Authors: Brett Lee
In 1972, Patrick Pocock took five wickets in six balls. He was playing for Surrey against Sussex in the English County Championships.
Saturday—evening
‘
I
’
M
not sure that I’ve ever contemplated such a fine array of food, Jane,’ Jim said, beaming as he surveyed the plates in front of him.
A cool change had arrived and a fresh breeze was pushing the hot air out of the house. Dad had just walked in with a huge plate of chicken kebabs, hamburgers, prawns and lamb steaks, which he set down on the table alongside the rice salad, potato salad and about five other green salads.
For a while no one spoke as we all tucked in. Ally, Georgie, Rahul, Jimbo and Jay had all turned up to celebrate our semi-final victory. And to top it all off, Mum had even allowed Dad to manoeuvre the TV so that every now and again we could get a look at the one-dayer in Sydney.
‘We’re very glad you’re able to stay with us tonight, Jim,’ Mum said, smiling at him.
‘He could stay for ever,’ I interjected.
‘Well, it’s very kind of you to have me.’ Jim smiled.
I wanted to know about what had been happening at the MCC library but I wasn’t quite sure how to ask. Perhaps Jim sensed my curiosity.
‘It would appear that my time at the library is over, but when one door closes there’s sure to be another that opens somewhere.’
‘Why can’t you stay there?’ Jay blurted out, reaching for another kebab.
‘It’s called downsizing,’ Jim said. ‘Our friend Mr Smale…’
‘He’s no friend of anyone here,’ Jay said.
‘Jay, can Jim finish what he was going to say?’ Dad asked.
‘Sorry, Mr Jones.’ Jay looked a bit embarrassed.
‘Well, I was just going to say that David, the main librarian, and Phillip Smale are in the process of making a number of changes, and quite frankly I’m rather glad I’m not there.’
‘What sort of changes, Jim?’ Dad asked, looking up from his plate.
‘Well, bringing in the electronic age for a start. And he is removing all the significant works and older pieces. He’s concerned about their safety.’
‘Removing them to where?’ Georgie asked.
‘Away from the eyes of the public,’ Jim said sadly.
‘How dumb is that?’ I spluttered. ‘What’s the point of having fantastic old books and scorecards and photos and cricket bats and caps and stuff if people can’t see them?’
‘You might as well just bury them away in a vault,’ Jimbo said, shaking his head.
‘Exactly,’ Jim said.
‘It does sound rather odd,’ Mum commented. ‘What does everyone else at the library think?’
‘They are all somewhat swayed by Phillip Smale’s offering.’
‘Which is?’ Ally asked.
‘Which is, I’m told, the most significant and valuable collection of cricket memorabilia in the Southern Hemisphere.’
I noticed the sceptical look that passed between Dad and Jim.
Rahul let out a low whistle. ‘Wow!’ he gasped. ‘Really?’
‘Evidently,’ Jim said, though he didn’t sound convinced. ‘Though one would think that such a significant collection would have been known and already on display somewhere by now.’
We took dessert—a choice of chocolate-ripple cake, fruit salad or a waffle cone—back into the lounge to watch the rest of the cricket in comfort, but after about ten minutes it started raining in Sydney. As a fill-in, Channel Nine put on a replay of an old game. Dad always gets excited when this happens.
‘This is a cracker,’ he said. ‘This innings has got to include one of the best-ever one-day knocks. Do you know how many sixes Ricky Ponting hit?’
‘Dad, don’t spoil it,’ I begged. But he’d certainly got everyone interested; even Mum came in to have a look.
‘You keep going in the kitchen,’ Dad chuckled to her. ‘I’ll tell you when Ponting’s innings starts.’
Mum tossed the tea towel in Dad’s general direction and sat down on the couch. But we only got about 15 minutes worth of highlights before Channel Nine switched back to the end of the live Sydney game. Still, it was great watching Adam Gilchrist and Matthew Hayden smashing the Indian attack all over the place.
Dad was really disappointed.
‘Well, I’m sure the game is available on DVD,’ Mum told him, heading back to the kitchen.
Dad got up to follow. ‘I guess so, though what I’d give to have been there to see that game,’ he said.
‘Maybe Toby…’
‘Jay!’ I snapped.
‘…could buy it for your birthday?’ he concluded lamely.
But luckily Dad hadn’t heard.
‘Why don’t you take your dad?’ Jimbo asked, as the guys and I headed for the door a little later. Some of their parents had arrived to pick them up.
‘Yeah. You’ve taken all of…’ Ally stopped short.
I looked over at Georgie, who raised an eyebrow then lashed out.
‘Well, Toby. Who else do you plan to take? Jimbo to Melbourne, Rahul to India, Jay to Tasmania, me to England. You’ve taken Jim and now Ally. Why don’t you take the whole team on a trip to—’
‘Why don’t you shut up?’ Jay snapped. ‘Toby can take who he likes.’
