Howzat!

by Brett Lee

  As the Grubber raised its arms Jim threw his ball again, this time connecting with it right on the chest. I turned away as a plume of smoke rose from the place where the ball had connected.

  ‘Toby, enough!’ Jim barked, turning on me. ‘Leave at once.’

  ‘But, Jim,’ I cried, glancing about. ‘I can’t leave you here. What if a whole lot come at you? You’ve only got the one ball.’

  ‘Toby, I can and will look after myself.’ His voice softened as I felt my face redden. ‘They only ever attack alone; rarely in pairs, unless they sense weakness.’ He sighed, forcing his lips into a smile. ‘My time is here and now; yours is not.’ He reached out his arms. ‘You must go, Toby.’

  ‘W-why didn’t my cricket ball work?’

  ‘The four words from the last verse, Toby. You forgot to say them or even think them.’ He squeezed my shoulders. ‘Goodbye, my boy.’

  I watched him follow a narrow path towards a clump of twisted and ghostly looking trees. He didn’t look back. Just as he was about to disappear over a rise, another Grubber suddenly appeared on the path behind him.

  ‘Jim!’ I shrieked, sprinting towards him. Jim didn’t appear to have heard me, nor had he noticed the Grubber just metres behind him.

  ‘You’ve been caught out!’ I shrieked, hurling the ball in the direction of the Grubber. It caught him smack in the middle of his back. His body twisted in agony and he fell to the ground, a wisp of brown smoke slowly curling up from the spot where the ball had connected.

  To my astonishment, Jim kept on walking as if nothing had happened. Collecting the cricket ball, I cautiously moved further along the track, keeping a lookout for any more Grubbers.

  I got to the rise where I had last seen Jim and looked out over the cricket ground, only 60 metres away. The game had paused; the old players were standing around in groups. I looked at the umpire, who was pointing towards an old pavilion. There was no sign of Jim. The Grubber I had stopped had got to his knees and was now crawling off in another direction.

  There appeared to be only a sprinkling of people watching the play. Vast spaces of emptiness surrounded the oval, with the occasional Grubber still moving about down near the fence. It seemed that not all of the Grubbers were unfriendly, as some preferred to stay close to the oval and the cricket being played out in the middle, rather than moving to attack.

  Then I glanced up at the scoreboard. I shivered at the thought that Father Time might be locked away behind its huge wooden face. The score read 8/379. As I stared up at the enormous wooden structure, I noticed one of the numbers alongside a bowler’s name slowly change. For a brief moment I thought I could see inside as a ‘7’ disappeared and was replaced by a ‘0’.

  Was the scoreboard returning to a wall of zeroes, as Jim had predicted would happen if the Timeless Cricket Match ended?

  A voice called from the field. The players had returned to their positions and one of them was clapping. The bowler gazed around the field, nodded once then slowly made his way in to the crease.

  Taking one more look at the scoreboard I backed away, reciting the first two lines of the poem. I felt a cool breeze lightly brush my cheeks as I made the trip back to my time. It happened so quickly I barely had a chance to register the actual travel itself.

  Just as I had before, I was going to have to trust Jim. Maybe he was now in a special place with other Cricket Lords. It didn’t feel right to leave him there, but there was nothing else I could do.

  ‘Come on, Toby!’ Jimbo called, as I raced back towards the players’ room. The team was heading out onto the ground in single file. ‘Look!’ I followed Jimbo’s gaze.

  ‘The lights!’ I cried, gawping at the enormous array of bright white lights beaming down onto the ground.

  ‘Toby!’ Marty yelled at me. I stopped suddenly.

  ‘Marty, I can explain.’ Actually, I had no hope of explaining.

  ‘Toby, I’ve just been talking with Brian Casboult.’ Marty was waiting for some sort of reaction, but I had no idea who he was talking about.

  ‘Yeah?’ Maybe this Brian Casboult was the match official or something. Had I been disqualified from the game for not being here?

  ‘Brian Casboult, the chief executive of the Melbourne Cricket Ground.’

  ‘Oh.’ I had been dumped.

  ‘He said that you are to have full access to any person and any place in the entire ground.’

  ‘He did?’ Marty nodded. ‘Does that mean I’m good to go?’

