Championship Dash

by Michael Panckridge

  Allunga took three wickets bowling one of the best overs ever seen at the oval. Spectators muttered and mumbled in admiration. Opposition coaches and players looked on in amazement, some whipping out their phones and running around to get behind the bowler’s arm to capture the remarkable pace and swing Allunga was generating.

  ‘She’s single-handedly destroying them,’ someone gasped, also taking out their phone.

  There was a breathless hush of expectation as Allunga started her smooth and flowing run to the crease to bowl her second over.

  Her first ball missed the off stump by millimetres, but her second ball swung back viciously to push back the middle stump.

  Sheridan Hill never recovered. They lost their first six batters for under 20 runs and limped to a measly 57 runs, only managing to get on top of the bowling after Allunga had completed her four overs.

  Pickles fielded the ball a couple of times, but Fatty Bumbar didn’t move from his spot for the duration of the Sheridan Flat innings. By now, people had got used to the idea of the ten Kangaroo Flat humans and one Kangaroo Flat dog.

  ‘So, do we open with Fatty B?’ Barnsey asked, slugging down some water.

  ‘They’ve got runs on the board, we’ve got nothing,’ Farmer McKenzie warned, raising a finger at Barnsey. ‘We’re 57 runs behind right now, so, to answer your question, no, Fatty Bumbar will not be opening the batting.’

  ‘What’s the plan then?’ Emmi asked.

  ‘Allunga and Camden,’ Farmer McKenzie said. ‘Camden, hold up an end. Bat through the innings. I don’t care if you’re three not out. If you bat this one through, we’re in with a chance. Got it?’

  ‘Got it,’ Camden said, his stomach knotting. He was excited. He knew he was the team’s best defender. He also knew that he wasn’t a stroke maker. He just didn’t have the power of Barnsey or the timing of Allunga.

  ‘You want me to take strike?’ Allunga said, resting a hand on Camden’s shoulder as they walked out to bat.

  ‘Yeah, okay,’ Camden said.

  The crowd had tripled in size. Everyone wanted to see if the amazing girl from Kangaroo Flat was as good a batter as she was a bowler. People from the media had arrived along with cricketing officials from various clubs and associations from around Perth. Word was out. The name Allunga was on everyone’s lips.

  But there was one person in the crowd who was not enjoying Allunga’s cricketing abilities. Marjorie Flop, the Grifton Girls’ head coach, sat alone, muttering crossly to herself. Then, suddenly, her angry face softened, her thin red lips slowly forming a hint of a smile.

  ‘Yes, that should do it,’ she said, snapping her notebook closed. ‘That should do it very nicely indeed.’

  ‘No gloves or pads?’ the umpire called down the wicket to Allunga as she took guard.

  ‘I’ll be all right,’ Allunga replied, turning to look around the field.

  ‘Sorry, love. You’ll need to be wearing pads and gloves. And a helmet,’ the umpire said. An official came charging onto the field bearing a stack of equipment.

  ‘Are you okay wearing this stuff?’ Camden asked Allunga.

  ‘Of course.’ She grinned. ‘I’d prefer not to, but hey, if I’ve got to, I will.’ Finally, Allunga settled over her bat.

  To Camden, she looked a little uncomfortable but that thought didn’t last long. He barely had time to duck as the ball from Allunga’s opening strike whistled past his ears and down to the boundary for four.

  ‘Sorry, Camden, you okay?’ Allunga asked.

  ‘No worries,’ Camden called, trying to calm his racing heart.

  Allunga repeated the shot for the next two deliveries, even though the bowler had made an effort to vary his length and pace. She hit the fourth ball behind square leg for an easy two. It didn’t matter where the ball was pitched, Allunga used the invisible ‘V’ to step out to meet the ball on the full or half-volley.

  From the bowler’s end, Camden watched in awe as Allunga steadily and surely went about the task of single-handedly overhauling the opposition target and securing a strong win for the Galahs.

  The other semi-final had been won easily by Grifton Girls Grammar, as expected. The grand final teams had been decided.

  Saturday evening

  While the children settled in to watch a replay of last year’s Women’s Big Bash League grand final in one of the large meeting rooms, Farmer McKenzie went for an evening stroll with Fatty Bumbar. As he was about to leave, a familiar voice caused the hairs on the back of his neck to bristle.

  ‘Excuse me, may I have a word? We haven’t been formally introduced. Marjorie Flop,’ she said, extending a hand towards him.