‘Toby can speak for himself too,’ she said, looking at me.
‘I took Ally ’cos she wanted to go. She seemed to know plenty about it anyway,’ I said defensively, staring at Georgie.
‘Hey, what’s the problem?’ Ally asked, throwing her hands up.
I walked to the door and opened it. Rahul’s dad was waiting.
‘Well, see you all tomorrow,’ Rahul said, escaping. ‘Thanks for the great night, Tobes.’
The others left soon after.
‘Sorry for snapping,’ Georgie said as the two of us headed back inside. ‘I did tell Ally about it. She deserved to go again. I’ll be honest with you; I was jealous…I guess I wanted this to be just our special secret, you and me!’
‘It always will be, Georgie.’
I told her about our trip to Brisbane, though I didn’t mention Ally’s odd behaviour. Georgie then left for home after we’d made plans for me to call by her house tomorrow on the way to practice.
In 1972, Australian Bob Massie took 16 wickets in his first Test match (against England at Lord’s). He took 8/53 in the first innings and 8/84 in the second innings. Only four other bowlers have taken 16 or more wickets in a Test match.
Sunday—morning
MR
Pasquali had arranged to hold our Sunday morning practice at the Scorpions’ home ground. I guess he thought it would be good for us to familiarise ourselves with the pitch and surrounds.
‘Geez, I hope they’re not training there too,’ Georgie said as we rode to the ground. But the place was deserted, or so we thought.
As we stowed our bikes over near the clubrooms we noticed a sleek black car parked in the rear. Edging around the front of the building, we crashed into Phillip Smale, who was carrying bundles of papers.
‘You,’ he snarled, bending down to pick up some of the papers that had fallen. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Practice,’ I said, defiantly.
‘Give me that!’ he snapped, snatching a small card from Georgie’s hand. ‘I don’t need your help.’ He looked at both of us sternly, discreetly trying to hide the card that Georgie had picked up for him.
We all turned at the sound of Mr Pasquali’s car approaching from the other side of the ground.
‘You just stay clear of my affairs, do you hear me?’ Smale hissed, leaning closer. Georgie and I took a step back. He spun around and walked towards his car.
I began to turn away but then sensed Georgie stiffen next to me.
‘What now?’ she sighed.
Smale was storming back towards us. He brushed past Georgie on his way up to one of the windows, where he ripped away the Master Blaster poster, muttered something then charged off again. He sped out of the car park a few moments later, almost colliding with a car coming in.
‘Did you get a look at the card he was so stressed about?’ I asked Georgie.
‘It looked like some sort of business card with a website address on it,’ she said. ‘Nothing to get too anxious about,’ she added.
‘Unless he doesn’t want us knowing about the site. I wonder what it was?’
Georgie smiled. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have looked,’ she giggled.
‘You saw it?’
‘Yep, it was w-w-w dot scorpions dot com dot a-u.’
‘Cool. We’ll check it out later,’ I suggested, watching two more cars arrive. ‘He obviously doesn’t want us knowing about the Master Blaster either,’ I added.
Mr Pasquali took us through some light exercise and fielding drills, emphasising the importance of total concentration in the field. Everyone dived and darted about, knowing that there were only 11 spots up for grabs for the grand-final team. Maybe the first six spots would be filled automatically, but people like Ivo, Ally, Georgie, Jay, Gavin, Jason and Minh were all trying their best to impress Mr Pasquali with their catching, throwing and ground fielding. Damian and Trent from a lower-division team had also turned up; it was good to see them here supporting us…though maybe they were secretly hoping for a couple of us to get injured so they could have a shot at making the team.
‘Okay,’ Mr Pasquali shouted, calling us in. ‘Ally and Ivo, put your gloves on and meet me out in the middle. The rest of you, take a breather.’
We watched Mr Pasquali throw some short, firm catches to both of them. Ally looked as sharp as ever, catching everything that came her way. Ivo was also good, but at one stage he hurled his glove into the ground after he’d dropped one.
‘Maybe he injured his hand?’ Jay said, looking concerned.
‘Injured his pride, more like it,’ Georgie said. ‘He’s okay.’
Martian put his glove back on, slapped his gloves together and continued catching.
‘Do you want to tell the others about the business card?’ I asked Georgie quietly. Mr Pasquali and the two keepers were heading in and it looked like it was the end of the session.
‘Nah. Let’s see if we can find anything first. Ally’s brother is a total legend with computers if we need the extra help…You should enjoy that,’ she added, smirking.
‘Ally’s brother?’ I asked, surprised.
‘No, idiot. Involving Ally.’ She stared at me. I tried to look confused. ‘Forget it,’ she said, whacking me on the shoulder.
