the two-day, two-weekend fixtures. No more fielding for a whole day in the stifling heat, no more irritation at the same sledge over and over by the midget at silly mid off two weeks running, no more waiting a fortnight to have a bat only to get out for sod all (this way it could happen in consecutive weeks!)

After another dramatic win for our fourth grade side, I sneaked a promotion to the second grade side for the following week courtesy of Pom #1 gaining a Sunshine Coast Scorchers call up.

Playing on the main oval at our Nambour Showgrounds home, our batsmen were put under the pump early on by high-flying Caboolture as we succumbed to 50 for 5. Batting at 7 I stuck around for a while to share a half-century stand with one of our youngsters, chuckling at the swathe of abuse from the opposition over his agricultural style of play, before I nicked off to slip.

We limped to an under-par 148 and contemplated our transgressions over tea. Aussie teas are not as much of an art form as back in Blighty. On most occasions, ham, cheese, salad and beetroot sandwiches (Aussies love their beetroot) are commonplace, perhaps some crackers with cheese and hopefully a slice or two of cake – luckily our Nambour canteen ladies always produce a hearty slab of chocolate sponge or some such sugar-infused sweet.

In reply to our effort, Caboolture cruised to 60 for 1, skipper Cowie rotating through our first four bowlers with little success. Probably in pure desperation, he threw the ball to me. I marked my short run up, took a deep breath and began my trundle to the crease. As the ball left my hand I must have blacked out, because as I came to forty minutes later, the opposition were 80 for 7 and I had 6 wickets for 5 runs from 5 overs. That first ball had been edged to slip, followed by an LBW two balls later, a caught behind and three further catches as I was mobbed by unbelieving yet jubilant team mates.

I finished with career best 6 for 22 from 10 but the opposition number nine had dug in and tensions neared boiling point as Caboolture edged closer to a tight victory that would break Nambour hearts. But, 12 runs short, old stager Gibson trapped the last man in front to spark wild scenes that continued long, long into the night. There is nothing like a dramatic win to spawn an unforgettable club night out!

A well deserved beer

So with my Aussie season in full flow I began the first ‘full’ game for my new club, Nambour CC. Promoted to fourth grade following my exploits in the previous game (the ‘overseas rule’ of no more than two Poms in the top two grades preventing me from going any higher), skipper Jeff Dodd’s trusty double-headed coin meant we batted first on a flat-looking wicket against Caloundra.

Batting at 4, I didn’t make much of an impression with half a dozen or so runs, but then watched for most of the day as Allen Ledger and John Francis hit bustling half centuries, helping us to a total of 215 all out from 68 overs.

There was at least time for me to do something constructive in the day as we attempted to nick a couple out before the close of play. New ball, three slips and a gully, lengthening shadows under the descending Queensland sun, opening batsmen defending for their lives - this almost resembled Test match cricket. Or it may have done, had we had a tall, fearsome quick hurling the ball down at ferocious speeds and chuntering expletives to the batsman in his augmented follow through. Instead we had to make do with my gentle medium wobblers.

Still, something clicked and we reduced the visitors to 24 for 3 before the umpire offered the light to the batsmen who wilfully accepted. The remainder of the battle would have to wait for the following week.

A battle it was as the remaining Caloundra batsmen ground out in sweltering heat (I was later told by a local that it would get much hotter), eking out singles as over by over wore by with little reward on a wicket becoming more placid by the minute.

Beginning a spell from the top end I charged* in for what seemed like an eternity, ball after ball nullified with unnerving ease by the robotic batsman. After 17 gruelling overs from one end I traipsed to the comfort of the shade, but the opposition were still in the hunt with 60 needed and two wickets left. Queue the elderly statesman, so old school he refused to wear batting gloves, to chip, nudge and cajole Caloundra to within touching distance of victory.

Just as it seemed we would lose out in the great battle of attrition, Ledger snaffled a wicket and 20 runs short, I mustered waning reserves of energy to ‘attack’ from the other end. As the game forced its way to a climactic finale, the last man rushed through for a single without telling his partner, and the old stager was run out with the visitors five short.

After 83 overs in the field and having bowled 25 overs, the only possible emotion I felt was one of relief, although I soon found I could replenish my reserves with cold beer sufficiently enough to celebrate with that winning feeling.

* feel free to replace with ‘cantered’, ‘lolloped’ or ‘sauntered’

- - -

Life's a Beach

With the Sunshine Coast Scorchers grade side struggling for form, there was a welcome change up for one training session as the players swapped the nets for the beach. Living 100 yards from the front, beach cricket was as good an excuse as any for me to tag along to the session.

