Against the Spin

by Michael Panckridge

  Every Wednesday, classes finished at lunchtime and sport began. All afternoon you could play or research cricket. You could be out in the nets or at centre wicket, practising. You could be up in the library on the computers researching and preparing for the cricket quiz or putting together your assignment on cricket. You could be watching clips of famous one-day internationals or facing up to Lurch, the bowling machine.

  The kids who weren’t keen on their sport could go home at the normal time. The rest of us kept on going till 5.30, later if we were involved in a game.

  Only one thing cast a gloom on all this – Travis Fisk.

  We were having a meeting with Mr Bronsen, the teacher in charge of cricket. He was explaining the rules and points system for the Legend of Cricket. I was sitting with Jack, Bubba, Luci and Bryce.

  I’m not really sure why Bryce was there, but he’d said something about the social impact of sport and the positive force of the game for the community. We had no idea what he was talking about but he’d impressed Mr Bronsen and now Bryce spent all his Wednesday afternoons in the library, downloading stuff from the Net and working on his theories.

  ‘Now,’ said Mr Bronsen, ‘I will be the only person allocating points for cricket. Trophies are awarded to the girl and the boy who score the most points in cricket, thus becoming this year’s Legends of Cricket.’

  Mr Bronsen had a brand new leather six-stitcher cricket ball and he was tossing it from one hand to the other, spinning it in the air. No one spoke.

  ‘So, how can you get points?’ he said.

  Bubba put his hand up.

  ‘Bubba, it’s a rhetorical question,’ whispered Bryce.

  ‘Yeah, you suck, Blubber,’ said Travis, adding to the conversation in his own special way.

  Bubba, looking hurt and confused, put his hand back down.

  ‘At least you know what “rhetorical” means,’ whispered Luci to Bubba.

  ‘Yeah,’ he laughed, looking at me sheepishly. He obviously had no idea what it meant.

  Mr Bronsen was speaking again.

  ‘You can score points in three categories. Knowledge of rules and history, your work in a skills session and, finally, your performance in a game situation.’

  The skills sessions were great. We used the gym for close-in fielding practice. Jack and I would hurl ourselves around, stopping balls whacked at us by Mr Bronsen, then firing them back at a single stump to possibly run out someone.

  If we were quick enough, clean in our pick-up and accurate with the throw, sometimes Mr Bronsen would call, ‘Run out!’ But not often.

  There were plenty of good cricketers, but the word going around was that the winner would have to be strong in all areas. This meant that occasionally Jack and I would go to the library to learn about cricket history and the basic rules of the game.

  The girls were right into it too. They would also score in the same categories – not against the boys, but in their own competition. Luci was a natural and got pretty fired up when she was batting. She had some tough opposition, though. There was Mia, who was also excellent at most sports, as well as Rebecca Tan, an absolute whizz. She’d probably beat most of the boys – with one hand tied behind her back!

  Mr Bronsen had said that heaps of the questions would come from a book called Swept to the Pickets: All you need to know about the game born in heaven. A pretty weird title actually, but it was a cool book all the same, with plenty of pictures and interesting stats.

  We had a couple of weeks before testing week, but it didn’t take long before the fun and games started.

  My moment had arrived. Fatboy was batting in the cricket nets with Miss Scott and Lurch, the bowling machine.

  Miss Scott, who was operating the machine, heard a commotion from over near the gym – like kids fighting. She called out that she was switching off the machine. She said that Fatboy could remove his helmet and get his pads off but to pick up all the balls before leaving.

  Obliging, he did exactly as he was told. He removed his helmet and pads then started rolling all the balls back towards the machine at the bowler’s end of the nets. I ran across from the gym.

  ‘Hey, Fatboy, cop this!’

  I picked up a ball and chucked it at him, really hard.

  Fatboy was the one who’d made me look such an idiot a few weeks back in the sprint up the beach. He’d yelled out ‘dive’ and I’d fallen for it. Well, now he’d taken a dive himself.

  I was shaking my head in wonder. Jack and I were watching some of the girls throwing, catching and fielding. Mr Bronsen was standing over a single stump. Any throw that came in a metre wide of him had to be retrieved by the girl who threw it – and most of the girls were spending their time chasing their own throws.

