Hat Trick! (28 page)

Taking 100 wickets in a season is a fantastic achievement, and Englishman Wilfred Rhodes did it 23 times! Wisden records that he took 4187 first-class wickets during his 33-year career, with an amazing average of 16.71 runs per wicket.

Wednesday—evening

‘
BEN
, this is Toby,’ Ally said, as we entered Ben’s room. ‘And of course you know Georgie,’ she added.

‘Hi, Toby, Georgie,’ Ben said, smiling and waving us in. ‘Are you guys gonna tell me what this is all about?’

I couldn’t take my eyes off the setup in Ben’s room. He had a massive flat-screen computer with what looked like every possible accessory you could want. There were CDs and DVDs all over the place, as well as speakers, microphones, a scanner, digital camera, printer and even what looked like a three-in-one phone, fax and copier.

‘Neat, huh?’ Ben was watching Georgie eyeing the room.

‘You live up here 24/7?’ she asked him.

Ben laughed. ‘I’ll give you a tour sometime.’

‘That’d be neat.’

Ally broke into the conversation. ‘I think Ben is running about three dodgy businesses from up here,’ she said, grinning at my awed look.

‘Only three?’ Ben joked. ‘You’ve been out of the loop way too long, Ally McCabe. Now shut up and check this out.’

Ben hit a few buttons on the keyboard and suddenly the Scorpions’ website was on the computer screen, larger than ever. Ben cruised around the site, clicking a few links and showing us some of the scores and pictures that were posted there.

‘It’s nothing special, agreed?’ he asked, clicking the ‘Home’ button.

We shook our heads, curious to see what Ben had discovered.

‘But watch this!’ Ben held the pointer over what to me looked like just another section of white background.

‘We’re watching,’ Ally sighed impatiently.

‘Wait on, another…couple of seconds…there!’

Suddenly the pointer changed from an arrow to the hand symbol. I took a sharp breath as Ben clicked his mouse.

‘I had to check the HTML to verify it, but someone’s put in a time-delayed hover link here that takes you away to a secret site. Check out the URL!’

‘How did you find that?’ I asked, amazed at his skill, or luck.

Ben chuckled. ‘I’m not telling
you
my secrets, Toby Jones.’

I noticed his wink at Georgie.

A moment later and we were staring at a completely white page.

‘There’s nothing there,’ Georgie said. ‘It’s blank.’

‘Great minds think alike,’ Ben whispered. ‘That’s what I thought too, George, but look closer.’

We all leaned in.

‘There, down the bottom!’ I cried, causing Ally to jump.

‘Exactly!’ Ben said. He hit a button and the faint, blurry image got slightly bigger.

‘I can hardly see anything,’ Ally muttered, leaning in even closer.

‘And you a state softballer,’ Ben joked.

‘Can you make the image darker?’ I asked.

‘I already did. I just wanted to see if you guys could make anything of it in its original form. I copied and pasted it into a new doc. then fiddled a bit. Here you go,’ Ben said, opening up a file.

‘What is it?’ Georgie quietly asked, looking at the new image displayed on the screen.

‘That’s what I was hoping
you
guys would tell
me
,’ Ben said, turning round. ‘Spit it out, Toby Jones. You’re the one who seems to be in the know about all of this…according to Ally,’ he added, winking at Georgie again.

I was quiet for a moment, staring at the picture. I recognised it straight away. Now that it was clearer
I could easily make out an old man bent over a set of cricket stumps. You could even see his walking stick, or whatever it was he was leaning on.

‘It’s Father Time,’ I breathed.

‘It’s what?’ Ben asked, peering up at me.

‘Father Time; it’s maybe the oldest and most famous of all the symbols to do with cricket,’ I said, as I stared at the old man with his long beard.

‘Oh, yeah,’ Ally said. ‘Look, he’s putting a bail back on. Maybe he’s the first-ever cricket umpire?’

‘What else do you know about it?’ Ben asked, ignoring his sister.

‘It’s a weather vane,’ I replied. ‘You know, it tells you which way the wind is blowing. This one sits up on top of a stand at Lord’s.’

‘Lord’s!’ Georgie cried. ‘As in Lord’s, the famous cricket ground where I won the World Cup?’

