by Brett Lee
‘So? We’ll just look in the window, then leave. What’s the big deal?’
‘Nothing, except that Smale mentioned his office in a funny way after the game this arvo. I didn’t like the way he said “In my office”.’
‘Tobler, you’re getting paranoid. C’mon.’ Georgie was beginning to sound frustrated.
‘Since when have you called me Tobler?’
‘Since you’ve started taking girls home from cricket practice,’ she sniggered.
‘What do you—’ But I was talking to a long, high-pitched beeping noise. I could imagine Georgie chuckling as she put down the phone.
‘Just going for a quick ride!’ I announced, to no one in particular.
‘Can I come?’ Natalie, my younger sister called.
‘No,’ I yelled back, banging the front door shut. I opened it again, feeling a bit guilty. ‘Next time, Nat. I’m just going up to Georgie’s.’
‘Then why don’t you walk?’ she shouted from the living room.
‘Because!’ I shouted back, lamely.
The last Australian to take all 10 wickets in an innings was Ian Brayshaw in 1967. He was playing for Western Australia against Victoria, in Perth. His figures were 17.6 overs (there were eight balls per over), 4 maidens and 10 wickets for 44 runs.
2 Virtual Cricket
Friday—evening
‘WHAT’S the camera for?’ I said, exasperated. Georgie was forever bringing along extra things: a camera, clothing, keys, binoculars…Mind you, they’d mostly come in handy before, but I didn’t think the Scorpions would want someone taking photos around their club.
‘Relax, Tobler,’ she said, packing the camera into its case.
‘My name’s not Tobler.’
‘Yeah? You don’t say that to Ally.’
‘I never get a chance—’
‘Hi, Tobler,’ Ally called, as she stepped out of Georgie’s house. ‘I’m glad you could come.’
‘Oh, hi, Ally,’ I said, wondering if she’d heard me.
‘See?’ Georgie hissed.
‘Well, let’s go and check this poster thing out,’ I said, hastily changing the subject. I wish I could just talk cricket, 24/7. Life’d be so much easier.
Sure enough, there were plenty of kids and adults gathered around the Scorpions’ clubrooms enjoying a barbecue as we rode up. A few of the kids were playing cricket with some of the dads, but most of the crowd were sitting around in plastic chairs, drinking beer or cola. A new scoreboard, displaying the afternoon’s scores, stood prominently by the main door to the clubrooms.
‘Motherwell all out for 53. Scorpions 2 for 89 in reply,’ I remarked, quietly.
‘Well, let’s hope the scoreboard looks totally different next week,’ said Ally.
We rode up to the building, where a large and colourful poster took up half of one of Smale’s office windows. Georgie pulled out her camera and took a quick photo, but we’d hardly had time to look when Scott Craven himself marched out of the clubrooms and over to us.
‘So, what brings you all here?’ he sneered, before taking a swig from the can he was holding.
‘We just missed you, Scott, that’s all,’ Georgie said, airily.
‘Yeah, well, beat it. I told you, Jones, that it’s all over. Maybe you didn’t get the message clear? Maybe you want me to give it to you a different way?’
Scott had been involved the last time we’d travelled back to 1930, and he was spooked by the whole thing.
‘Gee, Scott, thanks for the thought.’
‘C’mon, let’s go,’ Georgie said, as Scott seemed about to reply.
We spun around and sped off.
‘Hey, I never even got to read the poster,’ Ally cried once we were several streets away from the Scorpions ground.
‘Nor me,’ I added.
‘That’s why I brought this, sillies,’ Georgie laughed, holding the little digital camera up in the air. ‘Toby, can we do this at your house? Mum’ll be on the computer at home.’
We downloaded the photo of the poster onto the computer in the living room. It looked awesome. There was a big TV screen, a cricket pitch with real stumps and a complicated box of gadgets and dials, switches and buttons. There was also a picture of a headset.
‘Survive the Master Blaster at Lyndale Shopping Centre!’ I read.
‘So how does it work?’ Georgie asked, looking at the fine print.
‘State-of-the-art futuristic technology puts you into a virtual game of cricket. Go up against the might of the greatest bowlers in the world,’ Ally read.
‘Cool,’ Georgie and I sighed at the same time.