  This time Marty grinned. ‘Good as gold. I’ve got no idea what you and that old guy…’

  ‘That’s Jim.’

  ‘Yeah. I’ve got no idea what you and Jim are up to, but right now we need a few wickets. You heard of the expression of having your back to the wall?’ I nodded, keen to join the rest of the team out on the ground. ‘Well, this is the Wall of China, Toby.’

  ‘I’m going to walk that one day,’ I smiled, catching the green cap that Marty finally flung in my direction. I pulled the ball out of my pocket to put in my bag.

  ‘You’re not nicking balls, are you?’ Marty said, holding out his hand for it.

  ‘Oh, n-no, um, this is mine,’ I said, trying to sound relaxed. ‘It’s got sentimental value.’ I stashed it deep inside my kit.

  ‘Fair enough,’ he grinned. ‘Go climb that wall, Toby Jones.’

  5

  Perfect Conditions

  Saturday—afternoon

  We had been dismissed for 109 and things didn’t get any better at the start of England’s innings. Scott bowled three no balls in his first two overs, but it was his third no ball that had us all reeling.

  The England opener had taken a hefty swipe and the ball caught a thick outside edge and flew to Sean in the gully.

  ‘Yeeeeeeessssss!’ Scott roared, charging down the pitch and thrusting his arm out towards the dressing room. He was ‘politely’ telling the batter where he should be heading. But the batter stood his ground, before finally moving a few paces backwards as Scott got close to him.

  ‘Next time, Scott,’ Jimbo called, clapping his hands.

  ‘What?’ Scott swore and kicked out with his foot, making a decent scrape mark in the pitch down near the batter. My heart sank as the two umpires converged. They called over Sean and then Scott.

  Jimbo, Cam and I pressed in closer to hear what was being said but it was over in moments. One of the umpires pulled out his walkie-talkie and the next moment Scott had snatched his cap and was storming off the field. He’d been sent off for scuffing the pitch, but I’m sure his swearing had helped the umpires come to their decision.

  ‘We’re not allowed a twelfth man either,’ Sean said, glaring at Scott’s back. After the groundsman had repaired the pitch as best he could, we settled back into the task.

  England had spanked 23 runs off our first four overs and we were in deep trouble. And then it suddenly got worse. Heaps worse.

  Just after delivering the first ball of his third over, Greg, our fastest bowler, crashed to the ground, clutching his right ankle. We raced in from everywhere but I knew straight away it wasn’t good. Two trainers finally managed to haul him to his feet and we watched, forlorn, as he hobbled off the field.

  ‘I assume we get a twelfth man this time?’ Jaimi, our other pace bowler, said.

  ‘Come on, guys,’ said Sean. ‘We’re not out of this.’

  ‘Our two best bowlers are off,’ said Wesley, our keeper, ‘we’ve scored just over 100 runs and they’re none for 23 after four overs. Give it a break, Sean.’

  I turned on Wesley and scowled. ‘Sean’s right.’ I looked past him to a spot in the Southern Stand. It was almost exactly where I’d sat and watched Andrew Symonds make his first Test hundred against England. ‘Hey, remember the Ashes Test here that we won by an innings and 99 runs? Andrew Symonds came out to bat with the score at 5 for 84. They were down then. And what did Symonds do? He didn’t even know the score as he walked out. He knew that if he thought about it too much, he’d get edgy,
grip the bat too hard, get all tense. So he just played his natural game and got on with it.’

  ‘And scored 150-plus runs,’ Sean said, nodding.

  ‘Come on, guys. We fight this one out to the end.’

  ‘Bloody oath we do,’ Jimbo said, nodding at me. We broke up, but I paused as Sean called my name.

  ‘Who shall I bowl?’ he asked, quietly.

  ‘I reckon give Barton Rivers a go,’ I said. ‘Surprise them a bit.’

  ‘And he might do something with that footmark,’ Sean added, grinning. I’d had exactly the same thought myself.

  I bowled the final five deliveries of Greg’s over, all away-swingers and only one played at. It connected with the middle of his bat.

  We got our breakthrough in the next over when Barton enticed the batter to sweep. But it collected a top edge. I ran around from my position at backward square leg about 10 metres and took a comfortable catch.

  A ripple of applause erupted from the crowd scattered around the ground and enjoying the sun, which had finally broken through.

