The first thwack of leather on willow is the sound of another endless summer

The devotion is so great, I have visited the dental surgery every year since 1986 due to a fielding mishap, ensuring a comfortable retirement for our local legend dentist once he has rectified my current saga…

With children and one television in the house, I rely on the ABC App, the Cricket Australia Live App, or the slightly off-station wireless (91.5FM for authenticity), to keep me entertained and informed. 

The large TV, purchased in my mind for sport, is more likely to be showing The Next Step, Red Bull TV or endless YouTube re-runs of street trials cyclist Danny MacAskill to inspire, rather than Meg Lanning, Alyssa Healey, Tim Paine or Nathan “Areas Garry” Lyon. Kids these days.

My cricket career was ended by ‘mental disintegration’ in the ’90s, an incredibly tough time to learn the trade with current and former state players joining hardened weekend warriors who found technical and psychological weaknesses at will. 

Yet surprisingly, there were many positives as a result, with friends, who forgave my shortcomings, loyal to this day.

My interest in cricket was first sparked during the 1982/83 Ashes series, held in Australia, when my parents bought the Tour Guide for $1.40 with English allrounder Sir Ian Botham adorning the front cover. You can still pick-up a copy of the magazine on eBay, setting you back $12.50 of your hard-earned with free postage.

Allan Border was my man: gritty, determined, proud, resilient and a reluctant captain. He also used a Duncan Fearnley, which I would purchase for the Grade 7 season not long after Dad had finally given-up fashioning our bats from marine ply with an axe for backyard cricket on a Trevallyn slope. 

The DF Colt was far too heavy, but it didn’t matter because AB would have approved. When former state fast bowler Roger Brown secured Border’s autograph for me, my young life was complete.

Alas, up until the beginning of the First Test in Adelaide, Season 2018/19 was confusing. 

Attempting to decipher the new media deal with Fox Sports and Channel 7 sharing the coverage, and the domestic JLT Cup played over four weeks before the Sheffield Shield, I just couldn’t be bothered. It lacked rhythm, synergy and certainty. 

The first ball of summer had always been a delight, with fond memories of late November school days where understanding teachers wheeled in the school’s analogue showpiece during recess break to complement the academic curriculum. 

Ashes hero Michael Slater cracking Phil DeFreitas backward of point for four during 1994/95 in Brisbane remains my most vivid memory of the first delivery of a test series.

But this year, I was feeling despondent, not energised, interested but not engaged. Having given up on One Day Cricket and Twenty20, which maintains my attention in spurts, I needed to reignite the spark of ’82. 

Enter Indian Captain Virat “King” Kohli batting in the nets, recorded and broadcast across social media platforms and almost instantly, the passion returned. 

Kohli’s supreme confidence, skill, pride and desire to win reignited my thirst for the red ball game. He plays like an Australian is probably the greatest compliment I can offer. The crack of leather on willow stirred memories. Just like Jim Maxwell, it was the sound of summer.

And then, by accident, I stumbled upon WBBL star Ellyse Perry sublimely carving a century off 59 balls with clean cricket shots as good as you will see. She transcends the game; an inspirational role-model, blessed with great skills and a delight to watch.

Cricket was back. I was back. And don’t touch the TV remote re-entered our family’s lexicon, for a short period, as the excitement stimulated more than a passing glance from junior onlookers.

For the first time in my adult life I don’t really have a plan and I’ve never had a bucket list, although the idea of sipping a Diplomatico on ice with a twist of lime in Jamaica, watching the Windies take it to the Aussies stirs a new brand of fanaticism.