When he wasn’t bowling in the nets, Pradeep would be in his room watching cartoons or on the phone with a girl. But he would also disappear during certain evenings.
‘That Shirali Fernando. Big fight after that poem business. I also didn’t get to sleep.’
Charith cannot remember the details of this one-sided conversation, just that it began with Pradeep swearing and ended with them agreeing to just be friends.
Later Pradeep was seen sipping gin and lemonade and chatting to some of the prettier Bharathanatyam dancers at the East Melbourne Lions’ Club Christmas party. ‘I didn’t even know that the bugger took liquor,’ says Charith. ‘These girls were drunk, easy to get. Even for us losers.’
The girls looked in their teens and called themselves the Sri Lankan United Tamil Sisters. ‘We’re the SLUTS and we’re looking for a nice Tamil boy to corrupt,’ slurred one of them.
Then Shirali arrived and Pradeep politely told the girls that they were meeting friends.
‘Bloody fool,’ says Charith. ‘We could’ve had those sluts, but Pradeep obviously still had hopes.’
The crowd was a mixture of aunties, uncles and accents all in their Sunday best. The important and the beautiful flock around the big-name cricketers. Charith and Pradeep flock around Shirali and her group. To Charith, two things were clear. That Shirali had no interest in Pradeep other than as a little brother to bully. That Mathew could not handle his alcohol.
The Christmas Princess was crowned and it was Bronwyn Jones, friend of Shirali. A blonde Melbourne lass wearing a Kandyan sari. The protests from the crowd were good-natured and loud.
‘Ado, why? Can’t give one of our girls?’
‘Why you’re giving to a suddhi?’
‘Machang, even at our own party, Aussies are thrashing us!’
According to Charith, while Bronwyn was undoubtedly sexy, the hottest BYT at the party was Shirali’s other friend, Roshani Junkeer, a cleavage-flaunting vixen who sounded more Australian than the white girl.
‘Who’s the dark, handsome spunk, Shirls?’
Shirali introduced Pradeep to her friend and banter flowed. An hour later, after the GenCY delivered an after-dinner speech, Pradeep invited Charith to check out the Melbourne nightlife with Shirali, Bronwyn and Roshani. It was the first and probably last time that Charith left a party early with three women. He enjoyed the moment. ‘All the seniors were looking at us. You should’ve seen Ravi de Mel’s face. Like a pittu.’
The five of them scrambled into a taxi before team management could come to rain on proceedings by invoking the alcohol, drugs and sex ban (Item 3 on the Tour Rules). On the way, Shirali talked about how they were going to meet a guy called Larry who she thought was cute. Pradeep ignored Roshani, who was edging onto his lap with a stolen bottle of wine, while the Christmas Princess rubbed her bosom against Charith’s arm.
‘Uncle, I am not a fellow to cheat on my wife, no? Otherwise how many women I could’ve had?’
I look at Charith Silva’s belly, man breasts and tennis ball haircut, and nod sympathetically.
They met this Larry character and decided to go and see the 10 o’clock showing of Crocodile Dundee 2. They were evicted twenty minutes into the movie when Roshani regurgitated her wine down the aisle. As they giggled their way out, the Samoan manager said, ‘In this country, we don’t go to cinemas drunk.’
By the time they got to the Bar Bodega and ordered tequila shots, Larry was holding Shirali’s hand. Charith’s descriptions of the gallons of alcohol they consumed and the chorus line of women who approached him for sex make me wonder if his words should also be taken with a pinch of salt and a squeeze of lime.
‘Merv Hughes and Dean Jones also were there partying with us. One of the Aussies tried to camel Pradeep’s BYT.’
I lose track of which one was Pradeep’s BYT. ‘The local one, Roshani. She goes off with Jones. Then Bronwyn, the beauty queen, sits on the bugger’s lap. What a night!’
In the midst of proceedings, the Yorkshireman attempted to buy Bronwyn a drink. The blonde called him a ‘paedophile’ and slunk off with Pradeep. This may explain his belligerence at the next day’s post-match presentation.
While waiting for a taxi at the end of the night, Charith, Pradeep, Larry and the three girls were accosted by two drunken skinheads. Phrases like ‘curry muncher’, ‘dairy owner’, ‘a thousand apologies’, ‘nargy bitch’ and, inexplicably, ‘nigger’ were bandied about, not without malice. The night ended with the arrival of the taxi driver, but not before Charith was punched twice and Shirali spat at. Neither Larry nor Pradeep did anything.