  But not Luci Rankin. Her throws hit the gloves every time. And not just hit the gloves – smashed into them. She was awesome.

  She had this amazing way of throwing. She’d stoop to pick the ball up, then, instead of getting upright and regaining balance and everything, she’d sort of flick it from near the ground so the ball travelled low and fast back to Mr Bronsen.

  Mr Bronsen called the girls in and, after a brief word to them, sent them off. I noticed that Luci stayed behind. She was still chatting to Mr Bronsen when the boys wandered out onto the oval for our session.

  ‘I’ve got to have a go with you guys,’ she said to Jack and me.

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ said Jack, looking at Luci with newfound wonder. I nudged him.

  ‘How far can you throw those flicky ones?’ Jack asked.

  Luci seemed confused.

  ‘He means the way you were throwing the ball back to Mr Bronsen,’ I said.

  ‘That’s exactly what Mr Bronsen asked me,’ she said. ‘He says the only guys he’s seen doing it are West Indian cricketers or fast bowlers with dodgy throwing arms, whatever that means. Anyway, we’re about to find out.’

  There was a shout from behind us, over near the playground. We all turned to see Miss Scott calling out and waving her arms like there was a fire or something. Mr Bronsen walked over quickly. They spoke briefly, then started running to the other side of the hall.

  For a moment nobody moved. And then, suddenly, Bryce, of all people, pelted off after them. Everyone, all 30 or so of us, raced off after Bryce and the two teachers. We arrived at the cricket nets where the bowling machine was. We hadn’t had time to think about why we were all there. Mr Bronsen called for us all to stand back. There, in a bundle of pads, balls and cricket gear, lay Bubba.

  Was he asleep?

  Bryce walked down the pitch towards him. Neither teacher told him to back off. Bryce was that sort of kid.

  The three of them squatted by Bubba. No one spoke.

  Fear began to seep through me, giving me a hollow, sweaty feeling. Bryce had his head close to Bubba’s. He appeared to be talking quietly to him. Bubba’s head was moving.

  ‘Geez,’ whispered Jack, ‘I thought he was like in a coma or something.’

  ‘Maybe he’s just coming out of one,’ Luci whispered, a little breathlessly.

  Bubba was sitting up now, his head in his hands, his face wet from crying. Mr Bronsen turned to the crowd.

  ‘It’s okay, everyone. Off you go. Liam has had a knock on the head, but he’ll be fine.’

  But the three of us walked into the nets to get closer to Bubba. He gave us a weak smile.

  ‘I’m going to really have to work on my hook shot, Mitchell.’ He was looking at me in a funny way – which is probably fair enough since he appeared to have been whacked on the head with a cricket ball.

  ‘Hey, Bubba, but you can slaughter that machine,’ Jack said.

  Bryce was looking at us.

  ‘It wasn’t the machine–’

  ‘Okay people, let’s leave Bubba resting. Your mum’s on her way. She’s taking you straight to the doctor. Okay?’

  ‘She’s gonna kill me – unless Dad does first,’ he sobbed. Tears ran down his cheeks.

  ‘Miss Scott,
will you stay here until Liam’s mother comes? Bryce, you can stay here with him too. You can skip fielding today.’

  Bryce smiled. ‘Thanks, Mr Bronsen.’

  I didn’t like leaving Bubba like that. He was obviously upset about something more than the bump on his head, which was getting bigger by the minute. We gave him a smile and trudged off after Mr Bronsen and the others.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Fisk was at centre wicket when we got back to the oval. I already had my suspicions. Some kids started babbling to him – sucking up, no doubt. Jack and I wandered over.

  ‘You should know, Fisk,’ I snarled at him. He rounded on me, his eyes blazing hatred. Even Jack moved a step back.

  Someone tugged at my arm. It was Luci. ‘C’mon, Mitchell, not now,’ she pleaded. But I wanted to know how Fisk would react.

  ‘What are you saying, Mitchell Grady, you little–?’

  ‘Right everyone, one lap of the oval, then stretching. Move!’

  Mr Bronsen had taken over.

  Halfway around the oval, Jimmy Paisley and Richard Mazis sidled up, one on either side of me.

