I’m in here laying on a white, lemon-smelling table because of a cricket ball. The seams of the ball are indented in my flesh and the man in the white coat is bandaging me. I was on TV and the world saw me. It makes the pain a bit easier to handle, knowing I’m famous. It started in the morning with the triplets. Woke me up and wanted to eat. They cried and cried and the wife nagged at me, twittering away like she does. It was so annoying and I knew I’d have to put up with her for the whole day and didn’t want to deal with her so I told her I’m off to the cricket. She can handle the little ones. She yelled ‘get more food on the way home,’ which really means ‘I don’t want you to go but you’ll go anyway no matter what I say so I may as well get something out of it too.’ So I went. I love the MCG, especially when the cricket’s on. When there’s footy the ground is usually full and I don’t get a good spot but the cricket’s different. I can pretty much sit where I like, usually right at the boundary, and watch it unfold. It was Australia versus India, and India won the toss and elected to field first. I sat in my usual spot and I was pretty sure I saw Steve on the other side of the ground. I know, I know, it’s a big ground but my eye sight is great and I know Steve a mile away. I went over and sat by him. ‘Good game, Gordy’, he said, nodding and eating at the same time. ‘Yeah,’ I replied, ‘but they should have put an extra man in the gully…when Warner starts he can pretty much tap it anywhere.’ Steve nodded again, this time having the consideration to not talk with his mouth full. We both watched the game and didn’t look at each other as we spoke. ‘How’s the twins?’ I asked. ‘Good.’ ‘And the old bird?’ He didn’t say anything, more of a grrrmmph noise escaped him. ‘That bad, huh?’ ‘Yeah, pretty much.’ I don’t think he wanted to talk about his home situation. But mine was open to discussion. ‘How’s Cynthia and the triplets?’ ‘Okay.’ ‘And your new place?’ ‘Finished it two weeks ago.’ Warner hit Zaheer for six, a switch hit off side. It careened into a spectator in the fifth row from boundary who was trying to catch it. He tried to get his hands around it as it thumped into his stomach and dropped. The spectators laughed and the probably bruised man retrieved the ball, stood on his chair and waved the ball at the cameras trained on him. He pointed to his stomach and waved again. When the cheering and whistling died down Steve continued. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘we’re pretty lucky.’ I turned to him as the over was finished. ‘How are we lucky, Steve?’ He faced me. ‘Well, you know Mark’s got the quads now, and Tom’s got the quins to look after. And Tom said Paul’s got seven.’ ‘Seven?’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘Didn’t think it was possible.’ ‘It is…apparently.’ ‘Poor bastard.’ ‘Yeah. It reminds me,’ he said, craning his neck out and stretching it. ‘I better head off too. I promised the old bird I’d be home by one o’clock.’ Steve stretched his wings out and flew up into the air. He hit an updraft and rode it out of the stadium. It was my chance to get closer. I like watching the game from the boundary, but nothing beats being right in the action. I flew from the boundary rope over to Tendulkar, and landed behind him to his right at second slip, where I could see the action better than the cricketers themselves. It’s the good eyesight all birds have. Like the big screens in the stands when they shows slow-motion shots so the humans can understand the aerodynamics and physics of the play in minute detail. That’s how I see all the time. So I know I’m pretty safe even if one of the more enthusiastic Aussie batsmen fair knocks it flying right at me. I’d miss it. I know I would. And humans don’t scare me when they’re near TV cameras as they know whatever they’ll do will be seen by millions, so they don’t even try to chase me away. We seagulls had worked this one out ages ago. It was Zaheer bowling to Wade. I hoped Wade was in better form than the last match; he’d only made 12 runs at the WACA. The ball shot out of Zaheer’s hand and flew down the pitch. As Wade brought the bat up he turned it, angled it to allow the ball to skim across it’s flat face and shoot fast and down second slip, where M.S Dhoni hadn’t placed any of his fielders, which was a stupid decision really, as when Wade gets going he can tap it anywhere too. He really should have put someone there I mean - Oh shit! I jumped and spread my wings, about to fly. A bright pain and a numbness spread through my left side. Hot stinging bone and heavy winged I dropped to the immaculate green grass carpet and lay there, screaming. The last thing I remember before I passed out and woke up here were big, cupped brown hands and feeling small inside them. My wing hurts but it’s bandaged. I think they numbed it with some of their human know-how. I’ll be okay. I missed the rest of the game. Incidentally, India won by two runs. If I hadn’t been in the way Wade would have hit a four…Oops.