Once three separate drills of diving catches had been exhausted, covered from head to toe in sand, a cool down in the clear blue sea was followed by a gathering round the BBQ, dozens of sausages cooked up as everybody left well fed and in high spirits. That’s what I call an Aussie training session…

Videos of training and the aftermath:

http://www.facebook.com/#!/photo.php?v=10150953687040370&set=vb.148501128543563&type=2&theater

http://www.facebook.com/#!/photo.php?v=10150953659220370&set=vb.148501128543563&type=2&theater

It's not all Ashes and IPL...

To most, cricket remains associated only to the bulk of traditional Commonwealth nations whose history was dominated by the upper class of the British Empire.

For the two groups of players from East Asia Pacific currently based in Brisbane on an ICC-funded academy programme, it is anything but. These young guns from all around the region – including Samoa, Vanuatu, Indonesia, Fiji and Japan – have serious hopes of improving cricket both personally and throughout their countries.

As part of an invitational XI, we play a game against the EAP 1^st XI and two against the region’s emerging and talented players.

The first, a Twenty20 against the region’s strongest players, took place on a sweltering day at the Sunshine Coast Scorchers’ home ground. Having celebrated the previous day’s exploits (see below – Ton up, boy..) on a suitably large scale, bedraggled and dehydrated I made my way out to field for our Scorchers side. Luckily my two overs were not mercilessly belted by the big Vanuatan international batsman and I was largely uncalled upon in the field. The shade was then a comforting solace as I watched our batsmen chase EAP’s 110 with an over to spare, fellow Pom Henry Thompson ending with a solid 49 not out.

Next up was the region’s emerging talent who, batting first in another Twenty20, managed a solid 115, Japan and Vanuatu internationals combining for an 80 run stand. This time our batsmen struggled against the spin of a cunning twirler from the Cook Islands and suddenly we were 75 for 6. Step up to the plate nudger Johnson and smasher Trudgeon (a Cornish Pom), combining to take the Aussies home with five balls to spare.

Finally, a One Day International was scheduled at Brisbane Grammar – coloured kits, white balls, powerplays, free-hits – the lot. Going for the throat in setting attacking fields with the hope of either a quick game or a good chance for a big chase, Spud Murphy rotated his part-time, Sehwag-style bowlers to ill-effect as a bright start (in which yours truly’s military mediums inconceivably picked up the wickets of Vanuatu, Japanese and Indonesian internationals) was soon turned on its head.

Samoa’s big Pritchard Pritchard (yes, that’s his name) belted an immense 135 from 99 balls. Unsurprisingly, it was not the most orthodox or classical of knocks, but boy, could he hit the ball.

In the closing overs my seamers were called upon again, and young Pritchard holed out to long on in trying to add to his six massive sixes. Smelling a maiden international five-fer, a renewed sense of energy helped me roar in with an added purpose. With two balls left in the penultimate over, a massive appeal for leg-before did for the unfortunate Cook Islands batsman, my career best 5 for 41 earning me the battered white match ball.

With EAP amassing a sizeable 281, our effort fell 15 short despite Lachlan’s hundred and Thompson’s 68 in a real hum-dinger of a contest. For EAP, their tour finished with a win for the players to cherish in their home countries as a sign that the cricketing world deserves to develop outside its traditional colonial roots.

Photo from above game:
http://pic.twitter.com/grnCIVUJ

The ICC’s report of the game is here:

http://icc-cricket.yahoo.net/the-icc/icc_members/eap/newsdetails.php?newsId=17734_1320870720

Ton up, boy..

So the first Saturday of my trip arrives and I’m gunning for a game. Yet, to douse my excitement, there’s a slight hiccup as I discover my new club, Nambour CC, are currently in the middle of a match.

Due to the rather alien nature of two-day cricket, played over two weekends, I have arrived into the country in the wrong week. Shocker. As I prepare to watch our 1st XI play in the Sunshine Coast league competition, I get a Friday evening text to say that a young tyro has pulled out of the 4th XI and I have my eagerly awaited debut.

Playing on the second pitch at our impressive Nambour Showgrounds home against Burpengary 3rd XI, only when told I was next in did I learn of our previous week’s endeavours. Fielding first, our team full of old characters had bowled the opposition out for a paltry 33 and were 4 for 1 before rain brought an early end to the day.

So, after ten minutes when our first wicket of the day had fallen, I bounded to the wicket and four overs later we had passed our opposition’s first innings score. On a flat, drying wicket with a wily old leg-spinner wheeling away from one end as erratic young quicks rotated from the other, me and my obdurate, greying batting partner attempted to add quick runs to forge a declaration and seek an outright victory.