I nodded. ‘Don’t ask,’ I said, looking at Ally and Ben.

‘Lord’s—even I’ve heard of Lord’s, the home of cricket,’ Ben said. ‘Well, okay. So, we’ve established that this is old Father Time.’ He made his way back to the original website. ‘Now we’ve gotta work out how to get in. Watch this.’

Ben clicked on the original faded Father Time image and a new page appeared, as plain as the one before. Two words stared at us:

Username:

Password:

‘Any ideas?’ Ben asked, leaning back in his chair.

‘That’s why we’re here in your bedroom, stupid,’ Ally said, straightening up.

‘Bummer! And I thought it was for my good company and great looks,’ Ben scoffed, pushing the keyboard away and getting up.

‘Wait!’ I said, hoping Ben wouldn’t disappear. ‘I know a few things we could try.’ Everyone turned and looked at me. ‘C’mon, let’s think. This is Phillip Smale’s site, right?’

‘Yeah, so?’ Ally said. ‘How does that—’

‘May I?’ I asked Ben. I pulled the keyboard drawer back out and sat in his chair.

‘Hey, make yourself at home, Toby,’ he said, throwing his hands up. He moved away to sift through a stack of CDs.

I started entering some combinations.

Username: Phillip

Password: Smale

The reply wasn’t encouraging: ‘Your username is not recognised.’

‘Does that mean you got the password right?’ Georgie asked, excitedly.

‘Nup. Not at all,’ Ben said, walking back to us.

Username: Time

Password: Travel

The same screen appeared.

Username: Father

Password: Time

‘That was a bit obvious, wasn’t it?’ Georgie said, when that attempt also failed.

‘Are you guys going to tell me what this is all about?’ Ben asked, looking at each of us in turn.

Georgie sighed.

Ben noticed our hesitation. ‘Actually, forget it. Come and look at my CD collection, Georgie. Those two can work it out.’

I shrugged as Georgie followed Ben to the other side of the room.

‘So, this guy, Phillip Smale,’ Ally said, squeezing herself onto the seat next to me. ‘He’s a bit arrogant, isn’t he?’

‘A bit?’ I laughed, turning back to the screen.

‘Wants power? Wants to do things? Wants to impress people?’

‘All of the above,’ I replied, typing.

Username: Wisden

Password: Wisden

No.

‘Just type “Smale”,’ Ally suggested.

‘No password?’

Ally shook her head. I put it in and hit Enter. No go.

‘“Smale’s”?’ Again, no luck.

‘Try it without the apostrophe,’ Ally suggested, though less certain.

‘We might as well try everything,’ I said as I entered ‘Smales’. ‘Should we be writing all these down?’

I felt Ally’s hand land on my wrist. ‘Georgie!’ she yelled.

All four of us crowded around.

Type in your password.

‘Bad security,’ Ben said, hitting the back button. ‘Do it again.’

I typed in ‘Smales’ and pressed the Enter key. The same screen appeared.

‘We’re halfway there,’ Georgie cried.

It took another seven tries with different passwords to get in.

Username: Smales

Password: Travels

‘Oh, my God, Toby. You did it!’ Ally shrieked.

The screen was covered in writing. Ben was obviously reading faster than the rest of us, because he nudged my shoulder.

‘Toby, move—quick!’ he said.

‘What, Ben?’ Ally snapped. ‘He’s the one who—’

‘Hurry!’

I shrugged and nipped out of the chair.

Ben hit the Print icon and his printer sprang into action and started churning out paper. Then he closed the website.

‘Ben?’

‘The guy running that site might be able to trace our computer. Only five people were meant to access it, and the owner has probably been told the five IP addresses of their computers. We weren’t one of them.’

I grabbed the three pages from the printer. ‘Thanks for helping out,’ I said, folding them in half. Ben had already seen enough.

We raced into Ally’s room, leaving Ben behind to clean up the files on his computer and try to remove the evidence of our visit. I spread the printouts on Ally’s bed.

Wednesday

I have now had contact from four of you. I confirm that your interest has been received. I am just waiting for acknowledgment from one of you.

