Hat Trick!

by Brett Lee

  ‘That’s great,’ I said.

  We didn’t talk much about the accident, but I told him more about the team and how everyone had been going. He was interested in knowing all the scores and stats.

  The floorboards creaked and the musty smell of old books hit me as I entered the library, a few paces ahead of Dad. Jim was sitting at the oval table, a glass of water and a plate of sandwiches in front of him.

  ‘Jim!’ I cried, rushing over to him. A few heads looked up.

  ‘My dear boy,’ Jim looked pleased to see me. Dad stood behind.

  ‘Hello, Jim,’ he said.

  ‘Peter, a pleasure. Excuse me for not standing.’

  ‘We’ve, um, brought your things from the hospital,’ I said, putting the Wisden and a bag on the table.

  ‘Thank you. My thanks to the pair of you.’ Dad was eyeing the Wisdens in the bookshelf. ‘Do have a look, Peter. The bookcase is open.’

  ‘Did you get there?’ I whispered to Jim.

  He looked down at the old Wisden in front of him and shook his head. ‘I tried, Toby, I tried. But instead, I got back here. The place of my last departure. Which was some time ago now. Still, it’s good to be back.’

  ‘Are you okay?’ I asked.

  ‘Better for being back here, Toby,’ he replied. ‘What have you got there?’ he asked me. I had reached into my pocket and was fiddling with a dice.

  Dad turned round. ‘Watch out, Jim,’ he said, seeing the dice. ‘He’s going to nab you for a game of dice cricket!’

  ‘Splendid. I shall send for more sandwiches. Come along, let’s clear the table here. I’ll choose a team from the 1930s.’ Jim started to reel off a list of names.

  We ended up spending the rest of the afternoon eating sandwiches and playing the best game of dice cricket. Dad was the roller. Jim insisted on giving Don Bradman seven chances because he was so far ahead of everyone else. I managed to make sure Adam Gilchrist and Ricky Ponting got plenty too. During the game, Jim would suddenly start talking about a player from his team. His memory was amazing. He told his stories as if he’d just returned from the game. A couple of times I noticed Dad looking at me.

  ‘Great stories,’ I whispered to Dad at one stage, when Jim had gone off to find a book to check a score.

  He nodded. ‘Amazing. You two seem to get on very well,’ he added.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Something bothering you, Toby?’

  ‘He’s very old, Dad,’ I said.

  ‘Well, we all have a journey to make. Some are longer than others. I think Jim has had a pretty decent one, don’t you?’

  ‘I guess.’

  Jim came back, a book in his hand, his eyes shining.

  And even though Ricky Ponting scored 143, it wasn’t enough to trouble Jim’s ‘Invincibles’.

  I must have been looking a bit down about the result. Dad said to me, ‘Head up, Toby.’

  I smiled a secret smile.

  Then we said goodbye. I think Jim knew that my goodbye was sort of final. When Dad was putting away the Wisdens he had pulled out, I leaned over and told Jim that I didn’t think I would be time travelling again.

  He nodded his head, and said nothing.

  ‘Jim, will I time travel again?’ I whispered, not really wanting to hear an answer.

  ‘Perhaps only to help an old man fulfil a lifelong dream,’ he said quietly.

  I didn’t say anything.

  ‘Come along, Toby.’ Dad’s hand rested on my shoulder. We shook hands with Jim.

  ‘Toby, I want you to have this,’ Jim said, handing me the 1931 Wisden.

  ‘Jim, no—’ Dad interrupted.

  ‘Please, Peter. Toby deserves this. Please.’ Jim’s voice was insistent.

  I didn’t know what to say. I held the precious book in my hands.

  ‘Off you go,’ Jim said.

  ‘Well, I hope we catch up again, Jim, and thank you very much for that generous gift. He’ll look after it, I promise,’ Dad said, shaking Jim’s hand.

  ‘Yes, I know he will,’ Jim smiled.

  I was quiet for a while on the way home.

  Dad picked up on my thoughts, as always, and said, ‘You okay, son?’

  ‘Dad, I don’t have a grandfather, do I?’

  Dad flicked his head round, then turned back to the road. ‘No.’

  ‘I sort of feel like I do, now.’