  ‘How long is Scott off for?’ I asked Sean as he passed me the ball for my second over.

  ‘That’s now in the hands of the two coaches,’ he said.

  ‘What, Marty and the English coach?’

  Sean nodded.

  My next over was much like the first, with the batter only having to play at a couple. The last ball fizzed over his off-stump.

  ‘Good watching, Seb,’ the non-striker called out.

  I glared at the opener. ‘Mate, what’s he brought a bat out for?’

  ‘You’ll probably find out next over,’ he said, and wandered off down the pitch. I grinned at his back.

  I had the first drop on strike for my third over. Yet again he let the first ball go. I was feeling good; the rhythm was there and my run-up felt smooth. I came in a bit closer to the umpire with the next ball. It started outside off-stump but, unlike all the previous balls, swung the other way viciously, smashing into the guy’s off-stump. What was even more satisfying was that he’d shouldered arms, raising his bat high in the air, assuming it was going to easily miss off-stump.

  I didn’t look at the non-striker. I reckoned that actions spoke louder than words anyway.

  ‘Oh my God!’ I gasped as I suddenly recalled what William had said.

  ‘What is it, Toby?’ Jimbo asked, looking concerned. It was only when I was watching the replay on the scoreboard that I’d remembered.

  ‘The second ball of your third over,’ I said quietly to myself. Looking over towards our dressing rooms I noticed Marty and another man. It looked like they were deep in conversation. I turned to Jimbo and grinned.

  ‘I’ll explain later,’ I told him, taking the ball from Sean and heading back.

  ‘Hey, it’s that weird guy,’ one of the players said. ‘He’s not wearing a helmet either.’ I turned again and watched Freddy approach the wicket. Was I imagining it or was there a glint in his eye? There was a look about him that was all determination and hardness. Our eyes met. He stared at me with an intensity I’d never encountered on a cricket field before.

  My first ball to him was just short of a length, outside off-stump. He rocked back and carved it out through point. I watched the ball speed across the turf, ricochet off the rope and crash hard into the hoardings beyond the rope. It rebounded 20 metres back onto the field.

  Jaimi out at mid-off swore under his breath. ‘What’s his bat made out of?’ he said, tossing me the ball. I shrugged.

  ‘He found the sweet spot all right.’ I pitched the next ball fuller. Freddy was on it in a flash, belting it along the ground to Jaimi’s left. The ball was past Jaimi before he’d even responded to the shot. The sound of ball hitting bat was like the crack of a whip echoing around the ground.

  The last two balls were on line and he pushed them back along the pitch.

  ‘I’d have him in my team,’ Jimbo grinned, jogging past me at the end of the over.

  ‘Geez yeah.’

  ‘I reckon the Poms would have him in their senior Test team,’ he added. I stopped dead. Jimbo kept on going.

  ‘Jimbo?’

  ‘Come on, Toby!’ Sean called, clapping his hands. I jogged quickly to my position, never taking my eyes off Freddy, who was standing nonchalantly at the non-striker’s end, leaning on his bat.

  Was it Freddy batting, or was it a Grubber? A former Test cricketer, returned to the ground he last played on? He was sure batting like a Test player.

  ‘Toby!’ I heard my name yelled. The ball had ballooned out towards me. Too late, I ran back, getting to it on the first bounce. I hurled it back at Wesley in disgust. My mind had been completely elsewhere and we’d just missed out on a massive chance to get a third wicket. Kicking the ground in disgust, I returned to my position.

  ‘Sorry, Barton,’ I called. He gave me a little wave. We gathered together for the drinks break.

  ‘Hey!’

  I spun around. ‘Georgie! What are you doing out here?’

  ‘Marty, your coach, is so nice. He let me help the twelfth man bring out the drinks. Neat, huh?’

  But I didn’t get much time to talk to her. Sean called Jimbo and me back to the group for another chat.

  I was determined to make amends in my next over. I bowled Freddy a bouncer. Helmet or no helmet, I didn’t care. The ball was spearing towards his head and for a frightening moment I thought he was going to collect it on the scone, but in the last instant, he flashed his bat across his face.

  Crack! The ball flew away over backward square leg for a massive six. It was a great result for him but I wasn’t convinced by the shot and he knew it.

