Don't Kiss Girls and Other Silly Stories (2 page)

It's Just Not Cricket

‘HOWZAT!' Kane yells in his loudest voice.

The rest of the team follows his lead, spreading their arms wide and begging the umpire to give me out. At silly mid-on, Damien Parton even gets down on his knees.

I know why they're doing it. Being the best batsman on our team means I'm a huge threat, and the opposition would love to see me back in the pavilion – or in this case, the oval shed – for only ten runs. Still, it annoys me. Even though Kane's on the opposing team, he's supposed to be my best mate. And as wicketkeeper he would've heard me get a bigger snick than on my first shave. Any fool knows you can't be out LBW when you hit the ball.

Mr Fielding, our PE teacher and cricket umpire, stands twenty metres away, behind the stumps at the bowler's end. Slowly, he raises his hand. I hope he's just got an itchy head. He holds his pointer finger high in the air, and Kane and his team whoop and cheer. I stand there in disbelief.

‘You're out, Tony,' says Mr Fielding. ‘Leg before wicket.'

I point to the edge of my bat. ‘But I hit it, sir!'

‘I didn't hear anything,' says Mr Fielding.

That's probably because yesterday he got smacked in the ear with a discus.

‘Go have a cold drink, Rossy,' says Kane. ‘It will take the
edge
off.'

The slips cordon laughs and I get even angrier. ‘You're gonna pay for this, Kane.'

‘I already have. I slipped Mr Fielding twenty bucks at morning tea.'

They laugh again and I trudge off with only one thought on my mind. Revenge.

The under-14 trial cricket match is a big deal at our school. When Mr Fielding announced that I was to be captain of the B team, it was a proud moment. Then he announced the captain of the A team – Kane. I can't believe Kane even made the A's, let alone is captain. We've been playing cricket together for years and I'm as good as him, maybe even better.

After I get out, their fast bowlers knock the middle stump out of our middle order, and the bails off our tail. We're all out for 43, which is an okay score if you're playing basketball, but not so good in cricket.

As the A team walks off the field, they're as lippy as a bunch of ladies.

‘We've got them on the ropes now, boys!' yells Damien Parton.

‘Let's win this game without losing a wicket,' hollers Harry Visser.

‘We'll show them why we're the A's, ay?' shouts Kane. ‘And they're the buzzy B's.'

Their players laugh. Ours look down glumly at their white cricket shoes.

It's time to turn this sinking ship around. ‘Team meeting!' I yell.

They follow me over to the gum tree, where we make a circle in the shade. It's quiet for a bit.

‘Any ideas?' I ask. As captain, I like to give team members a chance to contribute. Especially when I can't think of anything to say.

‘How good were their bowlers?' exclaims Gavin Fox. ‘It felt like I was facing a team of Mitchell Johnsons out there.'

The boys murmur in agreement.

‘And their top five batsmen average over 50 in club cricket,' says Jai Ritchie. ‘Let's face it. We're history.'

Most of the boys are nodding. This isn't going like I'd planned.

‘We do have one chance,' says Gavin.

‘What's that?' I ask hopefully. I've never heard Gavin come up with a good cricket idea yet but there's always a first time.

‘Cheat.'

As the team chuckles, a gumnut falls off the tree and bounces off my head. It knocks the seed of an idea into my brain. I'll need time to think it through, though, and right now I need to give a stirring speech to lift my team's spirits.

‘All right, lads,' I say. ‘We need to keep our chins up.'

‘That'll be easy,' says Gavin. ‘We'll be looking up every time the ball flies over our head for six.'

The team titters. Just what a captain needs, a comedian.

‘Don't give up now,' I say. ‘I've got an idea that will help us win the game.'

‘What is it?' asks Jai.

‘I'll fill you in later. But if you hear me appeal, I want you to yell your guts out, okay? Even if you don't think it's out.'

I get a few funny looks but they seem to agree.

‘Brains, I need to talk to you,' I say. ‘Everyone else go get fuelled up.'

The team wanders off to drink cordial and eat peanut butter sandwiches while I chat with Kevin ‘Brains' McMahon. He's not the best player on our team but he's by far the smartest.

After telling him my plan, it's time for the million-dollar question. ‘Can it actually work?'