  ‘Listen, mate, he was with us all the time, right? We were in the AV room – we’ve been there for the last hour. Got it?’ They eased back and let me get ahead.

  Ten minutes later, we were doing long throws. Mr Bronsen had the gloves on and he was pushing us further and further back to see who would be the last person left who could reach him on the full. Luci had done really well with her flat throws and was in the last ten. Finally, though, there was only me, Fisk, Jack and three other boys left.

  Fisk had a massive throw and he knew it. Everyone else was supposed to be working on their short throws, but they were all watching us bomb these enormous throws back to Mr Bronsen. We must have been about 70 metres away when Jack and two of the other kids went out. Fisk, Danny and I walked back another ten metres.

  Mr Bronsen belted the ball back and put his gloves on. Fisk threw first. His throw sailed through the air. Mr Bronsen had to move a few paces to his left, but there was no problem with the distance. Danny went next, but his throw landed a couple of metres short. Then it was my turn.

  I took a run and let fly with the most humungous throw I could. For a moment I thought I’d thrown too high, but it kept on going, curving down in a neat arc and landing smack over the stumps. Well, maybe a bit in front. Fisk grunted. ‘That’s about it for you, isn’t it?’ he scoffed, walking back with me for another ten metres.

  ‘You first this time, Mitchell,’ Mr Bronsen shouted. I picked up the ball, scraped a mark in the ground and walked back a few paces. I stretched both arms back, like I was yawning, then stretched them up. I reckon I’d already beat my record of 74 metres with that last throw. I looked at Fisk smirking at me, shaking his head and looking mean. I thought of Bubba, lying in the nets, bruised and battered. Without another thought, I raced in and let the ball fly.

  This one wasn’t as high as the throw before. It was travelling though. My arm tingled as I watched the ball soar. Watching Mr Bronsen’s movements was the best indicator of how your throw would go. He wasn’t moving. Not a bit. A moment later, he caught the ball in his gloves, just to the right of the stumps. He clapped his gloves in the air like a seal.

  ‘Yeah, well if I didn’t have a crook arm, I’d still be throwing while you were walking home, Grady.’ Fisk was seething. ‘What did you want to come to this school for, anyway?’

  ‘We’ll measure that one later, Mitchell,’ said Mr Bronsen. ‘That was some throw.’

  Fisk was still making excuses as I jogged away. I noticed that Bryce had arrived.

  ‘How’s Bubba?’ I asked him. Jack and Luci had also appeared.

  ‘He’ll be fine. He’ll have a sore head for a while. The worst is that his parents will be down on him. You know they don’t really like him doing the sport thing.’

  ‘Yeah, and look what’s happened,’ I said.

  ‘So what did happen?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Oh, it was Fisk all right,’ said Bryce. ‘There was a fight or something, probably staged by Fisk’s mates, and Miss Scott went off to investigate. Then Fisk appeared and chucked a ball at Bubba. Bubba’s lucky that Fisk didn’t do any real damage. It could have been extremely dangerous. The temporal lobe region, in particular, is–’

  ‘Yeah okay, Bryce, so how do we prove it?’ Luci was angry.

  ‘This is where Fisk wins every time,’ she went on. ‘It’s gonna be his word against Bubba’s. He’ll already have organised some sort of plan.’

  ‘Well, I’ve been thinking about that. And I think I’ve got a plan, too,’ said Bryce.

  School wasn’t the same without Bubba around. Jack, Bryce and I visited Bubba at home and he was struggling a bit. Not only was he missing out on his favourite sport, but his parents were not going to let him join in the Legend of Cricket competition. He’d said he wouldn’t go back to school until he was allowed to play cricket again.

  ‘Do they know how good you are?’ I asked him. ‘Have they ever seen you play? What about that awesome game we played the other week? The one we celebrated with Mexican at my house.’

  For a moment, Bubba’s eyes lit up – I don’t think it was just the mention of the Mexican food.

  ‘Dad found the match ball and asked me why I had it and where it’d come from. He took it from me. They’re just not into sport, I suppose.’

  ‘And now that this has happened, they’re really making you pay for it,’ said Jack.

  Bubba looked at Jack and nodded.

