by Pat Flynn
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.
By this stage Brains’ hands have made a nice cup – maybe he did read the coaching manual after all – and the ball drops into his fingers. Brains looks down at it, perplexed. He can figure out the trickiest science problem but he clearly has no idea how the ball ended up in his hands.
Mulligan looks to Mr Fielding to see what just happened.
‘The ball never touched the ground,’ Mr Fielding says. ‘You’re out.’
‘Nooo!’ yells Mulligan. He looks like he wants to kill someone.
‘Yesss!’ yells our team as we sprint over to congratulate Brains and mess up his frizzy hair.
‘That was the most incredible catch I’ve ever seen,’ says Jai.
‘You’re a legend,’ adds Gavin.
Brains is still in shock.
‘Say something, Brains,’ I urge.
‘I think my toe is broken,’ he whines. ‘Can I go off the field?’
‘No way,’ I say. ‘One more wicket and we’ve won the game. We need you.’
‘But I can’t run!’
‘That’s okay. If the ball comes to you, hop as fast as you can.’
Before Brains can argue, I head back to my bowling mark.
‘Tony is going for a hat-trick,’ Mr Fielding announces.
I’d forgotten about that. If I get a wicket with this bowl, I’ll have dismissed three batsmen in three balls, which is the equivalent of getting a hole in one in golf. Their number 11 batsman is a bunny, but unfortunately I’m not bowling to him. While the ball was in the air, Kane and Mulligan crossed, which means Kane is on strike.
I feel a pang in my chest as I realise what’s at stake. Here’s my chance to win the game and prove that I’m a better player than Kane. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for my whole life.
I take a deep breath, run up and let the ball go. Because Kane likes to dance down the pitch, I bowl flatter and faster than usual. I also bowl a slider – hoping to fool Kane by making the ball not spin.
Kane must be feeling the pressure because he stays in his crease. The length of the bowl is perfect, putting Kane in two minds about whether to play off the front or back foot. He decides to go forward, but the moment’s hesitation means he can’t get to the pitch of the ball. Anticipating the leg spinner, Kane plays inside the line as he tries a defensive push. But the ball doesn’t spin.
There’s a short but clear noise as the ball whizzes past the bat and into the wicketkeeper’s gloves. It takes me a second to realise what’s happened. He’s edged it to the wicketkeeper. For real this time.
‘HE’S GONE!’ I scream, punching the air so hard that my arm nearly pops out of its socket.
The whole team sprints towards me and soon I’m wrapped in an 11-man bear hug. We can’t believe that we’ve beaten the A team! The players take turns giving me high fives, until we’re interrupted by Mr Fielding’s booming voice.
‘Stop carrying on like pork chops, boys. He’s not out.’
We all freeze.
‘What?’ I say. ‘He got a clear snick, sir!’
‘It sounded different to all those other nicks,’ says Mr Fielding, ‘so I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt. The ball might have flicked his pad.’
We stand there dumbfounded, until Brains says, ‘He’s correct. According to law 27, the batsman must always receive the benefit of the doubt.’
‘Shut up, Brains.’ I turn to Kane. ‘Why don’t you do a Gilchrist and walk off? You know you hit it.’
Kane’s hero is an old wicketkeeper named Adam Gilchrist, who always gave himself out when he snicked the ball. Fans loved him for it. Kane wants to be just like him and this is his chance to prove it.
After taking a moment to consider my request, Kane pulls off his batting gloves and starts striding towards the shed. I’m shocked.
Yes! We’ve won for real this time.
Then Kane stops dead, looks at me and grins. ‘Gotcha, Rossy.’ He walks back to his crease.
‘Nooo,’ I groan. ‘This can’t be happening.’ But really, I should have known he was no Gilchrist. He’s acting more like the Antichrist.
‘Tony, hurry up and bowl before I give you a detention for dissent.’ Mr Fielding doesn’t sound happy.
‘Dissent cement,’ I mumble to myself as I walk back to my mark and prepare to bowl. I try to think positively. If I can get Kane out once, I can do it again.
My run-up consists of a skip followed by three quick steps. After the last step, I let the ball go and it comes out well, curling and drifting in the air. It lands a fraction short and wide and Kane rocks onto his back foot, going for a full-blooded cut shot. Because of the leg spin I put on the ball, it’s the type of shot that could easily be edged to slip or caught at point. Except that Kane hits it right in the middle of the bat.
The ball flies across the turf and goes for four.
The A team boys sprint onto the field, throw Kane onto their shoulders, and run around the oval like lunatics. I look on in disbelief. It’s so unfair. We should be the ones acting like lunatics.
‘Shake hands, boys,’ yells Mr Fielding.
The two teams line up – the A’s with big smiles and the B’s with slumped shoulders.
I squeeze each hand as hard as I can and say, ‘Tight game’ until I get to the last person in line. Kane.
He pumps my hand enthusiastically. ‘Great match, Rossy. This one will go down in the history books, I reckon.’
He’s always a good winner. But I’m not going to let him get away with it. ‘Yeah. You’ll probably get a medal for biggest cheat.’
He puffs up his shoulders. ‘Everything I did was within the rules of cricket. Which is a lot more than you can say.’
I can’t believe he’s accusing me of cheating! ‘I stuck to the spirit of the game,’ I say. ‘That’s more important than the rules.’
>
Kane raises his eyebrows. ‘I didn’t know the spirit of the game included a piece of wood and a ball in your pockets.’ He grins at me and I can’t help but grin back. Kane and I know each other too well. We’d both do anything to win.
‘You comin’ over to play Xbox this arvo?’ Kane asks. ‘I borrowed Skate 4 from my cousin.’
I hesitate. Just because Kane has made me smile doesn’t mean that I’ve forgiven him. ‘Yeah. See you there,’ I say.
I’m awesome at skating. Kane might not know it yet, but he’s going down.
The Musical, the Girl, and MPme
While we wait in the tuckshop line, Kane and I tell each other jokes.
‘How do you make holy water?’ I say.
‘How?’
‘Boil the hell out of it.’
We laugh.
‘Spell “pig” backwards and say “like a waterfall”,’ says Kane.
‘G. I. P. like a waterfall.’
Kane chuckles.
‘I don’t get it,’ I say, before suddenly I do. I punch him in the arm and we laugh again.
Kane and I think the same, probably because we’ve grown up together. Though things have been changing a bit lately, I must admit. Since we started high school, he’s grown taller and stronger and kids are noticing him more. Especially girls. But it’s times like this, when we’re mucking around, that I realise how gooda mates we really are. No one will ever get between us.
A girl appears. ‘Let me in?’ she asks Kane.
He studies her for a moment. She’s got straight blonde hair and deep blue eyes.
‘Sure,’ he says.
She cuts in behind Kane, which is in front of me. Darn!
‘Are you going to try out?’ she says to Kane, fluttering her eyelashes.
He shrugs. ‘For what?’
She points at a poster pinned to the crumbling cork noticeboard.
‘You should, you know,’ she says. ‘Us girls are all hoping you will.’
I snigger, and the girl looks back at me.
‘What’s your problem?’ she asks.
