Letter from Melbourne

Cool at the Colonial

Rajan Iyer

One term at my school
I achieved a half century of absences.
Playing truant at the nets with Cricketers more able than I
Seemed more profitable than Geometry or pi.

These subversive lines by the only cricketer poet I know of, Henry Graham*, a Lancastrian and an Englishman, came to mind as I settled into my seat at the Colonial stadium on a chill Wednesday afternoon when I really ought to have been peering into a computer at work.

Yes, the lights, the newness of the stadium and the anticipation of seeing cricket again was certainly exciting and well worth taking the day off.

Looking around me though, it did not feel quite like the atmosphere one is used to in Melbourne. Traditionally, cricket at the MCG means summer, shorts and singlets, acres of sun reddened flesh reeking of sun block, silly hats, and portable ice-boxes called Eskies, packed with quantities of intoxicants.

The story is told of Alan Hurst, who played for Australia in the early eighties, of fielding in front of the infamous Bay 13 at the MCG, now called the Great Southern stand. One among the loud crowd, clearly under the influence after imbibing all day, leaned over the fence to offer Hurst a cold beer that was politely declined. When the shorts clad plebeian insisted loudly, Hurst asked instead for an ice cube from his esky as it was a hot afternoon.

"Yea, no worries mate!" as a few cubes lobbed over and Hurst slaked his thirst.

Returning to his station after the next ball, Hurst was horrified to see his benefactor sitting with his feet in the Esky. He stammeringly inquired how long those feet had been in the Esky which elicited "All bloody afternoon."

No chance of such tales on Wednesday as all around me, people huddled into heavy woollens under the shut roof and buried their faces in steaming cappuccinos as a cold draft tickled us around the neck.

The day had begun promisingly enough, bright sunshine laced with chill winds as we walked across the footbridge with a large contingent of high-spirited South Africans. In the stadium itself, I looked long and hard for those witty banners. Save for an industrious attempt at an acrostic sonnet on South Africa, there really was nothing worth writing home about. Even the barracking, which regularly throws up gems amid the dross was not up to the mark save for a well timed shout of 'Hey Warney, give us a call!'

Waiting for the first ball to be bowled, the debate in the stands was, how would the white ball be sighted against the white roof. In the event, such misgivings were ill-founded as both Ricky Ponting and Mark Waugh went out to cleanly taken catches off skied shots when the ball was reasonably clean.

These incidentally brought into telling effect the roof mounted camera that followed the ballooning of the ball. While the technical gimmickry will be lapped up to raise the bar ever more, and while both captains made the right noises, there are a few things that need to be ironed out.

Those watching on TV would have noticed the patches on the ground where sections of turf have been laid anew. While spin doctors might term it pointillism, the fact remains that the outfield, why, even the infield is not world class. Since there is no wicket square, but turf at the edge of the single wicket, we saw the unedifying spectacle of Mark Waugh, Steve Waugh and Michael Bevan slip while turning for second runs. The bowlers' run-ups had to be saw dusted many times through the game. The twelfth men of both sides were kept busy, scraping mud off boots between breaks.

(Now here is a thought, how many of the aristocrats in the Indian team would wield the wire brushes as enthusiastically as Andrew Symonds?)

Here's hoping that the next two games will be better fought and the support structure plays its part too.

In conclusion, one of the innovations thought up by the marketing boys at the ACB has been to have each player select a signature rock track for when he goes out to bat. Steve Waugh has the Pearl Jam track 'Better man' while his opposite number Shaun Pollock has 'All fired up'.

It follows then that the Indians ought to pick from the treasure trove of Indian film music. Our hypotheses about which song suited which player certainly kept us entertained and often in splits.

* More of Henry Graham's work can be found in the excellent book 'Quick Singles' edited by Christopher Martin-Jenkins of The Cricketer magazine and Mike Seabrook. This was one of the jewels that were found as I lazed through this collection of cricketing essays.

Related feature: The brightest, latest and greatest

Mail Rajan Iyer