JackBall - Steve Small

Shane Lee | July 22, 2023

You can get it walkin’

You can get it talkin’

You can get it workin’ a plough.

(Matter of fact, I’ve got it now)

Victoria Bitter.

Ah remember those days. When men were men. Hairy chests, a cookie duster for a moustache and tight stubbie shorts with the occasional right nut popping out the side. Aussie beef. Not bullshit. No worries, mate! Now before you reach for your pen and start writing a complaint letter. I am pro-diversity. I am simply setting up this yarn with some colour and context. So, grab yourself a soy bean latte and relax.

In the 1970s and 1980's in Australia, if you played cricket, you had a moustache, an unbuttoned shirt and skinny pants. Pre-season was a lap around the SCG and ice was used to keep the beers cold not bath in post-match. Some fashionistas even wore the occasional safari suit, baby blue: (isn't that right Stumpa?)

Steve 'Jack' Small (He/Him) was all of the above. Strong with facial hair, Mal Meninga thighs and a three-pound bat. The biggest bit of wood ever held by one man without help from a draft horse. If Jack was born in the 1800s he would have replaced his bat with an axe and cut fucking trees down. He could probably ringbark a tree with his bare hands if he wanted to - a true blue Aussie with a hard-earned thirst. He would probably even share a beer with the tree itself after he cut it down. What goes on the field, stays on the field! No hard feelings.

In my opinion Jack was the first T20 player. I know T20 didn't exist back then but he was swinging harder than a dunny door way before Dave Warner was even born. His bat was that big even the advertising boards at the ground thought they were fielding too close. He was playing Bazball before Baz. It should be Jack Ball.

Apart from bludgeoning the Kookaburra ball to the fence, Jack took his fair share of blows to the body. After one game on a green top at the Gabba he was that badly bruised after his innings his body resembled a patch work quilt. Saying that, he kept going. He had the "I’ll get you before you get me mentality and I'm not taking a backward step for anyone. (Ok, maybe a little one against Carl Rackemann - but no one liked facing him).

Trevor Bayliss, Steve Small, Mark Waugh with the Sheffield Shield

Jack played into his 40s in grade cricket. He stayed fit by probably punching an old 100 kilo leather heavy boxing bag in his garage with bare knuckles and eating raw T-bones for breakfast. The man loved working hard and being in a contest with his mates. 

In the mid-nineties I found myself playing a grade cricket match at Bankstown Oval against my old mate. Jack now in the back nine of his career opened the batting and I, in my peak, took the new rock.

My plan was simple. Pitch nothing up. Intimidate the old bloke and pray he makes a mistake before his deep heat kicked in!

The second ball of my third over was a well-directed short ball which hit Jack on the arm. He immediately dropped his railway sleeper bat and began a verbal tirade at me. I knew he was hurt. I knew he was angry.

I wanted to say "rub it" but thought the Tom Sellek lookalike who hung out with 'Baa Baa' Lamb might run at me and rag doll me to the ground to seek his revenge.

What resulted was Jack retiring hurt and taken to the Thompson - Pascoe emergency room at Bankstown hospital for medical attention. The room named in the fast bowlers' honour due to the atrocities they caused batsmen in their day.

An over later I landed on the side of my bowling shoe mid delivery and fell to the ground as a result. In doing so, tearing ligaments in my right ankle. 

As I was wheeled into the same emergency ward, the first person I see is Jack. Cricket whites still on and his arm in a bucket of ice waiting patiently to see the local quack.

"What are you doing here?" He said in an angry voice.

"I've tore something in my ankle the next over."

Without evening blinking he called his wife Janette who was at the local bottle shop seeking pain relief. "Get a case of beer, not a six pack. 

"Why?" she said.

"They just wheeled Shaneo in and he’s hurt too - we may be here a while."

What a legend! I think Jack even used some of the ice off his arm to keep the beers cold when she arrived. That's what you did back then...that's what you did for your mates. There is nothing worse than a warm beer.

You can get it battin'

You can get in bowlin'

You can get it breaking your arm.

(Matter of fact, Jack's got one now!)

That day we had a cold hard thirst. A broken arm and a bung ankle. We sorted the pain with a big cold beer. Just like the TV ad said we should. 

We still laugh about the debacle today, our rehabilitation techniques and how good the beers actually tasted.

In short, we were just a couple of good mates trying to do their best. Playing hard but fair and never giving a sucker an even break.

Some might say, just the way it used to be.

Join me each weekday on Afternoon Sport for your daily sports fix