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On Saturday, we played a team out of the final four who needed to beat us to keep their hopes alive and we duely let them. After a whole season of us seeing out the overs in games, we put up a pretty insipid performance to be all out for 80 after 38 overs. Strangely enough, I was the batsman who threw the biggest dummy spit after getting out. I had made 40 runs and knew that I was the only one who was scoring regularly but tried to play above my station by doing something a little to cute and edged onto pads then onto stumps. It was just one of those days when you get in and should be able to see the day oy but...

Still, the new bat is a dead set ripper, I rate it a bit better then my Laver and Wood bat and I did enjoy when their left arm opening bowler pitched something little better than a half tracker and as soon as it hit the bat I called six, it just went for miles.

WE bowled OK having them 4 for very little before too many runs and slow wicket losses left them 9 down for 110 at the end of play. With the game concluding this Saturday, there was talk from the team of smashing a quick 150 and putting them back in but the oval will want to be heaps quicker than last week if we are going to do that
 
So, they were actually on 144 for 9, not 110 so the chances of an outright were pretty slim. In the end I knocked the last one over and we were 67 behind and as much as the talk was whether we could smash our way into the lead where I was a little level headed and suggested maybe we should try and get the runs first before we get ahead of ourselves.

Probably a good thing too as once again my rich vein of form continued with the bat. It was particularly good to see a couple of the youngsters put value on their wicket and bad to see others not. Sadly, my knock came to and end two balls after my team mate who was umpiring told me to get my head down as I had the chance to make a ton. I just knew it was all over as the words came out of his mouth. I had batted out 35 overs, so if anyone had their head down, it was me but no, my team mate had to give me the kiss of death.

Luckily, the youngsters in the side got us to a point where we gave them an achievable 80 off 8 overs but we managed to take 6 wickets and hold them out, 29 runs shy of the target.

Not a bad game for myself, 100 runs and 5 wickets but at my age, I may need a month to recover
 
I know some of you will remember this thread and think " so what the * happened, did you make the finals, did you win both the association batting and bowling trophies thus snaring player of the year?"

Sadly, I did a bit of a Sammy Shaw in the last game before finals. falling backwards taking a catch, I smacked my head on the ground and for the second time in a few weeks another concussion. Luckily at my level of cricket there are no concussion protocols so after being helped off the field, I kind of got up and walked back on. I must point out I have no recollection of the rest of this, just what I have been told. So I fielded for a whle, demanded that I should have another bowl, got absolutely smashed but didn't bowl a wide and then fielded the rest of the day.

Any smart person would have rung their wives or girlfriend to come pick them up ( not both because it gets real awkward when the both get their at the same time and then try to establish Manrights) but I kinda drove back to the club...country roads, probably did 110k and then had a couple of beers at the club. Apparently, in mid conversation with another player, I finished my second beer, put it down and walked out of the club, back in car, country roads, 110kph for the 10 k trip home...no idea at all.

Came home, had dinner, barely talked, went to bed. Next day I woke up, took the kids down the park ( short walk) for a kids concert and later that day was talking to in laws and they said what did I do today and I had no idea. Next morning woke up, thought that I might go to doctors, feeling a bit better but was throwing up, sore head and the doctor took all the symptoms down, added it to the concussion from cricket and asked how I got to the doctors that day. Proudly, I said " I drove" and he asked for my keys and a number of someone to come pick me up and take me to casualty.

The guy I was talking to at the club, works with my wife, so he filled her in on a lot of my missing time.

Anyways, long story short, no sport for 8 weeks, memory loss for about 4 months, headaches for maybe 3 or 4 months but like a trooper, I could still have sex.

So yeah, bit disappointing in the end, missed out on the bowling trophy by 2 wickets and batting by a fair way.

Anyways, new season and I am a year older but still none the wiser.

In the off season I sent my Laver and Wood bat off to Josh Gavan, a great bat maker in Sydney and asked him to reduce my 2 pound 12 bat to a 2 pound 9 and as part of the process he put his own bat stickers on the bat so everyone at the club thought that I had once again, bought a new bat. I let that one ride for 30 mins until I told the truth.

Still two practice sessions in and I am already making great use of my new massage chair. It was a fathers day present that I got for myslef because the kids being 5 and 2 are s**t gift givers and would have probably just made a card. They are both happy and we all go for rides on the chair. Hopefully, it stops raining now, so the cricket season can start on time in 3 more weeks
 

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Woweee....:eek:

http://www.foxsports.com.au/cricket...m/news-story/95ac2cf4e4c97d5ed38025d23cc1b255

Brett Geeves on the warped culture inside Australia’s cricket team
  • 10 hours ago
  • by BRETT GEEVES
  • I’M standing at a pedestrian crossing in Cape Town, an Australian cricket team tour member in a squad led by Michael Clarke and Ricky Ponting, waiting for the red man to give the green man a turn.

