batpadman

[batpadman]

Top: (From Left) Jake, Hanna, Chris and Jak Gunson, Me

2nd from Top: Rob and Tricia Greenwell

3rd Row Left: (From Left) Mick Hortle, Myself, Helen Hortle.

3rd Row Right: Tony Selvas and Me.

4th Row: UTAS Cricket Club Crowd!

5th Row Left: Jimmy Hortle and Carter Hansen

5th Row Middle: Andrew Kealy

5th Row Right: Jesse Greenwood and Mauro Saracino.

Strangers

As I recline in my seat a few thousand feet in the air, my mind cannot help but wander back to the time when I was travelling in the opposite direction. Agitated, fretful and ill at ease, the state of my mind could not have been further from how it is today. The people close to me would tell you that this is how I had been for a while. Quiet; more so than usual. Smiling less. Quick to anger and take offense. Unlike myself.

The cricket season had been successful yet not impressive enough to demand attention. Cricket seemed a futile pursuit. A demanding academic year combined with a gruelling summer of cricket had left me, to quote Tolkien, “thin, sort of stretched, like butter spread over too much bread”. Weary and bitter, a journey to the other side of the world was a gamble that could have gone either way.

I took the red pill. There was no going back. A place full of Strangers; far from the comforting presence of my parents that I had taken for granted my entire life. It was the best thing I ever did.

I could write several thousand words about Tasmania. About stunning views of the Derwent river round every corner in Hobart. About sweet, delicious Huon Valley apples. About the serene quiet of Bruny Island (disturbed only by the sounds of the wildlife as it comes to life at dusk). About the regal beauty of Port Arthur haunted by the ghosts of its past and the white sand beaches of the East Coast that stretch out as far as the eye can see. Yet in talk of greatness, the island in all its beauty pales in comparison to its inhabitants; the “Strangers” who transformed my outlook on life through friendship and random acts of kindness. Here are just a few of them:-

The Gunsons

Chris, Hanna, Jak, Jake, Nicholas and Thomas heard some foreign bloke was looking for a place to stay. Without meeting him, they agreed to let this stranger into their home and into their lives. They offered me a shoulder when I was distressed were there to celebrate with me when I was happy. They are family to me and I am so glad to have been a part of their lives. The memories, of evenings spent whiling away the time with good food and conversation (and the occasional game of late night table tennis with Jak) will be cherished.

The Hortles

My stay with Mick and Helen Hortle was short but no less pleasurable. Their home, much like its inhabitants, is full of character; unique mementos from their travels seem to give the place a personality of its own. It was during this week that I was exposed to how good vegetables can be. The meal Mick prepared for Jimmy’s birthday was a foodie’s fantasy. Every single ingredient (except for the duck) grown in their own back yard! It was an honour to be a part of the family occasion. Discussion ranged from topics such as feminism in Pakistan to the environmental impact of fish farming on the East Coast of Tasmania. One would expect nothing less from the parents of an Oxford scholar!

The Greenwells

I was introduced to Rob, Tricia and Charlie Greenwell by Paul, the club president (see below). I wasn’t the first stranger to be a beneficiary of Greenwell hospitality and I certainly won’t be the last. They gave me an all access pass to the veritable treasure of knowledge and experience that they have accumulated over the years. A life lived to the fullest and a journey to success that was choppy, but more exciting because of it. I hope that one day I will get another shot at trying to steal a game off Rob at squash or another epic battle against Charlie. Maybe when they set sail on a trip round the world…

The Selvas Family (Mair, Tony and the rest)

Kindness is letting an outsider stay in your spare bedroom for a night or two. But then, what do you call it if someone you’ve never met drives two hours to fetch you from the airport, drives along the coast for 8 hours to show you the sights, feeds you, and then to top it all off, gives you a member’s ticket for the Boxing Day test match? Is there a better word? If there is I haven’t found it. Twelve-year-old me won’t believe it but when I think back to Melbourne, it’s not the Boxing Day test match that comes to mind but the day before. Thank you, Tony and Mair for an unforgettable Christmas!