‘Face the world’s fastest deliveries coming at you at over 150 kilometres per hour. Completely safe, Master Blaster is set to sweep the world in the next few years. But trials are continuing, and luckily for you they are about to happen in your home town.’
‘That’d be like facing Brett Lee. How is that safe?’ Georgie asked.
‘It’s virtual—that’s the thing. You don’t get hit, you don’t get hurt. It’s all pretend.’
‘No way.’ Georgie sounded very impressed. ‘This sounds so cool. When is it?’
‘Next Friday. Hey, why hasn’t Mr Pasquali told us about this? Why doesn’t anyone know?’ Ally said.
‘Scott knows. Mr Smale knows. Probably all the Scorpions know,’ I said, looking out of the window. ‘Gosh! Imagine facing up to Brett Lee.’
‘You can have him. I’ll wait for someone a bit slower, thanks.’
‘Maybe Michael Clarke? I thought you said you fancied him,’ Ally said, teasing Georgie. ‘You like the blonds, don’t you?’ Georgie gave her a shove, and suddenly they were cavorting about on the floor. I read, then reread the poster, until someone grabbed my leg and hauled me over onto the carpet.
‘Spoilsport,’ Ally cried, as I bounced back to the chair in front of the computer.
I logged onto the Net to see if I could get any more info about this Master Blaster thing; I was hooked. I looked up Master Blaster, virtual cricket, even Lyndale Shopping Centre, but nothing of interest came up. For a few minutes I fiddled around with some dodgy-looking cricket games with cruddy graphics and basic layouts. They weren’t at all what I was imagining virtual cricket would be like.
‘Ally,’ Mum called from somewhere. ‘Can you give your mum a ring?’
‘So, Toby, Jim is stuck in England—’ Ally said.
‘He’s not stuck,’ Georgie protested. ‘He’s just there.’
‘He is stuck,’ I muttered.
‘Toby, that’s where he wants to be. He said so himself.’
‘How is he stuck exactly?’ Ally asked, looking curious.
‘Haven’t you got a phone call to make?’ Georgie asked.
‘It can wait five minutes.’
I looked at Ally. ‘Jim is in England because—’
‘Toby! You might as well write something in the school newsletter,’ Georgie interrupted, throwing up her hands.
‘Sorry, am I out of line here or something?’ Ally asked.
Georgie sighed. ‘Sorry, of course you’re not. It’s just that I reckon the more people that know, the more dangerous this is for Toby and anyone else who knows.’
‘Well, go on,’ Ally said, looking at me, not sounding at all concerned about anyone’s safety.
‘Jim never got to see the famous Leeds Test match from 1930, the one where Don Bradman made over 300 runs in a day. Jim was a kid, living over there, but he was too sick to go to the game. So I took him—’
‘But, Jim’s a time traveller too, isn’t he? He has the same gift as you?’
‘Yes. And I know what you’re going to say: why didn’t he go back on his own?’
‘Exactly,’ Ally said.
‘He was warned never to return to that particular time alone. It was like, really serious. And he never did.’
‘So, Toby took him there,’ Georgie said, like she wanted to close the matter.
‘And left him there,’ I added. No one spo
ke. Ally pressed her lips together. She was stewing over something.
‘Well, why don’t you go back and check if he’s okay?’ she asked, finally.
‘Ally, that’s the dumbest idea in the world. Don’t you get it? Toby can’t go back. Nor can I. We’ve already been back twice…three times…how many times, Toby?’
‘Um—’
‘Exactly. It’s impossible. If you see yourself or get close to yourself, which is what could happen if we went back, then there’s supposed to be this powerful force that smashes your two bodies together.’
‘And then?’ Ally asked.
Georgie looked over at me. I shrugged.
‘I think it’s bad,’ I said, quietly.
‘I could check on Jim,’ Ally said, almost in a whisper.
‘Ally, you haven’t got this gift,’ Georgie moaned, closing her eyes.
‘How do you know?’ Ally asked.
‘I could take you there,’ I said, slowly.
‘Toby, you know you shouldn’t,’ Georgie scolded.
‘You know what some of the last words Jim said to me were?’ I asked her.
Georgie shrugged.
‘He said that Dad and I were like family to him. And families stick together, right?’
