That Dirty Dog and Other Naughty Stories for Good Boys and Girls (2 page)

‘So he should,' says Dad. ‘Rotten mongrel owes me heaps.'

In the morning, Dad leans down and lets Jack lick his face. If that's tough, I want to be just like my dad.

Peter Wallace was mad about cricket. ‘Cricket-crazy,' his dad said.

It was cricket-this, cricket-that. Cricket before school. Cricket after school. If Pete didn't have a bat or ball in his hand, his mum used to take his temperature.

Peter wouldn't let his dad or his little brother Robbie rest for a minute. Always wanting to have a hit in the backyard, always wanting to bat first, and never, ever going out LBW. Some nights Peter wore his pads to bed. And Rob reckoned that on windy, scary nights, he wore his protector as well.

As Peter grew older, he started to play in the under-thirteens competition. His love of cricket became even greater. And people started noticing something. Peter was becoming a good little player.

But Pete didn't want to be just good. He wanted to play for Australia! It was something he'd heard on the radio that did it. A young Indian batsman was asked when he'd first wanted to play for India. ‘From the moment I picked up a bat,' he answered.

Yes, that's me!
Pete thought.
I'm not crazy.
I want to play for my country too!

Pete's dad said there was nothing wrong with aiming for the top, but that he shouldn't forget cricket was just a game. ‘Play for fun and try your best,' he said. ‘And everything else will take care of itself.'

Sounds pretty wussy to me
, thought Pete, but he just said, ‘Yes, Dad.'

Pete's dad was always coming out with mushy stuff.
Must have been a bit of a loser when
he was young
, thought Pete.
If you want to play
for Australia, you've got to go for it!

And then it happened. The most fantastic, unbelievable day of days.

Pete had gone into a muesli bar cricket competition.
And won!
The prize was the first day at a test match with Australia playing against England. But the best part was a chance to go to the Australian team breakfast and then down to the change rooms before the game. Pete would get all the players' autographs and watch them warm up and stuff.

Pete was so excited that he thought he might have kittens.

The game was at the most famous place in the world, the Melbourne Cricket Ground, and the newspapers said it would be packed. And so it was. Luckily Pete had arrived early.

After waiting in a queue for what seemed like half of Pete's life, he and his family finally reached the entrance to the Members' Stand. Pete was dressed in his whites, carrying his bat in one hand and his muesli bar prize letter in the other.

The man at the gate said, ‘We've been expecting you. Didn't someone mention that you didn't need to queue up? You could have come straight in. Unfortunately you're a bit late for the breakfast, but I'm sure you'll be well looked after.'

On the other side of the gate were two men – one to take Pete's family to their seats in the stand, the other to take Pete through to meet the players.

Suddenly, there Pete was. Surrounded by the most important, fantastic, excellent people ever.
The Australian cricket team.
Ricky Ponting, Michael Clarke – they were all there. And Pete was introduced to every one of them. He was in heaven.

Then Mr Ponting asked if Pete would like to stay with the team once the game had started. You can probably guess what Pete's answer was.

‘Yes!'

Well, the game had been going for an hour and Australia had started terribly. Three wickets down for only fifteen runs!

But the real disaster had only just begun. Something even worse was happening in the change rooms. Something only Pete knew about.

The next batsman, Michael Clarke, who was supposed to be padding up, was instead being terribly sick in the toilets. It must have been something he'd eaten for breakfast.

Pete was trying to help by giving him wet towels and lemonade, but the batsman just got worse.

‘What are you going to do?' asked Pete from outside the toilet door.

‘I don't know,' croaked Clarkey (that's what Pete calls him now that he knows him personally). ‘Do you think you could run up and tell Punter for me? He's in the players' room at the top of the stairs.'

‘Sure,' said Pete.

‘And Pete,' said Clarkey, ‘you've been a terrific help. Thanks. Maybe I can give you a hand one day when you play for Australia?'

Pete smiled and ran off. And then he stopped.

Those words,
Play for Australia
…

And Pete started to think of something
very, very naughty.

Pete's family were sitting in the grandstand and they groaned with the rest of the crowd as yet another wicket fell.

Pete's mum was the first to notice the new player marching out to bat. ‘Oh, no!' she said.

‘It couldn't be!' said his dad.

It was.

Peter Wallace
was marching out to bat.

Mr Ponting waved madly and shouted at Pete to come back, but Pete kept walking.

