by Ron Elliott
A younger man edged up near him kind of furtively and nodded. ‘Gidday, Mr Johnson.’
‘Ah, young Bardsley,’ said Johnson, not looking at him.
David looked at Andrew Bardsley, the Victorian opener who had just joined the team in their last Test.
Paul Hampton, the big-chested fast bowler, arrived sucking hard on a cigarette and looking worried. Geoffrey Calligan, the other fast bowler, marched in, speaking to no one. He stood alone looking out at the oval, rather than his team mates. He was a lawyer when not playing, so perhaps he had a big case, thought David.
The older man who came in next, as though his back hurt and his knees were about to collapse, had to be the Australian wicketkeeper, Bill Baker. The reports said he looked more as if he needed hospitalisation than sport.
Maud McLeod was with him, all straw hair and country spit. Even he was subdued and distant.
The men did not look proud. They did not even look like a team. They looked more like strangers waiting for a late train.
‘Well, this’d bloody be right wouldn’t it? Another training session before we get thrown to the wolves.’ It was a chubby man, with big arms and a checked jacket.
‘Oi, Ken,’ said Baker, ‘don’t you start in on us.’
This must be Ken Hall, the middle-order batsman. He was famous for standing up to the opposition, but not so far in this series. His face looked nearly as red as some of the checks in his jacket.
‘Someone bloody should. The Poms sure do. Where’s the boss?’
No one answered. The men all seemed to be looking at some different part of the nets, or the ground or their own gear.
‘Well bugger me,’ yelled Hall angrily. ‘I coulda finished me breakfast.’
‘Ken, can you spare us your personal thoughts on life’s unfairness, just for this morning?’ It was the lawyer, Calligan.
‘What’s up your nose?’
‘You’re up my nose, Ken. And I don’t appear to have a handkerchief large enough to dislodge you.’
David watched, aghast.
The men stood glaring at each other. Hall was shorter, but with the body of a bull. Calligan might have been a lawyer, but he was a tall, strong-looking man. None of their team mates stepped in to stop them. Some weren’t even looking.
Michael was. He was standing on the other side of the nets, leaning against one of the poles that supported them. His hat was pushed down over his eyes, but you could see him watching.
Another group arrived. There was John Richardson, the Australian captain. His eyes looked sad, his shoulders slightly stooped, as he listened to two men in suits. One of them was big and round and old. He smoked a cigar. The other was smaller and walked with his eyes darting all about him.
Behind them was Jack Tanner, looking as confident and comfortable as ever, walking with two other players. One was a youth and the other much older.
‘Morning gentlemen,’ said Richardson.
‘What’s the deal, Gov?’ said Hall.
The man with the cigar took it out of his mouth, and used it as a pointer. ‘Gentlemen, I think it’s fair to say we are in trouble.’
Richardson said nothing.
‘And,’ continued the man, ‘I’m not going to stand for it. We are two Tests down. We haven’t just lost. We’ve been routed. Killed. Humiliated.’
‘Yeah, righto, Mr Livingston. We know,’ said Ken Hall.
‘And it wouldn’t hurt the cause if you got a few more runs, Mr Hall.’
Richardson stepped in then. ‘Yes, all true, Mr Livingston, but I don’t think it does any good to start pointing the finger.’
‘Something has got to be done. People need to see some spirit out there. They have enough problems in their daily lives without our cricket team contributing to them.’
The cricketers bowed their heads. All except Ken Hall who just looked back at the man who was clearly Sir Bartholomew Livingston, chairman of the Australian Cricket Board.
‘We expect changes,’ said Richardson levelly to Sir Bartholomew.
‘Gentlemen.’ It was the little man in the suit. He spoke quietly with a faintly embarrassed smile. ‘For some of the new chaps who don’t know me, my name is Steven Biggins. I’m the ACB treasurer. Mr Richardson and the selectors have spent the last few days looking at batsmen. John?’ He turned with great politeness to Richardson.
‘Andrew Bardsley is going to open with Chalkie.’
Bardsley looked up warily.