‘Hey, are you guys coming into town to check out that virtual cricket machine?’ Jimbo asked, walking over to us.
‘You bet,’ I said.
Only four of us were able to make it. Jay and Ally were really annoyed because they had family events organised.
‘Oh, my God, look!’ Georgie said, as we turned a corner and walked into the central square of the shopping centre. Standing next to a big sign which read ‘Cricket Master Blaster’ was none other than Phillip Smale. He was talking with a young guy, who appeared to be the owner or operator of the machine.
‘What’s Smale doing here?’ I asked.
‘He’s probably going to buy it and keep it
exclusively for the Scorpions,’ Georgie grumbled.
‘Or put it in a vault with all the old cricket stuff,’ Rahul suggested.
‘How much?’ I asked. The young guy had seen us coming and moved a step away from Mr Smale, who had his back to us, apparently fiddling with something.
‘We’ll have a little chat later, all right, Alistair?’
But the guy, Alistair, didn’t appear to hear Mr Smale. ‘Hi there. It’s 20 dollars for three six-ball overs,’ he said. ‘Fancy a hit?’
‘Fancy a hit?’ I repeated excitedly, reaching for my wallet.
‘Well, well, looking for some extra practice, are we?’ Mr Smale had turned round, no doubt recognising my voice. He had a mobile phone to his ear.
‘How does it work?’ Georgie asked, ignoring Mr Smale.
‘Okay,’ said Alistair. ‘We program in your challenge and then you put this headset on and see how you go.’
‘Challenge?’ Georgie queried.
‘You pick your opposition, the bowler you’re facing, whether it’s a one-dayer or Test match, the ground you’re playing on, the situation in the game, even the commentators you’d like to have calling your innings.’
I was licking my lips in anticipation. I couldn’t wait—I knew exactly what I wanted. ‘Can you buy this machine?’ I asked, stepping forwards with my wallet open.
‘Ha, ha.’ Alistair smiled. ‘As far as I know this is the only one in the world, so I’m afraid—’
‘Everyone has his price,’ Mr Smale chuckled, but I don’t think Alistair heard him.
‘Okay, you want a hit?’ he asked me. I pulled out a 20-dollar note.
‘Do I get a free go if I survive?’ I asked.
‘Let me know your challenge first and we’ll see. What’s your name?’
‘Toby Jones. And I’m at the MCG, facing Shoaib Akhtar in the Second Test match—’
‘Whoa, hang on there, Toby,’ Alistair chuckled, frantically feeding the data into the machine via a touch screen. Suddenly an image appeared on the huge screen. It was the MCG, and there was Shoaib Akhtar standing at the top of his run-up, his black hair blowing in the breeze as he tossed the ball from one hand to another. I suddenly felt very nervous.
‘Is he really going to bowl to me?’ I asked.
‘C’mon, Toby. He can’t actually hurt you. He’s not really here in the shopping centre,’ Rahul said.
‘Isn’t he?’ Alistair said, quietly. ‘You ask Toby that in 10 minutes’ time. Okay, Toby, what’s the situation?’
I’d been planning a tight finish, but seeing Shoaib standing there waiting for me made me rethink.
‘Um, can he bowl off his short run-up?’ I asked.
‘Toby!’ Rahul and Jimbo said at the same time.
‘Okay. It’s the first day of the Boxing Day Test match.’ I swallowed. ‘I’m opening with Justin Langer.
Matthew Hayden’s got a stomach bug and couldn’t make it.’
Alistair was typing away madly. A dull roar could now be heard coming out from the speakers behind the screen. A small crowd was gathering around us.
‘Who’s in the commentary box, Toby?’ Alistair asked.
‘Richie Benaud and Bill Lawry,’ I said without hesitation.
‘Okay, that about does it.’ He took the 20 dollars from me and handed me a pair of batting gloves, some pads and a bat.
‘What about a helmet?’ someone called from the crowd, laughing.
‘Yep, but not the sort you’re thinking of. This one’s worth just a little more.’ Alistair carefully lifted a big silver helmet that looked like the one Darth Vader wore.
‘Any last requests?’ Jimbo said, helping me seal the Velcro ties on my pads.
I had a thought. ‘What happens if I go out?’
‘Guess,’ Alistair chuckled.
‘I go out?’
‘You go out. And Australia loses an early wicket on the first day of the Boxing Day Test match.’
Now my stomach was really churning. Alistair walked me over to a patch of green where a set of stumps stood and two white lines were marked out. Ahead of me was a full-length pitch, and beyond that was the enormous screen, which was almost the size
of a movie screen. I was facing away from the growing shopping-centre crowd and looking at Shoaib Akhtar standing in the distance. Boy—maybe he was getting impatient.
