Book cover designer

 I have always wanted to design book covers. I did one for Patsy Crawford years ago that I was really happy with; but more did not follow. 

Is it OK to be angry about more than one thing?

Yesterday Australia exploded in uproar and disappointment at the news our Test cricket captain had confessed to pre-meditated cheating in the 3rd test in South Africa. Later in the day a backlash developed as human rights advocates contrasted our national response to ball tampering with our national response to our mandatory detention of asylum seekers – which has resulted in untold misery, many deaths and life-changing injury and mental illness.

I am gutted about the gap between expectations and reality with the cricket team. Pre-meditated cheating, pushing young Bancroft out to do it, the shitty attempt at cover up after. The first I or most Australians knew about this was Steve Smith fronting a press conference, admitting the offence.

On the other hand, our government is carrying out an established policy (with tacit ALP support) that is grinding asylum seekers into the dirt every day. Every fucking day. And like millions of other Australians I have tried to hold our government to account.

I have written to ministers, to newspapers, signed petitions, attended vigils. I have volunteered for many many hours on an Amnesty International stall at the market where we try to convey the importance of these issues to people passing by. I was even pressed into taking part in a bit of street theatre in Refugee Week once [if you know me you will know this is waaay outside my comfort zone].  There are people like Ian Rintoul and Kon Karapanagiotidis who make fighting this fight their life's work. I have given time and money to help them but I cannot do what they do.

Occasionally particular events leap out of the continuum of officially sanctioned human rights abuse. The deaths of Reza Bharati, Omid Masoumali, and Hamid Khazaei and many more. And now the attempt by the government to stop a suicidal ten-year-old coming here for treatment. These are the headline events, when every fair-minded Australian agrees - hang on, this is not right. But then it slips from the front page but those innocent people are still in mandatory detention.

Yes, there are Australians who are blind to the injustice, and in fact say they support offshore detention, tow-backs and even more punitive action against asylum seekers who have committed no crime. But 45% of Australians want asylum seekers on Manus and Nauru brought here. Undoubtedly there are cricket-lovers and proud Australians on both sides.

Freeing people from offshore detention is an every-day fight. Concern about cricket or the environment or corruption or the possums getting into your carrots; none of this means you have stopped caring about and acting on behalf of asylum seekers.

Backyard cricket

I am at home with Winston at the moment, and as I walked past him I just thought how nice it would be if I could teach him to bowl a good line and length at fast medium pace. Marcus and I played a lot of cricket on the deck over the school holidays, and we are still having a hit in the evening most days.

Elf bought us a cube of tennis balls, 64 of them! So that brings an end to the old problem of having to suspend play when the 2 or 3 balls we had were lost over fences or into bushes.

This has ramifications for our neighbours on both sides. In the past they would toss back a ball when they found it. Now its more likely to 3 or 5 balls. Yesterday Sharyn politely lobbed seven balls back to our side. They are mostly from Marcus bowling short and wide enough to miss the lattice screen behind the wickets, but one came from a mis-timed hook shot that came off the toe of my bat and went high enough to hurt when it came down. Fortunately the yard next door was deserted at the time and there are no prize orchids or porcelain garden ornaments to suffer.

I will keep working on Winston because if I could train him to drop them regularly on a good length just on middle stump I could perfect my leg glance.

Phillip Hughes 1988-2014

When Phillip Hughes was suddenly drafted into the Australian cricket team, they must have got him to pop in to Channel 9 so they could film his little video portrait. When they mention a player or when he comes in to bat, they play this clip of them slowly turning around, lifting their head and giving you a look, you know, like you have just asked to dance with their girlfriend.

Phillip however jerked around as though someone had just dropped a fully laden tea tray.

I am joking around because his death is too sad and incomprehensible for me to address any other way. There have been many beautiful, thoughtful and heartfelt pieces written and I will not even try to match them.

It is a small mercy that of all the world's cricket grounds he was at the SCG. For his family and friends it meant they could be with him and all together over the next two days and hold a vigil for him. If he had been in Mohali or even Perth it would have felt quite different. Michael Clarke has been outstanding and is an ever more impressive leader, who has some more challenging times ahead, maybe the most difficult of his career.

I was fickle in my support for Phillip Hughes. After thrilling to his brilliant start and then despairing of his chances to ever lock down a spot in the team, I was too easily convinced by those who said he was a Shield run machine that just didn't have the technique to make the next level.