  ‘Sean, can I have another one behind square leg?’ I called. He took out a slip. Taking a deep breath, I charged in again. But instead of the expected short ball I bowled a fuller, slower ball. Freddy had anticipated the bouncer and already moved back towards his stumps. He jammed his bat down on the ball when he realised where it had pitched but missed it completely. The ball cannoned into his back pad.

  ‘Howzzatt!’ I screamed, staring at the umpire. He didn’t move. I’d caught him plumb on the crease, dead in front. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the umpire slowly raised his arm, his right index pointing to the sky. ‘Yeeeeeeeeeeeees!’ I screeched, charging down the pitch. The others rushed in.

  ‘I’m really sorry about that pathetic effort, last over,’ I said again, this time in front of the whole team.

  ‘Yeah, well you looked like you were in another world,’ Sean grinned. I immediately thought of Jim, literally in another world. ‘But he’s the one we wanted.’ We all watched the replay.

  ‘3 for 44. Game on, Jones.’ Jimbo slapped me on the back.

  ‘Too right.’

  I took another four wickets as the England team slumped to be all out for 122. They had a slender lead of only 13 runs.

  ‘Quick runs and we do it all again,’ Sean said, as we strode off the ground, our confidence restored.

  ‘Except for that Freddy bloke,’ Wesley muttered, darkly.

  ‘Hey, Wesley. Lighten up. We got him out once. We can get him out again.’

  I silently agreed with Sean, but I was thinking of a completely different way of getting him out.

  The best bowling figures for an Australian in international Twenty/20 cricket were achieved by Stuart Clark when he picked up 4 wickets for 20 runs against Sri Lanka on 20 September 2007. His bowling figures were 4—0—4—20.

  6

  The Chase for Freddy Barnes

  Saturday—afternoon

  Jim hadn’t said whether my cricket ball would work against a Grubber that had possessed someone, or what would happen to the possessed person themselves, but I was almost certain that Freddy had been somehow taken over by the Grubber Jim had first seen on the oval earlier in the day.

  I wasn’t sure exactly what I was going to do when I confronted Freddy, but I needed my cricket ball and I needed to find him before he went back out onto the gr
ound.

  ‘Guys, that was a great effort—’ said Marty.

  ‘Marty, my cricket ball?’ I interrupted, rummaging through my kit. Marty glared at me, then must have remembered what Brian Casboult had said. But I felt stupid suddenly and apologised. ‘Sorry, Marty. Go on.’ I buried my head in my bag to hide my embarrassment. What had got into me? Surely another hour or so wasn’t going to matter too much? Or would every minute count for Freddy? Maybe even now his personality had been taken over so completely that he couldn’t be saved.

  Marty finished his speech and came over to me.

  ‘I’m sorry, Marty,’ I began, but he held up a hand.

  ‘No, that’s all right. Listen, I think one of the kids might have been rummaging through your bag. There was stuff everywhere. I put all the balls over there somewhere,’ he said, pointing vaguely to a spot beneath the window. ‘There was a box there.’ I felt a wave of panic.

  ‘Over where, Marty?’ I said, trying to stay calm.

  ‘Over…Hey! Oh, maybe Tom took the box down to the nets. You can go and throw a few at our openers.’

  ‘Who was going through my kit, and why?’ I fumed under my breath, racing down to the indoor nets.

  ‘Toby, grab a couple of balls and throw a few at Cam, would you?’ Tom called, as I entered the nets area.

  ‘Actually I was…’ I stopped mid-sentence as I watched Scott send down a whopping out-swinger to Jimbo.

  ‘Hey, Temple, that’s four in a row you’ve missed!’ Scott laughed, catching the ball Jimbo tossed back to him. I knew straight away that Scott had my cricket ball. I closed my eyes briefly. How typical! He looked in my direction and smirked.

  ‘You’re on the same side, Scott,’ I lashed out, suddenly angry. ‘Trying to build up his confidence before he goes out to bat, not get him out.’

  ‘Piss off, Jones. You’re talking out of your backside. This is much better preparation than bowling up your pathetic little half-volleys.’ He took a step towards me. ‘That’s not what they’re going to bowl out there!’ He pointed in the general direction of the ground. ‘It’s a bloody Test match, not some little kiddy game in a park.’