Misspent youth
June 8th 2008 15:04
I must admit that a part of my adolescence was wasted in the backlanes of Bankstown, where I was up to no good. In a rebellion against my father and his father before him, I took up a habit that today I admit to not feeling proud about.
I was a League bowler. This, in a long line of lawn bowlers. I was the black sheep. And I was no good at it.
Despite all of those Saturdays of coaching, and my lovely style, all I could manage today was a top score of 135, and that was with the bumpers up! I also managed to slip on the lane in my last frame of the day, knocking one bumper down and feeling glad my family had their backs turned at the time. However, you heard it here first, just in case it ends up on YouTube or what my niece calls "The Hurting Show" (Funniest Home Videos).
I should have continued Jazz Ballet. At the very least, I would have landed with more elegance.
However whilst we were at "our local" today, we were honoured to spot another Bankstown great (I flatter myself), Steve Waugh, his lovely wife and kids, out for an afternoon's fun. It reminded me how greatly he is missed in the cricketing world, but also reminded me of the stark contrast between himself and those around him during his era of greatness.
Waugh was always a gent when it came to spectators, and it was the hope of seeing his final innings that brought people to the Members' Gate at 4am in preparation of the running of the "Paddington Gift" (th sprint to the prime seats in the Noble Stand). My family took a more leisurely approach, and preferred to come in at th start of play, braving the elements in the bottom of the Ladies'. From here I witnessed the marked differences between Mr Waugh and his successor. Whilst Steve would sign bats for ages after a match, I had once asked Ricky Ponting (try texting his name... comes out "Picky Rooting"! Another summertime discovery) if he'd sign my daughters' bat. This was as he sat outside the dressing room as Australia batted. After acknowledging me when I called out, "Hey Ricky?", he looked me straight in the face, and said, "Nah!"
Clearly I was mortified. I was pretty sure I'd asked for an autograph, not a shag, and so the abruptness of the response shocked me. My face fell, not from diappointment, but from disbelief. Andy Bichel, Brett Lee and a couple of other more diplomatic players deigned to take the bat and add their names to it; clearly embarrassed by their team-mate's arroagance, and wanting to replace the startled expression on the face of an Aussie cricket fan with something more akin to the adulation they are used to. It worked, but I will never forget being slighted by Ricky. His subsequent arrogance on and off field showed this was not a one-off.
Steve Waugh, on the other hand, clearly was a fabulous role model, as captain, diplomat, media personality, and most importantly as a husband and father, to the "kiddies" on his team. Whilst admittedly he sledged with the best of them (eg Healey, who felt it was his duty to screw with the batsman's head)... the words, "You just dropped the World Cup" spring to mind, he also helped orphanages in India, through his profile and resources. Imagine the good that could have been done by this man if the IPL purse was around when he was still playing.
Really Long Link
I hope that some of the current players consider doing something as useful with their earnings (besides happily and honestly paying taxes to the Australian government).
To Steve and his wife and kids, I wish good health and happiness. Thanks for the memories.
I was a League bowler. This, in a long line of lawn bowlers. I was the black sheep. And I was no good at it.
Despite all of those Saturdays of coaching, and my lovely style, all I could manage today was a top score of 135, and that was with the bumpers up! I also managed to slip on the lane in my last frame of the day, knocking one bumper down and feeling glad my family had their backs turned at the time. However, you heard it here first, just in case it ends up on YouTube or what my niece calls "The Hurting Show" (Funniest Home Videos).
However whilst we were at "our local" today, we were honoured to spot another Bankstown great (I flatter myself), Steve Waugh, his lovely wife and kids, out for an afternoon's fun. It reminded me how greatly he is missed in the cricketing world, but also reminded me of the stark contrast between himself and those around him during his era of greatness.
Waugh was always a gent when it came to spectators, and it was the hope of seeing his final innings that brought people to the Members' Gate at 4am in preparation of the running of the "Paddington Gift" (th sprint to the prime seats in the Noble Stand). My family took a more leisurely approach, and preferred to come in at th start of play, braving the elements in the bottom of the Ladies'. From here I witnessed the marked differences between Mr Waugh and his successor. Whilst Steve would sign bats for ages after a match, I had once asked Ricky Ponting (try texting his name... comes out "Picky Rooting"! Another summertime discovery) if he'd sign my daughters' bat. This was as he sat outside the dressing room as Australia batted. After acknowledging me when I called out, "Hey Ricky?", he looked me straight in the face, and said, "Nah!"
Steve Waugh, on the other hand, clearly was a fabulous role model, as captain, diplomat, media personality, and most importantly as a husband and father, to the "kiddies" on his team. Whilst admittedly he sledged with the best of them (eg Healey, who felt it was his duty to screw with the batsman's head)... the words, "You just dropped the World Cup" spring to mind, he also helped orphanages in India, through his profile and resources. Imagine the good that could have been done by this man if the IPL purse was around when he was still playing.
Really Long Link
I hope that some of the current players consider doing something as useful with their earnings (besides happily and honestly paying taxes to the Australian government).
To Steve and his wife and kids, I wish good health and happiness. Thanks for the memories.
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