Against the Spin

by Michael Panckridge

  ‘Liam, your father won’t be pleased,’ Mrs D shouted at Bubba’s retreating back.

  Luci started talking to Mrs D again.

  I raced off after Bubba. I’d just had another bad thought.

  ‘Hey Bubba, but you haven’t played in the other game, so you can’t play in this one.’

  ‘No probs. I filled in an over for Bryce. Took a catch, too. No idea why Bryce asked me, actually. Maybe he needed a bathroom break or something. Anyway, the guys were rapt. I don’t reckon Bryce would have put a hand on it! Mum never even noticed.’

  ‘Bubba, how’s your head?’ I asked, watching him strap on a pair of pads. He looked at me, grinning.

  ‘Never been better. What’s the equation?’ Immediately my mind got back into game mode.

  ‘Okay, it’s pretty bad. Fisk is bowling, you’re facing. Bit under seven overs left and we need 77 to win.’

  Bubba looked doubtful.

  ‘Otherwise, everything’s fine.’

  ‘Until I get home,’ said Bubba. ‘Still, one problem at a time. We’ll do the easy one first.’

  Bubba strode off towards the wicket to meet his fate with Fisk. Mr Bronsen raised his eyebrows.

  ‘It’s okay, Mr Bronsen, he did play in the other game.’

  ‘I thought Liam was off for the rest of the week,’ he muttered.

  ‘Yeah, well he came in to watch the games and took the field for Bryce for an over or two.’

  ‘Bryce Flavel. Always Bryce Flavel.’

  Mr Bronsen was shaking his head, but not angrily, more in wonder.

  ‘Okay, everyone!’ he called, ‘let’s finish this game and find ourselves a Legend.’

  There was a hush of anticipation around the ground as Fisk steamed in, long run-up, eyes blazing at Bubba, who tapped his bat and waited. I was nervous and excited.

  The ball flashed past Bubba’s bat and smacked into the keeper’s gloves.

  ‘Well left, Bubs!’ I called.

  ‘The lard-arse didn’t even see it, idiot,’ Fisk snapped at me.

  ‘Tell him that.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Okay boys, enough of that. Let’s play this game without the unnecessary chatter, thank you,’ said Mr Bronsen loudly, so that most of us could hear him.

  I turned away. Fisk had heard me. Once again, Bubba let the ball go. This time it flew over his stumps.

  ‘Good vision, Bubba,’ I called. Fisk had followed through further this time and said something to Bubba about using a bat. Bubba just stared back.

  Fisk’s next ball was smashed back past him and down to the mid-off boundary for four.

  Fisk stood mid-pitch, glaring at Bubba. ‘Do that again you fat creep and I’ll knock you out properly.’

  ‘Travis Fisk. I said enough!’ Mr Bronsen growled. ‘One more word from you and you’re off. For the rest of the game.’

  Fisk looked really angry. But he had no comeback. He stormed in for his next delivery.

  Bubba repeated the shot – almost exactly. He whacked the ball back past the bowler and out to the boundary.

  We met mid-pitch. With my single and Bubba’s two boundaries we had scored nine runs off the over. But our required run rate was even greater!

  ‘Don’t worry, Mitchell, I’ve got my eye in now. Just needed those couple of sighters from Travis.’

  The next over was easier again. I scored fourteen runs. For the last ball, I managed to belt a big six over mid-on. This meant Bubba was back on strike for Fisk’s next over. And what an over!

  Bubba smoked the first ball. It was just wide of his off stump and he whipped it away over the covers for four. The next was a short one, and Bubba got in behind it and just helped it on its way over square leg for six. Fisk was furious. The next ball was a fast yorker, right at Bubba’s feet. He dug down on it and squeezed it past gully for a single. Eleven off three balls. Then it was my turn. Fisk was losing it. He gave me a wide one. I leant back and rifled it past point for another four.

  By now, he was moving fielders everywhere. I looked around for a gap, feeling totally in control of the situation. Fisk tried a slower ball. It almost worked. I was simply not expecting it. I waited and waited then finally belted it back past mid-on. It went in the air, but well away from the fielder. Another four.

  His last ball was a thunderbolt, heading straight for my helmet. I sort of sensed that it might be there. It was almost as if I was waiting for it.

