Sport

The beauty of the backyard arena

By Tyler Maher

Dec 24, 2021

Preferred format: Tyler Maher is happy to be in the field on a Saturday, but is much more excited about backyard cricket over the festive period. Photo by Rodney Braithwaite

The period between Christmas Day and the start of a new year melts into one giant ball of time for much of the population.

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It is an understandable phenomenon.

Leftovers have a longer shelf-life, working days are few and far between and one celebration or catch-up rolls into another for a seemingly endless stretch of time.

But for people like me — those with an insatiable yearning for a sporting arena of any kind — December 26 to 31 marks the best cricketing days of the entire year.

Not only does the Boxing Day Test — and an Ashes contest at that, this year — and Big Bash League dominate the public psyche, but shouts of ‘Catch’, ‘Howzat’ and ‘You can’t get out first ball’ ring out across the backyards of the country.

The backyard cricket circuit is one of life’s greatest pleasures.

Beers in hand, pets standing guard at square leg and lawn furniture doubling as competent lower-grade fielders are just some of the imagery that comes to mind when I think about the great backyard game.

This year my exploits were hampered somewhat by a dodgy hamstring that let go in the final round of actual cricket earlier this month, allowing me to only bowl slow seam-wobblers, hit boundaries rather than ones or twos and park myself at short-cover with an emphasis on cringe-worthy chat in the field over feats of brilliance.

Actually that just sounds like my usual Saturday afternoon.

But what I did encounter this year for the first real time was having to bowl to a toddler who was interested in being involved for longer than one delivery.

Eden and I usually have plenty of fun with a tennis racquet and a ball in the backyard, but it is always very jovial.

But backyard cricket is a different beast.

How early is too early to teach her the life lesson that leaving a gap between her bat and front leg as wide as the Goulburn River is just asking for me to mangle middle stump with a taped-up tennis ball?

What about learning the art of fending a short ball towards the nearest fielder’s beer-hand in order to increase your chances of survival?

Maybe it is too early for those teachings. A cross-seam dolly at waist height will do for now.

What she did learn though is that her father has one shot in his repertoire, and she very quickly packed the leg-side full of fielders.

And deck chairs.

Tyler Maher is the editor of the News.