  ‘Jim’s someone else’s grandfather, Toby.’

  ‘Maybe not in this time,’ I mumbled. Luckily, Dad didn’t seem to hear. ‘I wonder where he lives. I wonder who looks after him.’

  ‘Maybe Jim looks after himself.’

  ‘Dad, he’s just come out of hospital. He didn’t get any visitors.’

  ‘We don’t know that, Toby. You can’t just enter someone’s life and assume he needs your help and guidance.’

  We didn’t speak for a while until Dad said, ‘We’ll invite Jim over for a barbecue. How’s that?’

  ‘That’d be great, Dad. I reckon he’d love it.’

  We were silent once more. I started thinking about my decision to give up time travel. Had I made the right choice? Then I remembered the evil hooded man again and became convinced that I had.

  Three Test players have taken four wickets in five balls. M.J.C. Allom achieved this in his first-ever Test match for England, against New Zealand in the 1929/1930 season. When another Englishman, Chris Old, managed the feat, in 1978 against Pakistan, he took two wickets, then bowled a no ball, then took another two wickets. Wasim Akram, for Pakistan, took his four wickets against India in the 1990/1991 series.

  21 The Game

  Thursday—afternoon

  I still couldn’t get the thought of the mystery man out of my head as we drove to the ground after school the next day. I had dreamed of him again the previous night. I couldn’t work out why he’d been after me. Was he after me? Maybe I’d just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  Still, I didn’t have to worry about it any more. And right now, there was a game of cricket to be played. Maybe my nerves were because of the game, and not the time travel stuff.

  After all, it was the Scorpions we were up against. I thought we were going to be able to handle the other four teams—Motherwell, TCC, Benchley Park and St Mary’s. But the Scorpions were an unknown.

  Jono won the toss and decided to bat. Mr Pasquali told us that we were totally on our own today. We would be responsible for the batting and bowling order, the fielding positions and all other decisions. It was a 30-over game, batters retiring at 30, and with a maximum of four overs per bowler.

  Of course Scott Craven opened the batting, along with Jono. Five balls and two fours later, Scott was walking back to us, caught behind, for eight. The very next ball, Cameron was bowled. We were 2 for 8.

  Rahul had only just managed to get his gear on. Normally he had a routine of tapping the ball up on the edge of his bat to get his eye in. There were some tense moments as Georgie, Jay and I scrambled to get our pads on.

  The other opening bowler was even quicker, but maybe not as accurate. His first two balls were wides, but his third smashed into Jono’s pads. There was a loud appeal from every player on the ground, and even some of the dads standing in a group away to our left.

  The umpire looked hard, then raised his finger.

  ‘Oh, no,’ groaned Jay. ‘Hey, I’m not ready. Georgie, you go in, can you?’

  ‘Get out there, you wimp!’ roared Scott.

  ‘But I can’t find my box!’ he wailed.

  ‘I’ll go,’ I said. I gathered up my helmet and gloves, adjusted my thigh pad, and strode out to the wicket, trying to look confident. Rahul met me halfway.

  ‘Toby, we’ve got to stay in until these two fast bowlers have finished their spell. Don’t worry about the runs. Okay?’

  That was easy for him to say. He was a regular top-order batter, and he wasn’t on strike. I took guard, had a look around the field, then settled over my bat and waited.

  A spli
t second later the ball was flying past my head and through to the keeper. I danced on the spot, trying to get some spark into my body. Five minutes ago the openers were walking out to bat and already I was in the firing line. I could see Dad, the newspaper dropped to the ground beside him, leaning forwards in his deck chair, concentrating on the game.

  I managed to survive the rest of the over, only having to play at one delivery. Rahul scored a single off the first ball of the next over and I was back on strike. I wasn’t as nervous now, having played a few deliveries already.

  The next ball changed all that. It rose from just short of a length and crashed into the top half of my bat. There was a huge cracking noise as leather struck wood. The ball sailed away over slips and down to the boundary for four. The bat—all except the handle—fell onto the pitch.

  There were hoots of laughter from the kids around me. Even the bowler was smiling. A moment later, Craven rushed out, offering me his bat.

  ‘Are you sure?’ I asked.

