Howzat!

by Brett Lee

  I reached the lone stump in its bracket on the wall. It was Hugo Malchev’s. All the other stumps had gone, Jim’s included. That could only mean one thing. Fighting back tears, I wrenched the stump off the wall and ran towards Malchev, blind rage driving me forward.

  ‘Jim!’ I screamed, stopping suddenly. Jim was lying on his back. Malchev, standing over him, was holding a burning, smoking stump. Jim’s stump.

  ‘Well, well, our little hero returns,’ Malchev smirked. ‘I was about to come and get you. Just after I’d dealt with your meddling old friend here.’

  I rushed at Malchev, stump raised, and crashed it down on his back before he had time to realise what was happening. There was a snapping sound and I felt the stump crack in my hand.

  Malchev glared at me. ‘Get out of here,’ he spat. ‘Or watch a Cricket Lord die.’ He raised the stump over his head.

  Terrified, I looked at Jim. He lay still, his eyes closed, his face showing no awareness of what was about to happen.

  ‘JIM!’ I shrieked, and smashed the stump out of Malchev’s grasp with the stump I was holding. Both stumps clattered to the floor. Jim opened an eye, then in a flash was moving himself, rolling to one side and staggering to his feet.

  I dived to the ground before Malchev could retrieve Jim’s stump. He hadn’t seen Jim get to his feet.

  It was over in moments.

  Jim gave Malchev a massive push from behind. Shrieking with anger, Malchev spun round, his coat billowing out. But he stumbled, momentarily losing his balance. With one hand holding the stump upright, I grabbed his coat and jerked him down towards me. Malchev tottered forwards. I closed my eyes and forced the stump upwards, piercing him.

  For a moment, nothing happened. He balanced there, almost like he was floating. Then he cried out a long, howling shriek. I held on firmly as he twisted and shook violently, gasping for breath. Then I felt his dead weight crushing me.

  ‘Jim,’ I spluttered.

  Jim pushed Malchev away then gently took the stump from my hand.

  ‘Did I take the right stump?’ I asked, panting.

  ‘You took the right stump, my boy.’ Jim smiled and helped me to my feet. He held me tight, saying, ‘I’m sorry, Toby. I’m so sorry for this.’

  ‘Is he…dead?’ The word choked in my throat.

  Jim was slowly leading me towards the door. He sighed heavily. ‘He will be, Toby.’

  I stopped. ‘What do you mean, will be?’

  ‘We have destroyed the Cricket Lord element of his life. The other, his mortal life, will follow quickly.’

  I stared back down the room.

  ‘Toby, you don’t want to watch.’ Jim gently steered me forward.

  I pressed my face into his jacket. ‘I thought you were dead,’ I said through tears.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure you did. But I wasn’t, Toby. Just out of sight for a while, waiting.’

  I moved away and looked up into his face. ‘Waiting?’

  ‘For you, of course.’ His eyes twinkled and his old face twisted into a gentle grin.

  ‘You knew I was coming?’

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We’ve got a Test match to watch. And I believe you’re involved.’

  I looked at my watch. The game had only been going ten minutes. I had a hundred questions for Jim, but he was right. At the moment I was a member of an Australian team playing England in an Ashes Test at the MCG.

  ‘Ah, Mr Jim,’ the chef said, turning as we entered the kitchen. ‘You found your friend.’

  ‘Actually, Pierre, he found me,’ Jim said. He chuckled, put an arm over my shoulder and guided me out into the dining room.

  ‘Smale tried to kill me,’ I whispered.

  ‘I believe he thinks he succeeded,’ Jim replied, smiling at someone standing near the door.

  ‘Yeah, well, we reckon that’s why he left town. What about the scorecard?’ I said suddenly, stopping and looking at Jim.

  He tapped his top pocket and smiled. ‘I think, Toby Jones, we hold all the aces,’ he said. ‘We have the scorecard, we are together and alive. Phillip Smale isn’t around, and you are playing in a Test match at the MCG.’ Then a frown crossed his face.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked quickly.

  ‘I’ve just had a thought. Come the real Ashes Test in a month’s time, we are going to need a new Cricket Lord.’

  ‘Can’t you be the Cricket Lord?’ I asked.

  ‘No. Not again.’

  Neither of us spoke. Then I felt his grip on my shoulder tighten.