Alistair gently placed the helmet over my head. I could hear a crackling sound, then the unmistakable voice of Bill Lawry:
‘
Does it get any better than this? It is the opening day of the Boxing Day Test, and the young talent Toby Jones is out there to face the music
.’
‘
Bill, this will be a baptism of fire
,’ Richie remarked in his understated way.
I swallowed again, and licked my lips. The crowd noise was electric. I could hear the Pakistani players geeing each other up and clapping their hands. This was turning out to be the most thrilling moment of my life. It was one thing to travel to Test matches; it was another thing altogether to be playing in one.
Inside my helmet I could see the same scene that everyone in the shopping centre plaza could see on the big screen. I took guard, looked around the field, then tapped my bat on the pitch, waiting for Shoaib to begin his run-up. The crowd noise became deafening. I jumped as Bill Lawry’s voice came on again:
‘
It’s all happening!
’
Shoaib roared in like a train. I almost passed out as he came closer, gaining speed with every stride.
‘It’s just a game. You’re in a shopping centre, idiot,’ I muttered as he stormed past the umpire.
Suddenly a red dot was heading straight for my head. I ducked, almost falling over.
‘
Oh, what a beauty!
’ Bill called, delighted.
‘All right for you,’ I muttered, picking myself up. The Pakistani players were chatting and jumping about, supporting Shoaib.
‘Keep your eyes on the ball, Toby,’ Justin Langer called out, walking down the pitch.
‘Justin?’ I tried to say, but no sound came out.
He just smiled at me encouragingly. He pointed to his eyes, reaffirming his advice.
I settled over my bat. The noise was deafening. There was chanting and clapping as Shoaib ran into bowl. This time I watched the ball rocket past, well wide of the off-stump.
‘It’s a beautiful day, Richie
,’ Bill said cheerfully.
‘
It most certainly is, Bill,
’ Richie drawled.
I pushed blindly at the next ball. It flicked the edge of my bat but there was a great roar from the crowd. I looked around to see the ball racing away through a vacant fourth slip and down to the thirdman boundary for four. Then a replay was shown inside the head piece.
‘
Well, it’s a glorious day!
’ Bill laughed. He sure was chatting about the weather a lot.
‘
Nice work. You kept that down well
,’ a voice said. Was that meant to be Justin Langer speaking?
The next ball was short, but much faster than the first three deliveries. Again I ducked, my arms and bat flailing in the air, but unfortunately I knocked my
stumps. Shoaib and his team-mates raced into the middle, hugging and yelling.
I felt a hand on my shoulder as the screen went black.
‘Toby?’ The helmet was taken from my head and Alistair stood there smiling. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.
I was a little unsteady on my feet but amazed by the game all the same.
‘That was the most awesome thing in the world,’ I cried, tearing off my gloves. At that moment I would have given up
Wisden
s, time travel and the grand final next weekend for a fistful of 20-dollar notes.
‘Nice going, Toby,’ Rahul said, grinning. ‘My turn.’
I sat down to take off my pads and watch on the big screen as Rahul took guard. Bill’s voice blared over the loud speakers. I turned to see a crowd of about a hundred people gathered round.
‘C’mon, Rahul,’ I murmured as Shoaib charged in.
Suddenly the screen went black. Alistair worked frantically on the touch screen and then on a keyboard, but after a minute he gave up.
He looked up sheepishly. ‘There are still a few things that need ironing out,’ he said, handing Rahul his 20 dollars back.
The crowd slowly moved away but we hung around, hoping that Alistair might be able to fix the glitch.
‘There!’ he cried, a few moments later. ‘But there won’t be any commentary. Now, who’s up for one more shot? No charge.’
Georgie shot her hand up and raced over before we could get a word in.
We waited impatiently for Georgie’s challenge to appear on the screen. She was chatting to Alistair and putting on her gear at the same time.
A few of the onlookers had wandered back. ‘It’s Lord’s,’ someone called as an image appeared.
‘And Michael Clarke,’ a girl squealed. Sure enough, Michael Clarke, with his cheeky grin, appeared on the screen. He was spinning the ball from one hand to the other and barking out instructions to the fielders.
‘Remember, you promised!’ Georgie said to Alistair as he placed the helmet over her head.
‘Promised?’ I said, turning to Rahul, who just shrugged in reply.
‘Is she playing for England or what?’ I asked.
‘Must be. Look!’ Jimbo was nodding at the batter at the other end, dressed in light blue. It was a one-dayer between England and Australia.
‘Cool,’ I said, under my breath.
The first ball was a slow full toss. Georgie swung it away through mid-wicket. The crowd roared as the ball raced away to the boundary for four, and then hushed as Michael Clarke walked in to bowl again. It was another full toss, exactly the same as the first. Georgie swung again, this time sending the ball behind square leg for another four.
‘Look, the score’s appeared,’ Jimbo said, pointing to the top corner of the screen.