Saturday

I am still waiting for one of you to sign in and confirm your interest. I
must repeat: this is the only mode of communication accepted. Do not try to contact me except by the ‘Submit’ link above.

Monday

I am sorry to inform the fifth person—who knows who he is—that noconfirmation of entry has been received and that from 8 a.m. Friday I shall make alternative arrangements to find a suitable candidate for travel.

I should also remind all of you that you are sworn to secrecy—not only now, but for life…

Wednesday

Of course, I am being reasonable beyond all belief in allowing you fine people this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity—you will not be disappointed, I can assure you. And, naturally, your identities are being kept secret.

There was a knock on the door and a moment later Mrs McCabe appeared. I gathered up the papers, trying to look relaxed.

‘Toby, your dad’s here.’ She looked at the three of us sitting on the bed. ‘What’s been happening?’ she asked, with a smile.

‘Team tactics,’ I smiled back, waving the folded pages in the air.

‘Got it all worked out, Mrs M,’ said Georgie, bouncing up to her feet.

‘Well, that’s great,’ Mrs McCabe said and ruffled Georgie’s hair.

In 1978, Chris Old took four wickets in five balls when playing in a Test match for England against Pakistan in Birmingham. Unfortunately he bowled a no ball between his first two and last two wickets. On the scorer’s page, Old’s over read ‘0 w w nb w w 1’.

Thursday—afternoon

‘
NOTHING
flashy or fancy tonight,’ Mr Pasquali said crisply to us at training. ‘Everything we do, we do well. Efficiency, economy, concentration: keep those three words in the front of your mind for the next two hours.’

We warmed up with a drill called ‘Five ’n Alive’. Mr Pasquali had us stand in a tight half-circle and threw fast, hard catches to us. If you dropped a catch or misfielded a ball, you had to go to the end of the line on the right. If you did something special, like taking a tricky one-handed catch, Mr Pasquali might advance you one or two places to the left.

He had an old egg timer set to ring every two minutes. Whoever was the leader of the group when the timer rang—that is, the person at the far left-hand end—got five points. The next in line got four points, then three, two and one for the next three kids. No one else scored.

In the original version of the game only the top five kids stayed in after the timer went—everyone else would just sit and watch till there was a winner. No way was that Mr Pasquali’s policy; he’d changed the rules slightly so that everyone stayed in, even if you never scored any points. He had us all participating as much and as often as possible.

The catches were always harder if you were one of the top five. Ally was a freak at this game, gobbling up everything that came near her—and sometimes balls meant for the person next door.

‘No problems there,’ Mr Pasquali grinned, indicating Ally should swap places with Martian after she’d plucked a one-handed catch from in front of his right knee. ‘I’ve seen Ricky Ponting do exactly the same,’ Mr P said. ‘He wants the ball. He wants the catch. It’s as if he’s willing the ball to come to him. If you don’t like the ball coming at you fast, then don’t ever field in the slips. You’ll be a nervous wreck.’

The bell jangled for the fifth time.

‘Okay, did anyone score over 15 points?’ Mr Pasquali asked. No one said anything. ‘Over 10?’ Ally and Rahul put their hands up. ‘Ally? How many did you score?’

‘Thirteen,’ she said, looking at her hand and rubbing her thumb.

‘Rahul?’ Mr Pasquali asked.

‘Me too, Mr P.’

‘A can of drink for each of you,’ Mr Pasquali said.

‘What about the surprise you mentioned, Mr P?’ Jay asked. We stopped and looked at Mr Pasquali, who looked at his watch.

‘Another half an hour,’ he said, smiling. ‘Don’t look forward to it too much, though,’ he chuckled.

We spent another 20 minutes fielding, practising long throws and catching as well as doing short work around the pitch, including trying to knock the stumps down and backing up the wicket. It was as exciting as the first practice months ago when the season was starting and Jimbo and Ally weren’t even a part of the team.

In the nets we focused on playing down the ‘V’—aiming our shots in the space between mid-on and mid-off—and positioning the front foot to the pitch of the ball, head still and over the shot with bat and pad close together.

‘Play the good deliveries with respect. You’ll still get enough loose stuff to put away,’ Mr Pasquali said regularly as he watched each of us concentrating on good defensive technique.