The crowd couldn't believe it. ‘Who is he?' they asked each other.

‘How could someone so short be sent out to bat?'

‘Why wasn't the team change in this morning's papers?'

It was all too late. Pete was at the crease. And Stuart Broad was charging in to bowl.

The first three balls whistled past somewhere near Pete's nose. He knew that because he heard them. So he was pleased that he at least saw the fourth ball go past.

But the fifth, that was the ball he was going to get. Pete had decided he would have a whack at it no matter what.

‘Cop this, Stuey-baby,' said Pete, and
bang!
The ball rocketed off Pete's bat, over the top of slips, and into the fence for four.

The crowd went wild. But the sixth ball thundered into Pete's pads.

‘How's that!' screamed the English team.

‘Not out,'
said Pete. He was so used to umpiring at home that the words just popped out.

The umpire got such a shock that he didn't say anything.

And that was the end of the over. Unfortunately, it was also the end of Pete. The police had found him out by now and Pete was asked to leave the ground.

‘Can I stay a bit longer?' Pete asked. Now that he had Broad beaten, he was ready to really cut loose! The policeman shook his head.

So, Pete turned, thanked everyone for coming and proudly marched off the ground. The crowd cheered wildly and Pete lifted his bat in the air, like great batsmen do. Just because his magnificent innings had been cut short, that was no reason to disappoint the crowd.

But that wasn't the end of it. England suddenly realised they could force Australia to make Pete bat again in the second innings, because you're not allowed to change the team halfway through the game. It was as if Australia now only had ten men in their side, or so they thought.

And so it came to this. After five fantastic days of cricket, Pete – who had, of course, been held back until last in the hope that he wouldn't have to bat again – was suddenly the last man, or boy, standing. Australia had made up a lot of ground, but they were still nine wickets down. They needed three runs to win!

‘Don't worry, Mr Ponting,' said Pete. ‘I'm young, but I'm still an Aussie!'

As Pete marched out to bat again, he lifted his bat to thank the crowd, who by now were making a
thunderous roar.

As Pete took block and looked around the field, the crowd fell silent. Everyone was sick with nerves. Stuart Broad charged in, raised himself up to maximum height and hurled down an absolutely wicked ball that was probably his fastest of the day.

Now, when you've played cricket with your brother in the backyard, day after day, usually until it's too dark to see, you get a sixth sense. You don't even need to see the ball, you just know where it is.
And so it was with Pete.

He took a step forward, swung truly, and sweetly cracked a brilliant cover-drive straight to the fence.

They say the roar from the crowd was heard in London.

Janet Wong and Maria Gallus were chatting away one lunchtime when a terrible smell surrounded them.

‘Was that you?' asked Janet.

‘No!' replied Maria.

‘Have I stood in something?' asked Janet, checking the soles of her shoes.

‘Don't think so,' said Maria. ‘Maybe it's my lunchbox. Mum's probably given me egg sandwiches again.'

But that wasn't it either. Janet and Maria couldn't work it out. They checked to see if there was a drain nearby, and then each other's breath – even their armpits and sneakers. Nothing!

The smell was getting worse. Other kids were looking around too. Everyone started holding their noses.

Then things became serious. One boy fainted and others started retching.

The smell was absolutely revolting. Think broken sewer pipes, mixed with garlic breath, mixed with rotten-egg gas, mixed with socks that have been worn for seven days in a row.

Suddenly it all became clear. Standing nearby, wearing a huge grin, was Stinky Adams.

Stinky had only arrived the day before, with a whole lot of other kids whose school was damaged by fire. Rumours had gone around about Stinky, though no-one really believed his smells could be that bad.

But now everyone knew. Stinky Adams did smells that were
sick-making.

The trouble was that Stinky enjoyed doing smells. It gave him a feeling of power, and relief, of course. It made him smile. If Stinky found himself surrounded by people choking and kids throwing up, it was a good day.

Of course, Mrs Hammond, the school principal, was not happy. She called Stinky into her office.

‘I'm not quite sure how to put this,' said Mrs Hammond, ‘but it's come to my attention that you have a small problem downstairs.'

Stinky didn't understand.

‘A problem with wind,' continued Mrs Hammond. ‘In fact, if I'm to believe the stories, your wind is bordering on scary. “Like a punch in the face” is how one of our teachers described it. It has to stop. Diet can be a big help. Tell me what you had for breakfast this morning.'