  ‘Jack McKenzie,’ he replied. Her hand was cool and firm.

  ‘Well, Jack McKenzie, I feel as though we’ve got off on the wrong foot.’

  ‘I, um …’

  ‘Shall we?’ she offered, opening the door.

  Fatty Bumbar skulked out and Farmer McKenzie followed. ‘Mrs Flop, I’m –’

  ‘No, let me finish.’ She held up a hand. ‘Now, this business about ten or 11 players on the field, and that dog of yours –’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong –’

  ‘Mr McKenzie,’ Marjorie snapped. She paused to take a deep breath. ‘Jack,’ she resumed, her voice softer, ‘we are playing in the grand final tomorrow and I don’t want to be playing a team with a dog in it.’

  Her hand shot up again, palm outwards, as Farmer McKenzie opened his mouth to speak. He shut it promptly.

  ‘So, I have decided to remove one of my girls from the team to make it fair. It will be ten against ten. That way, no one is embarrassed by a dog on the field. I hope this arrangement is to your satisfaction. I have spoken with the authorities and they believe it’s the best way forward.’

  Farmer McKenzie was thinking quickly. It did seem a sensible option. But there was something about Marjorie Flop that bothered him. She reminded him of a tiger snake – quick to strike and deadly too. ‘Well, that does –’

  ‘Good, I knew common sense would prevail. We will need to sign this document to ensure we’re all on the same page.’ She handed him a pen and piece of paper attached to a clipboard. ‘I’ve signed it and you just need to sign it here.’

  ‘I haven’t got my glasses,’ Farmer McKenzie muttered, trying to decipher the tiny writing above the line where Marjorie had signed her name.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry. It’s just as I said – that the two teams agree to play with the same number of players. All very straightforward,’ Marjorie said.

  ‘And that’s it? Nothing else?’ Farmer McKenzie asked.

  ‘Nothing else,’ Marjorie replied casually. ‘So just on the line there.’

  ‘Well, righto then.’ Farmer McKenzie signed the piece of paper. ‘Done. Thank you, Marjorie. That was very thoughtful of you.’

  ‘Wasn’t it just,’ she said, folding the paper in half. ‘Very thoughtful indeed. Enjoy your walk, Mr McKenzie. I wish I had time to take an evening stroll, but I’ve got a game of cricket to plan.’

  Farmer McKenzie smiled. ‘I leave that to the kids.’

  ‘Yes, and that’s why you’re going to lose tomorrow,’ she responded, tapping the clipboard.

  The following morning, Farmer McKenzie had just finished explaining his encounter with the Grifton Girls coach when she appeared again at their breakfast table.

  ‘Farmer McKenzie, good morning.’ She beamed, looking pleased with herself.

  ‘Hello Marjorie,’ Farmer McKenzie replied, his heart pounding suddenly.

  ‘First name terms,’ Barnsey whispered to Emmi.

  ‘I don’t like this,’ Emmi said, ignoring Barnsey. ‘Something’s up.’

  ‘Well, wasn’t it lucky we both signed that agreement last night?’ Marjorie said.

  ‘Signed? An agreement? What agreement?’ Emmi asked.

  ‘I’m sure your coach will explain it to you,’ the Grifton coach said. ‘Perhaps on the long bus trip home to Kangaroo Flat. Anyway, we’re down
to nine players now. One of the girls has been vomiting all night. So, as per the agreement we both signed, that means you’ll play with nine players too.

  ‘Also, as it clearly states in the document here, it’s our right to choose the player from your team who will need to be withdrawn from the match, but we thought it would only be fair if we did it randomly. So we put all your players’ names into a hat and plucked one out. Now, let me see,’ she continued, pretending to look through her notes. ‘Ah, yes, here we are. That player is Allunga. Have I said that correctly? Allunga? Do you have a surname or is that it?’

  ‘What?’ Camden cried. ‘Macka, what is she talking about?’

  ‘The agreement your coach signed is right here,’ Marjorie said, pointing to another piece of paper. ‘Shall I read it to you?’

  ‘Farmer McKenzie, what have you done?’ Phoebe gasped.

  The other Kangaroo Flat players looked on in horror.

  ‘Oh dear. Have we randomly chosen one of your better players?’ Marjorie laughed. ‘I guess it’s the luck of the draw.’

  ‘I don’t believe this,’ Emmi said, shocked.