  ‘Course. Just don’t snick any or I’ll make you lick off the cherry. You hear?’

  The bat weighed a tonne. It was all I could do to lift it just as the bowler delivered the ball. But when I connected, which I did twice more in the over, with a nicer cracking sound, the ball raced away for four.

  It’s amazing what a few fours can do for your confidence. I swung and missed a few times, and Rahul and I kept on reminding ourselves that it would get easier once the two opening bowlers had finished their spells, but I still managed to find a few gaps, and after eight overs we had pushed the score along to 3 for 31.

  Mr Pasquali was nodding in approval from square leg as we started to pile on the runs. Craven’s bat was incredible. Between balls, I let it rest against me, not picking it up until I absolutely had to.

  We had got the score to 72 before a guy bowled a quicker, more pitched-up delivery—a yorker. I couldn’t jam the bat down quickly enough and the ball slammed into the base of my leg stump. I was out for 29.

  I got plenty of cheers and applause as I trudged off.

  ‘Bloody lucky I gave you the bat. You wouldn’t have got past 10 without it,’ Scott chuckled. He seemed to be in a good frame of mind, considering he’d had two failures in a row with the bat.

  ‘Guess not,’ I said. ‘Thanks.’

  We went on to score 174, with some good hitting from everyone else—including Jason Vo, playing his first game for us. Georgie and Ally belted the bowlers around a bit and made 32 between them.

  Our opponents had made the mistake of using up their two best bowlers too early. I wondered if Jono would do the same. I was in for a surprise.

  He threw the new ball to me.

  ‘You’re up, Toby. Hit the spot.’

  I was fired up after my batting. We set an attacking field. My first ball dropped a bit short and in a flash the batter was in behind it, belting it over mid-wicket for four. Jono clapped his hands, yelling encouragement. Craven groaned.

  I bowled flatter and faster for the rest of the over but they took seven off me. Craven bowled a maiden from the other end, the batters not really looking troubled by his pace. Maybe they were used to it, with the practice they got facing their own opening bowlers.

  I was on again. Probably for only one more over if it went like the first. My first ball was whacked out over mid-on for four. It was a bit of a slog, but it was four. Jono kept the fielders in, though, which was good. I liked it when the batter was having a go.

  I sent the next ball (pitched a bit shorter) down much quicker. It fizzed past the bat and Ally took it neatly. One to the bowler. I pitched the third delivery slightly wider outside off-stump. The batter’s eyes lit up. He danced out of his crease, took a huge swing, but this time it caught the edge of his bat and Ally completed the catch.

  Things settled down after that. I completed my four overs, not taking another wicket, but not giving away too many runs either.

  Jono kept Craven back for the final overs, and when he came on to bowl his last, they needed four runs to win. They had lost nine wickets. It was a tough field to set. You could sense the tension around the ground. Players, umpires and parents were all on edge.

  ‘It’s Madras!’ Rahul called to me from mid-off. ‘This is exactly the same as Madras: one over left, one wicket left and four runs to get.’

  I clapped my hands together, urging everyone on.

  I walked in from my position in the covers as Craven charged in to the wicket. It was a good-length ball, a bit slower, and the batter blocked it. He slashed at the next delivery and carved it out to my left. I dived full stretch and got a hand on it. The batters had assumed it would get through. It had ‘four’ written all over it. I fumbled around, picked up the ball and hurled it to Ally, who had run up to the stumps.

  She whipped the bails off. Appeals were screamed from everywhere, even from the other side of the boundary. The umpire stared for a moment at the broken stumps, then shook his head.

  Three runs needed for the Scorpions to win the game.

  The batter chopped the next ball away between the slip and gully fielders for two more runs. I looked across at Rahul. But it was the two figures behind him that caught my attention. I stared in amazement.

  I turned back only when Craven was about to bowl his fourth ball of the over. It thudded into the batter’s pads. Craven was on his knees, appealing for lbw. Mr Pasquali shook his head.

  ‘This next one, Scott,’ Rahul called across from mid-on.

  The scores were level. You could feel the tension. No one was moving. I looked again at the two figures, still and silent, watching from a spot away from the other spectators.