Brains purses his lips, thinking. ‘Your odds of success are 50/50 at best.'

I smile. I'll take those odds any day.

*

Even though I'm ready for action, I decide not to use my plan at first. Who knows, we might get some early wickets and beat them straight up?

Gavin opens the bowling for our team. He's got about as much swing as a 90-year-old golfer, but he works up to a good pace and is fairly accurate. He runs in and bowls the first ball on middle stump. Trouble is it's a rank half-volley. Their opener, Usman Chetcuti, steps down the pitch and smashes a drive back over the bowler's head. It lands just inside the rope. Mr Fielding bends his elbow and straightens it, signalling four runs. There's dead silence from our team.

‘Let's hear some encouragement out here,' I yell.

‘Good shot, Ussie,' cries Jai.

‘Not to him!' I say.

‘Oh, okay,' says Jai. ‘Look on the bright side, Gav. At least it didn't go for six.'

This must fire Gavin up because the next ball he bowls is a bouncer, but it doesn't bounce too high. Usman steps back and hooks it in the air towards Brains at square leg. The ball is caught. Not by Brains, but by the dirty school creek behind the oval.

Mr Fielding raises both arms in the air. ‘Six!'

While the A team searches for the ball in the creek, I have a chat with Brains.

‘I'm putting “Plan Snick-o-meter” into action,' I say. ‘Any tips?'

Brains adjusts his glasses. ‘Stand directly behind the umpire so he can't see what you're doing. And wait until the batsman swings before you make the noise.'

‘Got it.'

I also have a word with Gavin. ‘New strategy. I want you to bowl full, fast and well outside off stump.'

‘Why bowl there?' he says. ‘I thought the aim was to hit the wickets.'

‘Not today. I just want them to miss the ball.'

He looks confused.

‘Just do what I say and you'll have better figures than a room full of models.'

He salutes. ‘Aye, aye, captain.'

Next ball, Gavin bowls a full-pitched delivery about a metre from off stump. Usman flails away but misses, and, as the ball flies past his bat, I put my plan into action.
Whack
!

Hidden in my left hand is a spare cricket ball, and in my right is a stick from the gum tree. When I clip them together, it sounds a lot like a bat hitting a ball.

As the real ball is caught by our wicketkeeper, I yell with all my might, ‘HOW IS THAT, SIR?'

The B team looks surprised by my enthusiasm, nevertheless they back me up by raising their arms and giving a half-hearted shout.

Mr Fielding stands dead still for a few seconds, and I realise my plan probably won't work. How can it? Even though there was a noise, Usman missed the ball by a good ten centimetres.

But Mr Fielding's eyes mustn't be too good from the time he got hit in the face with a baseball, and he raises his finger. ‘Out!' he says. ‘Caught behind.'

‘I missed it by a mile!' says Ussie.

‘You heard the umpire,' I say. ‘On your way, mate.'

Ussie walks off steaming and the next batter comes in, only to be caught behind two balls later. He looks very, very surprised.

‘I missed it by that much!' he says, holding out his hands the length of a decent-sized fish.

‘I heard a clear noise,' says Mr Fielding. ‘You're out.'

Three overs later it's 7 for 18, all of their players out caught behind. The plan is working a treat – only three more wickets and the game is ours! It's Kane's turn to bat and he strides onto the field, but instead of taking his position at the crease, he approaches Mr Fielding and has a word.

I can't hear what they're saying but I'm a bit worried. Even though my trick uses natural deception – no one ever looks at a fielder while the ball is bowled – Kane is a talented scammer and may suspect that things aren't on the level.

Mr Fielding orders me over. ‘Empty your pockets, Tony.'

Luckily, I was smart enough to drop the stick out of my right pocket while Kane and Mr Fielding were talking. Unfortunately, I didn't have time to do the same thing with the cricket ball in my left pocket.

‘What's this for?' he asks when he sees it.

‘I'm just toughening up my hands between deliveries, sir.' I throw the ball from hand to hand, showing him how it's done.

Mr Fielding clicks his fingers. ‘Hand it over.' After pocketing my ball he says, ‘Let's play cricket.'

‘Bring it on,' says Kane, smirking at me.

