Hit for Six (6 page)

He couldn't bear to think about it.

At the bowling club after school, Trevor led Davey to the storage shed. Inside was a huge, ancient-looking metal roller.

‘You've got to be kidding.'

The roller looked more like a museum relic than a functioning piece of machinery.

‘You know you can get ride-on rollers these days like they use on cricket pitches?' Davey asked.

‘Is that so?' Trevor said with a wink. ‘Well, we've got nothing that fancy here.'

He lifted the handle and began to pull. ‘Stop your gawping and come and help me,' he said, straining against the weight. ‘This thing weighs a ton.'

Davey grabbed the other side of the handle and helped Trevor pull the roller out onto the green. It was slow going. Like a slug.

‘We've done the best we can with the grass. Just a matter of time before it grows back,'
Trevor explained. ‘But now we need a level playing surface.'

‘You want
me
to push this thing?' Davey asked.

Trevor looked around. ‘I don't see anyone else lining up for the job, and I'll be mowing the professional green.'

He nodded his head for Davey to get to work.

Davey inspected the roller.
Yikes
.

‘Okay. I can do this,' he told himself. He leaned down, picked up the steel handle and leaned all of his weight into it as he pushed. The roller barely moved.

Davey tried again. He grunted with the effort. The roller moved a few centimetres.

‘Yes!'

There was a smattering of applause. ‘That'll toughen you up,' said an old man who was watching him from the side of the green.

Another old codger gave Davey the thumbs up.

‘Young people today don't know about physical work.'

The other oldie agreed and they fell into a whinge-fest about how things were so much harder back in their day.

‘I'll show you wrinklies,' Davey muttered to himself. He braced his arms, keeping them slightly bent but strong, and leaned forward with all his might. The roller moved forward with a jolt and this time Davey was able to keep the momentum going.

After what felt like four hours but was only ten minutes, Davey had rolled three metres of green. He stopped for a break.

The old codgers were still watching and one of them motioned for him to join them.

‘Not bad for a young punk,' said one.

‘Thanks,' Davey said flatly. His shoulders were already beginning to ache.

‘You know,' said the other codger, ‘Trevor can roll this whole green in the time it took you to do that measly effort.'

Measly effort?
That was a bit harsh.

‘Has Trevor always worked here?' Davey asked.

‘Old Trev? Nah, he used to work in cricket.'

Davey's ears pricked up. ‘Cricket?'

‘He looked after all the big pitches – The Gabba, SCG, you name it. The man knows his cricket. He has a few stories to tell, does Trev.'

The members fell back into their own conversation and Davey realised he'd been dismissed. If Trevor could do it, then Davey Warner could. He resolved to finish rolling the green.

He went back to the roller and gave it his all.

Davey was thoroughly exhausted by the time he got home. He'd had a major upper body workout at the bowls club, and a lower body workout on his pushie riding the ten kilometres there and back twice a day.
All he wanted to do was eat and go to bed as soon as he got home.

Davey's mum had other ideas. ‘David Warner, get in here right now. You've got some explaining to do.'

Uh oh
. Davey froze in the kitchen doorway, but he was too tired to make a run for it.

He found his mum pacing the lounge room. That was a bad sign.

She pointed to the couch. ‘Sit.'

Davey sat down.

‘I just don't understand,' his mum began. ‘First there's this business with the bowls club and you and Max running riot. Now, Mr Mudge says you don't even bother handing in your assignments.'

Davey groaned. ‘It wasn't like that, Mum.'

‘If you put the same amount of effort into your schoolwork as you do into cricket, you'd be top of your class!'

‘Sorry, Mum. I did try but I fell asleep.'

‘Aha!' His mum pounced. ‘Fell asleep because you're so tired from playing cricket every minute of the day. Well, that's all stopping right now.'

‘Er, what's stopping?'

‘Cricket. No more until you write the essay. I know you have a big game coming up, but you won't be playing in it until the work is done.'

‘But Mum!' Davey wanted to explain about the bet and hitting six sixes, but he was worried it would make her even angrier.

He was starting to think she might be right.

His mum gave him some left-over corned beef and vegetables for dinner. He could barely lift the fork to his lips because he was so tired.

‘Bed!' said his mum, once he'd eaten.

‘Bed,' sighed Davey as he sank into his mattress.

He stretched out his aching shoulders and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Davey was finished.

He looked back over his work from the last few days and felt a deep sense of pride. His arm muscles felt it too. He had worked all weekend and the social players' bowling green was now perfectly rolled.

Trevor clapped him on the back. ‘I think you deserve a break.'

Inside the club, Trevor bought Davey a club lunch and a lemonade. They sat together at a window table and looked out over the green.

‘I heard a rumour that you used to look after cricket pitches,' said Davey before gulping down some lemonade.

Trevor chuckled. ‘For most of my life.'

‘Did you ever play?' Davey asked.

‘As a kid I did, but later I liked watching more. I've seen lots of the big games. But I like the behind-the-scenes stuff better.'

The bartender brought their meals over and there was silence while they both tucked into
hamburgers and chips. Davey realised he was ravenous.

‘So how's Mr Mudge going, or should I call him Mudge?'

Davey rolled his eyes and finished chewing a mouthful of chips.

‘He's on my case. I've got to hand in an essay tomorrow about lawn bowls and I don't know where to begin.'

‘Why don't you write about what you've learned working here?'

‘Gardening?'

‘How to prepare a pitch for play. It's the same with cricket. As a player, you have to learn how to read the pitch. Someone has meticulously prepared that piece of grass
to be level and the moisture of the soil has to be just right or cracks appear. What happens if a crack appears and you bowl or hit a ball onto it?'

Davey thought about the question. ‘The ball could go in a direction different from where you expect it to.'

Trevor nodded. ‘Exactly! So, in order to read a pitch or a bowling green properly, you need to learn how to maintain it. In bowls as in cricket, the condition of the grass affects the path and speed of the ball.'

Trevor had a point. Davey knew about the pitch affecting his game, but he'd always been rubbish at turning it to his advantage.

‘If you can read a pitch correctly, then you might just be one step ahead of your mate Josh Jarrett.'

Davey realised for the first time that there might just
be
something to the game of lawn bowls.

‘Want me to show you how to play bowls properly?'

Davey nodded.

Once they had finished their meal, Trevor collected a bag from the storage shed and took it with him out to the green. He unzipped it and pulled out two beautifully polished bowls. He handed one to Davey.

‘You already know the bowl is shaped so that it will roll in a curved direction. Now, I know this green very well and I know that it's slightly uneven – it sinks a little lower in the left corner – so I'll keep that in mind when I play. Also, some greens are fast and some are slow. We have quite a slow green.'

They had a game and some of the members even gathered around to give tips. Davey realised that bowls was a very social sport and before too long he was enjoying himself.

‘You can have a rest day tomorrow and then it's back to more rolling,' said Trevor, when it was time to head home.

‘But it's all done,' protested Davey, pointing to the social green they'd been playing on.

‘You're ready for the big league son,' Trevor chuckled, pointing to the professional players' green next to the one they had worked on.

Davey groaned.

That night, Davey tidied his room. He never tidied his room. Yet he found himself packing toys away, putting dirty clothes in the wash basket, and neatly lining up his cricket trophies so they faced out just so.

Once his room was spotless, he began to vacuum the lounge room floor.

Davey's mum eyed him suspiciously. ‘As much as I love the fact that you're helping around the house,' she said, ‘I think it's time to start your essay.'