I’m in here laying on a white, lemon-smelling table because of a cricket ball. The seams of the ball are indented in my flesh and the man in the white coat is bandaging me.
I was on TV and the world saw me. It makes the pain a bit easier to handle, knowing I’m famous.
It started in the morning with the triplets. Woke me up and wanted to eat. They cried and cried and the wife nagged at me, twittering away like she does. It was so annoying and I knew I’d have to put up with her for the whole day and didn’t want to deal with her so I told her I’m off to the cricket. She can handle the little ones.
She yelled ‘get more food on the way home,’ which really means ‘I don’t want you to go but you’ll go anyway no matter what I say so I may as well get something out of it too.’
So I went. I love the MCG, especially when the cricket’s on. When there’s footy the ground is usually full and I don’t get a good spot but the cricket’s different. I can pretty much sit where I like, usually right at the boundary, and watch it unfold.
It was Australia versus India, and India won the toss and elected to field first. I sat in my usual spot and I was pretty sure I saw Steve on the other side of the ground. I know, I know, it’s a big ground but my eye sight is great and I know Steve a mile away.
I went over and sat by him.
‘Good game, Gordy’, he said, nodding and eating at the same time.
‘Yeah,’ I replied, ‘but they should have put an extra man in the gully…when Warner starts he can pretty much tap it anywhere.’
Steve nodded again, this time having the consideration to not talk with his mouth full.
We both watched the game and didn’t look at each other as we spoke.
‘How’s the twins?’ I asked.
‘Good.’
‘And the old bird?’
He didn’t say anything, more of a grrrmmph noise escaped him.
‘That bad, huh?’
‘Yeah, pretty much.’
I don’t think he wanted to talk about his home situation. But mine was open to discussion.
‘How’s Cynthia and the triplets?’
‘Okay.’
‘And your new place?’
‘Finished it two weeks ago.’
Warner hit Zaheer for six, a switch hit off side. It careened into a spectator in the fifth row from boundary who was trying to catch it. He tried to get his hands around it as it thumped into his stomach and dropped. The spectators laughed and the probably bruised man retrieved the ball, stood on his chair and waved the ball at the cameras trained on him. He pointed to his stomach and waved again. When the cheering and whistling died down Steve continued.
‘You know,’ he said, ‘we’re pretty lucky.’
I turned to him as the over was finished. ‘How are we lucky, Steve?’
He faced me. ‘Well, you know Mark’s got the quads now, and Tom’s got the quins to look after. And Tom said Paul’s got seven.’
‘Seven?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Didn’t think it was possible.’
‘It is…apparently.’
‘Poor bastard.’
‘Yeah. It reminds me,’ he said, craning his neck out and stretching it. ‘I better head off too. I promised the old bird I’d be home by one o’clock.’ Steve stretched his wings out and flew up into the air. He hit an updraft and rode it out of the stadium.
It was my chance to get closer. I like watching the game from the boundary, but nothing beats being right in the action. I flew from the boundary rope over to Tendulkar, and landed behind him to his right at second slip, where I could see the action better than the cricketers themselves. It’s the good eyesight all birds have. Like the big screens in the stands when they shows slow-motion shots so the humans can understand the aerodynamics and physics of the play in minute detail. That’s how I see all the time. So I know I’m pretty safe even if one of the more enthusiastic Aussie batsmen fair knocks it flying right at me. I’d miss it. I know I would.
And humans don’t scare me when they’re near TV cameras as they know whatever they’ll do will be seen by millions, so they don’t even try to chase me away. We seagulls had worked this one out ages ago.
It was Zaheer bowling to Wade. I hoped Wade was in better form than the last match; he’d only made 12 runs at the WACA.
The ball shot out of Zaheer’s hand and flew down the pitch. As Wade brought the bat up he turned it, angled it to allow the ball to skim across it’s flat face and shoot fast and down second slip, where M.S Dhoni hadn’t placed any of his fielders, which was a stupid decision really, as when Wade gets going he can tap it anywhere too. He really should have put someone there I mean -
Oh shit!
I jumped and spread my wings, about to fly. A bright pain and a numbness spread through my left side. Hot stinging bone and heavy winged I dropped to the immaculate green grass carpet and lay there, screaming. The last thing I remember before I passed out and woke up here were big, cupped brown hands and feeling small inside them.
My wing hurts but it’s bandaged. I think they numbed it with some of their human know-how. I’ll be okay.
I missed the rest of the game. Incidentally, India won by two runs. If I hadn’t been in the way Wade would have hit a four…Oops.