A day in the life of a junior cricket coach

Dennis Hourn | April 06, 2023

Twenty four years ago I was asked to manage the Sydney South Eastern Junior Cricket Association's Weblin Shield under 15 rep side. Our first representative game is set for Sunday, 29 November 1998 against Canberra at Stirling Oval in Canberra.

My first thoughts. Canberra. For a junior under 15 team. What the. Its 300 k's away. Second thoughts. This will present quite a few challenges. The players are subsequently given the option of going down the Saturday night or doing it all in the one day.

Some of the boys opt for the latter, no doubt worried about the cost of an overnight stay. So 5:00 am on the Sunday of the game I pick up four of the players in my black Ford LTD, which just happened to be an ex funeral car, bought not long before on a whim, but at least it has plenty of room. Uneventful trip down, the boys are pretty excited when we arrive at ground in Canberra just before 9. Its 60 overs a side. And it’s stinking hot.

We have a strong side. Several of our players go on to play grade and one, Will Somerville, goes on to play for NSW and of course New Zealand. It’s a long day. Easts bats for 56 overs posting 131. Canberra is bowled out for 123 in 46 overs. It’s a really hard day on a ground with grass like the savannah land. But it’s a first round win and the players are stoked.

Game finishes close to 6. Just after the boys pile into the limo, sans showers. Where's my face mask? Not an item in those days. AC can't cope so its windows down for the first stanza as we set off for home around 6.30. Set off, I might add, after a frantic search for gear which is scattered to all corners of the ground. There is a lot of weight in the boot and in fact it takes several efforts to close the boot lid.

All’s going well until just outside of Goulburn when Darren Fitzpatrick, our opening, very quick bowler, who is in the back seat screams out "Cramp! Cramp!”. “Mr. Hourn you have to pull over!"

Its pitch black. I'm doing 100 to 110. It’s the Hume Highway and there is a fair amount of traffic. I tell Darren, who is well over 6 foot that it’s too dangerous to pull over. He keeps screaming you must and in an effort to relieve his cramp flails his long legs around the cabin including into the back of my head. I feel like I am sitting in cattle class on a plane with an annoying passenger behind.

The other kids show no sympathy to Darren and are laughing their heads off. This goes on for what seems like an eternity. It’s close to 8 and I have already been up for 15 or more hours. I just want to get home ASAP. My arthritic knees, soon to be replaced, are ready to explode.

Then relief. On the left the big M sign appears on the horizon. Darren spots it first. "Mr. Hourn, please, please can we go into Maccas". I have no choice. Its Maccas or bust. I make a bee line for the big M turnoff and the kids move the quickest they have all day when they get out of the car.

The four of them demolish the Macca's menu. Darren's cramp has miraculously healed itself. And I am out of pocket around $100.

After 30 minutes in Maccas we hop back in the car. It’s now well after 8, still two hours from home. Very quickly however an eerie silence falls over the car. It’s again transporting the dead, or in this case the dead to the world. All four boys are sound asleep. My eyes are out on sticks. Glued to the asphalt.

There's a minor hick up just near Mittagong when the warning light goes off on the dash as the cricket coffins have shifted in the boot. Boys sleep through it as I pull over in town to rearrange the gear.

Get back to Sydney at around 11:00 pm. Take the boys to their respective homes and crash into bed myself around midnight. I've been up more than 20 hours, driven 700+ kilometres, managed a game of cricket in very trying conditions and got everyone safely home. I felt all of my 49 years. My toughest ever cricket day. Easily. Not surprisingly didn't surface till pm the next day.

That in anyone's language was a long day. Looking back I have no idea how I did it.

This story is dedicated to all those volunteer coaches out there. Morale of the story. Someone's got to do it! And I am sure many have and continue to do so.