Caught In Slips Pt 15
As told to me by Chris Myr
for uploading to BCTS.

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First off I’d like to thank all the BCTS members who made inquiries into the welfare of Chris after his sudden absence of stories being posted to BCTS.

Sometimes old age catches up to people and my friend Chris suffered a serious stroke which has affected not only his speech but in particularly his body, which means he is no longer able to things he did before he was struck down or very much else for that matter. He can now only communicate using pen and paper and even then with great difficulty.

I'd told several BCTS members the other day that I was looking at a timeline of April or later before the first chapter would be uploaded. My friend's eyes when I told him that has made me change my mind (at least for this chapter) and I'm actually excited about being able to show him the site with the story uploaded and look at his face and eyes.

It’s been so long since Chris posted chapter 14, (March 2018) that it mightn’t be a bad idea to reread it (for this chapter to make much sense). *************************************************************************************************************************************
The following morning had me driving back home from Rhys’s place so I could get dressed for my afternoon shift at The Sheaf.

I was still on a high from Friday’s Sheffield Shield match result, but working among barmaids who were unsurpassed experts at the quick “put down” comment, made sure I remained level headed and not get carried away with myself.

My workmates while especially happy for my success did their utmost to make sure I downplayed it when dealing with the hotel patrons. Perhaps that’s why after their first (c)rude humorous put downs to any patrons who complimented me had been heard around the sports bar, it seemed as if by silent consent among the patrons, that no one was going to get too carried away with many congratulatory words to me or they’d face humorous ridicule from my workmates.

But a much fuller tip jar than normal by the end of my musical afternoon, along with the sustained round of loud applause I received when I appeared in the beer garden to begin my after afternoon performance, had me feeling very pleased. After I finished playing that afternoon, I worked my final hour doing the exact same thing that was now second nature to me. Namely quick and efficient pouring of beers or mixing cocktails, taking money and handing back change and making harmless small talk with patrons.

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Part of my player’s contract with the NSWCA (New South Wales Cricket Association) stipulated that I had the following three days off after playing a four day match, in lieu of games that took place over weekends. That wasn’t going to deter me from driving out to where the squad was based (the SCG No2 field) on the Monday however.

But what I wasn’t expecting to see when I did was so many players there. I knew that the coaching staff would be there regardless and I was hoping that this would allow me to get some personalised assistance (from the batting coaches) in learning how to improve my skills with the bat. So it came as quite a shock to find the carpark as crowded as it normally was when I braked Sunny to a shuddering halt.

After getting changed (a small lockable room had been cleaned out and declared my changing area, the week after I signed my contract and was training full time – The women’s squad used the men’s area when they trained – usually only of a morning), I trotted out onto the oval to receive loud cat calls and remarks about always turning up late (which I never did) then being instructed to do laps by the squad’s coach (this was standard procedure before any training session).

W.T.F was going on here……..A full turn out at training before anyone needed to? Usually (unless the draw had another game scheduled soon after the previous match) the first few days after a match allowed those of us who never seemed to get selected to play (such as myself normally) to get some serious “personalised training” from the coaching staff. It didn’t seem to be turning out that way today.

Everyone in the squad, especially those players who’d just played against Victoria was training hard, listening to coaching advice and generally being positive and upbeat. The enthusiasm seemed contagious, and the ancillary squad staff in particular enjoyed assisting anyone requiring help. This “new” vibe in the atmosphere surrounding the training workout, now made it seem like fun instead of a tedious dreary chore. Throughout the session I found myself being the “target” for a lot of jokes and humorous comments. Rest assured I gave as good as I copped.

The afternoon saw the usual video watching of the game just finished, but this time I paid even closer attention to observations Stuart made about everyone’s performances, since several of them related to my own performance. In another surprise move Stuart also announced the team for the final Shield game against Tasmania (down in Hobart), with my name being announced in the starting twelve, that with no additional spin bowler being named had me excited to know I’d almost be definitely playing in the match.

What I certainly didn’t expect was to be asked to remain behind (or the reason why) when Stuart declared training finished around 3.30pm. He asked that I wait until one of the changing rooms was empty, so I could have a shower and get dressed for a meeting with several NSWCA officials to discuss my future. This left me wondering what was going to happen, having already heard about (or seen) how several other players had been spoken to about “their futures”, which usually meant them being demoted or else dropped from the squad entirely. I have to admit the day seemed to suddenly turn sour thinking about how/what they were going to speak to me about even though I’d done reasonably well in my playing debut.