The girls were dropped off at Shirali’s place and the two reserves sneaked back into their hotel four hours after curfew. Mathew did not say a word all the way home. Team management did not find out.
Boxing Day
Pradeep was suspended and was due for a disciplinary hearing. While many players applauded him for telling off the Yorkshireman, senior members and management were less than impressed. No one knew of Christmas Day parties and brawls with skinheads the day before.
‘Those days, we were the poor relations. No one would grant us games. Some years, we had to train 365 days to play one test,’ laments Ravi de Mel. ‘How to show the world that we are gentlemen, worthy of the gentleman’s game, if fellows are talking like Maradana street thugs? Live on camera also. He was a typical Moratuwa thug. A tiger can’t change its spots.’
They say bowling is the brainiest part of cricket. Ravi de Mel is not an example of that. He does not hide his contempt for Pradeep. ‘I only recommended he be dropped. I don’t believe in talent. Talent is nothing without effort. Give me a humble hard worker over a talented fool.’
Charith hadn’t even heard of that day’s Yorkshireman episode and was in bed when he received a phone call from an excited and drunk-sounding Mathew.
‘Bugger was at the bar with girls. Madness, I told him. Management would massacre if we went out without leave on a match day.’
But leave without leave is what he did. He called the vice captain, saying he was unable to get through to the GenCY and the Skipper, and conveyed that both he and Pradeep were not feeling well and would be having an early dinner and resting.
At the Bar Bodega, Mathew looked like the Don. Not Bradman, but Juan. Roshani Junkeer on one arm, Bronwyn Jones on the other. There was a smattering of Sri Lankans at the bar, including Miss Sri Lanka and her date, who didn’t look like a minister, but could have been the son of one.
Shirali Fernando was leaning on the lap of her new boyfriend, a tall curly-haired Australian called Larry. ‘Charith Baba! Come drink, will you.’
The scene was good, but Charith was worried. The Bar Bodega was essentially a student bar, made to look like a working-class one. The faded pool tables, the battered jukebox, the peeling walls and the torn girly posters had been recently put in. Charith helped himself to a kiss and a squeeze from Bronwyn and Roshani and muttered to Pradeep, ‘Machang, what if those skinheads come here?’
‘Let them come,’ smiled Pradeep.
And come they did. Four of them this time, at the nearby pool table. Dark jeans, big boots, black woollen jumpers, shaven heads. One had several strands of hair at the nape of his neck. He was the one who had thrown the punches the previous night. He was the one who noticed them while taking his shot.
‘Strewth, it’s the nargy club, back for some more, eh?’
Shirali’s boyfriend got up from his stool. ‘Steady on, mate …’
All four skinheads advanced with their cues. ‘You fucking that curry bitch, mate?’
Larry pushed Shirali towards Charith and stood up to his full height. Charith drew the girls away and the other Sri Lankans at the bar looked on in horror, including Miss Sri Lanka and the boy who may have been the son of a minister.
The one with the pool cue pointed a finger in Larry’s face, which went from pink to chalk. Pradeep stepped into the fray and stared up at the four men with little hair. The barman notic
ed and looked frantically for the bouncer. He spied him. Holding a pool cue with three of his mates, threatening a group of Asians.
I apologise for the language that follows. But this is the only bit of the story that Charith remembers word for word.
Pradeep employed his gruffest street urchin snarl. ‘You guys are homos. You shave your heads because your dicks are too small, when you fuck each other.’
At first stunned silence, then a ripple of laughter wet the bar. What else? A skinny brown boy, standing behind a terrified white boy, questioning the sexuality of four stick-wielding, muscle-bound Nazis. If there was to be blood, and at that moment it looked a certainty that there would be, why not enjoy a moment of misplaced comedy?
‘How did you end up like this? Your unemployed father raped you and dressed you up like a girl.’ Mathew appeared to have practised his speech.
The leader took a while to process what was taking place. He shook his head. ‘You smelly fucking curry …’
Mathew cut him off. ‘You’re the one who doesn’t bathe, can’t get a job, can’t get a woman, can’t …’
And then the smash and then the crash and the glass breaking over the head and the kicks and the punches and the shouted curses.