‘Here comes the surprise!’ he called a short time later, as a small white car drove up.

‘Oh, way cool!’ someone yelled. Everyone stopped; balls and bats fell to the ground and a dozen kids charged towards the car. A tall guy with blond hair emerged from the passenger side.

‘Danny Chapman?’ Georgie gasped. She’d got there first.

He removed his sunglasses and smiled.

Danny Chapman was only 19 but he was already a local legend and fast becoming a state one too. This season he’d taken two hat tricks, as well as 10 wickets or more three times in the local premier-grade cricket. He’d played in two one-dayers for the state, taking a ‘three-for’ in the second match. He was always in the local papers, being interviewed or photographed, and he’d even appeared in a TV commercial. On his day, they said, he could bowl as fast as Brett Lee.

‘That’s me,’ he said, grinning. ‘I hear you guys have a pretty important cricket match coming up this weekend.’

We all started babbling at once. Finally Danny held up a hand as Mr Pasquali joined us.

‘Awesome, Mr P,’ Jay cried. ‘This is the
best
surprise.’

‘This isn’t the surprise,’ Mr Pasquali said. ‘Or, at least, not all of it.’

‘What?’ I cried.

‘No, no. The real surprise is that Danny will be bowling to some of you.’ Mr Pasquali tossed him a brand new cricket ball. ‘Pace,’ he added, nodding his head at Danny.

‘P…pace?’ Jay stuttered. ‘As in from the top of his run, flat-out pace?’

‘They will have full gear and protection on, won’t they?’ Danny asked, looking at Mr Pasquali.

‘Oh, yes,’ he said, nodding. ‘Absolutely. It’s school rules.’

I caught the faintest hint of a smile on Danny’s face.

‘Okay. Rahul, Jimbo, Cameron, Jono, Toby, Martian and Georgie, can you head over to the nets please?’ Mr Pasquali said. He took the rest of the team out onto the field for some fielding drills. We were the ‘lucky’ ones chosen to face up to Danny Chapman.

‘He won’t bowl express, will he?’ Georgie asked.

‘Geez, I hope he does. What an experience,’ Jimbo said. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Danny Chapman since he’d arrived.

‘No way,’ I told Georgie. ‘We’re about to play in a grand final. How stupid would it look if half the batting line-up was out with hand injuries and cracked skulls because the coach decided to make them face up to the fastest bowler in town—maybe in the state—two days before the game,’ I said, hoping I sounded convincing.

‘It’d be the master stroke of all time,’ Jimbo said, his eyes flashing with excitement. He was already putting the pads on! ‘He’s too professional to hurt us. He won’t bowl bouncers. But imagine how confident we’ll feel against Scott Craven if we’ve been able to face up to Danny Chapman?’

‘Are you Jimbo?’ Danny asked him.

Jimbo dropped a pad in surprise. ‘Yeah,’ he said, shaking the hand that Danny had stretched out towards him.

‘Your coach said that you were to bat last.’

‘Oh, okay,’ Jimbo said, looking disappointed.

Danny winked. ‘That’s when I’ll be warmed up and at my quickest.’

‘Oh, right. Excellent! Who wants the pads?’

‘Are you gonna start off with a bit of spin?’ Georgie asked, one hand out for the pads Jimbo was offering.

‘Maybe,’ Danny laughed. ‘Okay, sit down for a moment, guys, and I’ll give you a few tips on facing fast bowling. I hear you’ve got a good bowler heading your way this Saturday?’

‘Scott Craven,’ I muttered. The others nodded their heads, mumbling.

‘Not looking forward to it?’ Danny said, eyeing each of us in turn.

Only Jimbo offered up anything positive about the looming showdown.

‘And therein lies your major problem,’ Danny said, squatting down. ‘You guys are the batters of the team. Your job is to score the runs, but you won’t score anything if you don’t want to be out there in the first place. Okay, this guy can bowl. Maybe he can bowl fast. But you guys can bat—you’ve proved that all season. You’re in the final, you’re up to this.’

He paused, looking at each of us closely. ‘When you walk out there to bat on Saturday, you want to be going out there licking your lips in anticipation. Focus on rock-solid defence but look for runs, especially boundaries. Defy this Scott guy with good batting technique and a positive attitude. You’ve got to look like winners even before you start playing like winners.’