  I stepped back and across, just like we’d had drilled into us, and aimed it high over deep backward square leg. It cleared the boundary by about fifteen metres and ended up beneath some pine trees near the school boundary.

  We’d belted Travis Fisk for 25 off one over. Now the equation was looking better. There were four overs left and we needed 30 to win. Eight runs an over would see us home.

  ‘That’s it for Fisk then,’ I said to Bubba.

  ‘Don’t count on it, Mitchell. Look.’

  Fisk had his hand on David Styles’ shoulder. They were walking (actually David was limping) towards Mr Bronsen. David looked like he was crying.

  We wandered up closer to Mr Bronsen. ‘Looks like David here’s done his hamstring, Mr Bronsen.’

  ‘No chance of bowling?’ Mr Bronsen asked David.

  David just shook his head.

  ‘Okay then, get a replacement fielder, Travis. You’ll need to select a bowler too.’ No prizes for guessing who that would be.

  ‘We’re gonna need plenty of runs from the other bowlers, Bubba,’ I said.

  But Bubba was glancing anxiously over my shoulder. I knew who he was looking at. The cheers that greeted each big hit were surely telling his Mum, better than anyone could, that Bubba was doing what he loved, and doing it well.

  We scored another eleven runs off the next over. Three overs left, and we had reduced the run rate to around six an over. There was a buzz of excitement from the crowd of kids, parents and teachers. They were alternating between shouts of ‘Mitchell’ and ‘Bu-bba’. This was as good as it gets.

  Fisk had obviously done some thinking. His next over was brilliant. He slowed down a bit, and was really focused on controlling his deliveries. We each scored a single, then Bubba smacked a beautiful cover drive which was amazingly well fielded. Even Fisk was impressed. We scrambled a single as the ball was recovered and hurled back in.

  His next ball was a fast off-cutter that fizzed into my pads.

  ‘Howzat!’ Fisk screamed at Mr Bronsen. Mr Bronsen looked carefully down towards me, then slowly raised a finger in the air. All the excitement drained from me as I trudged slowly up the pitch. Not only had I given Fisk another wicket, I had also lost us ten valuable runs.

  ‘The best always win out in the end, Grady,’ called Fisk, eyeballing me and smiling.

  Even Bubba looked a bit tentative with the last two deliveries, though his shot off the last ball, an amazing late cut, netted us two more runs.

  With two overs left, the required run rate had jumped from six to twelve. Fisk had found his line. It was going to be down to this next over.

  I just ‘cow-paddocked’ the first ball over mid-wicket for four. It was a slog. I could sense Mr Bronsen grimacing. I had no choice though. I played straighter with the next and scored two runs out through the covers.

  Dancing down the pitch to the third ball, I managed to get it on the full. I put everything into it, trying to lift it over deep mid-on.

  Fisk was running back looking for the catch. It was going to be touch and go. At the last moment he jumped up, throwing one hand into the air. It was impossible to tell where the boundary line was. The ball stuck and there was a groan from the crowd, as well as some polite clapping.

  I trudged back towards the bowler’s end, feeling miserable. Surely the game was over. But there came a sudden cheer from beyond the boundary. Mr Spears, close to where Fisk had taken the catch, had both his hands raised in the air, and he was calling out ‘six’ to Mr Bronsen.

  ‘It was no catch!’ Mr Spears shouted. ‘Tra
vis had one foot over the line when he took it!’

  Mr Bronsen raised two arms into the air to signal six. We were back in it. I cracked the next ball straight to cover again, and this time it was well fielded.

  Fisk again moved most of his fielders into the deep. This made it harder to find gaps and reach the boundary. I plugged the next ball out to deep mid-wicket for a single.

  The next ball was a wide, which even Bubba couldn’t reach. He belted the last ball back into the stumps at the bowler’s end. We couldn’t even scramble a single.

  We had to score ten runs to win the game from the last over, which would be bowled by Fisk. No one in the crowd was moving. This was what it was all about. If we were good enough, and maybe had a bit of luck on our side, we could do it.

  Bubba and I met mid-pitch for a final chat.

  ‘Hey, Mitchell, do you reckon Mum’s enjoying this or what?’

