Backyard Cricket

It's summer. It's late afternoon, as the sea breeze takes over from the sweltering sun. The barbecue sits warm but inert, leftover chops and sausages attract the last of the flies. A dozen half-full beer bottles litter the outdoor setting and garden, their drinkers no longer interested in drowning the refreshing amber ale. The tennis ball is dug out from the depths of the shed. The one-hand-one bounce and six-and-out rules are laid down. The battle in the backyard has just begun...

For the every-day Australian, backyard cricket is tradition on a balmy December/January evening. Growing up as a kid, the only thing I looked forward to about Christmas or New Years or Australia Day was getting the bat and ball out and having a hit. I was always the first out amongst the prickles and the bees, winding up the Hills-Hoist so it wouldn't obstruct my bowling. I took great pride in bowling out my Uncle Nik one day with a perfect off-cutter, which jagged back of a length and just clipped the top of off, and making a magnificent Christmas Day century at Auntie Sharon's, whacking the ball to all parts. And I always felt the pang of disappointment as David sent the only ball flying over the fence and into the neighbour's yard, never to be seen again. It was out, but it also meant the end of the game.

Now I'm a little older, the backyard game means something a little different to me. I still enjoy getting out there and having a hit (I'm still usually always the instigator), imitating my favourite bowling actions and prodding the ball around the garden. But I no longer argue the case when I get given out with a terrible LBW decision made by the bowler/umpire. I never get upset when the one and only ball disappears onto the roof. For me, the best part about backyard cricket is watching everybody get involved. Out of the house. Into the fresh air. Everyone loves having a bat, rolling the arm over, or diving around in the field. Smiling, co-operating, and having a great time. In a day and age of social networking and online gaming and flat screen TVs, it really is a magical thing.

The Man For Whom TIme Stands Still

Throughout the course of human existence, God has sent to Earth two men. One was God's son, destined to heal the suffering, perform miracles, and then rise from the dead. The other was meant to play cricket.

Although of Jesus Christ's existence I cannot be certain, I know Sachin Tendulkar does. I've watched him on the television since I was a young boy, for longer than I can remember. And I've seen him in the flesh. I gave him a standing ovation in Perth as he walked on and off the ground in 2008, thinking to myself that this would be the last chance I would ever get to see the Little Master bat again. Yet four years later, now at 38 years of age, and on the cusp of 100 international centuries, he's back. And he hasn't changed a bit.

My fore-mentioned statement that he is sent from the Divine is not unfounded. Off the field, he is a beautiful man, one of the nicest, well mannered people you will probably ever come across in professional sport. On it, he stops time...

When word gets across in the ever bustling streets of Mumbai (or Kolkata or Delhi or Bengaluru for that matter) that Sachin Tendulkar is about to walk out to bat, the city stops. It is the only time the city stops. People flock to the ground or to televisions or radios to witness another innings from the their hero. And when (or if) he gets out, the city falls silent. Word is, you can hear a pin drop in normally deafeningly loud Wankhede Stadium. And for a moment, it seems, time stands still.

Sachin is also a master of time with bat in hand. From the time the ball leaves the bowlers hand, to the time it reaches him, he seems to have an absolute age in which to choose and play his strokes. And when he does, he times them to perfection, effortlessly caressing the ball to the boundary, at will. It is a wonderful thing to behold.

Like Christ himself, Sachin has not always had it easy. It is now impossible for him to walk the streets of his own city for fear of being swamped by thousands of cricket-mad fans wanting desperately to get a glimpse of the Little Master. And who could blame them, really? Like Christ, the day Sachin leaves this Earth, the repercussions will be hard felt. For the 1.2 billion Indian people, and cricket lovers alike, Sachin is a religion.