Another world …

COMPARED to last year, the Town V Country cricket match was a reasonably passive affair but, as you will see, it did have its moments. You will recall that last year was notable for the introduction of Codz to our community activities. For the benefit of newcomers, Codz came down from Sydney and bought the old Appleyard spread up the coast a bit — “Duke’s Run” it’s called — 15,000 acres of top wool country with about 1,000 acres of it being superb river flat land for vegies and other intensive stuff.

Fortunately, Codz — Jeremy Cassidy is his real name — at least had the sense to hire young Chook Kennedy to manage the property for him, Chook having been to Ag. College and all that. Anyway, Codz made a stunning first impression by wearing jodhpurs to the cricket match. It was not so much that he wore the jodhpurs — some wear shorts, some wear jeans, some wear old suit pants and a couple of the private school cockies turn out in creams — but that the jodhpurs were at least three sizes too small. In other words, from the waste down Codz looked very much like Rudolph Nureyev about to go on stage. Even Plunger and The Rat had their mouths wide open and their eyes sticking out, and they’ve seen everything.

The tight jodhpurs left absolutely nothing to the imagination — from every wrinkle on his wotchamacallit to every bump on his thingamajig to every scar on his oojamadoojit. The whole lot of them. You could count them; you really could. Unfortunately, while he may have looked a bit like Nureyev, he moved with the speed and elegance of an elderly convict dragging a ball and chain. As a consequence of his restricted gait he scored a duck, had none for twenty nine off two overs, dropped a couple of catches and fell over repeatedly in the field. On top of all that Bungles spilled a glass of rum and coke on Codz jodhpurs which made them even tighter and lent a sort of translucent technicolour sheen to the crutch and upper thigh area. Not a good day for Codz in his introductory game. Still, it was a game that will not be forgotten for a few decades.

Codz turned up this year in jeans, a T-shirt and sandshoes and did everything else right too. He got a quick thirty odd for Country just when they needed it, took a couple of wickets with his mystery spin and hung on to the best outfield catch since Widow Headlights took a screamer on the boundary in 2001 when subbing for Fingers who had runs of a different kind after a heavy night, if you know what I mean. Codz was the difference between the two teams this year. No doubt about it.

A bit of a brawl

There was also a bit of a brawl even before the match started. The two umpires were the mayor Horrie “Bent” Dent and the Widow Headlights and just before the match started Horrie put the proposition that he should umpire all overs from the bowling end and the Widow Headlights should only stand at square leg. This was greeted by a loud and incredulous shout of “WHY?” to which he replied that it was proper because he was a man who understood the game and the Widow Headlights was a woman who didn’t. Well, you reckon that didn’t bring the roof down. Tugger, a logger and top sportsman in his day — as well as great supporter of women given that he was finishing up with his third wife and could tell you the décor of most bedrooms in the district — was incensed. As he proceeded to express a view about the matter, loudly and at length, he had Horrie by the throat with his feet off the ground. After three big blokes had extracted Horrie from Tugger’s grip and everyone reminded the mayor that the Widow Headlights had forgotten more about cricket than Horrie had ever known, peace and harmony was restored. Tugger’s judgement was endorsed unanimously and the game would proceed with no gender bias in the umpiring of the contest.

Next came the toss involving the two skippers — The Rat for the Townies and Warts Witzerman for the Country. Now, most people would expect a simple ritual like tossing a coin in such circumstances to be an elementary exercise – the toss, the call, the result, the decision to bat or bowl – but nothing is that simple up this way. First of all Horrie stepped out in front of everyone, pulled a coin out of his pocket and asked Warts, the visiting captain, to call. Before Horrie could do anything however Tugger intervened to declare that it was not Horrie’s business to toss the coin. “Hear Hear” yelled Plunger, adding an audible sotto voce “……..sneaky little slime.”

There then ensued an acrimonious exchange in the course of which some extremely vivid epithets were used. This was followed by Plunger ending Horrie’s strident claims to toss the coin by picking up the mayor and, with one arm around his throat — thus closing off his vocal chords — and the other under his knees proceeded to carry him towards the river, some 400 yards away. Codz was the first to realise that Plunger’s mission was deadly serious — “Bent” Dent was bound for the water and a drenching, perhaps worse than that if he couldn’t swim. Codz headed off after Plunger and his wriggling cargo to be followed by Tugger and then the rest, players, families, distant relatives and others out for a picnic in the sun and without any connection to the cricket match. When Codz and Tugger reached Plunger the latter reluctantly agreed to return His Worship the Mayor to terra firma which he did by dropping his arms, thus allowing Horrie to hit the ground rather solidly. Horrie responded by declaring that Plunger would be hearing from his lawyer. “Beauty’, replied Plunger, ‘I’ll tell the judge what ya did with the takings at the RSL club last year.”

“… and ya better check ya rompers because me arm’s all damp. Ya little squirt”, roared the irate Plunger as the dishevelled Mayor waddled towards his car.

It wasn’t Horrie’s best day.

The greatest cheer leader

You will all remember that I told you Gravel Rash would be down from Hobart for the match. Well, was she ever. She is without doubt the greatest cheer leader I have ever seen and heard. She not only had all the Townie supporters lined up but also roped in quite a few outsiders — including independent picnickers, a go-cart group and a couple of plumbers sorting out a broken mains behind the dunnies. When one of the Town quickies was brought on to bowl she would lead a chant of “Bump it, bump it; hit him in the crumpet.” And whenever a Country batsman was readjusting his protector Gravel Rash would suggest the likelihood of his actions causing blindness. The meaning of this eluded me but her fan club thought it most amusing.

Gravel Rash is in fact a most engaging lady and on the large and strong side. Not fat large but tall and fit large. She has been a state representative in weightlifting and softball and can hold her own in a number of other sports. She is also a very keen punter — on anything, from horses to a couple of flies crawling up a wall. A few years ago she won two hundred and fifty dollars in a bet for going through a car wash naked on the back of a ute. I know because it was my ute and I was sitting in the cabin behind the wheel. I couldn’t see her clearly through the rear view mirror because of the soap and brushes and stuff but the blokes who saw her go in and come out reckon she looked like one of those Greek goddesses in a chariot.

Actually, it became a bit embarrassing because all those brushes sweeping over her skin and her bits and pieces caused her to get very emotional in a private sort of way, if you know what I mean. So, once she got through the whole process she jumped off and chased a taxi driver a couple of blocks down Elizabeth Street and it took four blokes, including an MTT bus driver, to catch her and bring her back. The taxi driver had just been getting some petrol from a pump near the car wash. You can imagine how he felt! All he could say was “… and we have never had the introduction”, in a Mediterranean accent of some kind. Anyway we got her dressed and took her off to Jockstrap’s place. He’s got a little pad in town for that sort of thing. They’re probably still there for all I know.

Sport, fellowship, some innocent fun, a few yarns, an ale or four and bit of how’s your father is the way to live life. Don’t you reckon? That’s the way of things up here, I can tell you.