‘We’ve also brought back George Jackson.’ He pointed to the older player next to Tanner, who nodded. ‘As some of you might know, George has been playing in the counties for the last few years. He’s faced these fellows a bit more, and he’s got a pretty good defence.’
Richardson turned to Tanner. ‘We’re also going to have a look at Jack Tanner from WA this morning. He couldn’t make it earlier because he was pulling people out of fires and chewing dynamite, if the press is to be believed.’
Jack flexed his shoulders as he nodded. ‘Oi boys. Bit of a hit with you, if that’s all right?’
‘Hey, Jack,’ said Maud McLeod. There were nods.
‘So that’s three new batsmen. And we need a spinner.’ It was Livingston again, pushing his cigar at each of them.
‘So, we’ll be taking a look at a couple of spinners this morning,’ went on Richardson more calmly.
‘We got any left?’ said Hall grimly.
The blond-haired youth with Tanner grinned and nodded, lifting his chin.
‘This is young Ashleigh Hobbs. He’s been doing all right for Mosman.’
‘How are you fellows?’ said Hobbs, still smiling.
The players looked back at him, not giving much away.
Mr Biggins spoke again quietly. ‘And we have another spinner who comes very highly recommended. David Donald.’ The men looked up and around and finally towards Michael.
Jack Tanner folded his arms and waited.
Then Michael said, ‘David. Come and meet the team.’
David stepped out from behind the leaves of the weeping willow, and into the sunlight, as the men turned. They looked at him with a kind blossoming scorn. David’s heart was thumping as their faces closed to him and became blurs. He could hear words only dimly, and in pieces.
‘Joke.’
Richardson saying, ‘Most unfair, Steven.’
‘Not funny.’
Then David saw his uncle coming through them. When he reached David he was saying, ‘You didn’t think it was going to be easy did you? What, they’d just meet you, and the fellows would give you their spot? They don’t know how good you are, do they?’
David looked at the Australian team. They had already turned from him. Some were at Livingston, arguing. Others were going about the business of getting ready to train.
‘David.’
David looked to his uncle.
‘How’s the finger?’
David looked down at his finger. It was throbbing. ‘It hurts.’
‘That’s going to make it interesting.’ Michael was smiling.
‘But...’
‘Who would have thought we’d both be here on a day like this, standing in the grounds of one of the country’s oldest universities, just about to bowl at the Australian team, eh? Lucky we’re not the sort to be overawed by an occasion, eh? You wouldn’t be dead for quids would you?’ He patted David on the shoulder, and turned with him to watch what was happening.
Livingston was defending David, but a little weakly. ‘And I trust Grimmet’s opinion. And if Dunne thinks so highly, I have to be willing to take a look.’
Mr Biggins, the treasurer, was not listening to the argument. He stood, turning his hat in his hands as he looked at David curiously.
Richardson seemed furious. ‘When you said he was a lad, I assumed you meant sixteen or seventeen like Hobbs here.’
‘But I’m not a little kid,’ said Hobbs derisively.
Mr Biggins said, ‘Can’t we take a look, John? Wally Grimmet was extremely
keen. I have never heard him speak so glowingly of anyone.’
Richardson turned to Tanner, ‘Have you seen him bowl, Jack?’
Jack Tanner nodded, but said nothing.
‘What do you reckon?’
Jack opened his mouth, but seemed to think about it more carefully, before he finally said, ‘I think he’s very, very good. But this is a man’s game, and he should come back when he’s older.’
There were mutters of agreement.
Tanner then added, ‘But you are asking for my advice, Captain: give him a bowl and belt him out of the park. I want to try and get into this team too.’
Ashleigh Hobbs stepped forward, ‘You are giving me a bowl too, I hope. I mean just because there’s this to-do, does not mean I’m going to be overlooked, surely.’
‘Hardly, Asheigh,’ said the fast bowler Calligan. ‘It suddenly looks as though you’re a shoo-in, doesn’t it?’
Hobbs smiled. ‘Yes. I see.’ He stood nodding.
‘Do we actually have to have a spin bowler?’ asked Maud McLeod.