It was like being in the desert and I felt like the only person in the world. Then across the other side, appeared, from a walking track, Clarke and his then girlfriend Lara Bingle.

There we were, eight lanes apart, no cars nor other humans in sight.

They couldn’t miss me. I could have been crawling along the ground in full camo and they would have seen me.

As we got closer, I began to take my headphones out so I could say “g’day”. Maybe even stop at the half way point for a chat on the 10 metres of mulch-covered land between the two highways. We would have been safe.

What happened next makes me glad I possess a sense of humour that thrives on socially awkward encounters, because Michael and Lara walked straight past me without any tip of the cap, no smile, zero acknowledgment. I think they may have turned around when I burst out laughing, but I can’t be sure.

If you’ve heard the saying “inside the professional sporting bubble” and thought to yourself, “nah, there’s no such thing,” I am here to tell you differently, thanks to experience in the strange realm of leadership cricket style.

There is not one thing about professional cricket that is comparable to work in the real world. The pay is inflated, you accrue leave at a rate faster than Marion Jones after a drink of the special kool-aid, and this grants you five months holiday a year. You will also access the local links at least three times per week.

771e34a30541b7e4a895e93c26cf2d4c

Brett Geeves at training with the Australian team in Durban in March 2009.Source: News Limited
There are few, if any, policies, guidelines, behavioural codes or punishments for displaying the coping mechanisms of a spoiled five year old who hasn’t learnt to share; unless of course you aren’t performing, or injured, then you can’t sneeze down wind of the coach without getting a written warning.

How many physical altercations have you seen in your workplace that haven’t resulted in someone being sacked on the spot, or at the very least, within the week? Sure, Simon Katich got sacked, but it was much further down the road and on the back of a Michael Clarke powerplay to put an end to the feud that had featured a grabbing of the throat and a lifting off the ground and a pooping of the pants. Problem solved.

But is it any wonder there is so much angst being reported about the leadership era of Clarke?

In many regards, it’s not his fault. I’m tipping he holds no formal qualifications in leadership or management or HR.

Cricket coaches and players are not capable of implementing appropriate communication processes to ensure harmony among men. They just aren’t experts in this field. They are too reliant on how it was done when they played, or the values ingrained in them as kids, or selfish excesses of power and ego that we are seeing monetised at the optimal Christmas book selling time.

It seems that some level of appropriate HR process would have done wonders for not just Clarke and his broken relationships, but also those players, like myself, who seemed to pop in and out very briefly.

41dd6700390409d92d697516a82a492d

Michael Clarke (L) with then-captain Ricky Ponting in 2009.Source: AFP
I’ve heard countless horror stories of big mad quicks and straight-backed batters calling home from tours in tears, such was the lack of induction – or onboarding - from new teammates, coaching staff and the CA travelling posse. This is crucial. Not just for the sake of team harmony; but because it is the right thing to do as a human being.

My own experience as a travelling member of the South African Test tour of 2009 is a great example of how the real world and the way we communicate, mentor and harness the strengths and weaknesses of those colleagues that make up our workplace compares unfavourably to the bubble of professional cricket.

The call to inform me that I was on a plane to South Africa was one of the biggest thrills of my cricket career. The fact it came at the expense of the internal tendon that joined to Doug Bollinger’s rib cage was irrelevant.

The flight over was long - 17 hours in transit. The entire trip I couldn’t stop thinking about arriving in Johannesburg and witnessing the raw beauty of the landscape.

What would be waiting for me? My mind raced. A media throng with a resultant press conference? Maybe a limo? At the very least, I was convinced there would be a person carrying a white piece of cardboard with my name on it.

You can imagine my surprise when I came off the flight and there was no one awaiting my arrival. No media. No press conference. And most importantly, no member of the Cricket Australia posse to give me a lift back to the ground where Australia had just won the first Test.

No one. No morning tea. No introductory email. No coffee. No cake.

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Brett Geeves in action for Tasmania in 2009. Picture: Gregg Porteous.Source: News Limited
After an hour of waiting, I collected my cricket bag, my suitcase, my laptop bag and trudged over to change the $100 note I had so I could get a cab to the ground. I am not a well-travelled man, so had no idea that catching a cab in Joburg, the crime capital of the world, while carrying two enormous bags and a laptop bag was a reasonably dangerous assignment.