  ‘We don’t want the game of cricket to die, do we, Toby?’

  I thought of the timeless cricket match at the swamp and shook my head. ‘Malchev took me there—to the Timeless Cricket Match,’ I said.

  We both turned as a ripple of applause broke out around us. ‘It’s Jimbo! He’s just smacked a four.’ We watched the replay on the big screen.

  ‘Jim,’ I whispered, ‘where is the Dismal Swamp?’

  Jim looked at me for a moment then turned back to the game. ‘Some say it’s in a remote part of Yorkshire in England,’ he said. ‘I’ve also heard it said that it is not of this world, and some even think it’s part of the mind of Father Time.’

  ‘We were in his head?’ I gasped.

  Our eyes met. Jim was smiling. ‘Crazy, isn’t it?’ he said.

  He turned back to the cricket. ‘None for 17. A solid start. Go and join your team-mates, Toby. We’ll have plenty of time later to talk. And I need to speak to your father.’

  ‘Dad?’

  ‘This isn’t the first time I’ve let a family down with time-travel business and I don’t intend it to happen again. Toby, my dear boy, my travelling times are over. That was a very near thing back there, and I can tell you, though I’m a stronger man than I was a year or so ago, I’m certainly not getting any younger.’

  ‘Family?’ I looked at Jim carefully. I’d barely paid attention to anything else he’d said.

  ‘Family, Toby. But I’m going to talk to your parents first.’

  There was a shout from the field. The English team was pleading for an lbw against Jimbo, but the umpire wasn’t interested.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, clenching a fist. Jim smiled.

  ‘But, Jim, about the swamp,’ I said, returning to the puzzle. ‘Do you know anything about it?’

  ‘Little more than you, Toby. I was there, keeping all those horrible creatures away from your friends, while you and Hugo were on your way to rescue them.’ Jim sighed. ‘Poor Hugo. What a waste.’

  Gently he took the Wisden from my hands. I’d picked it up near the door. ‘I’ll look after this,’ he smiled. ‘I’ll be back for lunch. And I might even introduce you to my son.’

  ‘What son? What are you talking about?’ I called after him.

  But it was Glenn Mason, the head nets coach, who responded. ‘Toby, where have you been?’ he said, frowning. ‘Some of the batters want a hit downstairs. C’mon!’

  I turned as I left the room, but Jim had already disappeared.

  In international Twenty/20 cricket, the best partnership for the last pair of batters—the 10th wicket—was 28. It was achieved by Jacob Oram and Jeetan Patel for New Zealand against Australia, in Perth, during the 2007/08 season.

  Toby Jones and the Clash with Father Time

  IT’S NOT JUST A GAME – IT’S TIME TRAVEL!

  1

  Grubbers

  Saturday—morning

  ‘Toby, get your eyes off the screen and back on the pitch here. Anyone would think you were in next.’ Glenn Mason tossed me the ball and pointed to the net.

  ‘Actually, I hope I don’t even get a bat,’ I replied, spinning the ball in my hand. ‘Jimbo and Cam are looking solid.’

  I was down in the indoor nets at the MCG bowling to our number 4 and 5 batters. Out on the ground, the Aussie openers were making a solid start in our two-day ‘Ashes’ Test match against a team from England.

  ‘What’s the score?’ Sean, our captain, called from the other end. I
glanced at Glenn then stole another quick peek at the screen. It still gave me goose bumps to see Jimbo’s and Cam’s name at the bottom of the screen with the current scores alongside.

  ‘Thirty-one,’ I called. ‘Jimbo just plastered a four through wide mid-on.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be surprised to see that kid back out there in 10 years with the real baggy green on his head,’ one of the coaches muttered to Glenn. I pretended not to hear, though I couldn’t wait to tell Jimbo.

  Off a half run-up I bowled down about three overs to Sean; mainly gentle half-volleys and good length deliveries that he could get on the front foot to and hit firmly and crisply into the side netting. I’m sure it was a good way to build up his confidence, as he was hitting the ball so sweetly.

  ‘That’ll do,’ Sean soon called. As he was walking towards me we heard a shout and then a groan from upstairs. I raced over to the screen.

