Hat Trick! (18 page)

Have extras even been the highest scorer in an innings in a Twenty20 game? Yes! When the West Indies lost to South Africa in a game in the 2007/2008 series, South Africa conceded 29 extras while the West Indies struggled to a total of 7/131. The next highest score was 24,

Saturday—morning

SATURDAY
was another really hot day. There was plenty of cloud cover but it was steamy and sticky. I felt washed out. Splashing cold water on my face hadn’t helped. I grabbed my drink bottle out of the freezer, collected my gear and waited outside for Dad.

‘Where to?’ he asked, throwing his stuff in the back.

‘TCC,’ I said.

‘Hey, that’s near that new mega-hardware store, isn’t it?’ he said, reversing out of the drive.

‘Think so.’

Dad was awesome when it came to supporting me. He never missed a game. And it wasn’t as if he built himself a studio every season.

‘Dad, why don’t you duck down there during the game?’

‘That’s not a bad idea, Tobes. Sure you don’t mind?’

‘No, that’s cool,’ I said, smiling.

‘Can I get you something?’ he asked.

‘From the hardware store?’

‘Yeah.’

‘No, I’ll be right, Dad.’

This time Jono won the toss. Or maybe the other captain lost it. Whatever, it was a good toss to win. It was a two-dayer, which meant they’d be fielding in hot, steamy conditions. Maybe it would be as hot next week for us. Then again, a cooler day was probably more likely. I liked thinking about the decision to be made at each toss.

‘We’re batting,’ Jono called. ‘Here’s the order. Scott and Cameron, opening. First drop me, then Rahul, Martian’—there were a few claps and whistles when Ivo’s name was called—‘Jimbo, Ally, Georgie, Jay, Toby and last is Minh.’

Mr Pasquali gathered us in for his usual pre-match talk.

‘Now, you know I haven’t been that pleased with your form recently. There have been some good individual performances, but I think there’s room for improvement. Scott, this is your last game with us. I’ve spoken with you and worked with you in the nets. Let’s see you show that form out in the middle today. Then you can promptly forget everything I’ve told you,’ Mr Pasquali said, smiling.

Scott looked tense. ‘Can you throw me a couple?’ he asked me.

I grabbed two old balls and tossed them hard on
half-volley length. He played them straight back to me. It was textbook forward defence.

‘Openers, please!’ the umpire called.

‘One more,’ he said. I tossed a slightly shorter ball at him. He stepped back and clubbed it away into the school yard to the right of the oval.

‘Just had to blow the cobwebs out,’ he said, watching the ball clatter against some drinking taps about 100 metres away. ‘Go fetch,’ he added.

‘Well, that’s a relief,’ Georgie said, hearing Scott’s comment as she walked past with Ally. ‘I didn’t think it was Scott for a moment, the way he was paddling those tiddlers back to you. We’ll get it!’ she called over her shoulder.

I settled down to watch the opening overs. It was probably my favourite part of the game. New ball. Everyone excited and fresh and ready to go. Everyone with a chance of winning or doing something spectacular. And with Scott out there, you couldn’t afford to miss one delivery.

Martian was on the scorecard. I gave him a pat and grabbed a deckchair.

Scott scored a gentle two runs off the first over. How long would that last, I wondered. On the last ball of the second over Cameron was amazingly caught by the kid at square leg. Cam had cracked it like a rifle bullet and knocked the kid over. I was looking for the ball out near the boundary until I heard shouts from the field. They were running over to congratulate the fielder, who was still lying on the ground.

The bowling didn’t look difficult and Jono and Scott put on a steady 25 runs without attempting anything spectacular. But just as they started to crank up the pace, Jono was out-stumped trying to force the spinner over the top. It didn’t look good.

I took over the scoring from Martian as Rahul went out to bat. Martian was looking extremely nervous as he padded up.

Then Scott started to move. He’d had enough of defence. Now and again he played a defensive shot back up the wicket, as if to show us he hadn’t forgotten. But in between he blasted the bowlers everywhere.

In no time at all he had raced to 44. Mr Pasquali, who was keeping his own scores, called him in. We stood up and clapped as he strode towards us. There was sweat pouring from him and his shirt was drenched. It was probably the longest he’d ever batted in a game.

Two run-outs—one really embarrassing—and two catches in the deep kept TCC right in the game. And poor Martian went for a duck, clean bowled. Only Jimbo held up an end until Georgie ran him out, calling for a risky third run. (
See Tip 20.
)

When I walked out to bat, we were 8 for 122 with still almost an hour of batting time left.

The very next over Jay was out, bowled for eight. Our only hope was that Scott would come back in. Minh or I would have to try and bat with him until the innings closed or two and a half hours were up.