The giveaway was the open admission from the driver that I had just made him a target for both abduction and death. And myself a valuable commodity for ransom. I took all my Cricket Australia clothing off immediately as the drivers sweating and shaking increased.

As we approached the ground to within about 500 metres, I was informed that I would be taken no closer and was asked to exit the vehicle. I did so, as I could see the ground and streams of people departing as the game had finished. A safe place.

As I made my way through the main gate, I was collared by a large security guard carrying a machine gun.

“Where are you going?”. I replied some bumbled mess about replacing Doug Bollinger and that I had a CA bag with my name on it and I was part of the squad. He didn’t buy it and denied me access to the ground.

From there, I walked around to another gate where a smaller gentleman, also carrying a machine gun, took the time to escort me to the players change rooms. What a relief. I was now safe and would no doubt be welcomed into the celebration with a large “HOORAY, GEEVA IS HERE!!”.

As I open the door, I can see the quizzical looks from a number of players as I sheepishly say hello and then hear the words I’ll never forget.

“What are you doing here!!??”

No morning tea. No introductory email. No coffee. No cake.

Worse was yet to come.



572277_640x360_large_20161024214926.jpg

'No inside info yet'

1:53
I was fortunate enough to have been selected to stay on as part of the ODI squad. It may have been because all the quicks had been sent home post the Test tour, but I am clinging to the fact that I had earnt it.

Having sat out the first two one-dayers, I was brought in for the third in Cape Town. Sadly, in the run chase I walked across my stumps whilst batting and had my sandshoe caved in by the Morkel who isn’t even the good one. The result was a broken foot and I was sent home.

Finding out you’ve got a broken foot and being handed your flight details for the next morning is an extremely flattening experience.

You would think that there would be a process in place to ensure the mental wellbeing of players in this situation is catered for. The real world would provide an exit interview. Some coffee. A cake. A card with nice words in it. Maybe even some balloons. The CEO, the manager or one of his assistants would certainly touch base to wish you well.

Not in the bubble of cricket.

I had Nathan Hauritz sit with me in my room for a stint and the team masseuse – Christian Binder, who I had developed a great relationship with – dropped by also.

The next morning, I hobbled my way down stairs with all my gear and waited in the foyer for the team physio to get me to the airport. As I waited, I watched the coach, the captain and a member of team management having breakfast with Brett Lee, who was not a playing member of the squad.

I thought about going over to say goodbye, but by that stage, I had experienced enough to know that I wasn’t exactly a valued member of the squad and a quiet exit would be a fitting way of departing the HR nightmare that was my tour of South Africa.
 
Anyways, I am sure some people have been thinking "surely that fat bastards cricket season has started, where are the updates?".

So, cricket started last week and first match up was the side that knocked us out in the semis last year. I'd like to say that we have a healthy respect for them but lets face it, they are a dead set bunch of campaigners that nobody likes and frankly I am itching for the day they start a fight because I can't beat them at cricket.

Anyways, because of the rain over winter, all grounds are soft which is just s**t for people who like to time the ball to the boundary, it means you run and running is for idiots. Funnily enough, this idiot just couldn't get enough of running and proceeded to do about 90 sprints up and down the pitch, contributing 44 to the one day total of 125 off 35 overs. That is right people, one day matches are now 35 overs because kids today are too ******* fat to survive even a 40 over each way match. I blame McDonalds with their happy meals and other parents for not strapping their kids to treadmills and setting the damn thing to warp factor 1.

A reasonable score given the strength of their bowling attack and at the 20 over mark with them being 2 for 57, it was game on. Sadly, the fat writer in his last over bowled one of those deliveries that pitched on middle, swung out a bit and would have taken the top of off stump had the big country lad not managed to put the ball into orbit. It sucks, when I was younger I would have followed up with a beamer, or if I was more restrained a bouncer but nobody is fooling anyone these days, last time I bowled a bouncer, myself and the batsman fell over laughing, such was it's shitness.

Game went down to the wire with our cocky young paceman nabbing 4-18 off his seven over spell before a god damned shower went over. Not enough for us to leave the oval but enough to make the ball wet. It was this sol incident, plus my pretty s**t bowling that got the opposition over the line by a few runs with a wicket to spare.

Still, it was a good start and I'd like to say I was happy with my knock but the inability to walk all week took the gloss off it a bit
 
So, it is two matches down, 8 to go in the season until the finals. After the loss last match we came back with a vengance with an outright win against some haphazard opposition. On week one we were sent into bat on a sunny day. I have never understood the idea of sending the opposition to bat on clear sunny days, there is no swing, you get tired in the field, it just adds up to a s**t day. Maybe their captain had a gutful of his team mates and thought "stuff em".

