I Don’t Like Cricket… I Love It

In the backyard is where rules are made to be broken.

One of the big cultural things in Australia, particularly as a kid on summer school holidays, is Backyard Cricket. Most young Aussie boys, (and these days a lot of Aussie girls), spend hours and hours each summer playing cricket in their back yards, driveways, garages, front yards, even in the house. What makes Backyard Cricket special is often, due to the limitations of your surroundings, you are required to invent certain rules in order for the game to progress smoothly. So many factors come into play. The surface you are playing on, the proximity of neighbours, trees, gardens, cars, the patience of your parents etc all contribute to which specific rules you choose to make up and play.

My brothers and I played Backyard Cricket religiously. At our house we had three areas of play: back yard, front yard and the next-door neighbour’s yard. Each playing area had different rules in addition to the normal rules of cricket. Front yard we played with normal bats and tennis balls, you were permitted to bowl as fast as you could and hit the ball as hard as you wanted. The main specific rule was hitting any car or house on the full was automatically out. The back yard was a little bit more complicated. There we played with a stick as a bat and tennis ball, you could only bowl slowly and if you hit the ball behind, onto the house or over the fence you were out. Retrieving the ball from the neighbour often became a delicate operation, particularly if they had a dog, a garden the ball was now resting in, or simply were fed up with boys climbing the fence to retrieve their cricket ball every five minutes.

At the next-door neighbour’s house we were so into our Backyard Cricket with their son Tom, with whom we played regularly, that we formed our own cricket association, the “City Beach Cricket Association” or CBCA. Under the guise of this organization, distinct rules were developed for when we played during the day and for when we played at night with a spotlight Tom had managed to acquire from his father, who was a builder. The light was not very bright and even though we used a cricket ball painted white and slow bowling was the requirement, visibility was testing at the best of times and bruising on all different parts of the body was common.

But we didn’t care.

We were emulating our cricketing heroes.

Every house had that one rule that was unique to their rules for Backyard Cricket. At our house it was a chair you could move to any position you wanted which became a fielder. If the batsman hit the ball onto the ‘fielder,’ they were out. At Winnie’s, because we played in his garage, it was hit the roof, out. At Jake’s house, it was hit the ball into his mother’s garden, out. She used to watch to see if we were hitting the ball anywhere near her precious flowerbed.

“No big hitting!” she used to warn us, to which we would dutifully reply “OK!”

But as soon as her back was turned and the competitive juices got churning, the big hits would come out to which Aunty Claire, as I affectionately called her, would yell out:

“ENOUGH!”

The thing about Backyard Cricket and these, home-made rules is that they are often open to interpretation, particularly rules like slow bowling only. The speeds invariably increased if you weren’t having much success getting the batsman out and there were many debates sometimes leading to big arguments, as to whether you were bowling too fast, or simply if your interpretation of the rules differed from your fellow competitors.

One afternoon at Max’s house, after a good morning at the beach, we decided to set up a game of “Front yard Cricket”. The specific rules for Max’s area of play was edge the ball onto the garage door, out and hit the ball into the garden, out. However, as we were about to start, Max decided to add a rule.

“What say we play if you get out without scoring a run, you have to run around the block in your underwear?”

All of us burst into laughter on hearing the idea and then agreed to it without hesitation.

As we were deciding who would bat first, Max went inside and put on the Time Pieces album by Eric Clapton to listen to while we played. Although I knew of Eric Clapton, I had never really listened to much of his music before, so I found myself a little distracted as having been selected to bat first, I took up my position ready to face the first ball.

Now there was a lot of pressure for the batsman. The garden was exceedingly long and close to the driveway on which we were playing. Any bowler bowling with any accuracy could force the batsman to hit towards the garden fairly easily. And you could bowl as fast as you liked at Max’s house. I played and missed, defended and pushed nervously at each ball I faced, as hungry fielders and bowlers took turns at trying to get me out.

After much concentration and struggle, I finally managed to squeeze a shot just past Winnie that went onto to score four runs.

I then let out a huge sigh of relief.

Everyone else let out a huge a groan of disappointment.

When I eventually got out about 20 minutes later, I had scored about 30 front yard runs. Next, Winnie managed to score 10 runs before he got out. Max then managed about 15. Jordan, about five. By the time it was Jake’s turn to bat, Layla was playing on the stereo, and we were more interested in getting him out for no score than keeping score.

It was my turn to bowl.

Jake was extremely nervous.

I ran in as fast as I could and bowled the ball so it landed just in front of him and then watched in delight as Jake timidly tried to defend, the ball cannoning off the edge of his bat and into the garden.

Out!

Howls of delight could be heard all round the neighbourhood.

The colour drained completely from Jake’s face.

“You gotta run round the block! In your jocks!” Max laughed loudly.

Just as Jake began to take off his clothes, that famous piano piece that for me really gives Layla that eminence the song so richly deserves, began to sound out across the front yard. It is probably one of my favourite musical pieces from any song I’ve ever listened to and Layla is easily my favourite Clapton track. We all joined in singing that piano part to Jake as though it was some kind of funeral march for him.

When Jake was finally ready to head out on his “jocks run”, we followed him around the block like jackals and hyenas laughing loudly at his expense. To Jake’s credit, he went along with it, even waving to astonished neighbours as he ran by.

After much fun and frivolity, we returned to our game. Now I was batting, and Jake was determined to get his revenge. However, the first ball I faced was too full and I was able to hit it away to score more runs.

“Get out!” Max cried, “We wanna see more jock runs!”

I duly obliged a few runs later.

Winnie, Jordan and Max again managed to score runs and as soon as they did, sacrificed themselves so we could focus on getting Jake out again without scoring.

Again, I was bowling.

“You’re going to get out!” Winnie teased, piling on the pressure.

“Don’t hit it into the garden.” Jordan warned, joining in.

Again, Jake was incredibly nervous and seriously feeling the pressure.

I bowled the first ball in exactly the same place.

Jake played exactly the same shot…

…for exactly the same result.

Out!

No score.

“BAAAAAHHHHHAAAAAAAAA” we all screamed with laughter.

Dejectedly, Jake started to take off his clothes while we rolled around laughing.

Then Max suddenly turned to the rest of us.

“Hey listen. I think it isn’t fair he has to do it again without us having done it too. I reckon we should join him. What do you think?”

A few minutes later the neighbours were treated to a group of semi naked teenage boys running through the neighbourhood, laughing and waving as they ran by.

Kit Calder-White is the author of the Soundtrack Of My Life series. Volume one: First Love is available now on Amazon and from most online book retailers.