I batted carefully, trying to hit the loose ones. But TCC had brought their opening bowlers back on, so it was harder to score. I noticed Scott standing on the boundary line, gloves and helmet ready, waiting to come back.

‘Toby, I’m going for it,’ said Minh. ‘If I score a few, good. If I go out, Scott comes back.’

It was probably a good call, though I wondered if Mr Pasquali would agree. Minh was clean-bowled next ball. Scott marched to the wicket. I went out to meet him but he breezed past me.

‘Leg stump,’ he called to Mr Pasquali, who was standing at the other end. Mr Pasquali looked a bit surprised but gave him leg stump. Scott scratched his mark and settled over his bat. (
See Tip 14.
)

For the next 40 minutes we were treated to some of the most powerful and clinical hitting I’d ever seen. It was phenomenal. I scratched around at one end, feeding Scott the strike while he blasted the attack all over the ground. Even the TCC coach was getting involved, shouting instructions at his bowlers and fielders.

At one stage someone yelled out 94, and then there were a whole lot of shushes from everyone, but Scott hadn’t heard. He was in another zone. At the end of each over, though, we’d meet mid pitch and I got the same message each time. ‘Keep it going, Toby.’ And I did.

When the innings was over, the kids and parents made an impromptu guard of honour as Scott walked
off the ground, not out 134. I had made 31. Scott had made half our runs from his own bat. I eyed the massive willow lying on the grass while Scott celebrated with a drink. The rest of the team packed up after congratulating him. Mr Pasquali was talking with a couple of the dads. Scott stood alone, staring out at the pitch. It didn’t look like any of his family was here.

I crept closer to his bat. I’d just had an idea. I picked it up and, before anyone saw what I was doing, shoved it into the back seat of our car. Guiltily I glanced about, but no one seemed to have noticed. But I realised a moment later how stupid that would be. Scott would go berserk and there’d be a huge search for it. I placed the bat carefully back on the grass. I’d talk with Mr Pasquali about it. Maybe he could organise something.

‘Hey, you know what?’ Dad said to me in the car.

‘What?’

‘Mr P was saying that if you’d reached your 40, he would have had to retire you and Scott mightn’t have got his 100.’

I hadn’t thought of it that way. Now we were back on equal terms after the run-out a few rounds before. Scott had only said a few words to me after our innings. ‘Smart batting, Jones. See you in the final.’

Yeah, you will, I thought. I couldn’t wait to bowl to him. But we had to come back next week and get TCC out first. Hopefully for less than the 256.

Monday—afternoon

MR
Pasquali had set us a new project to work on. I had managed to link cricket in to mine even though it had been set during English. We had to write about an inspired event that influenced and changed the outcome of succeeding events. I made my choice at once. It was Andrew Symonds’ 146 not out in South Africa. Dad said that it set the course for Australia. They went on to win every match they played in the 2003 World Cup.

‘Did you try and ring Jim?’ Georgie whispered to me during class. I nodded. ‘And?’

‘He’s okay. I didn’t really have much time to talk.’ We both bent our heads low as Mr Pasquali walked past.

‘Did he travel?’

‘Nup.’

‘What about that other guy?’ she hissed. ‘Smale.’

‘I didn’t ask about him.’

‘Don’t blame you.’

‘Hey, I spoke to Mr Pasquali and he’s going to get Scott’s bat so we can all sign it.’

‘What do we want to do that for? Do you think he’d bother signing a bat if you made a hundred?’ Jay asked, overhearing our conversation.

‘Probably not, but Mr Pasquali reckons it’s a good idea. He’s asked him to bring it to school tomorrow. Made up some excuse.’

‘Fair enough,’ Rahul said, joining in. Mr Pasquali was now talking with someone at the front of the room. ‘It was a brilliant innings.’

We settled down to work on our assignments. I’d found a website with a ball-by-ball description of Andrew Symonds’ innings. I was going to present a summary of his innings and then put together some questions to ask him in an interview. All I had to do was find him. Rahul had managed to find Ray Bright and Dean Jones for his last assignment, and they’d played that tied Test match about 20 years ago. So it shouldn’t be too hard to track down Andrew Symonds.

Maybe I could arrange to meet him when the Aussies played in Melbourne. Maybe I’d get a free pass into the dressing room during a one-dayer. Maybe I’d get to chat to all of them.

‘Hi, Andrew!’

‘Hey, Toby. How’s things?’

‘Yeah, not bad. How’s the bowling arm?’

‘Good, thanks. It’s a seamer today. Would you mind if I just bowled a few at you? Can you watch my form?’

‘Toby, throw a few my way too, would you? Not too fast, though.’