It looked to be a smart move early on when they had us one down for not very much but that just meant fat boy got to come in and continue his magnificent 2016 with the bat. It wasn't easy early though, my batting partner was being a dead set utensil. Early on, I like to rotate the strike, get a few singles, make it little more difficult for the bowlers but Trav was having none of that. He had already hurt himself running before he got out there apparently and he refused to accept my idea of just retiring hurt/unfitfatcampaigner.

To make matters worse he would face five deliveries and miss easy runs only to get a run off the last ball of the over. If there is one thing I hate, it is fat opening batsmen that farm the strike. On the positive though, he did start to accidentally not find the fielder on occasion, which meant much to his annoyance, he had to give up the strike. It was a great relief to me when he finally did get out, the next three batsmen were all faster runners than me ( not that it is anything to hang your hat on) so the game could start moving on.

Before I move on from my anger at this guy, we have history. Before he played for my club, we played against each other and I bowled a little outswinger which he snicked to the wicket keeper. "Not out" said the umpire (his team mate) and Trav looked at me and said "I walk mate if I hit it". Fair enough, benefit of the doubt and three balls later, same outswinger, same result but this time the umpire had to fire him out. Not sure he really understood the concept of walking, possibly as well as he does sharing the strike. Now that he is at my club, he drives up on training night, puts the pads on, has a bat, takes pads off, gets his car keys and goes home. s**t bloke, probably drinks light beer too.

Anyways, it was a blindingly hot day of 26 but luckily for us a days cricket is just 60 overs these days so if you persevere and play through the pain, you can be into the beers by 4.30, which is a bit of alright. Fatboy went on to get his first 50 of the new season ending up with 58. That was soon overshadowed by our cocky young fast bowler who hit 77 including 6 over the boundary...bloody showoff. We ended the day at 284 from our 60 overs.

Next Saturday, we get to the ground and we have 8 players and nobody to keep. The club President came down to hand out raffle books and duely had a shirt thrown on him so we now had 9. Our tenth player was still at work and wouldn't be at the ground until 2pm. That guy is that player you have to have in your team, he can't bowl, is a really s**t bat but he can catch and throw, he is like our teams Mitch Marsh.

So, out we went with nine, I put on the keeping gloves agreeing to swap with our cocky fast bowler when he finished his spell. Making matters worse was out of the nine we had on the field, five were old men who can't run or throw, in an amusing situation...now...they managed to run five after hitting the ball deepish to long on. It was off the cocky young fast bowler as well and he was ropable about the five coming off his bowling but to be fair, he'd have been better off running after it himself, then they would have only got two at most.

Stangely enough, wickets fell and by time Mitch Marsh turned up, they were four down for 80 and we now had ten fielders. Fatboy gave up the gloves, had a bowl and they went from 4-80 to all out for 90 in a few overs with Mitch Marsh taking three catches and dropping one other, which we all gave him s**t for. With homemade sausage rolls for lunch, we made the surprising decision to put them back in and I still remember their captains words to the openers as they headed out " put your heads down, we need to bat these overs out and not give the game to them"

After bowling three deliveries, I had both openers out ( I'm not sure they listened to their captain) and by the second over had three wickets, just missing a hatrick when the ball went over one of the old men in slips. It was a real highlight of my day to get feedback from the cocky young fast bowler on my bowling. According to him it was s**t and really slow and if he was facing it, he'd have put every delivery out of the ground. Such a dick.

Still, 6 overs 5 wickets for 18...take that every Saturday of the week. In the end we knocked them over for 102 whilst giving most a bowl, even Mitch Marsh got a go but took no wickets but I think he took something stupid like 8 catches for the match and dropped three though there was no shame in missing the ones he did; though we still paid him out for ******* up. Anyone else in the team you would have been safe hitting in the air too but they kept choosing Mitch.

With five overs to go, a players dad turned up, so we coaxed him onto the field so we had 11, so that was nice I guess. So big win, a few happy beers and we must be close to top of the ladder, happy days.
 
Bicks said:
Woweee....:eek:

http://www.foxsports.com.au/cricket...m/news-story/95ac2cf4e4c97d5ed38025d23cc1b255

Brett Geeves on the warped culture inside Australia’s cricket team
  • 10 hours ago
  • by BRETT GEEVES
  • I’M standing at a pedestrian crossing in Cape Town, an Australian cricket team tour member in a squad led by Michael Clarke and Ricky Ponting, waiting for the red man to give the green man a turn.