His innings that has been warming the cockles of my heart was not a spectacular one. It was full of maturity, and a sense that time was not against him, time was in fact ripening up and rounding out his talents. He batted with Ashton Agar on debut, in that extraordinary partnership at Trent Bridge that dragged Australia back into the match. He talked the young bloke through it and it was so impressive in a low-key way. There is a beautiful recap of it by Anthony Sharwood here.

Rest in peace Phillip Hughes, 1988-2014.

 Pic: Laurence Griffiths/Getty Images

Back from Canberra

We all missed Marcus when he was away for 5 days on a school trip, even Michael. I thought this was very sweet: Marcus is heavily into sport, Michael has no interest in sport but is intimately familiar with the TV schedule. At breakfast Michael had something exciting to tell Marcus but he had to wait for someone else to finish talking. Then he blurted out "Marcus - tonight is the Third Ashes Test Day 2 - DOUBLE EPISODES!!!!"

Anthem recognition test

Driving home the other day I flicked on the radio.
*Subcontinental-vocal stylings and drums for about 0.7 seconds*
*Radio off*
ME: Hmm. I thought the cricket would be on by now.
MARCUS: Dad! That was the Sri Lankan national anthem. The cricket is on.

The subject of cricket arises on an American pop-culture podcast

The hosts, Jesse and Jordan, have been blatting on about computer games and baseball trivia. The guest is comedian and gaming expert Kumail Nanjiani.

Kumail Nanjiani: If you know of a podcast that specialises in cricket trivia from 1982 to 1997, let me know.
Jesse: Because you're a Pakistani American, and Pakistan is the nation of cricket, the world's premiere cricket country.
KN: We're one of the best, yeah.
Jesse: Not even England can claim to be more passionate about cricket right?
KN: No, Pakistan and India are the two most.
Jordan: Is there, like, a rivalry there?
KN: [Stunned moment of silence] What do you think? We do have nuclear weapons pointed at each other.

A fine cricketer, and a fine man - not forgotten by Wikipedia

Although he lacked the pace of Sammy Woods, the guile of Ted Tyler and the endurance of  George Nichols, the name of E. W. Bastard has lived on in the annals of Somerset and Oxford cricket.

Bastard's performances during 1885 saw him selected in two games for the Gentlemen during the Scarborough Festival. The team was a young one, as well as three of his Oxford team-mates from that season, Page, Kingsmill Key and Tim O'Brien, there were a number of players from the Cambridge team chosen. Bastard claimed five wickets in the first innings of the match against I Zingari, but failed to take any against the Players.

Not cricket

Somehow I had the idea that the 5th Test, the so called "New Year Test", would start on New Year's Day. Around 10 I put on the radio, keen to hear the blokes-in-the-shed style warm up from the commentary team. Some ragging about someone's big night on New Year's Eve, someone else's silly hat, or beer gut, or new beard. And some analysis: will we win? Might they win? Might it be... a draw? Etc. Good simple manly stuff.

On the radio a lady was interviewing another lady. Turns out the test wasn't starting for 2 more days. The interviewee had bravely survived leukemia. She had 2 children and obviously this was all very tough on them.

Interviewer: And while you were sick you had a very difficult decision to make about your relationship with Frank.
Interviewee: Yes. Although he had done a terrific job looking after the girls while I was in hospital, when I came out he just continued as he had before. I was bald, I was very weak from the chemo, and he just couldn't see that. The physical abuse resumed and for the sake of myself and the girls' safety I just had to end that relationship.

Wow. And people think test cricket is complicated. Today the cricket started and I could just listen to the radio without all that thinking and feeling.

Recycled oregon table tennis table

The dinner table is now the scene of more vicious smashing, backhanders, deceit and spin than ever before. I have defeated the visiting Victorian champion, Fred, and am now prepared for all comers. The holes in the table are becoming part of my strategy - if you look for them you can certainly find them.

Winston hangs around the net, shifting his weight from side to side as the rally progresses. He does go after the loose ball, but in a slow, dutiful way, as though he thinks it's expected of him. If he gets there first he just holds the ball in his immense jowls, like a kid sucking a jaffa.

Whereas outside when we are playing cricket, Winston lurks at short midwicket, and pounces on a loose ball with unbelievable acceleration. The cricket (actually tennis) ball gets a good chew and soaks up many fl. oz. of drool. We are much more likely to get a deck splinter or ankle-knack from trying to get the ball first, than from diving to take a catch.

Breaking News: NZ accent is amusing

Dave at work has been listening to Australia's cricket tour of New Zealand streaming on the internet. The coverage has a terrific mix of clipped EnZed cricket pundits and gloriously bad local radio ads.