Stuart waited for me to shower and change, but didn’t appear to be nervous or worried as he escorted me back inside the SCG environs and up into the members lounge area. Sitting there waiting for me, along with a platter of small cut sandwiches, pieces of fruit, a jug of iced cold fruit juice and glasses, were several men I’d never met before. They were introduced to me as journalists from certain publications, along with the chairman of the NSWCA and a publicity manager as well, who both proceeded to sit either side of Stuart, as it was explained to me what the meeting was about.

It seemed that my “amazing” (one journalist’s choice of words, not mine) state team debut was something that the NSWCA hierarchy wanted to try and capitalise on, to help (partly) offset such a disappointing year for the organisation overall. More than once during the interview, one of my answers had to be expanded upon by Stuart (or the two NSWCA gentlemen) for the benefit of the journalists.

Some of my initial answers to questions asked had everyone laughing, which seemed to set the tone for the rest of the interview. I even had to ask the photographer to allow me to put my face on (to more laughter) before I’d allow him to take several photographs of me, either by myself or with one or both of the NSWCA officials or Stuart. At the time I had no idea that when the eventual magazine articles appeared on the newsstands (several months later), it would create so much interest or speculation about me.

After the interview was over and the journalists gone, I was informed that from since the Saturday just gone, I was now on a higher level of pay as I had now played a game for my State, NSW. The extra $30,000 a year had me trolling the internet later that night looking seriously at cars to buy.

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About four weeks later, and two weeks after a very successful game against Tasmania (where I got another swag of wickets), I answered my mobile to have Stuart ask me if I would be available to attend a five day training camp in Darwin (?) of all places. After telling him I needed to get time off from The Sheaf to be able to do so, he needlessly reminded me about my updated contract’s obligations and that I’d only been allowed the exemption about my employment there as a gesture of amicable conciliation by the NSWCA.

Since I’d never been to Darwin before and to do so at no expense was already a “gimme”, Stuart was simply wasting oxygen and I told him so. After he rang off, he sent me a text of the flight details and possible clothes to wear, stating that I was to only wear my state training gear while there (?)

When I arrived at the airport for my flight the following week, I was initially worried when I couldn’t see any of my teammates waiting for me in the usual (new for me) coffee lounge up on the main airport concourse that the team always rendezvoused at. When the public address system called my flight for boarding, I simply assumed that everyone was waiting there and even after I took my seat on board and didn’t see anyone, finally decided they must have taken an earlier flight that didn’t have enough seats on it.

By the time the plane landed and I’d managed to find my way to the taxi rank to join a fairly long queue, my thoughts had switched to how stifling the heat and humidity was in Darwin. Even trying not to move about left my underarms soaked inside my blouse’s short sleeves and I had to mop my brow every other minute to absorb the sweat from off of my face. When I finally got to sit in the air-conditioned taxi, I could have sworn I’d already lost a kilo in body weight from perspiration!

The address I gave the driver (a large private school - which must have allowed the NSWCA to hire the facility during the school term break) saw him telling me he’d already had to drop off some players there the previous day. He also told me he was going to take the day off to come and watch the trial game starting on Friday (it was Sunday then). When the taxi finally pulled up at the school, I had to go and lift my own coffin and large valise out of the boot while the driver sat in the cool of the taxi.

As I looked around and started to pick up my luggage, a reasonably tall teenager in school uniform (wearing a blazer incredibly enough) came slowly trotting towards me while shouting a welcome to his college, then on pulling up infront of me took over carrying my luggage. With a simple instruction to follow him, he led me along a concrete pathway and into an old three storey building. As I stepped through the entrance it seemed possibly even hotter than it was out in the direct sunlight.

Once inside another person who I assumed must have been employed there quietly thanked the student then took over carrying my things. He led me up a large polished timber staircase and along a corridor showing doors with roman numerals on them as we passed each one. He finally stopped infront of one marked “XIV”, then telling me where the toilets were handed me a key before placing my luggage on the floor beside me and walked back the way we’d just came.

I unlocked and opened the door to discover a small but clean and tidy room, whose wall posters obviously showed some Northern Territory football team the room’s usual occupant supported. A quick exploration of the room found it only had a bed, empty cupboards and drawers (whose contents had obviously been removed for visitors to use) along with a small bathroom annex. The annex contained a toilet, a washbasin and a sort of micro shower that had a curtain around it to save the surrounding floor from becoming a miniature lake. I had to laugh to myself about what the room’s usual occupant would think when he returned from holidays to find his bathroom smelling sweetly feminine instead of the masculine teenage boy funk it smelt like now.