It was like being in the desert and I felt like the only person in the world. Then across the other side, appeared, from a walking track, Clarke and his then girlfriend Lara Bingle.

There we were, eight lanes apart, no cars nor other humans in sight.

They couldn’t miss me. I could have been crawling along the ground in full camo and they would have seen me.

As we got closer, I began to take my headphones out so I could say “g’day”. Maybe even stop at the half way point for a chat on the 10 metres of mulch-covered land between the two highways. We would have been safe.

What happened next makes me glad I possess a sense of humour that thrives on socially awkward encounters, because Michael and Lara walked straight past me without any tip of the cap, no smile, zero acknowledgment. I think they may have turned around when I burst out laughing, but I can’t be sure.

If you’ve heard the saying “inside the professional sporting bubble” and thought to yourself, “nah, there’s no such thing,” I am here to tell you differently, thanks to experience in the strange realm of leadership cricket style.

There is not one thing about professional cricket that is comparable to work in the real world. The pay is inflated, you accrue leave at a rate faster than Marion Jones after a drink of the special kool-aid, and this grants you five months holiday a year. You will also access the local links at least three times per week.

771e34a30541b7e4a895e93c26cf2d4c

Brett Geeves at training with the Australian team in Durban in March 2009.Source: News Limited
There are few, if any, policies, guidelines, behavioural codes or punishments for displaying the coping mechanisms of a spoiled five year old who hasn’t learnt to share; unless of course you aren’t performing, or injured, then you can’t sneeze down wind of the coach without getting a written warning.

How many physical altercations have you seen in your workplace that haven’t resulted in someone being sacked on the spot, or at the very least, within the week? Sure, Simon Katich got sacked, but it was much further down the road and on the back of a Michael Clarke powerplay to put an end to the feud that had featured a grabbing of the throat and a lifting off the ground and a pooping of the pants. Problem solved.

But is it any wonder there is so much angst being reported about the leadership era of Clarke?

In many regards, it’s not his fault. I’m tipping he holds no formal qualifications in leadership or management or HR.

Cricket coaches and players are not capable of implementing appropriate communication processes to ensure harmony among men. They just aren’t experts in this field. They are too reliant on how it was done when they played, or the values ingrained in them as kids, or selfish excesses of power and ego that we are seeing monetised at the optimal Christmas book selling time.

It seems that some level of appropriate HR process would have done wonders for not just Clarke and his broken relationships, but also those players, like myself, who seemed to pop in and out very briefly.

41dd6700390409d92d697516a82a492d

Michael Clarke (L) with then-captain Ricky Ponting in 2009.Source: AFP
I’ve heard countless horror stories of big mad quicks and straight-backed batters calling home from tours in tears, such was the lack of induction – or onboarding - from new teammates, coaching staff and the CA travelling posse. This is crucial. Not just for the sake of team harmony; but because it is the right thing to do as a human being.

My own experience as a travelling member of the South African Test tour of 2009 is a great example of how the real world and the way we communicate, mentor and harness the strengths and weaknesses of those colleagues that make up our workplace compares unfavourably to the bubble of professional cricket.

The call to inform me that I was on a plane to South Africa was one of the biggest thrills of my cricket career. The fact it came at the expense of the internal tendon that joined to Doug Bollinger’s rib cage was irrelevant.

The flight over was long - 17 hours in transit. The entire trip I couldn’t stop thinking about arriving in Johannesburg and witnessing the raw beauty of the landscape.

What would be waiting for me? My mind raced. A media throng with a resultant press conference? Maybe a limo? At the very least, I was convinced there would be a person carrying a white piece of cardboard with my name on it.

You can imagine my surprise when I came off the flight and there was no one awaiting my arrival. No media. No press conference. And most importantly, no member of the Cricket Australia posse to give me a lift back to the ground where Australia had just won the first Test.

No one. No morning tea. No introductory email. No coffee. No cake.

c1313e824ce08534625d253097932d89

Brett Geeves in action for Tasmania in 2009. Picture: Gregg Porteous.Source: News Limited
After an hour of waiting, I collected my cricket bag, my suitcase, my laptop bag and trudged over to change the $100 note I had so I could get a cab to the ground. I am not a well-travelled man, so had no idea that catching a cab in Joburg, the crime capital of the world, while carrying two enormous bags and a laptop bag was a reasonably dangerous assignment.

The giveaway was the open admission from the driver that I had just made him a target for both abduction and death. And myself a valuable commodity for ransom. I took all my Cricket Australia clothing off immediately as the drivers sweating and shaking increased.

