Almanac Cricket: Seeking solitude in my camping chair

 

While young Jack strides out to the middle to face the best Under 12 cricketers in Melbourne, I pack my tattered camping chair under my arm and begin the lonely trek to solitude on the other side of the ground to follow his fortunes. How did I get to this point?

 

It is fair to say, in my playing days, I was an anxious cricketer. I preferred the certainty of opening the batting rather than the doubt and insecurities that crept in waiting for a turn in the middle order. Unfortunately for me a career batting average of 14.7 necessitated that chances to open came and went much like Halley’s Comet. I became an off spinner with less variation than a Darwin weather report, however the certainty of bowling ball after methodical ball in the same spot suited my make up.

 

Up until now I’ve always coached Jack’s teams in his junior club cricket, and with that comes a myriad of tasks on game day which mitigates the opportunity to get engrossed in your own child’s fortunes.

 

I thought it would be a reasonably enjoyable week in January watching kids cricket, chatting to Mrs D and enjoying the sunshine and freedom of not knowing which day in January it was before I had to return to work.

 

I tried sitting with the tribe of parents in game 1. Jack, understandably nervous in his first foray into representative cricket, made a cautious start playing out a few maidens.

 

The surrounding chat from my fellow parents covered the weather, petrol prices and school fees – pleasant background chat. Observations were given on the cricket and that state of the game. Noise was constant but I was craving silence for some reason. At the conclusion of his innings I knew I needed to get away and watch in solitude next time.

 

As the six-day carnival wore on I was riding every ball of Jack’s in my own little fortress of solitude.

 

I would set up my base camp behind any shade available, tattered Greg Chappell hat on my head, caked in sunscreen to cover the still tender skin graft recently inserted to cover the removal of a skin cancer which was the legacy of a lifetime of fielding at fine leg in 40 degree heat. I would begin fidgeting in my camping chair like Steve Smith as soon as Jack marked centre. I was a sight to see.

 

Occasionally the other parents would stroll by and offer a sympathetic look. Perhaps even offer a wry smile or sympathetic tap on the shoulder. They could sense the discomfort, yet were mildly amused at the spectacle.

 

In my mind I was watching Jack not with an obsessive wish that my child becomes a star, rather a simple burning desire that he did well and got a return for all the hard work he had put into his cricket. I know too well what a demanding game Cricket is and what the value of a few runs and wickets would do for Jack’s confidence and sense of believing that he is capable at this level of cricket.

 

Team success is what we all want in cricket, yet it is a quirky sort of game in that you are playing your own individual game within a team game structure, or at least it feels like that to me.

 

I rode every 86km/h ‘Thunderbolt’ Jack faced throughout the week. To be fair opposition pace bowlers were pretty thin on the ground, other than this one kid who was 6 foot and bowled with genuine pace and may be the only kid of that age I have ever seen who could bowl a genuine bouncer with intent. It was more like a tour to India with each team containing 3-4 high quality leg spinners – even one young fella who rolled out his leggies both left and right arm in the same game!

 

I’ve not smoked before. Well, once I did, but that was when I was young and trying to pick a girl up at a bar and she invited me to have a drag on the Winfield Red she was inhaling with a seductive poise. I think she lost interest when I broke out into a coughing fit after my first attempted drag. As I squirmed in my camping chair one day as Jack was navigating a steady attack and a tight ring field I felt the need for cigarettes for some strange reason. I relented thankfully.

 

I became known as the man by himself in the camping chair for the week, and perhaps in the minds of the other parents perhaps forever.

 

On my own in silence I could watch and suffer without having to worry about offering advice or saying anything inappropriate in a group setting. I alone rode the roller-coaster. As a cricket tragic I could also observe, analyze and absorb myself in the cricket. I’ve missed that feeling in retirement.

 

I explained to Jack why I was doing this. Dad likes to watch in the quiet so I can concentrate on the game. That was the best way I could explain things to the young lad.

 

Why was it so difficult for me? I can only come to the conclusion that it was a parental desire to protect and see my son do well, but also because I had no control over the result. Once that final throw down was given and I uttered the same advice for the 4368th time – ‘take your time to get yourself in at the start and just wait for the loose ball’, Jack was on his own and there was nothing more I could do than hope for the best.

 

To be fair my advice is wildly hypocritical. Anyone that played with me knew I had a tendency to force a drive on the up to release the pressure at the first opportunity. Jack has a discipline at the crease that has already far surpassed me.

 

I watched with immense pride as Jack took some great strides forward during the week. He made a good amount of runs and took wickets and made his contribution. To be honest I was most proud of how he conducted himself on the days when the runs didn’t come and also how he accepted the challenge to open the batting by the end of the Carnival, simply because it was what he was asked to do to best support his team.

 

Jack had a good week on the field. I wonder how I would have experienced the week if results had not gone his way, as will be bound to happen at some stage on his cricketing journey? I think my fear would be that I would offer too much advice, and tinker too much, again with that desire to help. I need to be mindful that this would probably have the opposite effect.

 

To be honest what the week has taught me is that whilst I have thoroughly enjoyed teaching and helping build the fundamentals of Jack’s game he is now getting to that age where a different voice will help and he can start making his own cricketing decisions.

 

As the years roll on I suspect nothing will change for me. I am what I am. You don’t eat vegemite on toast for breakfast 365 days a year unless you like the comfort and certainty of a rigid routine. I don’t think I will ever fully enjoy watching the kids play cricket. Perhaps I will always be the man seeking solitude in the camping chair.

 

 

More from Craig Dodson can be read Here.

 

 

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