Backyard cricket at Mim's, my Peter Pan moment

Barry Everingham | September 18, 2023

A game of backyard cricket is truly a Peter Pan moment for many of my generation. It’s where many millions of boys and girls first found their love of the game and it’s a memory that never fades. Backyard cricket matters. 

It doesn’t matter if your backyard was in the suburbs of Sydney, London or Cape Town, the bush towns of Australia, the beaches of the Caribbean or the grass less school yards of India. It has and should always be lauded as where one’s love odour game can really begin. 

Jasprit Bumrah is arguably one of the top five bowlers in the world and his action is that of a backyard cricketer or, as reported, a young kid growing up without the trappings of a pathway and bowling in the burbs of India between two buildings a metre apart.

I’m no different and at this time of year, I’d be guessing many cricket tragics would either be rolling their arm over in the backyard or at least recalling days of yore, when they could.

As an aging bushy, it is a strong tweak of the fading grey matter that brings out the Peter Pan in a different way to my ongoing affair with the game. I along with fellow faerie believers continue to play as we try our best in the burgeoning Vets’ Cricket movement.

My Peter Pan moments at this time of year take me back to my grandmother’s backyard in Western NSW. Family, friends and meandering locals always knew ‘there’s a game on at Mim’s’.

Post Xmas lunch drama went way beyond any stereotypical family squabbles! Our matches had all the action that Bill Lawry would have commented on and loads of fun to boot. It was, and is, a culture all of its own.

The makeup of our games were never defined by age, gender, ability or any other variations. The only exclusion was if Grandma ordered someone who’d had a bit too much of a tipple to go and sit in the shade for a while.

As I think of those youthful and carefree days, I often think of where all backyard cricket Peter Pans are. Where did they end up, do they still play, have the memories faded or are they feeding the enthusiastic minds of the next generations. 

 I really do hope they enjoyed a straight drive or two over Christmas.

 Could we still see the cousin who once captained, or at least played for, the Backwater Hills 3rds, directing field placements or giving advice on bowling tactics whilst coaching the 8-year-old niece as she picks daisies awaiting her turn to ‘bat with Dad’?

 There was possibly the Uncle who had the stubby in hand and was keeping ‘over the stumps’ to everyone whilst ‘getting up’ the 11-year-old young gun for bowling one down the leg side.

 Then there could have been the long-lost Aunty who’d appeared out of nowhere, ‘whoop-whooping’, Pretty Woman like, as she cheered on her newly introduced partner, a suntanned Californian she met on her last cruise, as he dived about the dirt and burrs with impressive athleticism.

Of course, the 15-year-old grandson was there, turning it on with a stellar performance to show those in the retinue who could play back in the day, or still played, that he was ready for a call-up to the local squad and his recent rep selection was, indeed, fully justified. The family was always more discerning, and often more knowledgeable, than those ‘rep selectors’, at least in his view.

Then his younger sister or cousin would probably have hit some crackers and had the old macho bias come out with a surprised comment indicating the maleness of the time.

Whilst Dad, Granddad or the local copper, who’d come with others walking about town, all found it a bit of a challenge to show they could still ‘do a bit’ with bat or ball, despite not having played for quite some years.

Those who recognise some from their past will probably do so with a heartfelt smile. Peter Pans.

Backyard cricket matters and I’m grateful for the social media pictures of a family I know and the constancy of their boys’ endeavours to ‘live’ the game. The rolled front lawn wicket, which would rival any, not only shows their love and commitment but also the family’s!

When I first saw their facebook posts, I was transported to the afternoon games of my youth. Played like Test Matches on worn patches of Kikuyu, producing spitting and viper-like spin or chin music which saw survival often the first instinct. Then there was the inevitable cracking hook shot to the all too prevalent broken, louvre window and another game was banned by mum. 

‘How many times have I told you that a cricket ball is not to be used?’

Of course, it usually recommenced when she was at work the next day.

Arriving home from boarding school at about 15 years, busting to improve and with some younger neighbours keen to help, we busily attacked the tussock and gooly covered paddock next to our place. Our shovel work and levelling skills probably matched our cricketing expertise and it was pretty hit and miss, especially as we wanted it done yesterday. 

With my Dad being a local guru and organiser, an old ‘coir mat’, decommissioned from the local cricket grounds shed, was soon purloined and pegged out. Some hastily arranged star posts, a bit of old chicken wire and ‘bob’s ya uncle’ - we were in business.

Suffice to say the bounce was as random as the deliveries of the 10 to 12-year-olds.

To add to my education on handling varying deliveries, my cousin’s new 18-year-old boyfriend, had recently arrived in town and was reportedly quick. He soon had me ducking and weaving. It was a steep learning curve on that dodgy Bush deck.

Despite this, my memory is fond of how it filled my summers and helped me learn a bit about playing or evading some devious deliveries. And it developed a propensity for getting others to play and have some fun which I continue to try and do today. 

As alluded to, my experiences would have been pretty common for those of my generation and we can only hope that there are other such memories evoked recently that will inspire more young’uns into ‘the great game’.

With the demise of the old style family home and the quarter-acre or block sized yard, there has developed a myriad of ‘other wicket’ types to learn on.

An old and a new was juxtaposed in a recent tweet by @gradecricketer. 

Followers would have seen a pic of a little future ‘Ricky, Davy, Smithy or Painey’ on a grassy backyard strip next to a contrasting high rise apartment balcony; bbq, chairs, and tiles showing the constraints and liabilities some of our young devotees may have found around Christmas match planning.

The caption read- ‘Backyard cricket pitch growing up vs today’s reality. Should still do a bit.’

With many now not having a backyard at all and too many who do not use it much, we can suspect recent holiday games would have been online, on a ‘flat’ tablet. 

It may take today’s youngsters to a different place but in the hearts and minds of most, we can only hope that it all still starts in the backyard they have, they find or someone leads them to.

Whether at a special occasion as celebrated in the past week or on any given day, we can make a difference and lead them, so they are drawn to leave the handset behind and venture onto their own version of some hallowed turf.

As I and others had memories flood back this past holiday week, I am forever grateful for the many ‘bushy’ experiences I had with so many and how it has driven me to many grounds. The grounding I received from my family, Dad’s endless hours of after work bowling, those who walked down to ‘play at Mim’s’ on Christmas Day, the friends who put up with me pestering them to play after school - all helped me to be the tragic I remain. And many of you will have done the same or much more.

In celebrating the memories evoked and in wondering about the future of our game, perhaps those of us who do love our game should all be asking each other this:

What can you do for the youngsters in your family or circle of friends and can you lead them to a place they’ll recall as their own Cricketing Peter Pan?

It’s not that hard to do. Get to it today. 

Backyard cricket does matter!