Backyard Battles

The Team India versus Team Australia Test Cricket Series was on a knife-edge. Australia needed to draw or win the fifth and final test in Sydney, where rain was a constant threat, while India required a win to retain the Border-Gavaskar Trophy, with Allan Border my first cricketing hero.

The series, which, arguably, is now as important as the Ashes played between England and Australia, pits two cricket-loving nations against each other, one a nation of passionate Test Match supporters and the other, a fanatical band whose love of the sport was first introduced to the country during British East India Company and British rule.

The influence of the series is significant. Host cities across Australia are home to huge numbers of expatriates and first and second-generation Australians. They congregate in their thousands at grounds to cheer on their heroes and engage in banter with their supporters and with those supporting Australia.

Yet for all the tension that a Test Cricket Series between two of the sport’s superpowers inspires, it is the game that brings people together. In backyards, cricket nets, local sporting fields, and campgrounds across the country, youngsters were mimicking and quoting their heroes just as I had done with family and friends many years ago.

For the second time that I can remember, the cars were moved to flood the field with light. The backyard cricket camping battle had to continue with no player or parent yielding to call stumps.

The mosquitoes were rampant, but those itches could be treated and scratched at first light.

The only difference in this campsite test match was that the adults had peaked early and resorted to occasional fielders watching on with interest.

Players joined from each of the sites; some were novices and unaware of the competitiveness, which was instantly on display, but it mattered little.

To begin with, it was the adults who provided the guidance and invited the youngsters to bat, encouraging them to introduce themselves as they strode to the wicket; a dustbowl of sorts rolled by the contrast trampling of feet and maneuvering of cars, caravans, and campers.

Yet by the time the sun had set, an order had been established with those who were less experienced given a 'chance' to continue their innings even if they had been dismissed.

The kids worked it out for themselves – it was pure bliss to witness unobstructed children at play, protected from adults parachuting over their game.

The most audible shout of the evening, along with “How’s that?", was "no-run" – after all, this was our version of backyard camping cricket, and tippity run (batter must run after hitting the ball) had not been invoked.

Like many backyard games, no batter was dismissed first ball, all Leg Before Wicket appeals were turned down immediately, and when any participant asked how many balls were left in a vastly extended over the standard answer of TWO was modelled by adults passing on the 'rules' to their young charges.

Australian players, Steven Smith and Marnus Labuschagne, had made the call of “no-run” common in backyard games for the past few summers. To hear youngsters and the not-so-young…assertively embracing the call made me smile with enthusiasm.

However, there were several rules in place to protect infrastructure. Any hand-built objects struck on the full were automatically out. From cars and tents to water hoses and rubbish bins, there were traps for young players in all directions, including a ring field of eager players, which grew as the sounds of the game became more audible.

And as confidence flourished, so did the commentary with the new Australian cricket cult hero, “The Slug from Snug”, Tasmanian Beau Webster, making an appearance as a tall, elegant allrounder who took the game on in his first match.

But, much to our concern, we were soon to find out that there were also dual nationals taking the field in the camping cricket lineup. A highly skilled young Queenslander with a technique born of coaching, practice, and repetition strode to the crease; his obvious ability and love for the game made him stand out to the crowd, even for those not interested in cricket. Tellingly, when we enquired with his father about where his allegiances lay, England was the answer. Understandably, and as a result, I took up the cudgels and sent down some wily off-spin to dismiss the impressive youngster, some 40 years my junior.

But that’s cricket, and that’s backyard cricket. It is a sport where a cheap bat and a range of tennis balls pulled out of shape by electrical tape bring generations of players together. And after all these years and vast changes to the way we live, cricket still has the power to draw people from their homes and camping sites to join in and create the “sounds of summer”.

To my contentment, the following morning, a father thanked me for allowing his son to join in for his first game of cricket.

The pleasure was all mine.