It was one of those oppressive summer Saturday afternoons dominated by that all-pervasive north wind, which was doing its very best to suck my voice-box out of my throat.
It was in the days before extreme heat policies. Naturally, our captain had lost the toss, and we were consigned to chasing red leather to all parts of the oval for the day.In an attempt to keep up our spirits in the oppressive conditions, one of my teammates had come up with the idea that we should formulate new nicknames for each other. The idea was that we would use the newly conceived nicknames for 20 minutes or so before inventing new ones again. It is fair to say that this strategy proved more miss than hit, particularly when the only topic we could bear thinking about was the promise of post-match refreshments.
Somewhat miraculously, one nickname stuck. As the imposing frame of my good mate Knighty turned at the top of his bowling mark, I clapped my keeping gloves together and exhorted him: “Come on, Warwick! Get a wicket, Big Ship!” A few steps into his run-up, Knighty stopped and buckled over in fits of laughter. Since that moment, he has been known to all as: “The Ship”.
After decades of sharing wins and losses on the cricket field, the Ship and I now spend plenty of time enjoying cricket as spectators. The Adelaide Test match is an annual event for us, and we have watched cricket together at Lord’s and Manchester also. However, there is something about watching cricket at “our home ground”, the MCG; it is a feeling of familiarity that will never be replicated elsewhere.
It was from within the comfort of the MCC that, last Saturday night, the Ship and I watched Australia easily account for England in the third International T20 match of the summer. On this occasion we were accompanied by a dozen other friends from various sectors of our lives, meaning that the cricket on the field often took a backseat to the stories being told and laughs being had off it.
As the night wore on and Australia made a formality of the run-chase, our group’s attention became more focused on the banter. While I was in the midst of one particularly tall tale from our playing days, one of our mates, Simon, casually remarked that Ship and I were extremely fortunate to have such a long shared history, and he admitted to feeling ever so slightly jealous.
I had not previously considered how fortunate I was in this regard. But I assured Simon that, in merely attending the cricket with friends on nights like these, we were in the process of creating memories – if not new nicknames - for the future.
Smokie Dawson is a sports lover from way back. He can be found cheering on the local teams at Fearon Reserve in Williamstown and in the MCC members. He writes for www.footyalmanac.com.au