At the moment the Bleck Ceps have just broken the sheckles with a sex over mudwucket. "Just a fleck of the wrest and over she goes". Before the Australian atteck was "like a peck of wild dogs". The spunners are getting a lot of grup off the putch.

Meanwhile the new Mitsubish Triton truck has "up to six trucking airbags. And Triton has hardened the truck up with a bigger tray, and loads of trucking power". Also "you can demege yourself, end your blinds, wristling them un and out of their breckets."

Marcus and Michael news

The boys have not had much of a run in the blog lately.

The nephews went home on Tuesday - our boys were pretty much in their thrall for the full two weeks. Often they paired up thus: Marcus (7) and Malachy (6) playing Monopoly, cricket or trampoline soccer, while Brinley (17) and Michael (5) played tickles, chasings or trampoline soccer. But they all spent a lot of time in other configurations.

Brin generally acted as foreman for the littles, while Elf and I (the management) put food on the table, washed clothes and drove the car. Now the boys have gone back to NSW it's actually nice to be our boys' first choice (well, second at least) grown up.

Marcus and I are now playing backyard cricket on even terms. Last summer he scored double what I scored for the same shot. He was very keen to have parity this summer, and is continuing to improve. He does not have much of a range of shots, but he has a very good eye and gets to the pitch of the ball very well. He then tends to play a falling-over-sweep shot and often ends up on all fours, but Rome wasn't built in a day. I myself like to play a forward defensive shot pretty much straight out of the MCC textbook. This garners very few runs but feels great, and I generally keep this up until nightfall.

While we are doing this Michael is either digging a hole, reading something factual, drawing a diagram or hopping like an amphibious bandicoot. He is currently very interested in Italy, volcanoes, what it's like when you are dead, and insects.

Spending a day at square leg

Today my dad and I took Marcus, Malachy and Brin to the Test cricket, Australia v Pakistan. I had never seen a Test live, so I was quite excited really. This was day 2 of a (possible) 5 days. At the end of day 1 Australia was cruising so we were hoping to see more of the same, and we did. The chaps who made centuries yesterday went on with it, with Ricky Ponting actually getting to 209.

I was quite pleased with my packing; I put in loads of food and we ate nearly all of it, we ended up briefly wearing the just-in-case jumpers, and all the technology I squeezed in (binoculars, little radio, Marcus's iPod for the not-so-lively bits) came in handy.

At one of the drinks breaks Malachy and Marcus and I had gone around the back of the grandstand to look at the various kiddie attractions they have, such as Wii-style game booths and so on. Since they have banned bringing actual balls and actual bats into the ground, they obviously feel obliged to provide something else to help the whippersnappers pass the time.

While we were gawping a smart looking young official with dynamic hair and a laminate swinging came up and asked if the boys would like to play Milo cricket on the ground in the lunch break. And... meet the Prime Minister, Kevin Rudd. They both said yes, although I don't think Kev was a big factor.

There was of course a huge amount of indoor faffing to do beforehand, which meant missing about an hour of real grown-up cricket. Kev came in, flanked by Daves; Premier of Tasmania, David Bartlett, and legend of cricket David Boon. He clowned a little in front of a backdrop of kids that looked great this evening on the news. He did a little of that "laughing" thing his people have taught him where he closes his eyes, tilts his head back a little then opens and closes his mouth and nods. While he and the Daves laughed, his slim, tanned people infiltrated the parents, and also smiled, with their mouths only.

The boys then ran out onto the ground and had about 20 minutes in the sunshine, playing a modified kind of backyard everyone-gets-a-turn type cricket. Marcus was a little annoyed that he was not allowed to bowl fast. He also regretted that when he was batting he was stuck at the non-strike end while the smallest bowler came and went. The kid at the other end tonked the little fella for six, three times in a row.

After the resumption we stayed and watched until Australia declared at not many for heaps; then watched our bowlers tear in at the Pakistan openers for half an hour or so. That was enough - tired but happy we wandered out in search of our car.

Radio cricket commentary delusion #5a

During a dull patch in the cricket, when Jim is recalling a top feller who played Sydney grade cricket in the fifties, or doing his piss poor West Indies accent that consists of just finishing a sentence with "mon" - and Kerry is saying "he could play a bit, D.G. Bradman" - that's when I imagine the commentary panel are all dressed as women. In a half-arsed, footy-club-drag-night-fundraiser way. Or like Lemmon and Matthau in Some Like It Hot. Lots of big dangly earrings swinging as they turn their heads to follow the ball racing to the boundary. Weathered ex-cricketer faces with a bit of lurid red lippy and maybe some blue eye shadow.