  I looked over towards his mother. At least she hadn’t left.

  ‘C’mon, Bubba, we can do it. Nothing stupid. Nothing crazy, okay?’

  ‘Okay, Mitchell.’

  Fisk spent ages adjusting his field. He had the boundaries protected in a few places but was basically attacking, forcing us to hit out and over the top. With ten runs to play with, it was pretty smart thinking.

  I tried to force the first ball out through the off side, but only managed to inside edge it onto my pads. Fisk was onto it in a flash, threatening to throw the stumps down if I dared move out of my crease.

  Five balls left.

  His second ball was a fast yorker, which thumped into my left foot. A stinging, burning pain seared through it. I pushed the ball away with my bat. Fisk was in the groove.

  Bubba strolled down the pitch.

  ‘Mitchell, you know how you said to do nothing crazy? Well I think it’s time.’

  ‘Time to what?’

  ‘Do something crazy!’

  Bubba was right. Fisk was too fast and accurate the way he was bowling. I had to do something different.

  It would all depend on whether he pitched his third delivery around where he’d pitched his first two. If he didn’t, I was going to look a total idiot – or worse.

  Just before Fisk let go of the ball, I raced a few steps down the pitch. It was too late for him to do anything. I met the ball and swung at it with everything I had. The ball found the meat of the bat and rocketed back at Fisk – head height.

  He threw his arms up and ducked as the ball fizzed past his right ear. It bounced a few times before crossing the boundary rope.

  There were bursts of cheering and clapping as the match evened up, yet again.

  ‘What now?’ I asked Bubba.

  ‘He’ll probably bang this one in short. Then again, he probably thinks you’re expecting that, so you might get one full up. Or, of course–’

  ‘Bubba?’

  ‘Yeah, I know. I’ve got no idea.’

  I tried to work it out from Fisk’s face, but there was just controlled anger. Maybe that meant he was calculating, thinking.

  The field hadn’t changed. Fisk was still attacking. I leant over my bat and waited. Fisk stormed in, his white shirt flapping. I focused on his grip, but his other hand was covering the ball. It might be a slower one, I thought.

  I didn’t have long to wait. The ball came in fast and low. I should have done the crazy again. But I was caught in my crease. I jabbed down on it and it squirted out to the on side.

  ‘Yes, Mitchell, run!’

  I scampered up the pitch and made it home.

  There was nothing Bubba could do about the next ball. It was amazingly fast and straight. He jabbed down on it and it trickled back up the pitch.

  Fisk moved all his fielders out to the boundary line for his last ball.

  Once again, Bubba and I met up. We had scored five runs, and needed another five to win. Not even a four would do it.

  ‘This is it, Bubba. Just don’t lose your wicket. Remember, the result doesn’t matter.’ Bubba mumbled something and turned back to his crease.

  There was clapping and chanting from the boundary as Fisk raced in to deliver the last ball of the match.

  Suddenly everything seemed to go in slow motion. The ball was heading for Bubba’s face. It was going to smash his jaw. He wouldn’t even have time to avoid it. Then, from nowhere, his bat appeared. Bubba hadn’t flinched. A split second before his face was about to be rearranged, Bubba struck the ball with a mighty crack and sent it flying flat over square leg and on over the boundary for an amazing six.

  The crowd roared and cheered. Kids were rushing onto the field from everywhere – running out to pat Bubba and me on the back. There was laughter, clapping and plenty of astonished faces. I was still in shock. It was an amazing finish to the game.

  Mr Bronsen called everyone over to shake hands. We all did, except Fisk, who was shaking his head and cursing. I offered my hand to him anyway.

  ‘Won’t make any difference to the Legend,’ he mumbled.

  Maybe he was right. But Bubba had taken his revenge, giving his own back to Fisk, fair and square.

  ‘So what if Fisk had never jumped up and confessed?’ I asked Bryce. We were tucking into Mexican at my place; Luci, Bubba, Jack, Bryce and me. Bubba wasn’t doing much talking.

  ‘It seemed a gamble, but in fact there was nothing to lose,’ said Bryce.

  ‘Do you reckon they’ll ban him from being the Legend of Cricket?’

