Poems

When I sit and watch the cricket, there's a place I often go

Through a window, where I stare upon a yard that needs a mow

There I am - the youngster with the grin from ear to ear

Although those days have left me now, the memories are clear

Of a willow hurled in spirals to the call of "Hills or Flats"

By a kid who knows for certain - if he wins the toss, he bats

On a track where something well pitched up

could whistle past your scone

Where no man got out 'leg before' though 'nick behind' was gone

'One hand off the house' was fair, the road was 'six and out'

And that six was often worth it if the fruit was there to clout

"Hit the car - you're gone my friend - the shed is that way son!"

In the name of backyard cricket, geez we had some bloody fun.

The rubbish bin was put in place and everything was apples

Your neighbours were the Poms of course,

and you, the mighty "Chappells"

To be bowled by one's own brother was the ultimate in shame

And until you knocked his melon off, you hadn't cleared your name

Then, sometimes when you took the crease,

you'd face like Allan Border

If you were naturally right handed,

there were problems made to order.

Still, you'd raise your bat to barking dogs

when runs were flowing freely

While the keeper chewed your ear off like his idols, Marsh and Healy

To bowl and stare like Thommo often had the batsman itchy

As you 'walked the walk' like David Boon

and 'talked the talk' like Richie

You'd shout HOWZAT like DK did and chew the gum like Viv

For the sake of dreams, there was nothing that a player wouldn't give.

In a land of backyard cricketers - it's always been the way

From the boyhood dreams of Bradman to the yards of kids today

Where, once, they played like Morris,

Brown and Miller for their scores

Today they star as Glen McGrath, as Warney, or the Waughs.

Remember all those years ago in days of make believe

When your country's hopes depended

on the magic you could weave?

A record score was needed and the odds they said were 'zero'

But they didn't know the script was being written by the hero

As the winning runs were belted down behind the barbecue.

You wondered in your wildest dreams if fairytales came true

But that's the land we live in and the people that we've been

And the glitter at the rainbow's end well, that's the baggy green

And just ask Adam Gilchrist if that dream was worth his while

Just ask Justin Langer - and I bet you'll get a smile.

It's a smile that spells the future for this cricket-loving nation

And gazing out my window, now it gives me inspiration

Yes, I think I'll tape the old ball up and mow myself a wicket

Then I'll ring the boys,

"The square's prepared - let's play ourselves some cricket!"