Paul Mc Namara

Paul picked me up from the airport all those days ago when I first got to Hobart. We were always going to get on well because of our shared love of cricket. I was most impressed by Paul’s relentless optimism. He had something positive to say about every situation and had the ability to put himself in people’s shoes and see things from their perspective. As president of the club, his role was challenging, stressful and required a level of dedication that few understood. As a friend, I could see how much it affected him. Yet he continued to volunteer his time for little thanks and through it all, his demeanour never changed. That sort of fortitude is certainly something for me to aspire to.

Andrew Kealy

Never have I ever met someone who can shrug off a 5fer quite like Andrew Kealy, but I guess that comes with the territory when you get one every week! I did a lot of dirt time in Oz but it could have been a lot worse if it hadn’t been for Keals demolishing entire teams by himself. All with a humble grin one simply does not associate with Aussie pacemen. In some hidden corner of the world, there is probably someone who has something negative to say about Keals. But that person belongs to the same category as Bigfoot and the Loch Ness Monster. Until I see them in person, I won’t believe they exist. Thanks Andrew for introducing me to the Aussie cricketer lifestyle.

The Fine Gentlemen of the University of Tasmania Cricket Club

Thank you Mauro, Freezer, and Carter for all the throwdowns and wangers. Wish you a long and prosperous first grade future at UTAS and beyond.

Thank you Jayde, Gordo and Grubby for backing me all the way, even when I didn’t look like scoring a run.

Thank you, Jesse, Andrew Kerr, Jimmy, Sam Leon and Noah, for your help and advice.

A big thank you to every single person at the club. From 1st grade down to the U12s that I coached, for taking me in and accepting me as one of your own. For the beef sausages and the conversations.

At the risk of being unnecessarily melodramatc, I’d just like to say that my winter in Tasmania has restored my faith in people. The chip on my shoulder has been surgically removed and my former self has been restored. I begin the English summer refreshed; ready to take life on with renewed vigour but more importantly, with a smile on my face. For this and so much more, I am extremely grateful.

I hope one day, to return to that place full of strangers, a stranger no more.

[batpadman]

Defeat (A study of).

I have been in Tassie for about three months now. I have played 10 rounds of first grade cricket. To give that some perspective, that is 500 overs of fielding. As far as far as points are concerned, we have nothing to show for it.

In my first 4 first grade games in Tassie, we lost by 1 wicket in the last over; lost in the last 15 minutes of a two day game, and lost the last two 2-day games by 9 runs, and 1 run respectively. On one occasion (vs Lindisfarne), we needed 4 runs to win with 3 wickets left and somehow contrived to end up on the losing side. It has got worse since then and the wheels have started to come off. A ridiculous amount of injuries has not helped the cause either.

One could look at the margins by which we have lost and say that we have been unlucky. Indeed cricket is a game where fortune has its part to play. However, if we were to dismiss the results as misfortune (and nothing else), we would lose out on some important lessons. As cliché as it sounds, we need to take responsibility and address the problems in the way we prepare.

It’s not that we have played bad cricket. There have been some excellent individual performances and some brilliant passages of play. Andrew Kealy particularly, does not deserve to be on the side placed 2nd from bottom with consecutive 10 wicket match hauls in the last two games. Crucially though, we have let ourselves down in the critical moments that so often decide the fate of close games. The momentum is not in our favour and we are being dragged away by the current.

Personally it has been a chastening experience. At this point, I can’t remember what winning feels like. Without the rush victory brings, finding the motivation to train becomes harder to find. You forget the reason why you play. Ironically, we need to train harder to get a win. It’s a vicious cycle.

My batting seems to be following a similar trend to the team’s season. Good in places but incomplete. I have been dismissed in the 30s four times in the last 10 innings without going on to get a big score. My technique feels good; no worse than normal. My timing has been okay. But just as the team is finding ways to lose, I’m finding ways to get out. It is the most frustrated I have ever been.