  Jono brought everyone in. A single run would win it for them, so we might as well try to prevent that.

  It was the second-last delivery of the over. Scott bowled a slower ball. It was bang on target. It caught the batter right back on his crease and smacked into his pads. Craven didn’t even appeal. He just kept on running towards the batter, his arms in the air.

  The batters were running a leg bye. There were screams and shouts from everywhere.

  Finally Rahul, out at mid-off, yelled an appeal. By then, the runners had completed a run, and were scampering away, waving their bats and shouting and cheering. We all raced over to Mr Pasquali. Even Scott had turned around. Mr Pasquali shook his head and headed across to the other umpire. They met at mid-pitch, chatted for a moment, then shook hands and walked off together.

  ‘Looks like everyone’s a winner today, Mr Pasquali!’ I said to him, picking up the ball. He smiled.

  There were two other figures walking away from the ground.

  ‘Jimbo!’ I called. He stopped, and turned. His father had an arm around his shoulders. Jimbo nodded a few times, gave me the thumbs up, then turned and walked away.

  I turned to Mr Pasquali and said, ‘What happened about the cricket kit? Was the bat really a Gray Nicholls?’

  ‘It was, Toby, and the kit was in fantastic condition. But when I went over to check it out, Richard opened up the bag and decided at the last moment to keep it for Jimbo, which I thought was a great idea.’

  ‘That’s excellent news!’ I exclaimed. I could hardly believe my plan had worked. Maybe time travel could be useful, after all.

  ‘We just need that little extra something in the team to get us over the line,’ Mr Pasquali told us a few minutes later. He looked over at a car that was backing away from the oval. ‘And I think we might just have the ingredient we’re looking for.’

  ‘But who won?’ Gavin asked.

  ‘I think Rahul can give us the answer. He seems to know what happened.’

  Everyone looked at Rahul.

  ‘It was a tie,’ he said. ‘Just like the Madras game.’

  Monday—afternoon

  The moment had finally arrived for the presentations. I couldn’t wait to hear what the others had done, as we had all put plenty of effort into our cricket projects.

  I sat there listening to all the others,
feeling a bit nervous, but enjoying the talks all the same. Mr Pasquali had put me last.

  When my moment came. I walked out to the front and opened up the file on the computer that Mr Pasquali had set up.

  The first slide appeared on the big screen and I began my talk.

  I looked across at the sea of faces in front of me. No one said a word.

  ‘Really, I felt as if I was there,’ I said to them.

  ‘Well, it certainly came across that way, Toby. Well done.’ Mr Pasquali was nodding and started to clap. The rest of the class joined in enthusiastically.

  ‘Tell me,’ asked Mr Pasquali, after the clapping had stopped. ‘Where did you get all that detailed information, Toby?’

  I bent down and took out a Wisden from my bag beneath the table. I held it up to the class.

  ‘Toby!’ cried Jimbo, Georgie and Rahul, almost in unison.

  Mr Pasquali turned to look at them. ‘Is there a problem?’ he asked.

  ‘No, no,’ they all said at once. Mr Pasquali turned back to me.

  ‘Toby, you were saying?’

  ‘Well, these Wisden books, Mr Pasquali, are filled with all the information you could ever wish for. They have reports on all the games played for the year just passed. They choose the five cricketers of the year. Plus, they have this amazing section where all the records are listed.’ I could have kept on going for ages.

  ‘I know. There’s always one beside my bed! I’ll see if the library can buy some.’

  Rahul and Jimbo were staring at me. I looked across at Mr Pasquali. He was jotting down a note in his book. Maybe it was my score for the talk I’d just presented.

  ‘Great,’ I said, looking over at Georgie. She smiled.

  Mr Pasquali looked up. ‘So these Wisden books inspired you, Toby?’

  Yes, you could say that, I thought to myself as I smiled at him.

  There have been 23 tied one-day internationals played since 1984. In only one of these games were the actual scores different. This happened in the 2003 World Cup game when Sri Lanka, chasing South Africa’s score of 9/268, got to 6/229 after 45 overs before having to leave the field because of heavy rain. Their innings couldn’t be resumed, and the game was declared a tie under the Duckworth-Lewis method.