Spectators,
"No sooner had the muddied oafs vacated the playing fields, than the flanelled fools appeared, as if from nowhere...."
Popped my head into the Sydney Cricket Ground this morning in the hope of seeing MJ Clarke make his ton, while all the time thinking don't do this! you'll just jinx him and put the mock on the poor bloke.
Settled myself into the garden seats in front of the Ladies Stand just in time to see Pup play a lovely cut shot, beating the man at a dead-set point, off the hapless TP Macdonald for three, to bring up what must have been his first first class century outside the test matches in many a long year now, much to the raptuous applause of the smattering of members having a quiet early snifter in the Members Pavilion Bar, The Man & his Dog, and the 73 patrons seated in the MA Noble stand for the occasion [yes, with nothing else to do, counted them all, just before lunch].
Although, in truth, The Dog didn't really join in.
Perhaps he's just not a fan of the Captain-in-Waiting?
Then again, the ground canine has never been one to show much in the way of emotion, and has never been known to speak.
Of course missed all the action on day one, with Clarkey on 92 not out overnight, but seasoned observers at the ground did remark over a cuppa out of the Thermos that he smote the ball as well as he ever has done, although "looked a little ginger" in the back region from time to time while running between the wickets.
In any case, reckon Pup got himself out deliberately just before 11:30, having had a good hit for 106 in centre wicket practice, dollying a lollie from BG Drew to give GJ Bailey the easiest catch he'll take all summer at cover.
Probably called out as he it the thing "yours! George!" before trudging his way back to the dressing room to have his back walked up and down on by a four and a half foot Asian woman, before getting in the sauna, then the ice bath, while being beaten with birch sticks.
This, of course, was all in stark contrast to Sunday, finding myself having a look from under the Ol' Fig Tree at North Sydney Oval, at MJC's first one-day game for the Mighty Bleeeews in almost exactly three years.
Appeared to be all at sea for a well made 7, before being called for a run that wasn't there, and unable to stretch out fully, failed to make his ground by about half a bat.
Looked for all the world like a bloke well short of a good net, and obviously not fully fit, as he stretched his back with both hands on the coxyx while waiting to be interviewed by some Foxtel bimbo on the sideline during the game, and then described his back on the live telly as "good, strong".
Yeah, right.
Losing a touch of sleep at night worrying about Shaggers Back -- just about the worst injury you can possibly get -- generally chronic and incurable, and the pain usually doesn't respond to anything short of morphine.
Deeply concerning that the team physio is deeply concerned, not to mention the coach, as confirmed by this quote:
“He’s not an old man, so we’ve got to be very careful that we don’t flog him to death as a 27- or 28-year-old as he is now,” coach Tim Nielsen told AAP news agency.
SPD Smith provided some entertainment, launching the heavy artillery onto the roof of the O'Reilly Stand and hitting five boundaries in a row, and having a very good dip at a sixth to just miss out.
Undoubtedly the hightlight of the day was being present to witness The Great B Lee's last ever spell, before he did his elbow in again.
It was clear to all and sundry that he had lost a yard or two during his enforced lay off since before the Ashes began, and never looked like threatening to get anyone out on a slow, low, early season pitch, resulting in a test comeback looking more like having two chances; none and snowflakes
Did like his quasi-retirement press conference the next day where he carried himself very well indeed and admitted that if he never rolled his arm over again he would "be happy with what I've done."
There is no doubt, Binger is one of the very few genuine ornaments to the game, and had a good innings given his family history to go as long as he did, while belting them down at full pace for his entire career for hundreds of good wickets [although, and sorry to bring this up again, probably chucking his very quick ball, for mine.]
Certainly lasted longer than his rather less well credentialled, but rather more photogenic brother Shane, who you'll recall had a career cruelled by injury, and was forced to give the game away at the age of 28.
Despite the beaut aspect with the oval framed by the huge ancient low bough of the fig tree and a refreshing sou'easterly blowing in off the harbour and wafting in over the Doug Walters Stand, the joint had completely run out of food of any description by the change of innings!
The North Sydney CC's rightly famous steak sandwich stand had sold out and packed up and was gorn by half-time, while every pie in the ground had been bought and gobbled, and people were left wondering if any hot dogs, hamburgers or hot chips had actually made it to the ground in the first place.
Could have been food riots.
Compelled to join the famished, who with ten overs to go, and NSW looking well beaten on account of the openers didn't score quickly enough from the off, made a steady bee-line to the welcome bars of the North Sydney Hotel directly across Miller St.
The hotelier had been given the word from the ground and had the decency and sense to call the cook and open the hotel kitchen early.
Always noice when there's someone there to save you.