‘I don’t know where the bugger came from. I think he was with the Miss Sri Lanka crowd. He was dark and big and had a moustache. Looked like Prabhakaran himself.’
Just before the skinhead leader could break his cue over Mathew’s head, the dark, stocky man smashed a glass jug into his face. As if it had been choreographed, Mathew began laying punches and kicks into the crouching leader. ‘He looked like an ant hammering a horse,’ laughs Charith. Two more jugs collided with skull as the dark, stocky man made quick work of the bouncer. The other two skinheads backed away. One of them tripped over a pool table on his way out.
Larry held back Pradeep, who was kicking the fallen skinhead. Both skinheads had stopped moving.
The dark, stocky man looked around. ‘Everyone all right?’ No one answered. He stared at Pradeep. ‘Leave here now.’ He then followed his own advice.
Larry drove Pradeep to the A&E, while the girls and Charith speculated as to who the dark man could have been. There were rumours that the West Australia Tamil Association harboured Tiger gunmen. Could this be one such sleeper? Could he be a neo-Nazi-hunting vigilante hired by the Mayor of Perth? Or was he just a drunk who landed a few lucky punches?
Pradeep had a hairline fracture in his index finger and a bruised rib. He removed his bandages as soon as he returned to the hotel. The next day his finger swelled up as he was called for the disciplinary hearing. He explained that his finger was injured taking the catch off David Boon. He blamed his conduct in the interview on being exhausted by the tour. Management decided to drop the matter, but a few players stored it away for future use.
Beauty Queen
On the day of the New Year’s party, not only were the girls vying for the beauty crown, but also for the attentions of Mr Mathew. Roshani, Bronwyn and even the Miss Sri Lanka were seen speaking to him and playing with their hair.
‘I remember, fellow was like a mouse,’ exclaims Ravi de Mel. ‘Suddenly, on this Australia tour, he is the ladies’ man. Bugger didn’t even play a single game. Even Aravinda, after scoring four centuries, wasn’t as popular.’
‘It was at the Perth New Year’s party that I first noticed him,’ says Serala de Alwis over the phone. ‘He had a real I-don’t-care-what-you-think-about-me look. He was awkward and clumsy, but there was something there.’ Serala was a hotel exec and girlfriend of the vice captain.
The dancing round and the catwalk round had seen the exit of both Miss Sri Lanka and Miss Working Girl, much to the delight of a Sri Lankan expat crowd filled with drunk uncles and catty aunties. Everyone agreed that it was the question round that clinched it. ‘If you were to win the prize, a trip to anywhere in the world, where would you go?’
Kahatuduwa Twin 1: ‘Rio, for the carnival! Because I’m born to party!’ (Applause.)
Serala de Alwis: ‘Africa, ‘cos it’s wild and wonderful. Just like me!’ (Cheers.)
Bronwyn Jones: ‘That would have to be Bali. ‘Cos I love lying on a golden beach with nothing on!’ (Hoots. Shouts of ‘Keeyada darling?’)
Victoria the Bomb: ‘Chile. ‘Cos I’m hot!’ (Applause and cheers.)
Natalie the Singer: ‘Japan. Because that is where my boyfriend is.’ (Boos. Shouts referring to Japanese manhood.)
Kahatuduwa Twin 2: ‘I also like Rio. But since Nanga said that, I’ll say somewhere different, like … Brazil.’ (Laughter. Hoots.)
Penny who Ravi de Mel banged: ‘Sri Lanka, mate. You guys are cool!’ (Huge applause. ‘Suddhi sucking up!’)
Some skinny Lankan girl who spoke with a French accent: ‘I would sell the ticket and give the money to the poor.’ (Catcalls. ‘Ado! This is not Miss World!’)
The judges were a starlet from a TV soap called Neighbours, the Sri Lankan cricket captain and the FLC who, referring to an LBW decision in the Boxing Day test, said, ‘One would say that there’s no doubt that there’s a lot of doubt about that.’ And the president of the United Sri Lanka Association, Mr Upali Manu. The shout of ‘Ado Manu, give Sri Lanka its first win!’ echoed across the auditorium and was greeted with laughter.