So proceeding to unpack my luggage, I made sure to only use my own coat hangers to hang up everything in the cupboard. On opening the set of drawers inside it and seeing clean white contact on the bottom of each drawer and looking passably clean, had me feeling safe enough to put my smalls away in them along with some shorty shorts and tops, but chucking evilly to myself as I deliberately spritzed perfume into each drawer before allowing it to dry enough before putting my clothes in them!

I also got changed into a pair of shorts and a sleeveless gym top as well as giving myself another heavy spray of antiperspirant to keep the sweat under my arms at bay. I proceeded to tie my hair up in a high ponytail, in the hopes it would leave the back of my neck free to catch any breeze that might be around. With everything unpacked (my coffin wasn’t but it was now under the bed and out of sight) the now opened window provided a panoramic view showing a large expanse of manicured lawns dotted with large densely foliaged trees.

On sitting back on the bed, I then looked closely at a stapled sheet of instructions that had been placed there, obviously put there for me to read. It contained a timetable of training activities along with a map showing the names of each building (for when and if) I needed to walk around the school. The map presently showed I was sitting in a student’s dormitory, (room number 14 – XIV as a matter of fact) and I was surprised to see that there was a shower block facility at the end of the 1st floor corridor. Later on at dinner, I learned that I’d been allocated the “senior” boy’s room, because it was the only one (on that floor of the building) that had a private bathroom in it. Everyone else had to use the facilities at the end of the corridor…..lucky me!

A knock at the door saw me opening it to recognise a face that was almost as well known as the president of the USA. Stuttering at the suddenness of his appearing infront of me, I invited the Australian Cricket team coach into the room, while quickly moving to drag (one handed) the only chair in the room towards me while I sat on the bed. He didn’t waste any time with trivialities, asking me almost immediately he was seated if I was unpacked yet and was I ready to do some hard work. Blushing crimson with embarrassment I told him “sure, but may I ask you what a busy guy like yourself, the Australian Cricket Team coach, is doing attending a NSW cricket training camp?”

He looked at me quizzically, apparently unable to comprehend what I was talking about (and it turned out I didn’t either). “NSW” he asked? “Now why in hell would I be at a NSW team’s training camp, when the Australian team is preparing to fly out to India in ten day’s Cassie” he asked me and began laughing. “Is that what you were told young lady” he asked in an incredulous tone of voice? My timid nodding in affirmation had him shaking his head and chuckling, saying he wouldn’t have believed it if he wasn’t there right now listening to me. He then asked me just exactly what I’d been told by my NSW coach Stuart.

After I explained what little I actually knew about the invitation to come to Darwin, he explained why I was here and the reasons for it. It turned out I was here because my NSW coach had sent a film clip of my two games for NSW for him to look at while also suggesting I might be able to be of some use for the Australian team’s Indian tour preparation.

I was then informed how my bowling action apparently appeared to be quite similar to that of India’s main spin bowler’s action, so it had been decided by someone somewhere, to use my bowling to give the Australian batsmen as much practice facing him (me) as possible before the first test there….. I was stunned into shocked open mouthed silence, which only made the Australian team coach laughing louder at seeing my face’s appearance.

Finally I recovered enough to ask him (beg actually) not to say anything to anyone else here about the misunderstanding, which he grinningly agreed to. He then asked me to accompany him and together we went back downstairs where he showed me around the school grounds, pointing out the main areas I’d need to know about, before finally leaving me and walking off, saying he’d see me at dinner tonight while again reminding me to be ready to start work at 8am tomorrow sharp, pointing towards the set up cricket nets which had a few players (none of whom I could recognise at that distance) using already.

Having already committed the meal times to my brain earlier on, but not wanting to walk over and look at the guys practicing in the nets, I did a quick walk around by myself before returning to my room a sweat drenched mess. The last part of my walk saw me beginning to feel a soft breeze blowing over me, which was something to be grateful for because my antiperspirant was obviously hopeless here.

Once back in my room again I took a shower and fell asleep on the bed with nothing more than a towel wrapped around me to try and remain cool, when a few hours later I was startled awake from my snooze by the sounds of players noisily ascending the timber staircase along with loud jocular remarks reverberating along the corridor.

