July 2 – Aus v Essex – Day 2

Diary of the 17th Man

Writers are known to be afflicted occasionally by writers block. In the same way, watching the progress of the red ball up and down a cricket wicket from the sideline can be one paced, one dimensional and deadly dull. This wicket is so playable The Prof is sure an inch of concrete is hiding beneath a pitch thick crust of dead matting a Chelmsford dandy might have brought back from India to use [Ed. rather cleverly] as a hallway runner. Anyone could make a score on this flat top and everyone did including Junior Junior Marsh who eventually holed out for 167, and The Freak and Plopper who put together a handy 50 for the last wicket. All out 562. Yawn.

Essex played out the day to be 3/299 at stumps. One of their young young guns scored a big ton just to prove how friendly conditions were. It didn’t help that Mr Darcy bobbled his first ball of the innings straight to second slip. The Captain was ready for it; he saw it early. This turned out to be the highlight of our effort. All the bowlers took a right old hammering except Hollywood who bowled 6 overs of his featureless stump balls for a meagre 17 – maybe not enough yet to retain his position at no 6. No one is counting except Junior Junior who badly, badly wants to play in an Ashes Test. Yawn. Yawn.

I tried everything to distract myself and bring some warmth to this post and our lacklustre performance in the field. Watching the grass grow is a disappointing activity at the best of times. Yawn. Then the rain interruptions came drop by watery drop. Yawn. I tuned in to ABC Grandstand whilst the covers were on and listened to the static for a good ten minutes. Jimmy Maxwell was not at his best. Yawn. I turned to ESPN’s match commentary that parses itself as cricket journalism. More rubbish from the England camp barely worth reporting. Dull, dull, dull.

In utter desperation, I turned to the YouTube clip of MAXI’s one-handed boundary catch whilst he appeared to clutch an ice-cream in the other. I replayed this a few times just to take in the thankful looks of the spectators directly in the line of fire. One bloke who looked very much like Dennis, the Prof’s merchant banker friend from the Barmy Army, was in a floppy hat holding a meat pie. My lip reading skills these days are no better than the English skills of an HSC student. Nevertheless, it appeared he said something like “Thank Christ. This pie is so bloody hot.” I don’t know if this was in response to the caught ball, or the wave of beer floating towards him from the hands to his left that would have doused a volcano.

Either way, his predicament broke my surly mood. There isn’t much to be done when you watch Coach2.0 rip 10 pages from your diary before lunch and use them as hand napkins. And he knew I had seen him do it. No one plays with the diary! It is a deadly sin. Coach2.0 might think he has avoided a penalty. He doesn’t know that I slipped a laxative into his curry in the kitchen just to balance out the day’s score.

As for this game with Essex, it might end in a draw. Yawn. When The Captain loses the toss, as he often does in England, and the opposing captain invites him to bat on what all agree is a dead set road, it is hard to take anything seriously. I hope Coach2.0 feels the same way in the morning.

Australia 562. Essex 3/299. zzzzzzzzzz.