Difficult as it is, I have learnt a lot about myself. It has been a crash course in coping with failure. As much as I would have loved a win or a hundred every now and again, my mental endurance would not have been tested as much. Cricket is a game that requires a certain level of detachment. It helps maintain a stable emotional state which is imperative for sustained performance. That is an aspect that I’ve struggled with in the past but in recent times, I have been forced to come to terms. Maybe that’s what life is trying to teach us.

But that was last year.

This is 2017.  Refreshed by the break and fuelled by Christmas Turkey, we will hit back with a vengeance. 3 fers will give way to 5 fers (Keals can keep getting 6 fers) and thirties will give way to hundreds. Ls will give way to Ws. All it takes is one win. One win and we believe. One win and we’re back.

PC: Rob Greenwell

Pictured: Jack Bilson in delivery stride bowling against the New Town bucks.

[batpadman]

Swinging in the Rain

University Lions vs Clarence District Cricket Club

At long last, the big day rolled around and it appeared that the universe had conspired to make me feel at home. Howling wind, sub 10 temperatures, maddening sideways rain prickling the face and ears; I could have been opening the batting for Plumtree CC on a cold April afternoon in Notts!

After a slight rain delay, play got under way to the surprise of many. After a quick scrabble to find a helmet in the gold Uni colour, I found myself squaring up (literally?) against a left arm seamer on the periphery of the local state side. In that moment, I was acutely aware of the expectation. A lot of important people have volunteered a lot of their time to get me here. I am humbled by the faith they have put in me, and it was/is time to give back.

Thankfully Jayde Herrick, the Lions Head Coach and my opening partner, thought this a suitable time to go berserk. The carpark, clubhouse, and adjoining fields were peppered with projectiles in the ensuing onslaught. By the time Jayde walked off for 35 odd off 15 balls, we were cruising at 47 off 5 overs and I had been allowed to ease myself in while the spotlight was off.

After a tentative start, the ball had started to find the middle of my bat.  At 17 off 19, I was quickly gaining confidence; too much evidently as I tried to hit a pull short too hard and ended up limply spooning the ball into the gleeful hands of mid on. Eyes down, dejected, the walk back to the changing rooms after an embarrassing shot is a chastening experience.

For what it’s worth, it is certainly an exercise in dealing with the consequences of a mistake. I could promise myself that I’ll never put myself in that situation again but as all batsmen know, such a promise is impossible to keep. Such an approach, in my opinion, fails to deal with the problem at hand. It is better to analyse the thought process leading up to the poor decision, and learn to recognise the pattern. When it reoccurs, as it inevitably will, one could then identify and suppress it. I’m sure it will happen again at some point in my life but hopefully not for a while!

Alas, the rest of the innings followed a similar pattern. People got in, played outrageous shots, then re-enacted my dejected walk back to the pavilion. We were bundled out for 165 in the 34th over, effectively wasting 11 overs. Even though we were dismissed quite cheaply, it was clear to see that there was an abundance of talent, though application had failed us on the day.

An accurate gauge of a team’s ability is the morale in the dressing room when things are not going so well. Charged with the prospect of defending a low total on a reasonably flat pitch, quick outfield, small ground and less than ideal bowling conditions, it would have been understandable if heads had dropped. Morale however, was unquestionably high. It was founded on an underlying confidence, arrogance even, a deep-seated belief based on years of experience. It was going to be a close game.

I had a great view from my armchair in the slips cordon as our bowlers dismantled the top order. The likes of Ben Hilfenhaus, Jayde Herrick and Andrew Perrin showed their pedigree and upcoming offie Nikhil Khandawar followed up his 5-10 in the previous round with another impressive performance.

By this point it was raining persistently and Duckworth-Lewis was well in the game. The Clarence middle order fought back admirably but carrying on from the theme of the day, no one managed to get a big score. The game ebbed and flowed until finally, no. 7 Devlin dragged the opposition over the line with 38 not out in fading light with a wicket left. A heart-breaking loss but a bowling and fielding effort we could be proud of and a memorable initiation into grade cricket.

http://mycricket.cricket.com.au/common/pages/public/rv/match.aspx?locx=MATCH&matchID=2327774

[batpadman]

The Great Escape

(First few days in Hobart)

When I woke up (ridiculously early) on Friday morning, it took me a few minutes to become fully aware of where I was. The happy realisation of my global whereabouts got me out of bed with uncharacteristic speed. For once, I did not want to lie in.