His words were stirring and the passion in his voice was evident. Danny Chapman, the town’s
fast-bowling sensation, maybe a future Australian fast bowler, was talking to us—the Under–13s from Riverwall. By the time he’d finished we were all bursting to get the pads on and show him what we could do.

‘I’ll look at your technique, but that’s not going to change too much over the next 36 hours. What can change, though, is your attitude. Maybe it already has?’

‘Well, I can’t speak for the others, but I reckon mine’s done a 180-degree flip in the last few minutes,’ Georgie said.

For the next 20 minutes we took turns in the nets, facing Danny’s deliveries. We hung on his every word about what we were doing well and how we could improve. Rahul needed to get his back foot positioned more effectively for the shorter deliveries. Jono had a tendency to step onto his front foot as his first movement, so Danny dug a few balls in short—not super fast ones, but they got Jono stepping back better. Cameron was told to roll his wrists more for his cross-bat shots and Georgie to hit through the line of the ball; she’d probably spend half the night in front of a mirror working on her follow-through.

‘Toby, you’re lazy with your back lift.’ Danny had come down the wicket to talk to me. ‘I think you’re sometimes jamming down on the ball because you’re a little late. With fast bowlers this could get you into a bit of strife.’

‘Like it did with Shoaib,’ I said, tossing Danny the ball that had whizzed past my off-stump. Danny was just ambling in, taking a few gentle paces, and yet he was sending round, red bullets down the wicket!

‘Shoaib? As in Shoaib Akhtar?’ he laughed.

‘Yep,’ I nodded. I told him all about the virtual cricket machine. ‘I could have faced up to you,’ I added, suddenly feeling a bit guilty. ‘You could bat against state or international bowlers, but I wanted to play for Australia.’

‘Fair enough. I want to play for Australia too.’ He rubbed the ball on his trousers. ‘The dream always comes first,’ he added.

‘C’mon, Toby. Let’s have a look at you,’ Mr Pasquali said, walking across to our net. I told him what Danny had said about my lazy back lift. After five minutes with Danny Chapman in front, bowling to me and Mr Pasquali behind, offering more advice, I felt like I could play anyone, even Danny Chapman at top pace!

Mr Pasquali didn’t mind us all watching Danny bowl to Jimbo last. After a few early words of encouragement from Danny, their battle turned into a quiet, determined game. Jimbo wasn’t there just to survive—he was actually putting a few balls away.

‘Coach?’ Danny called, indicating a longer run-up with a nod of his head.

‘Jimbo, are you okay in there?’ Mr Pasquali asked quietly.

‘I’m ready,’ Jimbo said, determination etched on his face. Mr Pasquali went and stood as umpire.
Danny moved back another 10 paces or so then ran in, smooth as ever.

Jimbo let the first two balls go through to the keeper then clipped the next one off his pads into the side netting. Everyone cheered when Mr Pasquali signalled four by waving his left arm around. The next ball, even quicker, smashed through Jimbo’s defence, knocking over the yellow stump set. Danny eased up after that but he was still full of praise for Jimbo when they’d finished.

I spent the last 15 minutes of practice bowling while Danny watched. We worked on my outswinger and my slower ball as well as accuracy. He told me I had heaps of potential as a pace bowler, and with my batting maybe I could be a future all-rounder for Australia!

After 10 minutes spent signing autographs Danny said goodbye, and we watched the white car disappear down the road.

Mr Pasquali had pulled off the biggest surprise of all time. We promised him he wouldn’t have to touch a piece of cricket equipment for the rest of the season.

‘But that was our last practice!’ he moaned, throwing his hands up.

‘You’re just going to have to plan a bit better next year, Mr P,’ Jimbo said dryly, sitting back and closing his eyes. He’d had the practice of his dreams. The Scorpions had their trump card: Scott Craven, bowler. But we had ours: Jimbo, batter.

Mr Pasquali smiled and looked at Jimbo. ‘Even
with all the planning in the world some things just come out of the blue.’

‘Like Jimbo?’ Cameron asked.

Mr Pasquali just smiled.