As we approached the ground to within about 500 metres, I was informed that I would be taken no closer and was asked to exit the vehicle. I did so, as I could see the ground and streams of people departing as the game had finished. A safe place.

As I made my way through the main gate, I was collared by a large security guard carrying a machine gun.

“Where are you going?”. I replied some bumbled mess about replacing Doug Bollinger and that I had a CA bag with my name on it and I was part of the squad. He didn’t buy it and denied me access to the ground.

From there, I walked around to another gate where a smaller gentleman, also carrying a machine gun, took the time to escort me to the players change rooms. What a relief. I was now safe and would no doubt be welcomed into the celebration with a large “HOORAY, GEEVA IS HERE!!”.

As I open the door, I can see the quizzical looks from a number of players as I sheepishly say hello and then hear the words I’ll never forget.

“What are you doing here!!??”

No morning tea. No introductory email. No coffee. No cake.

Worse was yet to come.



572277_640x360_large_20161024214926.jpg

'No inside info yet'

1:53
I was fortunate enough to have been selected to stay on as part of the ODI squad. It may have been because all the quicks had been sent home post the Test tour, but I am clinging to the fact that I had earnt it.

Having sat out the first two one-dayers, I was brought in for the third in Cape Town. Sadly, in the run chase I walked across my stumps whilst batting and had my sandshoe caved in by the Morkel who isn’t even the good one. The result was a broken foot and I was sent home.

Finding out you’ve got a broken foot and being handed your flight details for the next morning is an extremely flattening experience.

You would think that there would be a process in place to ensure the mental wellbeing of players in this situation is catered for. The real world would provide an exit interview. Some coffee. A cake. A card with nice words in it. Maybe even some balloons. The CEO, the manager or one of his assistants would certainly touch base to wish you well.

Not in the bubble of cricket.

I had Nathan Hauritz sit with me in my room for a stint and the team masseuse – Christian Binder, who I had developed a great relationship with – dropped by also.

The next morning, I hobbled my way down stairs with all my gear and waited in the foyer for the team physio to get me to the airport. As I waited, I watched the coach, the captain and a member of team management having breakfast with Brett Lee, who was not a playing member of the squad.

I thought about going over to say goodbye, but by that stage, I had experienced enough to know that I wasn’t exactly a valued member of the squad and a quiet exit would be a fitting way of departing the HR nightmare that was my tour of South Africa.
Click to expand...
I wonder if Ferg and Joe got the same treatment in Hobart
 

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So some of you who read this thread and have read the OP *cough Bicks * may note that I am a bit of a bat junkie, always having to get a new bat...well just because I can I guess. When my family came to this great country, we didn't have a lot of spare cash for the kids to be getting limited edition willow bats, unless of course Big W RP brand polyarmoured bat was LE willow underneath but that's what I got to go and play cricket with as a kid.

Didn't care about it at the time and really only noted how s**t the bats I had as a kid was until my friend turned up with a David Hookes twin scoop bat and I suddenly became aware that balls could go to the boundary. These days though, money isn't a big issue and I don't really want a better TV or computer or whatever, just a nice bat and I am happy. Anyways, enough about that, lets just say I really hung out this year and waited until after match 3 to get my new bat. Well, it wasn't really match 3, the plan was in place a little while back. I read an article on Lachlan Fisher, the Australian bat maker who had closed down his workshop, being unable to compete with overseas batmakers.

To be honest, I'm not sure it is the O/S batmakers that have forced him out but Ebay itself which has undercut the premium bat market. Long story short, I am a nostalgic bugger and thought that with all the good reports of his bats, better get one, knocked in, ready to go. So it arrived today 1135gms or just on 2 pound 8 ounce, I took it out the back with an old ball and had a bit of a tap. My goodness, this bat has a terrific middle, better than my Laver and Wood and I am pretty keen to get to the nets next week and have a bit of a tonk with it.

Our 2 day game became a one day game thanks once again to the shithouse weather that has been spring this year. On the positive the first weekend had all the boys back at the clubrooms, bagging the Aussie boys effort in Hobart with plenty of beers drunk.

2nd week the one day game was just our regular 60 over game cut in half with no bowling restrictions. After winning the toss, our captain looked at me and asked whether we should bat or bowl, I pointed out that us only having 9 players for the first hour probably means we should pad up. Not that we needed those whole 9 players because unlike the Australian team, our top order can bat and unlike Australia, nobody in our top 3 is an absolute bogan spaz like Warner.

The openers both got to 50 and I made a 43 before breaking my self imposed rules. My batting has gotten better because I refuse to play certain shots...because I always get out to them but on 43, I played a front foot pull shot and surprise surprise, light snick, through to the keeper, like fecking always. Still 159 for 5 off our 30 overs looked a reasonable effort.