I like to think its an ABC radio tradition, perhaps started by Neville Oliver, one dull afternoon in 1978 in Christchurch or Manchester or Durban. He liked a laugh.

Maybe they only do it for the morning session of the first day of each First Test. Then perhaps, for the Second test of a series, they all come as Charlie Chaplin.

Brett Geeves : Mayonnaise

While I was painting the fence on Sunday I listened to the entire first innings of a one day cricket match, Tasmania v Western Australia. Fellow blogger Brett Geeves was playing for Tasmania. Peter Newlands described him as, "the flamboyant and somewhat charismatic Geeves". The amount of fence I actually completed over these 4 hours looks pathetic - that's pickets for ya.

In other major news, last night I made the first mayonnaise of my life. A simple lemon mayo to dump into some bacon n' lettuce wraps. Which turned into bacon n' carrot n' celery etc when it transpired we had no lettuce, after all. In any case my mayo was a triumph. Not a slimming food choice, though.

English pessimism

England are totally on top in the final Test match. They have set Australia 546 to win, an impossible task. To survive for a draw Australia has to bat for two days, when in their last innings they lost all ten wickets in 2 and a half hours.

Yet Andrew Miller still felt able to write an article called "Is there cause for English pessimism?"

Implosions on the tarmac

I love a mixed metaphor. It's a traditional staple of sports reporting and despite the best efforts of spoilsports like Media Watch, it's still going strong. I was reading the Hobart Mercury on Saturday when I was arrested by this vivid image.
Can a blueprint be in danger of imploding? I have checked with international blueprint experts, and they all say no. I thought "I will make fun of this journalist's little mistake in my blog". I forgot to bring in the clipping from the paper so I did a google search for "imploded on the tarmac". I didn't find the article above, but I did find this:

And also this:

To be fair, that one was an imploding quest, not blueprint. However you've got to love the way he's also squeezed in a target on Ponting's head, a backyard, dreams turned to dust in a sizzling heatwave, Ponting trapped in a time warp with a nightmare, a sore point AND a hurdle.

Ben Dorries. Definitely paid per metaphor (or part thereof).

Furled umbrella

When walking briskly with a furled umbrella, I am constantly fighting the urge to play a few straight drives at an imaginary cricket ball, like Ricky Ponting does on his way out to bat. I even sometimes look to my right and imagine a beautiful delicate late cut, just behind point. The kind that curves away from the pursuing fieldsman as it rolls across the outfield into the fence. Lovely.

Phil Hughes responds to my encouragement

Thanks mostly to this blog's relentless support, Phil Hughes scored another century overnight. He is 136 not out, with a batting average slightly higher than Don Bradman's at 108.66. He is the youngest player in test history to score a century in both innings. Go Phil!

Go Phil Hughes, go!

This post is about cricket. So, you can just see yourself out if that doesn't float your boat. In fact go here, its one of the top non-cricket blogs you'll find.

Australia is playing a test series in South Africa at the moment. This means it is on the radio through the night, starting off at about 7.30pm. I actually prefer it when Australia is on tour, and I can wash dishes, sort clothes, draw or snooze while the trusty ABC radio crew bring the game to life with words. A test goes for up to five days, seven hours a day. It can be quite dislocating (in a good way) to be mentally in Johannesburg, or Barbados, or Jaipur when everyone else around you is stuck here.

Last night our new opening batsman, little Phil Hughes, made his debut century in only his second test. I tuned in when he was on 87 - about to enter the nervous nineties. Batsmen can get stuck in the nineties for more than an hour, transfixed by the prospect of a test century that means so much. Hughes noodled a couple of singles to reach 89. On the radio the doyen Jimmy Maxwell said "Hughes is looking a bit nervous, he's pottering around in the crease and prodding the pitch". Hughes proved him wrong by hitting the next ball for 4, to go to 93. The next ball he hit over the fence for six, to go to 99. The next ball he hit for another six. No-one goes from 89 to 105 in three balls, in a test match - the confidence of the young man is staggering. He will be playing for Australia for a long time.

I actually felt pretty emotional about it (it was very late at night.) A lot of great champions have retired from the Australian team in a short time, and these young blokes are finding their own way to a large extent. Following on from Marcus North's century on debut in the last test, I really feel good about the future, at least on the cricket field.