When I was about ten, I went along to a ‘Garry Sobers Cricket Camp’ in Ballarat. For a young bloke who pretty much slept with his bat, this was cricket Nirvana.
Both my grandfather and father had both told me about “the greatest all rounder ever” and I remember walking across the main Ballarat andamp; Queen’s Anglican Grammar School main oval with Sir Garry St Aubrun Sobers, stars in my eyes and innocently asking him if he’d played against Bradman.
“Ho ho…no son. A bit before my time,” the great man laughed as he patted me on the head.
I asked him what it was like to hit six sixes in an over and he told me it was “very enjoyable” while I ghoulishly tried in vain to see if I could see the scars on his hands where he had an extra finger on each removed at birth.
He showed us all how to make the “number 9” shape in a forward defence and I loved how he pronounced “com-fort-a-ble” in his magnificent Barbadian accent. “The most important thing for any batsman is to be com-fort-a-ble at the crease.” Awesome.
If I remember rightly, Tony Dodemaide was there and maybe even Big Merv but the rock star I always think of from that weekend was ‘Deano’. Dean Jones was there on the Saturday and he was like the Pied Piper to us kids.
He’d already played two Tests in the West Indies and been dropped by this stage but to me he was king. For the next ten years all the kids in our street choked their bat like Deano.
The only thing I got to say to him, other than “thanks” when he signed my bat, was “Excuse me, Dean. I need to go to the toilet.”
“Number ones or twos, mate?”
“Ones.”
“A tree’ll do, champion. Just go behind a tree.”
Later on in the arvo as I fielded in the covers with my main man at point, a ball squirted between us and raced to the boundary. As I turned to chase Deano said, “I’ll grab it mate” and took off like a banshee.
I’d never seen someone run so quickly in the flesh at such close quarters. What a bloke!
A couple of years later and Deano was back in the Test team and off to India. His return dig was a 210 run epic in the famous Madras tied Test. His 502-minute stay in oppressive conditions had his body flying to bits and put him in hospital on a drip.
“Number ones or twos, mate?”
“Twos.”
Four years later and the Poms were in town. The Victorians were playing a tour match against the visiting English in my home town of Ballarat and a 4-day game no less.
Dig this. Victoria – Watts, Ayres, Jones, Lehmann, Siddons, O’Donnell, Berry, Hughes, Fleming, Jackson. England XI – Gooch, Atherton, Stewart, Lamb, Gower, Smith, Russell, Small, Bicknell, Tufnell, Malcolm.
The lasting memories of those wonderful four days are many and include the much older blokes I was with giving it to Phil Tufnell, Alec Stewart and his ‘Daddy’, England cricket manager Micky, and David Gower.
“Gower, you albino bastard!” yelled Maurie to the laconic left-hander who was gently running a warm-up lap with his team mates before play on the second day.
“If I was an albino I’d have pink eyes, then!” he called back to a roar of laughter from the hungover throng.
Allan Lamb lobbing sixes back over the bowlers’ heads and into the bowling green on his way to 143 from 129 balls. Merv Hughes audaciously yorking Gower first nut with a slower ball out the back of his hand. Simon O’Donnell refusing to sign autographs for the kids.
And my man Deano racing to the best ton I’d ever seen as he kept flicking Devon Malcolm over the Eastern Oval grandstand and WG Grace oak tree for six. 110 from 106 balls. My man!
Two years later and at the age of 30 he had played his last Test. Only two more Test centuries since I’d seen him go mad in Ballarat and that was that. He continued as the premier
ODI batsman in the world for another two years while continuing to dominate for the Vics.
I reckon he had a testimonial match I went along to at the ‘G after that where he made a bright and breezy hundred but I love to remember him from those halcyon days of 1989-90.
Like a dear old grandmother with Alzheimer’s, sometimes it’s better to remember them at their best than watch them fade away. And by that stage I’d move on to the dazzling strokeplay of Michael Slater.
My old hero Deano plays a bit of handy golf these days, coaches batsmen here and there, used to commentate and tweets from @ProfDeano.
As I watched the Aussies begin their second dig at Centurion, David Warner almost replicated his first innings dismissal but luckily chopped a a Dale Steyn delivery onto his pad with an angled bat.
Soon afterwards, Chris Rogers attempted to get some bat on ball from Steyn and the ball cannoned off his less than perpendicular blade and into the off stump.
I was prompted to tweet to Deano “Where has this top order angled bat shit come from?”
He replied in a general tweet with “two reasons why batsmen play on:
1. Mindset.. In between between being positive andamp; negative
2. Bottom hand strong.. Poor grip pressure.”
Fair enough theory. I would have liked to hazard a guess that both players were looking to cut too close to their body so I replied with “Maybe. Doesn’t explain angled bat.”
“Fortunately you don’t have to worry..” replied my childhood hero curtly.
One day in about 1986 at VFL Park I stood marvelling at Leigh Matthews who was watching the Collingwood seconds from the players’ race.
After a few minutes he turned to me and said, “Would you piss off?” So I did. I was stunned more than anything but Dad reassured me that our new coach was “only a dirty prick anyway” so that was ok.
Now these days I’m too old and ugly to be bothered by such trifling mouthfuls. And I’m well aware of my old idol Deano’s famous arrogance, ego and penchance for putting his foot in his mouth – “the terrorist has got another wicket” he infamously said in the commentary box when Hashim Amla caught Kumar Sangakarra in a 2006 Test.
But Deano. I’d like to think Sir Garry would have humoured me.
I simply replied “Neither do you any more Deano. Love to know why the angled bat, that’s all I was getting at.”
Maybe he was weary. Maybe he was sick of blokes like me engaging in conversation and politely questioning his expertise. Maybe he was ‘tired and emotional’.
Maybe I and the many @ProfDeano followers who subsequently expressed their disappointment in his abruptness are reading too much into a tweet. Maybe even Deano wishes he hadn’t been so abrasive – deleting his tweet suggests as much. Maybe he is simply a rude 52 year old man.
Either way, it’s a damn shame when you see another side of a hero.
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