  ‘Somehow we’ve got to nab Fisk without him suspecting that Bubba’s dobbed,’ said Bryce, thinking aloud, ‘and I think I’ve worked out a little scheme that might just do the trick.’

  Typical Bryce – reliable and crafty. ‘What’s the go?’ I asked.

  ‘Hey, Bubba, you know how sometimes Mr Bronsen lets you guys use the video camera to tape your batting?’

  ‘Yeah,’ replied Bubba, looking doubtful.

  ‘Well, how lucky were you that you had one set up in the nets yesterday? In fact, a camera at both ends.’

  ‘But I didn’t.’

  ‘High up on the frame, where you’d hardly notice it,’ continued Bryce.

  ‘But Bryce, I never–’

  ‘But the cameras would notice you, wouldn’t they?’

  ‘Well, sure, but–’

  ‘Hey, Bryce, do you think Fisk could be 100 per cent sure there weren’t cameras there?’ I asked him.

  ‘Never 100 per cent. But he can’t have been there for long. It’ll give him a scare, if we play our cards right.’

  I’m not sure we’d fully put Bubba in the picture about cameras and stuff, even after another ten minutes of chatting. His brain, or the part that was still working properly, was on other matters like cricket, or the lack of it, in his life. That was another problem we were going to have to work on.

  The issue of Bubba seemed to get swept away, with all the talk about testing week.

  There was no question that Fisk was favourite to win the Legend of Cricket. I was still a bit of an unknown at cricket, whereas everyone knew about his abilities. He was a very fast bowler, a big hitter and pretty smart in the field for someone so big. Throwing long was just one part of it. My fielding skills were fairly good. I could bat a bit, and bowl too, I suppose.

  The big pity was Bubba missing out. He was, in my reckoning anyway, way ahead of everyone with batting. He wasn’t so agile in the field, though, and I hadn’t seen him bowl yet.

  The first part was the written quiz, though we didn’t actually write – it was all done on laptops, which was pretty cool. We logged on with usernames and passwords. We were told by Mr Bronsen to open a folder called Cricket Quiz. He told us there were two parts – a multi-choice section and an interactive quiz, whatever that was.

  I started on the multi-choice section. There were questions on rules, the history of cricket and current issues. I was feeling good about my chances. I looked over at Luci. She caught my eye.
I turned away quickly, then felt dumb. It wasn’t as if we were cheating. Bryce, sitting one in front of me, was tapping away like crazy. He couldn’t play cricket, but I’d bet he knew absolutely everything about it – probably more than Mr Bronsen. Well perhaps not that much. After all, Mr Bronsen was a guru!

  I had got to about the seventh question – there were 30 all up – when Bryce leant across to Fisk and whispered something to him. I couldn’t imagine what he’d be asking Fisk. They had a short conversation, until Mr Bronsen, glaring at them both, cleared his throat.

  Then Bryce got out of his seat and walked up the front to Mr Bronsen, who was reading a cricket mag. A few moments later Mr Bronsen reminded us to save our quiz answers in our own folder.

  ‘I’m surprised that you, of all people, had forgotten, Bryce,’ Mr Bronsen said.

  Bryce shrugged and slunk back to his seat. He did a bit more fiddling on his laptop, then swung his swivel chair round 90 degrees, took a book from his pocket and began to read. I couldn’t believe he’d finished so quickly. Even Fisk was staring at him in wonder – or was that a smile on Travis’ face?

  I went back to the question about taking a catch on the boundary line. The only sound in the room was the tapping of keyboards and the occasional cough or grunt. I finished the 30 questions with about ten minutes to spare, and decided to look over my answers before doing a final save.

  Fisk seemed to be really concentrating and had hardly put his head up all the time we’d been working. Everyone seemed pretty much caught up in the quiz.

  There was one really tricky question in the history section about how overarm bowling came into the game. One choice was that girls bowled overarm first because they couldn’t do an underarm bowl on account of those big, old-time dresses that stuck out like umbrellas from their waists. Luci had said something similar a few days ago, but I hadn’t believed her. Ah, what the heck. I unclicked ‘A’ and clicked the button next to ‘C’ for the bowling question. I couldn’t wait to ask Luci about it.