Dinner was at 6pm so I spent the next hour or so slowly (to avoid sweating) getting dressed and putting on a very light face. When I closed my room’s door and headed for the dining hall in the next building across, I was wearing bra and briefs under a cotton sleeveless top and skirt and walking in low heeled open toed sandals, trying to look a smartly chic casual woman and somebody definitely not scared or nervous.

The dining instructions (on my information sheets) had simply stated that seating arrangements were random for meals, so I took that to mean I could sit anywhere. When on seeing how people in the room (hall) were dotted around anywhere, I took the first small empty table available and sat down to curious looks from several of the other table’s occupants. Trying not to appear awestruck, I did my best not to stare when other players entered the large hall and was hoping not to end up sitting alone, but also not next to any of what seemed to be numerous team assistants entering the hall. Luck was with me, as two young guys (that simply had to be players) clumsily slumped into seats at my table, announcing their names (Aaron and Brian) and asking what I did here, but not if they could share my table with me.

Before I had a chance to reply, Aaron asked his “mate” what wine they wanted and before I knew it, I was facing the prospect of having been invited to share a bottle (several in-fact) of Cabernet Sauvignon (which I detested) with them eating “lamb” cutlets, while I myself would have preferred a light white wine if I’d been asked for my suggestion! Fortunately the dinner was table staffed and a waiter asked me for my own wine preference, which allowed me not to have to drink their swill.

Having neatly avoided having to answer Aaron’s initial question to me earlier on about what I did there, it wasn’t long before his “mate” Brian asked me the same question, inquiring whether I was a physio or a sports psychologist.

Thinking fast about why I was there and not wanting to appear to boast, I quietly told them I was “a quality control person”. The Australian coach sitting at the table next to us (whom I hadn’t noticed before) started quietly laughing as he turned around to tell my two companions I was there to see how they coped with spin bowling (!) He suggested they try not to give me any false impressions before turning back to his own dining companions, chuckling at his remarks. A moment later and not being able to hear what he was saying to the people dining with him, his own table broke out in loud laughter.

After that interruption, I managed to steer the conversation away from cricket and between the three of us, we all managed to find common ground discussing films that we’d seen recently. The meal and my eating companions didn’t turn out to badly after that and since I could only manage to drink about half of the small bottle of white wine, I saw my two new dining companions drain my half full bottle of white wine into their own glasses after they’d finished their own bottles of red.

Once the meal was over and the tables cleared of plates, the Australian coach stood up and bellowed that practice was 8am sharp and not to hit the “turps” heavily tonight. He then moved to join another table’s group while a number of players got up and left the hall. Thanking my two dining companions, I excused myself and followed behind the other people leaving the hall to go back to my room and try relaxing by reading a book. I found it difficult to sleep that night as even with the ceiling fan running at maximum, the warm night air made it extremely uncomfortable to be able to sleep properly.

The following morning arrived still warm and slightly humid but not yet hot, so I showered in cold water to wake up and refresh myself. An hour after leaving the dining hall the previous night, a knock on my door had seen someone handing me several plastic bagged shirts while also instructing me that it was compulsory to wear them for training and while I was staying here. Whoever had chosen them must have had a terrible eye for size, as all six tops looked like tents on me. At least they’d had the sense to give me several different sizes, so I chose the smallest to wear for the morning and sat on my bed cutting and resewing some of the tops using the small sewing kit I always packed for travelling emergencies, while I’d alter the rest later on after training the following day.

I joined everyone for breakfast at 6.30am, to find my same two dining companions from last night motioning me over to a table they were sitting at. On sitting down together (no gentlemanly courtesy here thank you), they quickly informed me that they now knew who I was and proceeded to shake my hand one after the other as they congratulated me on my “private” joke? They also informed me that the players who had stayed around after dinner had been told who I was and also why I was there. Everyone was apparently looking forward to facing my bowling Aaron assured me while Brian informed me that several players were quietly boasting about seeing how far they could hit me out of the nets!

After breakfast I timidly excused myself and left the hall to go and get my coffin and walk over to the nets. On the way back downstairs lugging my oversized gear bag, I said countless good mornings to various players (that I secretly admired for their cricketing talent) heading upstairs to do the same thing.

On walking outside I noticed a large shady tree close to the net area and headed over towards it where I dumped my gear on the ground near the trunk then got changed out of my joggers into my sprigged boots. Soon afterwards a number of players who had placed their coffins close to the nets and in the direct sun now followed my lead and carried their coffins over to get ready and rest in the shade.