The oppo bat strong up top and started the chase strongly, chancing their arms but not playing any front foot pull shots, they had reached 72 by the 12th over when I was given the ball. Now, I will say this about the younger generation, for all the T20 they watch, none seem interested in trying to bowl yorkers, not sure why, maybe they haven't picked up on it yet. So, I bowled yorkers and slower balls and had catches dropped everywhere. I can't complain, I couldn't catch a cold but fair go there are guys in my side that wouldn't have to wear a rubber when sleeping with a chick, they won't catch anything.

Still the old bulls bowled out the last 18 overs, restricted the runs, took some wickets and I thankfully, had 18 runs up my sleeve when I bowled the last over, which made my 2 in, 7 on the boundary field very easy to bowl to, giving us a 10 run victory and still clear on top of the ladder. With a week off for the test match, I shall rest my weary bones in the holiday house at Robe and watch some cricket if we haven't already coughed the game up inside 5 sessions.
 
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So, new bat, just ace. What can I say, balls were flying around like it was a porno shoot, some of them even from my bat. We got to play one of the bottom sides in a one dayer and after having abowling line up so strong I didn't get a bowl ( not as hard as I make out, genuinely anyone who doesn't close their eyes in the last 4 steps of the delivery could beat me), we knocked the side over for 68 runs. Of course all the frustration of not getting a bowl allowed me a bit of energy with the willow that had me top scoring with 69...lol. I have told people that I knew what score I was on and just shouldered arms to the delivery but I thought I had to start going for it if I was getting to a ton and just was bowled by a guy to good to slog.

Anyways, another win, still top and another 3 votes in the POY trophy.

Which leads me to...the arseholes have picked me for A grade, which would be cool if I wasn't nearly 50 and have spent the past 5 years bagging the crap out of A grade players on a national broadcaster. I don't own a arm guard or a rib guard, I am expecting some payback from those spray tanning, light beer drinking pansies. To give you an idea of the talent in A grade, generally in a good team, the first 6 have played metro A grade . Sadly, we play the top team, so I don't get a free pass from these quiche eating, g string wearing, wax in the hear individuals, with their talent with both bat and bowl.

Worse still, it is 80 overs...I will be on the alcohol/muscle relaxants with a side of tramadol/panadol forte just to recover.
 
The story of Heaf

I play in a side with a guy who is your typical country guy. Good bloke, fixes all the equipment, made the ride on lawnmower last 8 more years than possible, against all odds with his degree in engineering. Anyways, this is his century that nobody talks about...

Just before the finals one year, our team and Wests were first and second, who won this match would get the minor premiership. Heaf was opening bat, played rep cricket for the country sides and he was determined to do well. The West bowling line up was strong and on a cloudy day, our boys batted well but none was making it look as easy as Heaf was, whilst others ground out 20s, playing and missing Heaf was playing a blinder, nobody was coming close to him.

Our team had reached the 51st over of an 80 over match and we were 5 for 152. Heaf had scored 84 runs and was desperate not to miss out on his ton when our number 7, "Cookie" came out to bat.

Now Cookie is just one of those guys who annoys the s**t out of me, naturally gifted at sports that would make you sick. He could pick up a tennis racquet one week and play A grade the next, just a total s**t, except he played for us, so it was OK. He never wanted to leave the country but if he did, you guys would all know him.There are so many gifted sportsman who just like the country, not interested in going to the city, Nick Daffy would admit, he wasn't the best player in his under 17 side but he was the one who wanted to go to the city.

Anyways, back to Heaf and Cookie. So, Cookie walks out to the wicket, wide brim hat on like his hero, Richie Richardson and Heaf stops him and says that he knows he can get a ton today, he is batting well, all Cookie has to do is just hang around for 10 overs. He wants him to hang around because numbers 8 to 11 are dead set bowlers and the side could go from 6 down to all out in a matter of balls.

Cookie was good enough to last to over number 77, which was great, it helped Heaf get to his ton, he ended up with 114 runs, a magnificent display of batting against a strong bowling line up.

Sad to report, nobody talks about that ton Heaf scored, it just doesn't get mentioned at the club, except in derision.

People talk about the 202 that Cookie scored. You may think I am joking but I have seen the score sheet. After Cookie had got to his 100, his next 11 shots were sixes. There is a rule of thumb that in an 80 over match that if you can minimise the loss of wickets in the first 50 overs, you can cash in on the last 30. I reckon Cookie took it to the extreme that day.
 