  ‘No harm done,’ Farmer McKenzie said, getting to his feet.

  ‘No harm done? We’ve just lost our best player for the T20 State Championship –’

  ‘Emmi, enough,’ Farmer McKenzie said, so firmly that the whole dining room was momentarily silenced.

  ‘Is there a problem?’ one of the competition officials asked, striding over to the Kangaroo Flat table.

  Farmer McKenzie took a moment to explain the agreement that had been reached the night before. He wasn’t surprised when he noticed the look of confusion on the official’s face.

  ‘Right then, so Marjorie, you’re officially down to nine players, is that correct?’ the official asked.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. We have injuries galore.’ She laughed, as if it was a joke. ‘And poor Alice has been up all night and cannot possibly play.’

  The official turned to Farmer McKenzie. ‘And you’ve signed an agreement to all this?’

  ‘Well, I didn’t sign anything.’

  ‘I beg your pardon. I have a signature right here,’ Marjorie snapped, thrusting the piece of paper at the official.

  ‘Fat-ty Bum-Bar,’ the official read aloud, slowly.

  ‘Fatty Bum –?’ Marjorie shrieked, snatching the document back. Her face paled as she looked at the signature.

  ‘The thing is, Marjorie, I wasn’t feeling comfortable with what was going on last night, but I knew you were desperate for a signature, so I gave you one.’

  ‘Yeah, a dog’s!’ Pickles laughed.

  ‘Woof,’ Fatty Bumbar barked.

  Sunday morning

  ‘Santa Claus has been visiting in the night,’ Farmer McKenzie stated, as he walked into the hostel breakfast room.

  ‘Well, he’s about three weeks too late,’ Barnsey moaned.

  Their laughter quickly hushed as Farmer McKenzie took out a wad of large orange-and-white envelopes.

  ‘Each of you have got a package from the Perth Scorchers,’ Farmer McKenzie said, handing them out.

  ‘What’s in them?’ Joy asked.

  Farmer McKenzie beamed. ‘Take a look.’

  Inside the envelopes were Perth Scorchers stickers, a cartoon booklet, a tiny little metal set of stumps, key rings, posters and a cute wooden mini-cricket bat with the players’ signatures.

  ‘Krisso and Allunga, don’t ask me how, but they’ve organised a different one for you both,’ Farmer McKenzie said, handing them each a red-and-black envelope.

  ‘Melbourne Renegades,’ Krisso breathed, noting the Renegades logo on the envelope.

  ‘Thing is, they’ve sent us double,’ Farmer McKenzie said, still clutching a batch of envelopes.

  ‘Works for me,’ Emmi said, holding out her hand for another one.

  ‘No, I’ve got a better idea,’ Allunga said, folding her envelope and walking over to talk with Farmer McKenzie.

  With 30 minutes to go before the game, the Kangaroo Flat players were getting into their orange Perth Scorchers tops and waiting nervously in their change room.

  ‘Are they really going to play with nine?’ Camden asked his coach.

  ‘Well, Coach Flop was adamant that Alice couldn’t play,’ Farmer McKenzie said.

  ‘She was never sick, was she, Macka?’ Allunga asked.

  Farmer McKenzie shook his head. ‘Poor Alice probably slept like an angel, dreaming of playing in the grand final.’

  ‘We’re going to let her play, aren’t we?’ Phoebe asked, looking round.

  Allunga smiled. ‘Course we are. Aren’t we, everyone?’

  Emmi sighed. ‘Agreed?’

  The Kangaroo Flat players nodded.

  ‘Farmer McKenzie, are you going to tell that dragon woman the news?’

  ‘Already did.’ Farmer McKenzie nodded. ‘Righto, gang, listen up. Allunga, I want you to say a few words before we head out there for the big match, okay?’

  ‘Well, you know I’m not one for too many words,’ Allunga began, suddenly feeling a tingle of nerves. ‘We’ve come such a long way.’

  ‘Like from the moon,’ Emmi said with a laugh.

  ‘Emmi, that’s impossible. The moon –’

  ‘Oh my God, shut up, Pickles,’ Barnsey cried, pulling him into a playful headlock. Allunga burst out laughing and within seconds the entire Kangaroo Flat team were in hysterics.

  ‘Do you see that?’ Marjorie Flop said, eyeing the chaotic scene in front of them. The Grifton girls were passing the Kangaroo Flat dressing room on their way outside. Ten players, an old farmer and a fat dog were all rolling around on the floor, laughing and laughing.

