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!