I and three other guys were quietly taken aside during the coach’s psych up talk to the others. The four of us said almost nothing to each other, instead watching the fast bowlers stretching out before the four of us were asked to start getting warmed up as well. What I hadn’t known about, having arrived on a later flight, was that the net session work would be done on a rotation basis, to acclimatise to the Darwin heat which was supposed to be similar to the sub-continent of India and Bangladesh. No player (we were informed) was to do more than two hours in the sun at a time and with regular hydration pauses as well as half hour breaks between sessions. Because I was there simply to bowl I was spared from any of the fielding drills.

The nets were to be divided up into slow/spin bowling and pace bowling. I saw there were four nets set up, with one being used for close in fielding drills, the rest for batting (either pace or spin). Although it was school holidays, there were about forty students who must have been staying at the school and who were now “camped” behind the nets watching the players train.

Having watched the fielding drills and then carefully observing which bowlers went to which nets, I carefully joined the slow net and tried to stay unnoticed while marking out my own run up. Nobody said anything other than to anonymously grunt to my friendly greeting of “Hi, I’m Cassie, pleased to meet you”. Obviously the fact that not everyone was too enthusiastic about my being here couldn’t have been made more subtly to me.

After the first two balls bowled, I’d found my line and length and the hidden scepticism about why I was here was quickly put to rest. When a side’s captain and vice-captain (both well known around the world and acknowledged for their excellent batting techniques were having difficulty reading my bowling variations and often edging balls towards slips or up in the air off to leg side unintentionally, it was as if open war had been declared.

It might have helped if our “audience” behind the nets hadn’t been so vocal to each snick off or miss hit off the bat. The spinner’s net, quickly become trench warfare as first the captain and then the vice-captain refused to come out of the nets until I’d been tamed and to hell with any thought about drink breaks. After the first two hours of nets, I had only bowled against three batsmen instead of at least the expected batting squad of eight batsmen.

The Australian coach had seen what was going on and did an impromptu assessment before moving two of the squad’s fast bowlers to bowl in tandem with myself and one of the two others hoping to be selected as spin bowlers for the tour, to further make the net batting session as realistic as what might be encounter in India. When the halt signal was finally given, none of us in the nets were anything other than sweat drenched messes, staggering towards the tree shade while thirstily gulping down bottles of water or Staminade trying to rehydrate.

My training shirt was now that drenched in sweat it was far too heavy on me and my bra was now clearly outlined underneath it. So without asking, I took out one of my NSW training tops and went behind a tree and got changed into it. When I reappeared carrying my sweat drenched shirt in one hand, I saw a sudden exodus towards the main building by the other bowlers to change into dry shirts and quickly return. Meanwhile I’d been informed by an irate team manager, that I wasn’t supposed to wear anything other than the sponsors training clothing, After explaining the situation to the manager and how I was going to do some sewing alterations later on today, I finally had him angrily agreeing “this one time only young lady I’ll allow you to do this” (in a very cross tone of voice) to allow me an exemption.

Fifteen minutes afterwards and with the bowlers now wearing fresh shirts, I along with the other bowlers had to endure another two hours of net bowling (with only short spells in between for desperately needed fluid intakes) before a halt was called for lunch. My club cricket cap was now not only a sweat soaked mess but also had a thick sweat band through it due to my perspiration and it looked ruined. I’d had to wear it to save my face from being burnt more than it probably already was, but was going to swap it for a white floppy for the after lunchtime session and to hell with any threats.

After the squad was told to get cleaned up and get some lunch, I somehow managed to find enough energy to climb the stairs of our building and take a quick cold shower. Then getting changed into dry clothes again I found my way down to the food hall to gulp (literally) down a sandwich, some fruit and several more bottles of water, before I made my way back to the nets for the last two hours for the day, now armed with a white cricket hat and sun glasses.

By then (and probably in mutually shared sympathy about how hot the temperature was out there) the other bowlers were now saying nothing but encouraging things about my bowling as they continued to watch me confuse and surprise some of the best batsmen in the country and dare I say it – the world. It was now also more of a friendly bowling competition against one another versus our arch foe (batsmen).