So, I am sure people are thinking "how d'ya go Jumbo?" "did ya take a 5 for, did ya at least win a fight?" in my A grade debut this season. Well, lets address the important matters first, if there had been a fight, yes I would have won, having Maoris live in your house for near 15 years means that when it comes to the knuckle, you're in good stead.

Sadly, to the rest of it, I am becoming very old. It was the first delivery that awoke me to this, ball on the pads turned to fine leg. I run after it, had 20 metres to get to ball, turned and drilled it over stumps. Jogged back thinking I kept it to a single...yeah, ran 2. Even with a ball hit a few metres to my right, they ran, it is very annoying getting old, still did this to people when I was young so it is my just desserts i guess.

The opposition, all talented, too talented, it was amazing to watch them bat. I did get to bowl though, a five over spell. First two deliveries were around the mark and played to mid off. Though I'd go an off cutter with the third, now in my mind, here was a ball that would pitch a foot outside off and take leg stump out of the ground. In reality it dropped a tiny bit short ( it was still just short of a good length), the batsman rocked back and put it over midwicket. The ball came back with postage stamps on it...from Helsinki. I am sad to say that after setting a trap,I bowled a knuckle ball on the hip, batter hit it to deep square leg and catch was taken by Heaf...who then took a step back...onto a boundary cone.

So no wickets, not to many runs ( though 6 less runs if Heaf wasn't a ****) and they banged 260 off 70 overs. We will see what happens this week, we survived a few overs to be 0-16 and I will probably bat 11...lets see if I survive the first ball???
 
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You know, when I said I'd probably bat 11, I was really half joking. Half joking on the basis that I was told I was scoring so many runs and A grade needed batsmen, that well you know.

Nup, slotted in at 11, watching people with far inferior techniques, far inferior ability and lets face it far inferior bat collections bat above me. No surprises that I was not out when the innings ended but I was dead set ropeable. If they needed a number 11 there are kids who bowl better and are better fielders but you know I guess I did square leg umpire for 25 overs so I was out in the middle for a while. Was disappointed when the paid umpire wouldn't let me do one end, I was looking to enjoy myself when they appealed for a LB and I could say "not out" and they'd ask why and I would say "it was missing" and they would ask what it was missing and I could look the bowler in the eye and say " the stumps".

So, that now ends my A grade career, it was fun whilst it lasted at my ripe old age
 
jumboprince said:
You know, when I said I'd probably bat 11, I was really half joking. Half joking on the basis that I was told I was scoring so many runs and A grade needed batsmen, that well you know.

Nup, slotted in at 11, watching people with far inferior techniques, far inferior ability and lets face it far inferior bat collections bat above me. No surprises that I was not out when the innings ended but I was dead set ropeable. If they needed a number 11 there are kids who bowl better and are better fielders but you know I guess I did square leg umpire for 25 overs so I was out in the middle for a while. Was disappointed when the paid umpire wouldn't let me do one end, I was looking to enjoy myself when they appealed for a LB and I could say "not out" and they'd ask why and I would say "it was missing" and they would ask what it was missing and I could look the bowler in the eye and say " the stumps".

So, that now ends my A grade career, it was fun whilst it lasted at my ripe old age
Click to expand...
Another 100 cruelly denied.
 
I know that there are some that read this thread and think " I know it was only a month ago that he bought himself a Fisher Best bat but you know, Xmas has come and gone, did Santa bring him a new bat?"

Well for all those pondering the question...yeah, he did. My sister may have said "haven't bought you a present for years, anything you want?". Knowing that she isn't scraping for her next dollar I said jokingly "anything from the Hitman range".

So yeah, a brand new Punisher.

Of course, the new bat reminded me about what i love about knocking a bat in...nothing. To be fair, I did make the most of a bad situation by sending a text around the club telling families I would teach their kids how to knock in a new bat. So, 8 kids around the house for 3 hours, learning hell and making their right arm so sore, I could almost guarantee that nobody jacked off that night and 2 cartons of Boags premium for my troubles from families, happy to be rid of their child for a few hours.

So yeah, the Fisher has a great middle, beautiful grade 1 english willow bat, beautifully made but the Hitman has a middle that starts 3cms from the base to the end of the splice, next level up.
 
jumboprince said:
"anything from the Hitman range".
Click to expand...
Police visit 1. Wifey still alive then?

learning hell and making their right arm so sore, I could almost guarantee that nobody jacked off that night.
Click to expand...
Police visit 2

Didn't mind knocking in bats. Mum hated it as her stocking ended up with one leg and she couldn't use clothesline
 
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