Sixteen fours and three sixes later I had carved a century and retired, exhausted but elated, our innings eventually culminating on 215 for 5 when declaring at tea.

Viciously chipping away at a dejected opposition batting line up was veteran left armer Neville (out of retirement since arriving from Darwin at somewhat cooler southerly climates), furiously bustling through the crease, knee strapped to the hilt and always promising this would be his last over. He was partnered by quiet, moustachioed seamer Johnny and latterly big Barney. What an attack.


Under a late afternoon sun submerging behind the tall boundary trees, the visitors succumbed as we completed victory by an innings and 40 runs – less than twenty minutes before stumps – and duly celebrated with a round of XXXX Gold. Magic.

Telly Addicts

Just a day after my Aussie playing debut, still mildly bemused from the long haul and unfamiliar temperatures, I found myself in the right place at the right time to be drafted in as a late replacement in a Twenty20 floodlit game at Caloundra CC.

Whilst trying to teach a particularly stubborn little rascal the front foot defensive, I was approached by ‘Spud’ Murphy – acknowledging I was adorning some barely acceptable cricketing footwear – who said: ‘Johnno, you’re playing tonight’.

Only two hours later, as I kitted up in the Sunshine Coast Scorchers’ mutli-coloured pyjamas, did I get a sense of the hype around the game. TV cameras, advertising boards, stump mics, a burgeoning crowd and Allan Border wandering by… This was not your ordinary cricket match.

It turned out, as I hopelessly tried to partake in the ‘touch footy’ (rugby league) warm-up, the match was part of an X-Factor style cricket TV show on the Fox 8 channel. Dubbed Cricket Superstar, 16 pre-auditioned hopefuls from around the country started the programme, living in a Brisbane mansion á la The Apprentice, and one-by-one were voted off by judges.

With our Scorchers side ready for the limelight, our opposition was made up from the home club plus the three remaining ‘Superstars’, who stuck out like a sore thumb with their Fox 8 get-up and cameras capturing their every move.

Eventually underway, we removed one Superstar for a duck, only to bring another to the middle. Nervous at first, the young gun worked his way to a composed fifty to enhance his reputation in the final stages of the competition. It would have probably helped him that I bowled three overs of gentle medium inswing at him – although the first two were fairly passable, only going for a run-a-ball!

With the Superstars XI ending up with a hefty 160 for 5, the rain started to pour, accentuated by the glowing floodlights against a cloudless night sky, but this only added to the TV crew’s willingness to continue. The remaining contestant – a lanky 6ft 4in left arm quick – bowled his four menacing overs and the game was eventually called to a halt, everybody suitably drenched, Scorchers hopelessly adrift of their target but with all Fox footage achieved.

For the winning contestant a state contract looms, the programme itself to be aired early next year with Allan Border as host, the Aussie legend also acting as mentor and main judge.

Half a world away..

I had forgotten how inconceivably long and utterly exhausting the journey is. It was probably a good job that a choice between a Ryan Reynolds romantic comedy and an Alien world apocalyptic horror drove me to sleep through sheer boredom.

As it was, I arrived into Brisbane (via a Kit-Kat-infested Dubai) a whole 32 hours after setting off from chez moi. Twelve hours later I was coaching at Sunshine Coast Grammar School. So much for jetlag!

After the mother of all sleeps (one of those where you wake from a state of deep unconsciousness, not knowing where, when or who you are), I had my first game, for the well-established Wanderers Cricket Club, Queensland. Playing one-day matches every Wednesday throughout the summer against a host of invitational teams, the make up of the Wanderers sides consist of Brisbane grade players, visiting Poms and old characters of the game with more stories than Beefy and Boonie combined.

The venue was the prestigious Brisbane Grammar School, the opposition being the school’s 1st XI. As we sat in the stand overlooking the main oval and its bowling green outfield, it was made quite clear by the school’s pristine facilities that these students were not left wanting. Mummy and Daddy would be picking them up later in their expensive 4x4s.

Our mixed side, captained by Australia Over 60s player and former Queensland coach John Bell, adapted well to a damp wicket to make 180 all out, Brad ‘Spud’ Murphy making a swashbuckling, sweep-laden 59.

After picking up an early couple of wickets, the students dug in, their talent obvious but strength to muscle the ball to the boundary not yet prominent. With the wicket still offering a little to the bowlers and the ball still swinging, I was given a go and stole four wickets for 28 runs in eight overs as my gentle in-duckers somehow seemed to do the trick!