Possible catch edges, LBW’s (certain or otherwise) and especially stumps being hit brought loud raucous appeals from all of us along with suggestions about where the batsman should go to next. Admittedly the last session saw all of us (the bowlers) wilting quickly, while the batsman rotated out every twenty or so minutes to be replaced by a fresh batsman. By the time the coach finally called it quits, everyone was in agreement we’d all done well, while the bowlers seemed to be in agreement about who was buying first drinks as we trooped off to shower……the coach!

That evening at dinner, swift moving of several tables together (against the requests of the catering people) saw me sitting among players, many of who I’d only ever seen on television during summer. I actually liked being around the centre of attention (and I’d dressed accordingly, chic, feminine and in casually loose clothing because of the heat) while I had everyone in hysterics telling them about my barmaid job and about all the funny things that happened working at The Sheaf. Everyone decided on an early night, because there was more net practice work the following day.

By the end of Tuesday it seemed as if “my” room was now “the place” for a lot of the Australian cricket team to hang out in after tea and social drinkies in the dining hall. I think it was mainly because I stupidly (and like most women) like to wash out my smalls and hang them up in a bathroom or airing cupboard (if you had one) to dry that was the cause of my popularity although batting weaknesses “were” dissected from Tuesday night onwards. You see, several of the bowlers initially (but a few of the batsmen I troubled that day inquired as well) asked after social drinkies on Monday evening if they could come up and discuss some of the weaknesses I seemed to be highlighting among the batsman. I’d completely forgotten about my washing hanging up and low and behold, loud raucous voices and wolf whistles soon had my small dwelling bursting at the seams as my various items of underwear were proudly held up for all to see (and damned well out of my limited short reach in height)

By the end of Thursday and with “some” degree of acclimatising (socialising some might call it) having happened between myself and the other players in camp, around 9.30pm on Thursday I was getting ready to pack my gear up and catch the 9am flight back to Sydney the following day. Instead and quite agreeably, I was asked to remain in camp and play in the four day trial game, on the “Opponents team” against a “Likely” Australian 11 side.

The game (trial) was meant to be a final hit out for the squad before leaving for India, and although most of the “Opponents team”, weren’t touring India, several were and although perhaps not among the “top line” players, they could definitely make the “likeliest team players” fight hard if the breaks went evenly. It had also been decided upon that the winning side would receive a $15,000 bonus shared among its 12 players, which while not a fortune in itself, was a bit of a motivator (well for me at least anyway).

To offset part of the costs of staging the camp in the Darwin, the trial match was to be played at Darwin’s main cricket ground and the public were being encouraged to come along and watch (at $5 a day, which was incredibly cheap). It was also meant for the match to help raise the profile of cricket in the state as well. There’d also be coverage of the game on cable TV and the print media had been doing a number of short story pieces about some of the players since the squad had arrived in Darwin.

Since the selected Australian touring squad players were used to all of this, the game was just another “day at the office” for them, as it should have been (and was) for most of the Opponent’s players. But for someone like me, being new to any of this (and two other players who were being touted as future test players) the trial game was a “big deal” and to be taken very seriously. My “Captain” for the game (Adam) did his best to keep me excited (not that difficult really) by making our wicket keeper practice behind the stumps in the nets on Thursday evening under lights around 10pm, because he’d had the chance to bat against me and already knew how difficult it was to pick each type of ball I’d bowl after Adam had been told about my “sudden” inclusion in his team!

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The following morning, Friday (and at the normal scheduled time) the game started, which saw the Australian “likely” team fielding first, having lost the toss. The oval we played on allowed the public to be situated quite close to the action and to hear everything said on the field. I found the remarks being made to each batsman an education in itself, listening to the constant sledging from the Australian team squad as it did it’s best to get inside the minds of their opponents.

There was no quarter given or asked for, as players on both sides fought with bat and ball (and a lot of descriptive words and gestures) against each other. Our team (the Opponents) batted well, and when I was finally made to come out to bat, early the following day, the Opponents had scored a very gritty 310. In a self-admitted mistake afterwards, the fast bowlers allowed me to get my eye in (by bowling far less aggressively against me than the other batsman) and with some fast running between stumps and an acknowledged power hitting cowboy for a partner, the score ended up being 351 before I was left to bemoan “another 50 nipped in the bud” as my cowboy partner holed out at deep mid-off. But at least I’d scored 9 not out!

