Wicket Keeper

I am sitting here at my desktop doing odd jobs such as paying bills and booking tickets to things. It’s 8:51 and the first day of school holidays. The pace is off.

I am in the upstairs lounge room, kids area, at silly mid-off as it turns out. I have almost been whacked in the head by a cut shot down the carpeted pitch. The rubber, pock marked ball with coca-cola still vaguely inscribed upon it, whooshes past my ear, deflecting from the 22inch screen and slamming into the newly installed window furnishings.

The antique white plantation shutters clap shut, all at once.

There’s no damage, but I exclaim with some exasperation, “Do you have to?”.

“Yes, I do, I”m playing a match…..your computer shouldn’t be up here” retorts the voice of the helmet clad batsman. He is standing pleased and satisfied, in front of yellow plastic wickets. They obstruct the entrance to his sisters bedroom. She will walk into them when she wakes up and leaves her room, albeit in a few hours time. She will holler and appeal with utter frustration and annoyance, but it will make no difference.

The batsmans’ sister will be dismissed, and the game will go on.

…………………………………………………………………………………………..

None of which has anything to do with my sketches. They are quick observations of the local wicket keeper as the above mentioned helmet clad batsman and his friends waited for training to start.

wicketkeeperfromtheotherside

I’m in love….

….with Far North Queensland…and Cooktown in particular.

“Why?…There’s nothing there” most people say in passing conversation.

I beg to differ. The area is in equal measure both stunning, confronting and compelling.

Stunning in its geography, its landscape and its’ rich fauna. Confronting, in the way generations and generations of indigenous culture were permanently altered, often eroded, with the arrival of white settlements in the 19th century. Compelling, in the story the town holds within, of its role in the ‘discovery’ of this Great Southern Land.

The picture above shows the view I had from the Seaview Motel, worth every bit of its three stars and retro 1950’s feel. Our room was situated on the top level of a tiered garden. It had a concrete floored veranda and a set of unpretentious balcony furniture at which to sit and watch the sunset over The Endeavour River.

To state the obvious, it was superb.

It was in this area that Lt. James Cook spent seven weeks repairing his boat The Endeavour after it hit a reef off the coast of Cape Tribulation in 1770. And it was here that the first significant contact was made and recorded, between local tribes of indigenous people and European navigators.endeavourriverkatebirrell

Carnival of Footy

This is the J.L Murphy Reserve in Port Melbourne. The oval was host to the Southern Metro Junior Football Lightning Carnival on a July Sunday morning, a couple of weeks ago.

Hundreds of kids, all about eight or nine years old, mostly boys, but certainly a scattering of girls present also, descended upon the oval to represent their club in this, the season finale.

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Go Nic, Go

bball

I am not sure what comes over me at the basketball stadium on Sunday afternoons, but something does.

My daughter has been playing for a local club for years. She is fourteen now, but has been playing from the age of eight or nine.

By nature, I am a fairly calm and ordered sort of person. However, like many parents, my mind is often rolling like a cassette player turned on with volume down, as it ponders the other important things in life. It’s background noise is like a murmur that hums away padding the spaces between the past, the present and the future.

“Mum. Quick, hurry up, the game starts in five minutes….”

…..Busy week coming up….work…dentist…that email…

“Mum. We need $4 to get in……where’s your purse?…”

….something on Wednesday night, Friday night…and Saturday night…who’se looking after the kids?…..

“Mum. Are you on scoring…?”

…did I sign that anaphylactic camp notice, pay the health insurance?…

“Scoring? Me? god….I hope not, I’m not sure….I don’t think I read the email from the Team Manager…I’d better check my phone”

“No, its Mark, Sarahs Dad, he’s scoring” phew!

Parents like basketball. Mainly because the game is quick and there are not many jobs to be allocated. If you are not coaching or scoring then you sit and watch the game from the sidelines. The parents from both teams, line up in a row, like chooks on a perch late in the afternoon. We sit cross legged on long, low and cold, timber benches.

It can be fascinating.

Normally quiet and conscientious people who read good parenting books before they nod off at night time, are transformed into loud, vocal and vociferous human beings. Myself included.

For forty minutes each week we sit beside the court yelling, ranting and raving at our kids.

“GO NIC, GO

RUN…

GET THE BALL NIC

PASS!!

SHOOT

HURRY

PASS!!

THE KEY???

GET IN THE KEY

WHERE’S YOUR MAN?

GET ON YOUR MAN!!!

GETTHEBALLNIC,

GET THE BALLLLLLLL

Faces redden and blood pressures rise. Some parents pace the length of the court, others stand and gesticulate towards their child.

By this stage I’m usually swung a steely ‘daughters’ glare from the court. I feel it penetrate. I am not alone though, I tell myself. Everyone does it. You can’t help it.

In fact there is always someone worse; like the guy I sat next to once at the scorers desk…he bellowed beside me “GO DIDDY, GO DIDDY“, for an entire game. I mucked up the fouls on (player) fifteen that day, because I couldn’t hear the ref. All I could hear was “Go Diddy“. I wondered if the $2 spectator fee had been imbued with an evangelical spirit, rendering its recipient the gift of tongues.

Win, lose or draw the result matters little. We, the parents rant, rave and cajole our kids, whilst at the same time forgetting about our own inner worlds; albeit, for a short time.

Each week, every Sunday for forty minutes, its just us.

Go Nic, Go.

Footy Season

I planted some seeds in the garden a couple of weeks ago. They were Yates Sweet Peas, Brilliant Fragrance, Perfumed Pastels; the ones that come in the silver foil packets. I picked them up for a couple of dollars at the local hardware, where they hung by the cash register.Read More