‘Right,’ Ally said, eagerly.
‘Families look out for each other, yeah?’ I looked over at Georgie.
She nodded. ‘I guess.’
‘So, I’ve got to go back.’
‘Then I’m coming too,’ Georgie said, jumping to her feet. ‘We just need to arrive at the end of the day.’
‘You been thinking about that?’ I asked her, grinning.
Georgie looked at me sheepishly.
‘Yeah, well, it crossed my mind,’ she chuckled.
Ally went to make her phone call while Georgie and I hurried upstairs to my bedroom to find the 1931 Wisden. I reached up and pulled it down from my shelves. It was by far the oldest and rarest in my growing collection. The cover was a faded yellow, old, softish and a bit leathery.
We came out of the room to find Ally at the foot of the stairs, a smirk on her face.
‘You often go into Tobler’s bedroom, Georgie?’
‘Since I was about three years old,’ Georgie fired back, quick as a flash. Georgie and I had been neighbours and best mates for about 10 years now; she lived only a few doors down. I don’t think it had occurred to either of us before that there was anything weird about her being there. But maybe, from Ally’s point of view, it seemed a bit odd.
‘Come on up,’ I called to her.
‘Everything okay?’ Georgie asked Ally as she entered the room.
‘Yep. Mum’s coming round to pick me up in an hour,’ she said, looking around. I felt a bit self-conscious with her gazing about at my things like that.
‘C’mon, Ally, over here,’ I said, sitting down on the floor. ‘Georgie, the Leeds Test is on page 33. You’ve got to find a bit where it talks about the end of the day. Just read—’
‘What about our clothes, Toby?’ Georgie asked, stretching out her light blue singlet.
‘Do you remember ever seeing three kids in blue, red and off-white tops running about the place at Leeds?’ I asked her.
‘Nope,’ she said, with a sly smile.
‘Nor me. That means we made it without being noticed. C’mon, start reading. There’s usually a bit of an intro and then it gets into the summary.’
I watched Georgie scan down the page, mumbling to herself. Georgie saw words, just as she should. But when I looked at Wisdens the words and numbers were lost in a swirling confusion that dipped and spun in a slow, twisting spiral. With effort, I could focus on a date, place or score, and then the fun would begin.
‘Can I try?’ Ally asked, reaching out for the book. Georgie passed it to her.
‘Well?’ we asked simultaneously.
‘Looks pretty boring to me,’ she said.
‘Can you read it?’ I asked.
‘Which bit?’
‘Here, give it to me. I’ll do it.’ Georgie snatched the Wisden back. Ally shrugged, put her chin on her hands and waited. I guessed she hadn’t really taken in what was about to happen. I turned back to Georgie, who held her finger to a spot well down the page.
‘Here you go,’ she said.
‘You sure this is the right spot?’ I asked. ‘What does it say?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Bradman’s already made 105 runs. You can’t do that before lunch on the first day of a Test match, can you?’ she said.
‘Don Bradman’s different,’ I replied. But I didn’t recall seeing him with that many runs on my previous visits.
‘Ally, this’ll feel really weird, but trust me, it works. Grab Toby’s hand.’ As Georgie reached out for my other hand, I leaned in closer to see where her finger was pointing.
Almost straight away a capital ‘B’ emerged from the mess, then disappeared. I stared at the spot where it had vanished till it emerged again, this time with some more letters after it. I looked to the right for Bradman’s score. A number appeared.
‘How many runs?’ I whispered, staring at the page.
‘105,’ Georgie replied.
‘One…hundred…and…Georgie, are you sure…’
My voice trailed away, becoming separate from my body. I felt Ally’s grip tighten, her fingernails digging into me. I squeezed back, a whooshing sensation surging over and all around me like a breaking wave. Just as quickly as it had come the rushing noise stopped and we were sitting in the sunshine on a patch of grass by an old wooden fence.
The best bowling figures ever recorded were produced by Englishman Hedley Verity. Playing for Yorkshire against Nottinghamshire in 1932, he achieved the amazing result of 19.4 overs, 16 maidens, taking 10 wickets for only 10 runs.
3 Come Back, Jim
‘TOBY?’ Ally breathed, still holding my hand. ‘We’re in Leeds?’