  ‘They got Cam,’ Glenn said, frowning. ‘I reckon that hit his pad outside off-stump.’ We watched Cam walk quickly from the ground. He had arrived from some remote country town for the cricket camp, which had started last week. There were rumours that he’d never played for a real cricket team, just with his brothers and mates in the street outside his home. I’d noticed him struggling with the thigh pad and helmet; maybe he’d never worn them before.

  ‘Never seen a batter more happy about getting out,’ muttered Marty, another of our coaches.

  ‘He’s just thrilled to be here,’ Glenn said, smiling despite the wicket. He leaned in closer to watch the replay of Cam’s dismissal. As I was a fast bowler I was pretty familiar with the lbw laws. If a ball hit the pad outside off-stump, you could only be out lbw if you weren’t playing a shot.

  ‘He played a shot at that, didn’t he?’ Marty nodded, not taking his eyes from the screen. ‘He got his bat a bit caught up in his pads. Maybe the umpire thought he was padding up.’

  ‘Benefit of the doubt should have gone to the batter,’ I said. ‘And it looks like it could have been high. I reckon that was going over the stumps anyway.’ Marty and Glenn turned to look at me. I noticed Glenn’s slight smile.

  ‘I heard you knew a bit about the game.’ Glenn nodded in approval. ‘And that’s a very good thing. Now get back upstairs and learn some more by watching.’ I left the two of them in front of the screen and trotted back upstairs.

  ‘Toby, my boy,’ a voice called.

  ‘Jim!’ I jogged over to the old man who had introduced me to time travel and sat down next to him. Because of Jim I had been on some amazing cricketing adventures, using the Wisden to go back in time to cricket matches in the past.

  ‘My dear Toby…’

  ‘Oh, no!’ I interrupted, as we both watched our number 3 batsman get clean-bowled for a golden duck. Jim turned to me and smiled.

  ‘Cricket does have a habit of knocking you down just when you…’ For a moment I wasn’t aware that Jim had stopped talking. I was too busy watching the replay up on the big screen. Callum’s off-stump had been knocked out of the ground, cartwheeling back and almost collecting the England wicket keeper. I groaned, then turned to look at Jim.

  ‘Jim?’ He didn’t reply. ‘Jim, are you okay?’

  ‘Good Lord,’ he muttered, suddenly reaching down beneath his seat. He pulled out an old brown case.

  ‘What is it, Jim? What can you see?’ He raised a pair of ancient-looking binoculars to his eyes. His wrinkled hands were shaking slightly. For a moment I thought he might have spotted the England players doing a bit of ball tampering but he wasn’t gazing at the players celebrating alongside the wicket. ‘I thought you were heading off anyway,’ I said, still trying to get his attention.

  ‘I wonder,’ he said softly. Then he shook his head. ‘Impossible.’

  ‘Jim, please! What are you talking about?’ Finally Jim put the glasses down and turned to me.

  ‘Toby, the Timeless Cricket Match. You remember?’

  ‘How could I forget,’ I said, shivering at the thought. The Timeless Cricket Match was a game being played in a strange and distant place. Not even Jim knew its whereabouts. I had ended up there with the Cricket Lord, Hugo Malchev, and if it hadn’t been for Jim and a couple of my friends I might still be there. It was a cold, desolate and spooky place where strange creatures like ghosts hovered around a neverending cricket match being played by old, wearylooking players. The game had been going forever. Hugo Malchev had said that if the game ever stopped, so would the real game of cricket.

  ‘Toby, I feared as much when we came back from that despicable place. That figure on the ground?’ He was pointing to a distant section of the oval. I could just make out the faint image of someone moving. I leaned forwards in my seat. ‘That’s a Grubber.’

  ‘Grubber? As in a ball that rolls along the pitch?’

  ‘I’m not exactly sure who coined the phrase,’ he said, looking around the ground anxiously. I followed his gaze to the other side of the oval but could see nothing but green grass and the England players taking up their positions for the hat-trick delivery.

  ‘Let’s just pause a moment,’ he said, as we watched the England pace bowler charging in from the southern end. Sean got onto the front foot and drove it majestically through the covers for a two. Despite Jim’s worried frown I smiled. It was an exact replica of the shots he’d been playing off my deliveries downstairs in the nets only a few minutes ago.

  ‘You were saying?’ I was only giving Jim 50 per cent of my attention. I glanced at the scoreboard again. We were 2 for 38 and needing a partnership.

