Bleacherites,
Last Sunday evening, found myself at the Olympic Stadium for the Twenty20 match Sydney Thunder v Sydney Sixers, whoever they are, with me ol' mate Trev in the company of his two young lads aged ten and 15.
After the third and final, fatal, rain delay, a most extraordinary thing happened.
We went out to the smoking lounge near the toilets out the back of Bay 115.
Trev fished out a cricket bat about a third the size of a regulation willow from his bag, and a ball that was a touch heavier and bouncier than a tennis ball, and chucked to his two boys.
After they'd been hitting about aimlessly for a bit, caught the sight of three boys about 11 or 12 out of the corner of my eye, who were standing around taking a keen interest in the proceedings.
Suggested to Trev that he go over to his boys and suggest to them they ask the lads watching if they'd like hit.
The thing then took on a life of its own and went completely viral.
Soon there were half a dozen more boys playing, and it wasn't long before a couple of adults had cottoned on to it, and had set up some stumps using those tall witches hats, the ones with 'caution wet floor' on them, and organised a rudimentary field.
Then it was on; serious overam bowling.
More boys joined in, and then a wicketkeeper appeared in the form of a bearded hipster in his early twenties, who played very well with his bare hands.
He soon put in a slips cordon with his mates and it was on for young and old.
Boisterous play with the boys given their head to bowl and bat how they liked.
As if it was the most natural thing in the world, a chorus of older men had gathered behind the bowlers arm and became a vocal Umpire's Chorus, turning down most leg before appeals and stumpings and bump ball catches; but if you were out, they made sure that you knew you were out, and the bat was quickly passed to the kid bowler.
The Umpires Chorus were referred to the DRS once, when a particularly good stumping was given out by general acclamation.
A few of the young lads could play, and were smacking the ball all over the shop at pace, to the point where the rubber ball started to become a problem, as more younger boys became involved in the game, and they changed to a regulation tennis ball.
In the end there would have been more than a dozen batters and bowlers, but there were also more than 30 active fielders - so no one lasted at the crease very long - and in excess of 300 spectators, who had gathered around after being attracted by the loud noise and the cheering, with the match going on in the entry/exit chute next to the closed Gate G.
After about half an hour of observing this frenetic action, with real live thunderbolts and lightning all about, and the rain bucketing down big time on the stadium awning under which the game was being played, which was booming with the constant raucus appealing, security closed it down, saying there were too many people in such a confined space - and although they were called names and accused of being wankers - they were quite right for a change, and besides the main match had been declared dead and buried, and they were trying to close the ground.
In reality, it was in danger of getting out of hand, if it hadn't already,
Early on, me and Trev stepped out of the loop and just let it go, surveying the scene and looking at each other in astonishment saying "what have we started!!??"
In the dénouement, Trev boldly chested a security guard, so had to step in and subtly pull him off the bloke before there was any kind of fracas, and tell him in a quiet and sociable way to go get his bat and ball and go home.
Which we did, after the storm had moved off to the north-east and the rain had all but stopped.
The exuberant spontaneity was 100% politically incorrect in this day and age of absurd rules and over-regulation and public liabily etc etc - but jeez, just for that snap shot in time, it was so much illegal fun.
There was enough cricket played on the main arena to see Fidel Edwards off his long run -- funny to watch as he started his run up a few yards in from the insanely short boundary rope and the ball flew through to the keeper who was standing an equivalent number of yards in from the boundary at the other end!
Any bat that happened to connect with that sort of stuff would be guaranteed to send the ball twenty rows back.
Watching Chris Gale bowling off a three step run up was simply hilarious.
Bing Lee proved he can still play at his age by sending down a couple of overs at full pelt [then again, Bingers always did chuck his really quick short ball, so he's ideal for the format].
MA Starc took three wickets in four balls to have the Thunderbirds in all sorts of doggy do before the final deluge came, and yet the home side was still not saved by rain.
What the?
With the Pattinson Kiddie gorn for the season, you'd pick Starkers straight up for Perth, wouldn't you?
The only disappointment was that TSC MacGill failed to get out of his Zimmer frame at any stage, and didn't bat or bowl.
None of the other superstars involved in the match did much.
Think: Dunk, Floros, Coyte, Abbott, Mora, Nevill, and two Smiths among other household names.
The size of the crowd surprised - having seen plenty a Swans games at the ground thought it was more than 25K, so the offical attendance figure of 31,262 was just about right on the money, and there would have been more in, no doubt, if there hadn't been the threat of dodgy weather about.
Guessing that the people know what they want, and it aint outrageously overpriced test cricket.
Twenty20 is very keenly priced at just over $10 a ticket for a four game package deal and $20 for walk up general admission, so why not?
Cheap, fun, simple entertainment for the bread and circuses crowd.
Another interesting phenomenon was observed; at least two different groups of well dressed young folk who would have been in their mid 20's, who had with them one of those classic Tupperware circular trays with the compartments in it, you know the sort of thing, one holding the cabanossi, the next the cheese cubes on toothpicks, the next the gerkins and pickled onions, the next the olives, the next the crackers and french onion dip, the next the tinned asparagas spears wrapped in ham and devils an horseback etc etc.
Thinking that this was either a seriously retro statement, or that they had just been taught well about the finer things in life when it comes to finger foods by their Western Suburbs parents.
Who knows?
After it was all said and done, found an abandoned incandescent fluoro lime green wig that some bloke had thrown down on the Olympic Sprinter platform at Lidcombe station in an desultory fashion, and stomped on.
He was obviously unhinged by lunatic soup, and made filthy by the rain delays and the fact that the Thunderbirds were officially declared the losers under the Duckworth-McIntyre-Hare-Clarke-Lewis system.
How anyone could possibly conjour up a winner out of that mess has got me and Trev beat.
Somehow, the laughable toupée ended up on my bonce.
Enough to do your head in.