  ‘He won’t be Legend of Cricket,’ answered Bryce.

  ‘So you think they will ban him?’ Bubba joined in the conversation.

  ‘Actually, no, I don’t think they will, but there’s something else I should tell you.’

  We all stopped eating and looked at Bryce.

  He shrugged.

  ‘Remember the quiz, and how I finished so early? Well, of course I knew that I hadn’t a chance of winning anything so I decided to tempt our friend Travis.’

  ‘I saw you lean over and talk to him. What did you say?’ Luci asked.

  ‘I asked him where we were supposed to save our answers and he said in the class cricket folder. So that’s what I did.’

  ‘But Bryce, that’s the public folder. It’s open to anyone!’ wailed Bubba.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Bryce, someone could have seen your answers!’ Bubba groaned, then licking his lips, helped himself to another taco.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Bryce! Fisk probably copied them!’

  ‘Exactly!’

  Bubba paused, carefully balancing his over-stuffed taco on his plate. We waited politely for him to get it. All of a sudden, his face lit up. He reached for his taco.

  ‘Of course I saved another copy in my own folder. But, silly me, I forgot to delete the answers from the cricket folder. Fisk must have had a lovely surprise when he saw my answers there – but nearly every one of them was wrong.’

  Jack had explained to me that the first assembly after the last leg of the Legend competition was when they announced the placegetters for each of the Legend sports. It was the lesson after lunch. Even some parents had come along to find out who’d won. I still wasn’t convinced about anything. Fisk could still have scored maximum points in the second part of the quiz – the questions about Steve Smith, the Big Bash and the other snippets of game footage we’d watched. Still, I wasn’t going to have to wait much longer.

  ‘It is my pleasure now to introduce the teacher in charge of the Legend of Cricket for this year, Mr Bronsen,’ said Mrs Waite.

  There was plenty of clapping and cheering for Mr Bronsen as he got up to make his speech.

  I tried to concentrate on what was being said, but I kept thinking back to how I’d gone in all the different sections. And how Fisk had gone too. I leant forward and looked down the row to see how Fisk was handling the pressure. He was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, looking very relaxed.

  Luci was a row behind him. I caught her eye. She smiled quickly then turned her head back to the stag
e.

  Mr Bronsen was still talking.

  ‘And so, we come to the part I know you’ve all been waiting for. It’s time to announce the students who have come third, second and first in this year’s Legend of Cricket.’

  Mr Bronsen reached into his pocket and pulled out a small sheet of paper. I couldn’t believe he actually needed a piece of paper to remember the placegetters. But, then again, he wouldn’t want to say the wrong person’s name.

  Jack, sitting next to me, was nervous and fidgety. He knew he was right up there with a chance of being in the top three.

  ‘In the girls’ section, in third place, Mia Tompkins.’

  There were cheers and whistles from the audience as Mia walked out to the front to receive her certificate. She was popular and sporty and was always going to be up there challenging for the top placings in the sports.

  I turned around to get another look at Luci, sitting on the other side of the hall. She was smiling and chatting with a girl next to her. She looked calm and relaxed about the whole thing. I’ll bet she was nervous inside, though.

  ‘In second place, Luci Rankin.’

  Again there were cheers, maybe even more than before, especially from a few of the boys. Luci almost skipped out to the front and got her certificate from Mr Bronsen. She shook hands with him and Mrs Waite and returned to her seat quickly. She didn’t seem keen to be out there for too long.

  Mr Bronsen waited for the audience to be silent.

  ‘And in first place, Becky Tan.’

  The foot stamping and clapping started. It seemed to be a tradition. When the Legend was announced, there was a huge reaction from the audience. Even the parents were stamping their feet.

  Becky had earned it. She was by far the best cricketer of the girls. But I hoped that Luci was pretty stoked about getting second. She sure looked pleased.

  Becky stood out the front for a moment while photos were taken of her holding the cricket trophy. Soon the hall was quiet again. I looked down at the floor. The moment had arrived. I could hardly believe it. I wanted to hear my name so much.

  Jack gave me a nudge. I looked up at him and smiled. Mr Bronsen was speaking again. Who would have their hands on that awesome little cricket trophy on the table in front of him?