‘Yes,’ I said, looking round.
‘Where is Leeds?’ she asked tentatively.
‘Leeds? In England, Ally. You are standing in England, over 75 years ago. What do you think?’
Not surprisingly, Ally stood there silently, amazed, staring at the crowd in front of her. I, on the other hand, was getting very familiar with the surroundings. The entrance to the ground was away to our right, the stand where Jim was sitting a little further around.
I nodded at the scoreboard. ‘Look, Bradman’s on 113 already. And Woodfull’s still in. Georgie, maybe it still is the first session. Let’s not do anything stupid,’ I said, turning back to the girls. ‘You stay right here, and I’ll go and check on Jim. I want to give him one last chance. That’s all.’
‘That’s all?’ Georgie queried, tilting her head.
‘Yes, I promise. I’ll be back in three minutes, tops. Then we’re out of here, okay?’
‘I’m freaked,’ Ally shivered. ‘Three minutes is three too many if you ask me.’
‘Ally, it’s cool. I promise,’ Georgie said, squeezing her arm, trying to reassure her. Ally looked pale.
‘Won’t be a moment.’
I raced off towards the stand as a burst of applause swept around the ground. Another Bradman boundary, I thought, noticing a fielder jogging out to retrieve the ball. I reached the steps of the stand, and suddenly felt a violent tug. It was as if someone had grabbed me round the waist and was hauling me backwards. The air was forced out of my lungs and I gasped for breath.
‘’Ere lad, c’mon.’ A man was talking to me, but the pain was terrible and I couldn’t answer. I fell back, crashing onto the first step. It seemed like a gigantic vacuum cleaner was pulling at me and sucking out my insides. I wrapped my arms tightly around myself as other arms reached down to move me. I was dying inside. Something was leaving me and I was scared witless. I tried to open my eyes and respond to the concerned voices but they became distant.
Then suddenly everything became quiet and calm. The fever that had gripped me eased and I drifted away. I seemed to be floating. Hundreds of
images flashed across my mind, a speeding whir of snapshots from my life: Natalie crying; Mum driving; Dad standing in the back yard, hands on hips; the view from my bedroom window…
‘Toby?’ The images slowed. I saw a yellow Wisden; Scott Craven’s head slamming into a toilet door…
‘My dear boy, look at me.’
And Jim. The stooped, gentle figure with his lined face, smiling at me in the library at the MCG…
‘Please, Toby.’ A hand was grasping my shoulder. Slowly I opened my eyes, the pain in my head awful. The pale, ghostly image of Jim’s face hovered over me.
‘Jim?’ I felt my lips moving, but no sound came out. I licked them and tried again.
‘Look at me, Toby,’ Jim said, sternly. But his face disappeared, and with relief I again closed my eyes, sinking back into the wonderful sleep that was overtaking me.
‘Toby Jones!’ Something tickled my face, and I felt my eyes being prised open.
‘Jim?’ I gasped.
‘Be strong, Toby. Open your eyes and look at me.’ I knew he was shouting, yet his voice was barely a whisper. He seemed so far away.
‘J…Jim? W…what’s happening?’ I couldn’t move. Other faces started to appear and I could hear faint noises of life around me. Jim put a hand to my face and wiped away the tears. There was blood on his hand, which he cleaned with a handkerchief.
‘What happened?’ I asked again.
‘You met yourself,’ he grimaced, ‘and I’ve brought you back.’ He pursed his lips.
‘I saw myself?’
‘Perhaps for a moment there were two Toby Joneses present in the same time and space. And of course there is only room for one. But possibly not,’ Jim replied, standing up. He held out a hand for me. The onlookers had drifted away, lured by the cricket. ‘Come along. You obviously came back to fetch me, hmm?’
‘Jim, I couldn’t leave you here. What about the two hours? What would have happened to you after two hours?’
‘Well, it would appear that this time travel is actually invigorating me, Toby. I think perhaps that I am immune to the dangers of staying too long. But, believe me, if I weren’t, then quietly slipping away without burdening anyone wouldn’t be too bad.’ Jim saw my look of horror. ‘Well, I saw Bradman play some beautiful strokes. Not the 300 runs in a day that I might have, but one takes what is offered. Isn’t that right, Toby?’