  ‘It’s because of them that I’m playing,’ Alice breathed, staring in.

  ‘They couldn’t give a hoot about the result,’ another of the Grifton girls said, shaking her head in wonder.

  ‘That’s enough of that,’ their coach said sharply. ‘They’re a bunch of country no-hopers who show a complete lack of respect for cricket.’

  ‘They’re having fun,’ Alice muttered, turning back. ‘And I want to go and thank them for letting me play.’

  ‘Alice, stop right there. We don’t fraternise with the enemy.’

  But no one was listening. The rest of the Grifton girls followed Alice into the change room, where the Galahs were slowly recovering from their fits of laughter.

  ‘Hey,’ Alice said, approaching the group. ‘I wanted to thank you. I know what happened. I wasn’t supposed to play today. My “job” was to stay in bed all morning because I’d been sick last night.’

  ‘Now, that’s not true,’ their coach snapped, marching over to Alice.

  Farmer McKenzie stood up and walked over to Marjorie, gently taking her hand. ‘Yes it is,’ he said. ‘Everyone knows you love cricket and you’d do anything for your team to win. But what Alice said is the truth.’

  ‘This could get extremely nasty,’ Camden whispered to a Grifton girl who’d sat down next to him.

  The girl giggled. ‘I think she’s in love,’ she replied. ‘Normally, she’d be shouting by now.’

  Marjorie opened her mouth, then closed it again. Her face crumpled. As she looked up, her eyes were rimmed with tears. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘I’ve got it wrong. All I care about is winning. And you know what? When we do win, I’m not happy. I’m just relieved. And then straight away it’s on to the next battle.’ She sighed, then wiped tears from her eyes. ‘It’s just a game of cricket.’

  ‘Just a game of cricket,’ Farmer McKenzie repeated, smiling.

  The Grifton captain, Antoinette Bates, won the toss.

  ‘We’ll have a bat,’ she said, then shook Allunga’s hand.

  Allunga smiled. ‘Good luck.’

  ‘Yeah, you too,’ Antoinette replied. She turned to go then paused. ‘You guys are going to enjoy this whatever happens, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yup.’ Allunga beamed. ‘Don’t get me wrong, we’ll try to win as hard as
you, but in the end –’

  ‘I know, it’s just a game.’

  The crowd had been building since nine o’clock. A cool breeze had blown away the last remaining clouds and the ground was bathed in sunshine as Allunga led her team onto the field.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ Camden cried. A long line or cars, a few that he quickly recognised, were snaking their way into the car park adjacent to the ground.

  ‘Mum? Dad?’ Joy cried, looking as if she was about to set off across the oval. Then a bus appeared behind the last car – a bus with orange flames.

  ‘The Perth Scorchers are here!’ Charlie yelled. The two Grifton opening batters were also staring, as were the two umpires.

  ‘Righto,’ the taller umpire said finally. ‘Let’s get on with it.’

  The Kangaroo Flat parents and supporters had made it just in time. Hustling and bustling, they gathered on a grassy stretch of hill, quickly laying out blankets and picnic hampers.

  ‘All eyes on the game,’ Allunga called, ball in hand.

  ‘Play!’ the umpire instructed.

  Sunday morning

  Not many would have noticed, but Marjorie Flop did. Something was missing from her batters; the gritty, determined edge to their approach was gone. Instead, they played with a carefree, almost abandoned approach, giving away their wickets in silly ways.

  Annabelle was clean-bowled, trying to lift a ball over deep mid-wicket – out, caught. Clarence danced down the pitch to a wider ball and completely missed it – out, stumped. Marigold, inexplicably, let a ball go; a ball aimed at her off stump – out, bowled. And then their captain, their reliable, solid-as-a-rock captain called her partner through for a crazy second run, and the boy with the heavy-set glasses and mop of dark hair underarmed the ball back to the Kangaroo Flat wicketkeeper, who whipped the bails off. Sarah Parke – run out.

  ‘It’s just a game,’ Farmer McKenzie muttered to his opposition coach.

  ‘Is that boy …? Oh, never mind,’ Marjorie mumbled, reaching for another jam-and-cream scone.

  ‘Plenty more where that came from too,’ Farmer McKenzie said, nodding at the almost-empty plate. His friends from Kangaroo Flat were keeping all the coaches happy with their gifts of food.