• From Captain Local…

    When I was 17 years old I caught a coach service from Melbourne to Townsville. Somewhere in the never-ending blackness of the third night I had a dream that I was a ghost and that the bus I was on was somehow a tiny fragment of rock which was all that remained of Alderaan; and together we were spinning through the void in a kind of endlessly repeating scream of horror in the second after the Deathstar had blown the entire planet to smithereens.

    Sometimes I remember that dream when Rev bowls an over.

    Thankfully, on a dull day of restless wind and heat-mad flies at Fairfield Oval against the Curtain Hotel, Rev produced the finest spell I have yet seen him bowl, sending down two near-perfect overs of line and length thunderbolts that were – for me – the highlight of the Quokkas fielding effort.

    Yes, the highlight.

    The Curtain, or ‘Beefies’ as they are known (possibly humorously) enjoyed the goodwill of the Quokkas field and set us a target of 190 or something similarly absurd.

    Like Ernest Shackleton rowing – in desperation or madness or both – across the endless bitterness of the Southern Ocean, we began our chase with a determination to achieve against the odds.

    J-Rod opened reluctantly, and yet repaid the faith – or bullying – of his captain by smashing the ball to various points on and over the boundary, often with a casual insouciance that was as surprised as the rest of us to be used in a description of his batting.

    With this laissez-faire flair from the opener came a renewed sense of ambition in the hearts of the Quokkas. Perhaps. Or it may have just been the captain who felt it. Who knows, it may have simply been the lunchtime sausages.Whatever the case, the ambition was for a victory that seemed unlikely an hour earlier when the Quokkas had just dropped their 67th catch of the afternoon.

    However.

    The death of ambition is a quiet cut that lays bare your hollow bones. It comes inevitably on a slow, grey afternoon amid the heat and tiny flies.

    Chef batted with courage and power, and without thought, which is when he bats best. Dutchy scored some inevitable runs. Rev attempted a last-wicket something, and attempted it well.

    Alas. Like the doomed people with no weapons on the peaceful planet that has just come into range of the most powerful weapon the Galaxy has ever known, the Quokkas were never going to end up as anything more than space dust.

    “Fire when ready”

    Congratulations to the Curtain, they played well, and thanks to Big Dog for making the Captains speech in my late absence. I am now 4 from 4 and can only accept that the blame must squarely fall on the playing group’s refusal to adhere to my instructions regarding the Nu-Metal theme. Next time gentlemen, next time.

    Posted by Rev @ 10:32 pm

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