‘Yes!’ yelled Livingston, which caused Hobbs to nod even faster. ‘Now can we please get a move on. There’s a Test tomorrow and Mr Biggins here would rather appreciate it if the game lasted more than three days.’
Mr Biggins nodded, but only once and very politely.
Richardson had stood for some time, looking at David. Finally he said, ‘I’ll take the look.’ He moved towards his cricket bag and selected a well worn bat. ‘Bill, stand behind. Ashleigh, bowl in the next nets and we’ll rotate through our two spinners. And you blokes...’ He pointed to his fast bowlers. ‘How about you do a bit of warming up. We’re not scoring many runs but we’re not getting them out very promptly either.’
Hampton and Calligan exchanged a look. Ken Hall shook his head and kicked his cricket bag.
Richardson headed down to the wicket end of the nets. ‘What’s he bowl, Jack?’
‘He’s a leggie. Bowls some trick balls too.’
David looked down the other end of the net wicket and he smiled. Here was John Richardson, jumping into action and organising his team. He was fast on his feet and a good tactician. He’d been an officer in the war.
Michael turned David to face him. ‘Your first ball has to be a ripping leggie, mate.’
‘But my hurt finger.’
‘Just that ball. If you bowl something that lands say just outside his leg stump, but turns way across him, he’ll remember that ball for the rest of his time at the crease. He’ll be waiting for another, for as long as you bowl. Jack’s told him. It doesn’t have to be a great ball. He’ll have a look. It just has to convince him that there’s plenty more where that came from. Got it?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Richardson was waiting. The wicketkeeper had taken the position behind the batsman. Others stretched and also put pads on, but they were all watching.
Ken Hall said something that David couldn’t quite hear, and someone laughed.
Michael was by his side. ‘David, concentrate. There’s the batsman. Bowl. I got a good ball here.’
David took the ball. It was the one they’d been practising with, well scuffed and old. He pushed it painfully into his normal grip. It was time to bowl. He did know Richardson’s game. He saw in his mind the way he would bowl, then stepped in and bowled it. It was a looping leg break that drew Richardson forward, but then spun across the face of his bat. If he wasn’t just looking, but was trying to hit it, it may have got an edge, although it didn’t spin nearly as far as David had intended. David hid his hand under his arm, squeezing it against his body. Pain shot through his finger like a burn.
Bill Baker said, ‘Nice ball, son. He can turn it, Cap.’
Ashleigh Hobbs said, ‘But a back-foot player would have driven that to the boundary.’
Richardson said, ‘Possibly. But it would be an uppish shot.’
Tanner had set up in the nets next door. He was ignoring David completely. ‘Come on Ashleigh. Let me have a bat too.’
The young spin bowler nodded and ran in and bowled. Jack Tanner watched it bounce, spin a little then had time to lean into a strong cut on the off side.
Michael was next to David again. ‘Hurt?’
‘Yes.’
‘All right. Now go for the other grip. You know how Richardson bats don’t you?’
‘He’s a stroke player. Good cutter. Likes to use his feet.’
Hall yelled, ‘Is this bloke in the fedora going to come out and coach him between every delivery?’
Hobbs bowled again. Jack Tanner stepped forward, hitting the ball on the rise and back over the young bowler’s head. The crack of wood on ball was clean and loud everyone turned to watch it go.
Richardson said, ‘Jack, how about you move down to the next net and have a go at the fast bowlers. Chalkie, you have a look at Ashleigh.’
‘Don’t show them you’re hurt,’ whispered Michael, ‘or the jig’s up, matey. And I hate it when the jig’s up.’
‘I’m ready son,’ said Richardson.
‘He wants to hit you,’ said Michael quietly.
David noticed Richardson tapping his bat against the ground as he waiting for David to bowl. He knew the ball. Hoped for flight. He bowled the off break. It was flatter than he wanted, but came in suddenly and surprised Richardson who was expecting it to go the other way. He was a good enough batsman to scramble back and jam his bat down in front of his wicket. The ball ballooned in front a little, but would have been safe if the fieldsman at silly mid-off wasn’t close enough for the catch. David felt disappointed.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Hall, still watching.
