Live to dream

On Sunday afternoon Roger Federer uttered some words during an interview with Sue Barker that had millions of people around the world involved in a flashback of note. The silky smooth Swiss had just won the coveted men’s title at Wimbledon and was fervently clutching the beautiful gold Challenge trophy.

Full of unrestrained emotion he said, “I told everyone when I was young that I was going to win this one day.” He promptly burst into tears.

I was one of the millions who immediately thought of my dreams as a youngster. Were you? My mind flashed back to those halcyon days when life was simple and all that mattered was one day representing your country on the big stage. At the time my small stage was my backyard and I was the Australian cricket team. My neighbour, after losing every single toss (as he would do when playing with me), more often than not represented England. The Aussies versus the Poms! The stage was set.

My neighbour’s name was John. He was a few years older than me and also a cricket nut. The back porch was the M.C.G. The dimensions of the pitch were slightly shorter than normal but all the better for my Dennis Lillee thunderbolts to rip into his ribcage!

There was one major difference in my M.C.G. than the concrete colossus in Melbourne. My bedroom window was perfectly positioned at short leg, thereby inhibiting any form of leg-side aggression. Many a night was spent following an impulsive hook shot, tossing and turning in fragments of broken glass as my mother banished me to my sacred room, with little supper.

To make things far more uncomfortable for my mate I devised a cunning plan. The ball we used was a tennis ball devoid of any ‘fur’ and the pitch was concrete. When he batted, just to make things fair you see due to the age difference, I was permitted (I made the rules) to saturate the area on a good length with water from the trusty hose. Do you reckon Dennis Lillee could get some ferocious lift from that track!

I used to terrorize him. No pads were allowed, no gloves, no box, just my Gray Nicholls cricket bat autographed by Ian Chappell. The autograph had faded somewhat but nothing my steady hand and a pen couldn’t fix.

Every summer these Tests took place. You guessed it, Australia were dominant on their home turf, the M.C.G. (Mike’s Cricket Ground). I often employed five slips and a gully when Dennis was feeling good and at full throttle. Ian Chappell at 1st, Greg Chappell at 2nd, Ross Edwards at 3rd, Doug Walters at 4th, Rick McCosker at 5th and Ashley Mallet lurking in the gully. Boy those guys could catch. Anything that was sent flying in their general direction was snaffled.

It’s remarkable how vivid those memories still are. The Poms never regained the Ashes.

I wonder how many of the current South African cricket team are about to fulfil a life long ambition on Saturday. A big final at Lord’s awaits them in front of a packed house with the hopes of the nation resting on their young but strapping shoulders.

Live the dream boys……and don’t let the Poms rain on your parade.