‘Sure, no probs.’ Matthew Hayden was always after my flippers. ‘And I’ll toss a few at you afterwards, okay, Ricky?’

‘Yep, great, Toby.’

‘Toby? TOBY!’ Mr Pasquali was staring at me. I shook my head and smiled.

‘Yes, Mr Pasquali?’

‘Would you like to start writing now?’

‘Okay, Mr Pasquali. Yep, no worries.’

He shook his head and moved off.

Monday—evening

When I got home, a taxi was parked outside the house and a guy with the most humungous gut was leaning against the bonnet, smoking. He nodded at me but didn’t say anything.

I went into the house, dreading another visit from Mr Smale. But the first person I saw when I walked into the kitchen was Jim, smiling contentedly in the big chair by the bookcase and sipping a glass of cold water. ‘Jim!’ I called, dropping my bag and rushing towards him. He got up awkwardly and shook my hand. His old face broke into a broad smile.

‘Hello, Toby,’ he said. ‘Peter has just been telling me about your heroics on Saturday. Well done. We
might have another Jones in
Wisden
not long into the future.’

I was bursting with questions and tried to read every expression on his face as he chatted away happily about cricket, the MCC library and a few other things. He seemed healthy and in good spirits.

‘Can Jim stay for dinner, Dad?’ I asked, finally seizing on a break in the conversation. Dad had given Jim a full-blown version—
his
version—of the garage fire and how I’d gone back in to save a
Wisden
.

‘Well, that’s up to Jim, Toby.’

‘Jim?’ I asked.

‘That’s very kind of you, Toby, but no, thank you. I have my meals cooked for me and dear Andrea would be most upset if I missed one of her culinary pleasures. Perhaps you could walk me out to my chariot.’

I closed the front door and started explaining, the words tumbling over each other. Jim held up a hand.

‘Jim,’ I started again. ‘The man who’s often at the library. The guy with the glasses. His name is Mr Smale and—’

‘Phillip, yes. He helps us out in the library. With the archives.’

‘The what, Jim?’

‘Archives,’ he repeated. ‘He helps with the old records and documents. Files them. He does a marvellous job. Actually, his father made a very generous gift to the library: some quite rare cricket scorebooks. Phillip has mentioned that he is in
possession of many more old cricket documents. We’re rather hoping that Phillip might bring them across to the library.’

‘Jim, I’m not sure about him.’

Jim stopped and looked at me. ‘Pardon?’

‘When Georgie and I were at the library getting my award…Jim, did you invite me to receive an award for saving the
Wisden
? Did you know about it?’

‘I did hear something about it,’ he said slowly, shaking his head.

‘But did you organise it?’ I asked, searching his face.

‘Well, no. But you certainly deserved your reward, Toby.’ It sounded like Jim was embarrassed that he
hadn’t
organised it.

‘Jim, I don’t mind about the award. It’s just that Mr Smale was very interested in the diary.’

‘Well, that doesn’t sound odd. Phillip would be interested in the diary, but I hid it carefully away—’

‘Behind the 1931
Wisden
,’ I interrupted.

‘Take your time,’ the driver called, lighting up another cigarette.

‘Which leads to another thing, Jim. He’s got it.’

‘Phillip Smale?’

‘Yes.’

‘He’s got the diary?’

‘Yes. He came here to get it.’

I told him about my and Georgie’s adventure on the night of the ‘award ceremony’ and how Georgie and I had found the diary behind the 1931
Wisden
. I was hoping Jim would explain it away as some silly
sequence of errors that amounted to nothing. But when I’d finished, he was clearly worried.

‘Phillip suggested I take a break while he sorted some things out at the library,’ Jim said quietly. ‘I wonder…Toby, I fear it’s time for action. Perhaps our Mr Smale is a little too taken with the diary and where it might lead.’

‘But what about the scorecard?’

‘Well, we must just hope that Phillip doesn’t find it,’ Jim said, slowly, still looking concerned. ‘Or perhaps that no one finds it,’ he added. We were silent for a moment. Then I remembered another important thing I had to tell him.

‘Jim, I went back to 1930. I saw Don Bradman. Me and—’

‘1930? Leeds?’

‘Yep. First day. It was amazing, Jim. We’ve got to go—you and me. I can get you there easily. They talked funny, but they were—’

‘You talked to people?’

‘Well, we couldn’t help it. Georgie was wearing this—’

‘Toby. Take care. Especially when you take those long journeys back in time. Come along to the library on Wednesday if you can manage it.’ Jim took a few steps towards the taxi. ‘And I would like to hear more about Leeds too,’ he said with a smile.

I waved and watched the taxi until it had disappeared around the corner.