By the time our side was dismissed, the day 2 pitch we were playing on had all the characteristics of a well-made freeway. That is to say, flat, even, no dips, no cracks or crevices, and an absolute dream to bat on. One of our two “hopefully” aspiring future test players and opening bowler for our side, was treated mercilessly as his bowling was attacked from the get go, as was the rest of our quick bowlers as well. In what seemed like only a short time (not quite a full two hour session) the scoreboard read 0 for 135 and neither batsmen looked like getting out, before I was called on to bowl shortly before the tea break interval.

By that time, I’d gotten so fed up with having to try stopping balls whizzing past me (almost always just out of my reach) as they raced to the boundary. My playing whites were stained both front and sides highlighting my efforts, so I was simply grateful to know I wouldn’t be chasing balls to the fence while I was bowling. But I wasn’t angry enough not to care about line and length and although throwing caution to the wind, bowled each ball with a viscous tweak to try and get enough spin to cause miss hitting and possible catches. It worked.

By the end of my first over the scoreboard now read 2 for 139 and as “luck” would have it, I was now going to bowl to the two best batsmen in the country when I bowled my next over! Suddenly the game seemed to switch to slow motion as neither batsman was going to do something foolish before the tea interval, while I was being allowed to bowl ripping leg breaks and wrong-uns with little fear of retaliation on a pitch deck that everyone said was “a road” not that long ago.

With the help of a lot spectacular catching, both behind the wicket as well as in front of it, I figuratively tore through the Australian batting line up. Anything I bowled short, got hammered mercilessly, but I didn’t bowl too many and didn’t allow many “gimmes” either. Admittedly I did have a catch taken in the crowd (several rows back) from off of the Australian vice-captain’s bat, but I also had him trapped LBW not too long afterwards with a well disguised “flipper” that snuck under his bat and rapped his front pad.

When “our” side’s batsmen walked off at the end of the day’s play we were 0 for 8 in our second innings and the ”Likely” test team had scored just 227 all out. I had 6 for 51 and it included clean bowling the Australian captain…..….Do you think I wasn’t pleased with myself (?) Sure I’d just ruined a trial game’s major reason for being played (shades of my first 1st grade trial game against North Sydney), but we’d all been told to treat the match as a serious game, so I’d only done what I’d been told to do.

At dinner each night back at the boarding school, rivalries were quickly forgotten about as was any sledging. After Day 2, I had several Australian batsmen I’d taken the wicket of, asking me to find some time (if it was possible) to come bowl at them in the nets after we’d had our meals! I also no longer had to worry about paying for any of my after meals drinks or drinks at any time, as by mutual consent among the management and coaching staff, all my drinks were now “gratis”.

The following day, day 3 of the match, it was felt that with the possibilities of a storm sometime on the following day, our team would declare once we were 301 runs infront of the “Likely” test team. It was also decided on among team management, that the quick bowlers would only bowl quick short spells and then support the slow bowlers for the bulk of the innings. The slow bowlers were me and a part time off spinner from South Australia with our captain Adam throwing in his left hand Chinamen for good measure. The baking heat in Darwin had “the road” starting to need repairs and it was beginning to help the spin bowlers immeasurably.

By the time an “Ark” was needed the following day just before the tea interval, when play was abandoned once the extent of the downpour was realised, an embarrassing humiliation had only just been avoided before the Australian cricket test team was about to head off for India. The score was 8 for 113 and although the test captain was still out there defending grimly against the makeshift three prong spin attack, it was accepted by just about everyone there that the “Opponents” would have won if mother nature hadn’t intervened. I’d gotten another “fivefa” (5 for 39) and won the unofficial man (?) of the match trophy (a bottle of scotch). Along with my teammates, I was informed that by popular consensus (?) our team deserved to win the $15,000 prizemoney (which otherwise would have been donated to local charities)..….woohoo!

The next morning saw everyone packing up their belongings and gear before it was loaded onto a coach and driven (along with us) to the airport, which would see the players disappear on various flights home to their respective states. I was flying home along with two India bound squad players as well as several team officials and support staff. It was a particularly boisterous flight back considering the circumstances and the complimentary free drinks, courtesy of the airline. I also now had some unexpected spending money to look forward to receiving along with a personal individually signed team photo of all the players in the touring squad for India along with a lot of newly converted players I could call “mate” to.

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I would have used Chris' account to upload this story, but it seems to be missing the block showing his messages, loading a story, my blog, etc. which seems to be on my account. So if anyone knows how to restore this I'd be grateful. Then I can move this chapter over to his account where it should be. M.R.