Howzat!. Brenda Munitich

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      Howzat! a CRICKET story

      Brenda Munitich

      Tafelberg

      Chapter 1

      They can’t … actually be coming to play! Can they? Brian stared across the field in disbelief as two girls drew nearer, the small, fair-haired one lumbering towards the nets in cricket pads, the other, dark and slim, tossing a ball from hand to hand. Some of the guys were throwing the ball around; a couple were playing French cricket.

      He turned back to the notice board tacked to the wall between the dressing rooms. Stretched across the top was a computer printout –

      ST BARNABAS CRICKET TEAMS – MIDLANDS LEAGUE

      He searched through the headings and lists of names underneath it. 1st Team, 2nd Team, U15 … and there it was: U13. He ran his eye down the list … yes, he thought, they are playing – there are their names!

      U13 team

      COACH: MR P. SCOTT

      Peter James

      David Wright

      Martin Morris

      Brendan Verster

      Francois le Grange

      JP Dhlamini

      Cassie Erasmus

      Brian Lawson

      William Knox

      Pauline Calder

      Jaco Smit

      Robyn Knox

      Charl Evans

      Harrichand Ramharaki

      “Hey Robyn!” The voice belonged to William Knox, or Wimpy, as everyone called him. “Who said you’re first to bat?”

      “I did,” said a deep voice and Mr. Scott, Brian’s class teacher and the under 13 cricket coach, walked out of the dressing room.

      “Come, come, guys! Nets first. Fizz, Jaco and Brendan – bowl to Robyn in net number one. Charl – put that sketch pad away now!” The coach’s remark was addressed to a smallish, red-haired guy sitting on the ground busily sketching with coloured pens.

      He’s drawing when he could be playing cricket. Brian was amazed.

      Shouts of protest came from Fizz, Jaco and Brendan:

      “Gee, sir, can’t we play a proper game?”

      “I hate nets!”

      “Yuk! Nets!”

      “Get going, guys. Right now! We only have the nets for an hour, then the under 15s will be using them,” Mr. Scott said. “Come, I’ll get you started.”

      The three guys walked off towards the nets, still grumbling. Robyn shot Brian a sidelong glance and followed them, smirking.

      “Do they really play cricket?” Brian whispered to Wimpy.

      “Who?” asked Wimpy, straightening up with a grin. He’d been bending over Charl’s sketch pad. “Man – this guy can draw!”

      “Those girls … and that one.” Brian pointed to a slight figure standing a little apart from the group.

      “Cassie, you mean? Well – she hasn’t played yet. She’s new – like you, JP, and Charl.” Wimpy bent over and got his wicket-keeping gloves out of his bag.

      “But … girls? … do they really play? … with us?”

      Wimpy gave a hoot of laughter. “Of course – this is a small school man! Most of the Midlands sides have one or two girls in them. Why? Don’t you want to play with girls?”

      Brian didn’t want to answer that. He’d been told that Robyn was Wimpy’s twin sister.

      “… but in matches?” Brian couldn’t believe he’d have to play with girls in the same team. “Do they play in matches?”

      “Well, look at it like this,” said Wimpy patiently. “We can’t play in the league at all unless some of the girls play. There just aren’t enough under 13 guys. We’re lucky that they want to play.”

      “Right, guys!” Mr Scott strode back briskly. “Brian – pad up. Into the other net with you. Martin, Pauline, and David – bowl to him. Off you go. And Charl, Cassie, Peter, and JP – throw the ball to Wimpy – and make him work a bit. Come … move it.”

      He shooed them out onto the field and banged the ball into the turf in front of Wimpy, so that the wicket keeper had to get low, roll and dive or stand and take a high one. “Like that!”

      “Okay, big shot! Let’s see how good you really are!” Martin Morris took the ball.

      This guy doesn’t like me, thought Brian. What’s he got against me anyway? We’re in the same class, but I haven’t said a single word to him yet – I’ve never seen him in my life before …

      Brian padded up quickly and watched as Martin thudded the ball angrily from hand to hand.

      If only we hadn’t moved here, he thought, I’d be at my old school in Durban now, playing cricket with the guys that I know so well. Not with girls and an artist. I would also tell this idiot with the ball that getting angry like that will only make him bowl bad balls.

      Brian said nothing, just walked to his place, took guard carefully and faced Martin’s first ball. The ball was wild, a full toss, and Brian gave it the treatment it deserved, slamming it into the nets. A good, straight drive hit solidly in the meat of the bat.

      Martin didn’t look at the ball. He just glared at Brian, red-faced with anger.

      “Think you’re marvelous, hey Lawson? Just because you captained the KwaZulu-Natal Colts? Well, let me tell you …”

      “I’ll do the telling, thank you Martin!” Mr Scott came jogging back. “We play our first match on Saturday and I’m not putting up with quarrelling. Just get on with the practise!”

      So that’s his problem, thought Brian. It’s because I played for the Colts!

      Brian put Martin out of his mind and grinned when he saw that Pauline was ready to bowl the next ball.

      This will be easy, he thought to himself.

      He took guard rather carelessly and was pleased to see a well-flighted ball that looked as though it was going to pitch slightly to leg. He launched himself at it but, to his horror, it spun quite sharply, bounced higher than he expected and went over the shoulder of his bat, crashing into the stumps.

      There was a giggle from Robyn, who had turned to watch. “The big city cricketer’s not so good with spin bowling, hey!” СКАЧАТЬ