  ‘The Grubbers have a two-fold purpose.’

  ‘Who or what exactly are Grubbers?’ I asked. I remembered the mysterious figures that had been floating around the edge of the ground, swarming and swooping like vultures, when I’d last been at the Timeless Cricket Match.

  ‘They are the souls of long-dead cricketers, Toby.’

  ‘Are they good?’

  ‘They are neither good nor evil. They are in a state of nothingness. As I said, the purpose of these souls is to keep the Timeless Cricket Match alive by being there. As long as there are spectators, the game of cricket survives. But they are there for another reason too.’

  ‘And it’s a Grubber out there? What does he want here? What will he do?’

  ‘Well, like anyone who has once played this mighty game and suddenly sees the opportunity to do so again, he wants to play cricket.’

  ‘So, why doesn’t he?’

  ‘Oh, he will, Toby, he will. But in order to do that he will have to take over the physical body of a current player.’ Jim lifted the glasses to his eyes again, scanning the field. ‘Lost him, or else I was perhaps mistaken. Let us hope so.’

  ‘But how?’ I was finding it hard to imagine that anything sinister could happen as the sun suddenly burst from behind a cloud and the ground lit up.

  ‘They look real enough, these Grubbers,’ Jim continued, ‘but they are in fact spirits determined to play cricket again; or at least be a part of the game, as spectators. It’s a complicated process but possession of a body is rapid, and very hard to reverse, the longer it is established. And the more time they have ownership of that person, the harder it is to detect that a possession even took place.’

  ‘Sounds pretty weird to me.’ I applauded loudly as Jimbo cover-drove a half-volley past point for an easy two.

  ‘The personalities blend together over time, so I’m told, though I have no direct experience of it myself. You see, the Grubbers have only ever escaped the Timeless Cricket Match once before, and then we were able to contain the situation fairly quickly.’

  Polite applause rippled around the ground as the England bowler took his blue cap from the umpire. We had collapsed from 0/35 to 2/41 in the space of an over. Jim turned to face me. This time I turned too and met his eyes. He looked tired suddenly.

  ‘Toby, the Grubbers are also keeping perhaps the most evil being ever known captive in the scoreboard there.’

  ‘That big old scoreboard at
the Timeless Cricket Match? Who?’

  Jim glanced at the enormous new MCG scoreboard and smiled sadly.

  ‘That big old scoreboard you refer to, my boy, is the most beautiful structure I know. A glorious monument to cricket that has withstood the test of time like nothing else.’ I glanced past Jim to the scoreboard which was now showing a replay of the last dismissal.

  ‘But the old scoreboard can’t show replays,’ I said, quietly.

  ‘Ah, Toby.’ Jim shook his head sadly. He sighed and turned to me, his face solemn. ‘Inside that old scoreboard is Father Time.’

  ‘Father Time?’ Jim had mentioned such a figure and of course I knew about the old weather vane at Lord’s in England. ‘Father Time’s real?’

  ‘Father Time is very real,’ Jim said, his lips pursed. ‘But he is not the benign old father figure most people think he is.’ Jim glanced about as if someone might be listening close by. He lowered his voice. ‘Father Time almost crushed the game many years ago but the Cricket Lords managed to capture him. A powerful spell now has him permanently trapped in the scoreboard, scoring the Timeless Cricket Match. And for every Grubber there is a keeper, ensuring that he stays in his rightful place—doomed to score cricket forever. He has immense power, but thankfully it cannot be utilised while he is controlled. But should he ever break free, he has the power to distort the time of anyone he comes into contact with.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Think of an autumn leaf, fluttering as it falls from a tree: sometimes forwards, sometimes backwards, before eventually coming to rest on the ground. Under Father Time’s spell you are as powerless as that leaf: flitting forwards in time then suddenly flicking back into the past. By the time you come to rest on the ground, your life has become a blur of unimaginable encounters and fractures. He is a very dangerous being, Toby.’

  Another shout of joy erupted from the oval. I felt the butterflies jumping in my stomach as I waited for the umpire to give his decision. Slowly he raised his right index finger.

  ‘Oh, no,’ I groaned. ‘Jim, I better go pad up.’

  ‘Yes, yes, my boy. Don’t you worry yourself about Father Time and the Grubbers. I’m sure I was mistaken.’