You should always be willing to try new things, especially when those things are likely to involve day drinking.

 

Last week I had a whole week off, and was asked by my Curly-Haired Friend to head along to a cricket match. This sounds like a quintessentially Australian thing to do, except this little Vegemite is perhaps not as Australian as she might seem (stumbling around in a dirty koala costume on Australia Day with a XXXX Gold stubby in your hand tends to make you look pretty bloody dinky-di). You see, I have a dirty little secret:

 

The Cricket has never been my thing.

 

Sure, I have fond memories of playing deceptively-named Four Wicket Cricket (deceptively-named that the wickets weren’t wickets – my school couldn’t seem to afford four actual wickets as we had go around the lunch area and pick up all the bins and drag them on to the sports oval to be used instead of three sticks in the ground. This usually resulted in a few banana peels and empty poppers being strewn across the oval), and I have always enjoyed the small ego boost that came from Australia’s almost constant dominance over international teams, but that’s about where it stops.

 

My household was a very anti-cricket environment. Not only was it never watched, but it was openly mocked. My NRL mad parents would groan as their favourite television shows were cancelled because of one of those match tests, and the cricket report was the only time the news was every turned down over dinner (needless to say, my father probably learned more about his children over the summer months). My parents’ physical reactions to accidentally stumbling upon a game while channel surfing was perhaps on par with how everyone under 30 responds when The Project allows a token right-wing baby boomer on the show just so the regular presenters have someone to fight with. And just like my tendency to ramble was passed down to me by my mother, so too was my distain for The Cricket.

 

This distain has rarely served me well. For one, I only know the cricket players who featured on the Wheatbix ads or are a “Warnie”. This means I’m crap at Australian-themed quizzes. The other week our Reporter of the Sports was away, and I found myself faced with the prospect of writing a story about The Cricket. The idea of having me write things about The Cricket is a bit like trading pants with Charlie Sheen’s character in Two and a Half Men – it makes absolutely no sense, is borderline dangerous and is likely to result in the spreading of a severe rash. But, unlike trading slacks with perhaps the most lovable sleaze on reruns, this was something I had to do. Thankfully, I guy a play trivia with knew the captain of a local team and pre-warned him of my complete lack of knowledge about the apparent gentlemen’s game. Not that this was necessary in the end, as it probably came across when I had to ask said captain “… and wicket meant getting someone out – yeah?”. Thankfully, this captain had the patience of 1000 driving instructors and calmly explained the details. With his help and a few Google searches I ended up with a few paragraphs about an actual match. Sure, my lingo was sloppy, but I managed to string something together. And while I took my trivia mate’s assessment of the yarn as “not too bad” as a message not to ask any follow-up questions, I felt like I just scraped through Wickets 101 – which felt like a victory for me.

While bolstered by the knowledge that my understanding of The Cricket was at best “not too bad”, I still was yet to subscribe to the sport Australia Day ads made me feel like I was a soulless alien for not being obsessed with. So the request to pay actual money to sit and watch an actual game was met with a degree of scepticism on my part. Here’s a transcript of an exchange between my and my Curly-Haired Friend after she asked me to go with her to The Cricket:

 

Me: That would be an interesting day out for this cricket atheist.

 

Curly-Haired Friend: Atheist or enthusiast?

 

Me: Atheist. I don’t believe in it, but will happily drink to it if everyone else is. Convert me!

 

Curly-Haired Friend: You don’t believe in cricket?

 

Me: Ehh. I acknowledge its existence but nave never joined in the mass worship.

 

Curly-Haired Friend: Every time you say that a little Warnie dies.

 

At this point, it looks like I’m going to give The Cricket the flick, but here’s the plot twist: I agreed. While I may have thumbed my nose at my country for not liking The Cricket, there are a few pastimes I revel in that are inline with the forefathers of this great nation: consuming fermented barley, shouting obscenities at strangers and acting like I’m the king of the world because someone of my nationality does something noteworthy. And all of these activities can be done at a live sporting match, and in the daytime no less. I can live with not being a sporting super fan, but turn my back on day drinking? That’s just bloody unAustralian.