The last contestant was indeed one of our girls. This girl had done reasonably well in the dance and catwalk rounds, by wearing a red Spanish dress that pushed out her breasts and unveiled her legs. It was good, but probably not good enough to compete with the models and the foreign nudists. But her reply for the question round did more than bridge that gap.
‘I wouldn’t go too far at all. Melbourne, Australia.’ (Boos. Hoots. Jeers.)
‘Hold on, hold on. Let me finish. 1992. The MCG. World Cup final. Australia vs Sri Lanka. And Sri Lanka … kicks … Australia’s … ASS!’
The applause and shrieks drowned out the DJ. It was slightly louder when Roshani Junkeer was given second runner-up and when Penny Something won first runner-up. And twice as loud when they announced the winner.
‘May we all be at the MCG when Sri Lanka beats Australia,’ said a slightly inebriated FLC. ‘The USLA New Year Queen is Miss Shirali Fernando from Perth!’
Charith was in disbelief. ‘Shirali was my friend. But she wasn’t the sexiest there. But guess what happened then. I couldn’t believe when I saw.’
‘She was on Pradeep’s lap with her crown and her sash,’ says Uvais Amalean. ‘A minute later they were smooching.’
‘What happened to Larry?’ Charith asked Roshani. Roshani shrugged and walked off in the direction of the Minister’s son.
‘Pradeep and I were both dropped after that tour,’ says Charith.
Shirali used her winning ticket to return to Sri Lanka, to work as an investment consultant at Sampath National Bank and to be with her new boyfriend. ‘I only helped that bugger get that bitch,’ says Innocent Emmanuel Kugarajah, the man you are yet to meet. ‘I am the one who put them together.’
Get together they did. And together they stayed. They were together three years later when, contrary to the 1989 USLA Queen’s predictions, both Sri Lanka and Australia were knocked out in the first round of the ‘92 World Cup. There was no Melbourne Cricket Ground final between these countries. The kicking of the ass would have to wait four more years.
* * *
Seamer to the Fore
Charith Silva is Mr Reliable of Sri Lankan cricket. He has been a valued servant for the CCC over the 1998 season and was a supportive member of the 1996 world-conquering squad. Earlier this year he ripped through the SSC defence with medium-pace bowling described by a spectator as ‘the best he’d ever seen’.
Known for his dogged accuracy, Charith has added pace and swing to his armoury and physically is the fittest he has ever been. Still in his early thirties, this solid, capable …
Excerpt © W.G. Karunasena
Published in Island 20/9/98 and Observer 17/10/98
The Carr
om Flick
Jack Iverson, the 1950s Aussie spinner, bent his middle finger as if he were flicking a leech off the ball. He held the ball with his elongated index and ring and flicked it at the batsman, the ball spinning in whichever direction his thumb pointed.
The GenCY, team manager during Sri Lanka’s ’87 World Cup campaign, shared a photograph of Iverson’s unusual grip with Pradeep. Mathew also began to bowl with a carrom-flicking motion.
While Jack Iverson is remembered as a genuine mystery bowler by the likes of Benaud and Bradman, the GenCY failed to tell young Mathew that despite a few 6-wicket hauls in his first few outings, Iverson was soon worked out by batsmen. His fragile temperament kept him out of test cricket and led to his suicide in 1973.
Mathew tried the carrom flick vs England, Pakistan and the West Indies, and while the trajectory was torpedo-like, the bounce low and the turn sharp, Mathew’s directional control was abysmal. Of the nine balls that made it to the pitch, all were adjudged wides.
He was warned by the umpire of turning the game into a farce after the mid-wicket ball against Pakistan. And was taken out of the attack against England by the team captain for using that ‘bloody carom bullshit’.
Different Rooms
Ari’s office room and mine are roughly the same size. Mine is shaped like a D, his an imperfect square. Mine overlooks flowerpots and parapet walls, his looks over de Saram Road. Unlike his balcony, mine has no sea view. But every Sunday and poya holiday we get treated to a neighbourhood cricket match along our car-less street.
Sons of bloody bitches vs bastards from the seashore. I am sick of the taste of this thambili which I am supposed to sip. I cannot endure this saccharine spittle. Dear God. For the love of God. If you designed the liver, if you designed pain, I hate you. Are you the one who makes me shiver and sweat? This creature buried in my bowels. Is that you? I don’t know why I’m talking to you. You don’t even exist.
The Legend of Pradeep Mathew Page 22