The equation is simple. The A team needs 26 runs to win and we need three wickets. Even without the trick, we've got a good chance if we bowl well. Except for Kane, all of their best batsmen are out. But there's a slight problem: Gavin's pulled a hammy and we don't have any other strike bowlers. I approach Brains for advice.

He ponders the question for a few seconds. ‘I recommend giving myself an opportunity.'

‘You?'

He's not the most coordinated guy in the world. Yesterday he took an air swing during our handball game.

‘I've been studying the biomechanics of swing bowling and have an excellent theoretical knowledge of how it's done.' He's talking fast, which means he's getting excited. ‘I'm fairly confident the batsmen won't be able to effectively contact my outswinger.'

I don't really know what he's on about but it sounded good. I throw him the ball. ‘Win it for science.'

It quickly becomes clear that Brains is right – Kane can't hit his outswinger. No one can because his bowls don't land anywhere near the pitch. One actually goes backwards, sconing Mr Fielding on the left cheek.

‘Oww!' Mr Fielding says, rubbing his face. I don't know how he takes so much punishment – he must have a hard head.

Some blokes on our team laugh behind their hands. I'm not one of them.

Every time Brains bowls a wide not only does he have to bowl the ball again, the other team gets a run added to their total. Because Brains has bowled 22 wides, the A team is nearly level with our score without hitting a ball!

‘That's enough from you, Kevin,' says Mr Fielding. ‘Over!'

I breathe a sigh of relief. Even though the over isn't technically over, Mr Fielding has had enough of Brains' bowling. We all have. He's been bowling so long that half of our team is lying down. I think Jai is asleep.

‘Who's bowling next, Tony?' asks Mr Fielding.

My brain races. We're in big trouble. Kane's team needs only four runs to win and we still need three wickets. I need someone who can pull a rabbit out of a hat – someone with skill, talent and the ‘X factor'.

‘I'll be bowling, sir.'

After walking to the other end, I toss the ball from hand to hand, warming up. The nickname for my type of bowling is ‘chinaman', although I'm not sure why. There are lots of Chinese men but only a few cricketers like me who bowl left-arm leg spin.

Jonty Dooley is facing and he knows how to swing a bat. I decide to start with a wrong 'un, deceiving him by spinning the ball the wrong way and hopefully knocking down his off stump. But it comes out of my hand all wrong, bouncing four times before reaching Jonty. He takes an almighty swing. I can see in his expression that he is looking to end the game with one humungous hit. Or he's constipated. But because the ball is travelling so slowly, Jonty swings too early. He misses the ball and it trickles onto off stump, gently knocking off the bail.

‘You're out, Jonty,' says Mr Fielding.

Our team runs over and pats me on the back.

‘That was the worst delivery I've ever seen obtain a wicket,' says Brains.

‘At least it wasn't a wide,' I say.

David Mulligan is in next. He's big, crazy and an awesome fast bowler. Luckily, his batting is more hit and miss. My plan is to toss the ball up high. As Shane Warne says, ‘If you bowl above eye level, the batsman can't see it properly.'

I execute my plan well. A bit too well. I bowl the ball so high that it seems to disappear into the low-lying cloud. It takes so long to come down that Mulligan yawns while he's waiting for it. Finally, it drops like a hailstone and Mulligan swings with all his considerable might, hoicking the ball towards square leg.

Mulligan connected pretty well, but not perfectly. The ball hit near the top edge of his bat and goes even higher than when I bowled it. As it starts to come down, it's clear that it's not going to make it over the boundary, but is heading straight down the throat of Brains.

‘Catch!' yells almost everyone on our team.

I don't yell. Even though Brains hardly has to take a step, I'm ninety-nine per cent sure that he'll either miss the ball completely, or it will smash his glasses.

The coaching manual says that to take a catch you need to cup your hands close to your body. Brains must have been too busy reading books about Einstein because his arms are straight out like a zombie's. The ball comes down fast and drops right through his arms without Brains even touching it. Just like I expected.

But, sometimes, weird stuff happens on the cricket field. Instead of hitting the ground, the ball hits Brains on his rather large right foot that is well in front of his body. Amazingly, the ball bounces up off his cricket shoe and arcs towards his waist.