My first few days in Hobart was pleasant and easy paced; much like the city itself. The state capital of Tasmania, though spread out geographically, has the feel of a small town. It is blessed with fabulous river views and the sight of quirky houses built on hillsides bring a unique charm. These are a far cry from the uniform suburban dwellings I have become accustomed to in the UK.

The city centre itself, at times during the day, is a ghost town with breathing space that a Londoner could only dream of. Stately old buildings make their presence felt amongst the more modern architecture. The place is not untouched by corporate expansion, but is yet uncorrupted by it.

After a shopping trip and a walk through the city centre, I attended the Islamic congregational prayer service at the university prayer rooms. This gave me the chance to socialise with the local Muslim community; a small but close-knit group. Many of my burning questions were answered, not least those relating to “halal” (Islamic slaughter) meat sources. I was greatly relieved when told that it was widely available. I would not have to go vegetarian after all!

The First Grade fixture was delayed to Sunday which gave us the chance to try out an exciting new activity: Escape Rooms. Five of us were locked inside a “mansion” (actually two smallish rooms) with the task of solving a number of clues to find our way out in under an hour.

It was a challenge; more so than we expected. The clues required unconventional thinking and tested a variety of skills from remote controlled car driving to riddle solving and magnetic fishing. In the end, the Uni Lions emerged victorious, unlocking the door to boundless (imaginary) fortune in the nick of time! (Pictured from left: Me, Jack Freeman, Carter Hansen, Jayde Herrick, Mauro Saracino).

[batpadman]

SOMETHING GREEN IN SOMETHING BLUE

Touchdown in Tassie

It had been close to 40 hours since I had left the comfort of my suburban home on a chilly Tuesday evening in Nottingham by the time I spotted Something Green in the vast stretch of Blue that lay before me. This was IT. TASMANIA. All of the ifs and buts, last minute meetings, lengthy emails, international networking attempts, of the last six months had led to this. I was finally there. Literally on the other side of the planet. Further from home than the moon.

My weary eyes were rejuvenated by vast expanses of wilderness and natural beauty as the island came into sight. Trees, mountains, lakes and rivers.

I was looking forward to it. Everything. The cricket, The work (or the possibility thereof), and Everything Else.

By the time the aircraft wheels made contact with the runway however, the initial buzz had given way to murmurings of apprehension.  I was well aware that I was a stranger to all but two people on the island. At the time I did not have a guaranteed placement and I would be going straight into my first game two days off the plane. Though I had been training indoors at Loughborough, the conditions were likely to be different on the other side of the planet. I felt undercooked.

Evidently, this was a concern shared by Paul McNamara, President of the University of Tasmania Cricket Club. Paul picked me up from the airport and whisked me away to first team training at a picturesque training facility located on a cherry farm. Less than 90 minutes after landing in Hobart, I was slipping and sliding all over the impeccable turf training pitches in my plastic spikes, embarrassing myself in front of ex Test fast bowler Ben Hilfenhaus.

Jetlagged and sleep deprived as I was, it was nice to get a hit outdoors to settle some of the early nerves. It was also much needed practice before the first game where I was under some self-imposed pressure to make a good first impression. Furthermore, I got to meet some of my teammates; people who would feature heavily in my life over the following six months. I don’t care what they say about Aussies; they’re all right. I was made to feel right at home.

After training, Paul took me to a fantastic Italian restaurant where I was treated to the largest shrimp I had ever seen. Fed and watered, I was taken to the local supermarket to get some essentials before being dropped off at the University Apartments; fancy student accommodation with massive bedrooms and a stunning view of River Derwent with lights from the other side shining brightly in the night.

It had been 50 hours since I had last been in a bed. The slumber that followed was long and delicious. My new life would begin on the morrow.