‘Well, those two were pretty different, eh Cap,’ said Baker from behind the stumps. ‘I think I might have gone the wrong way too, eh?’
Richardson merely nodded, taking his guard for the new ball.
Michael was there again. ‘Notice how he’s edged forward. He wants to come to the pitch.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘He’s going to go after you.’
‘I hope so.’
‘Be a bloody long day’s cricket,’ grumbled Hall, ‘if this bloke’s gunna trot out to the middle between every ball.’
‘He’s changed his grip, Mr Richardson, from the first ball,’ called Hobbs.
‘How about you concentrate on bowling a ball that doesn’t get hit to the boundary,’ said Johnson, now replacing Tanner in the next net.
David imagined the ball he would bowl. He stepped in and bowled a topspinner, but with his off-break grip. Even though his first two fingers did most of the work with this ball, there wasn’t much spin, but luckily there was enough flight to tempt Richardson towards it before it dipped. Richardson jammed his bat down to smother it before it could bounce high, shooting it out sideways along the ground.
‘Four runs!’ yelled Hobbs.
‘Not likely,’ called Baker from behind.
‘Clever ball,’ nodded Richardson.
David felt a mixture of pride at Richardson’s words and disappointment at his bowling.
Richardson turned back to the Australian wicketkeeper, saying, ‘I didn’t have much idea, Tinker.’
The wicketkeeper looked from David to the men in suits, and scratched the stubble on his chin. ‘That Wally Grimmet always was a good judge of a horse. Maybe he’s sent us a thoroughbred Shetland.’
‘Maybe we should also put your position on the table, John.’ It was Livingston.
‘No,’ said David. ‘He’s a great captain and good batsman.’
There was silence a moment, before laughter.
‘Looks like you still have one fan, John.’
‘Best captain he’s seen since the under tens.’
David blushed. He shouldn’t have spoken. It wasn’t his place and now they were laughing. He tried not to look at his finger.
Michael touched him on the shoulder. He was grinning too. ‘David. It’s all right mate. It’s funny. They’re laughing at the situation and not you.
It’s funny.’
David tried to smile, but he didn’t feel like it.
Ashleigh Hobbs ran in and bowled. From his grip, David judged that he was looking to spin it away from the right-handed Johnson, but it was over pitched and went too far in the air. Johnson drove it straight back at Hobbs with such power that the ball passed his ear and was gone before he had time to react.
‘Careful there, Chalkie,’ yelled Hall. ‘Don’t kill the only spinner left in the country. I mean who’s over the age of ten.’
Michael pushed the ball into David’s chest, and made him reach up for it. ‘David, you have to bowl one more leggie.’
‘I can’t.’
‘He’s picked you. He worked you out last ball, but only halfway through the shot, I reckon. You bowl another off spinner without your usual spin, he’ll drive or cut you. Probably all the way to where young Hobbs has gone to get his last delivery.’
‘But my finger is already starting to swell up again, Uncle Mike.’
‘Very well,’ said Michael nodding. ‘All right. This is the last ball you have to bowl today, so give it everything.’
‘The last ball?’
‘All or nothing. Death or glory. And woops no legs.’ Michael turned to Richardson. ‘He’s going to bowl you out now, Mr Richardson.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Watch his bluffs, John,’ said Tanner. ‘This bloke here likes to talk the batsman out.’
‘I’m just saying that David is going to bowl you out next delivery.’
Mutters of excitement rippled around David as Michael turned and whispered, ‘Bowl him around his legs.’
‘Well, we’ll see about that,’ said Richardson, none too happily.
Tanner had stood aside so he could watch. Johnson did the same on the other side. The men in suits came in next to Baker behind the net.
David pushed the ball into his fingers. His hurt finger throbbed, but he wouldn’t think about that, just where the ball would land.
Hobbs yelled, ‘He’s changed his grip back. It’s going to be a leggie.’
David was already stepping in. He let it rip. He didn’t even see it land, because the pain in his finger took over all his thoughts. He grabbed at it, and held it tight so that the grabbing would take his mind off the deeper ache within. Finally, he found that by pushing the thumb of his left hand into the pad below his third finger, he could concentrate.