Prologue: The following story was written after day one of the second Test. It’s only been a few weeks, but I think Angus is getting used to cricket. During day four of the Boxing Day Test, I put the cricket on the house television. Angus, who thinks the TV is always on for cartoons, turned to Kristine.
‘Can I watch a bit of TV when the cricket’s over before bed?’ he asked.
We were both surprised, because he didn’t complain about the cricket being on…
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Angus - giving Mitchell Marsh out in the second Test
When I woke at eight I took a hot breath and sighed. By the time I’d walked into the kitchen for coffee, I was shrouded in humidity.
It was too hot to sit down. It was too hot to stand. It was too hot for coffee but I persevered. Angus gave me a cuddle, which felt like two molten rocks colliding.
‘We gonna watch some cricket today?’
‘Yes daddy,’ he said.
Angus will be three in April. I introduced him to cricket during last year’s Ashes. His attention span lasted long enough to learn how to give batsmen out, which he did regularly. Last summer he would sit on my lap for twenty minutes and watch Test cricket.
His interest lingered into footy season, but he didn’t call it football, it was cricket ball. ‘Are you watching cricket ball,’ he’d ask.
‘Yes, but’s called football.’
‘It’s cricket ball.’
I let him have it. My hope that’d he’d let me watch cricket this year died during the first Test. He thinks if the TV is on, it’s on for him. And cricket isn’t Pepper Pig or Shaun the Sheep or Scooby Doo.
But he understands the TV in the garage is for sport. On the last day of the first Test, he sat on the couch in the garage and watched as India collapsed, firing the batsman out with his tiny finger.
When I turned the house TV on to watch the first session of the second Test, I thought my enthusiasm would inspire Angus but he wouldn’t have it. I was able to see the first over before his demands for Peter Rabbit forced me to turn the TV off and head outside.
The sun beat down. It was already 33 degrees with eighty percent humidity. It was a day when it just has to rain, but there’s no chance of it happening.
Brisbane had been cool for three days, so the pool was cool and a great relief. Kristine was entertaining her friend Liz and her boy Max, who is similar in age to Angus.
I bottled beer while they swam and ate cake and fruit. I listened to the ABC, expecting a wicket and ruing the weather. I was sweating while bottling as Mitchell Johnson and Josh Hazlewood sweltered while bowling.
Mitchell Marsh got the breakthrough then broke his hamstring. Shaun Marsh didn’t do his confidence and the team any favours by dropping Vijay on 36. His error cost Australia 108 runs.
1-89 at lunch wasn’t good, but it wasn’t bad. I drove my brother to the Gabba and dropped him off in a side street. It was the closest I’d get to live cricket for the day, and it was with some envy that I watched him walk away.
Pujara fell for eighteen shortly after lunch, leaving India at 2-100. When Kohli went at 137, Hazlewood had two wickets. A big partnership or another wicket could turn the match.
As I finished off the bottling and took to the pool, Vijay and Rahane were building a 124-run partnership. Vijay hit his hundred. Two runs later, Shaun Marsh dropped him again, putting India in control.
During the last session, Angus wasn’t interested in watching the cricket. He’s too little to concentrate on anything other than cartoons, but I was hoping to get him through five minutes so he’d stop asking for Speed Racer.
I sat him on my lap and had him fire the batsmen out. He’s getting good at giving the finger of death and pointing it at the TV, but he tried to poke my eyes out then rammed his finger into my bellybutton.
By 4.30pm I was on the train into the city, to catch up with Adam at the Criterion for a Christmas beer. Vijay went out for 144 while I was on the train. I was pleased Nathan Lyon got a wicket and surprised Mitchell Johnson hadn’t.
At the Criterion it was happy hour, five dollar beers. It was happy hour at the Gabba too, five run overs as David Warner and Steve Smith bowled their legspin.
India ended the day at 4-311 as I ended my first pint. Adam and I talked about Phil Hughes for a while. We’d both played cricket as young men. We’d been hit by a cricket ball without any expectation of dying.
I called home and talked to Kristine and Angus. They were fine. I asked Angus if we were going to watch the second day of the Test.
‘Yes daddy,’ he said.
I was seven when I discovered cricket. I can’t imagine summer without Test cricket. All through my childhood and into my teenage years, I sat and watched Test cricket. If I couldn’t watch I’d listen to it.
Many times my parents told me to turn the TV off and go outside and do something.
One day in protest, I ran an extension lead from the garage into the backyard and plugged in the portable radio. I put a chair in the shade and sat for hours, listening to the cricket on the ABC while fidgeting with a bat and ball, in full view of my parents who were inside.
I was doing something, sitting outside listening to the cricket. If they wouldn’t let me watch, I would listen.
Now, when the Tests are on, I’m always doing something. I’m either watching or listening. As Angus grows up, he’s going to be exposed to Test cricket.
In a few years, we will be getting dropped off at the Gabba on a hot, oppressive day. But right now, it is me and my boy, sitting on the couch watching Test cricket, a few overs here, a few overs there.
We have time to build an innings. And of course, there is another baby on the way, due in ten days. Could be a boy or girl. Most likely will love Test cricket…
Hi Matt, I’ve been searching for your sister Juliette and came across your page. I was a friend of Juliettes from Caboolture high school. I used to visit the family home in Elimbah in my little green mini . I would love to get in contact with her if you could please pass the message on I would be most grateful.
Ps. My maiden name is Purdy.
