The Aussies were out for the kill. I was greeted by a sea of hostile faces and with the prospect of negotiating three balls from a charged up Dennis Lillee.
The first ball was blindingly fast, outside the off stump. The second was a beauty - a fast, dipping yorker which I somehow managed to come down on in the nick of time. A sneering laugh came from behind me followed by the soft but unmistakable humming of 'Run, Rabbit, Run'.
On the last ball Lillee tried for too much pace, and what was intended as a bumper turned out a long hop which I square cut uppishly to the boundary.
I felt a little better after that, but the next over was a nightmare. David was beaten for pace and had his middle stump uprooted, and off the last ball of the over, Ray was given out, leg before. It seemed a harsh decision but now the writing was really on the wall for us.
As the field changed round for the new over, the Australian wicket-keeper brushed contemptuously against me. All of a sudden a feeling of great loneliness came over me; I was out of place in this world of niggling aggression and blatant intimidation. Along with Ted, Colin and Kenny, I had played my early cricket in the 'fifties when the game, though hard and uncompromising, was free of any trace of viciousness. My goodness, things had certainly changed since then!
Now people were beginning to stream towards the various exits, obviously deciding that the match was as good as over. I couldn't really blame them. But a slow anger began to well up inside me: Colin's broken arm, the boorish behaviour of the Australians, and now the fickleness of the crowd. It was all so petty, so depressing.
I survived the next over from Lillee with one narrow escape, and then young Mike negotiated a torrid over from Thomson with the utmost calm. He certainly had the technique to withstand top class bowling but I doubted very much whether we could expect to hold out till the close of play; the wicket was beginning to break up and sooner or later the unplayable ball was bound to come along.
Between overs I wandered down the wicket and had a word with Mike.
'Mike,' I said, 'I'm going to try and knock these jokers around a little. Do you think you can keep your end up a bit?'
Before settling down to face Lillee again, I took a new guard, looked round at the field placings, and was rewarded with a peal of raucous laughter from the slips for my pains. I smashed the first ball into the Warner Stand for six, and when Lillee dug the next ball in short, as I knew he would, I repeated the treatment. That shut the Aussies up a bit, and when I square drove the last two balls to the boundary I could sense the crowd hesitate a moment and then slowly start back towards their seats.
Mike looked as safe as houses at the other end, even managing two runs from a very effective nudge wide of third man.
The atmosphere became electric as Lillee moved menacingly in for a new over from the Nursery End. In a way I can't begin to explain, I think the next ball decided the course of the match; it was very fast and a trifle short outside the off stump. I don't think I've ever hit a ball harder or timed a shot better - it travelled like a rocket to the boundary behind deep point. There was a moment's stunned silence followed by a deep roar from the crowd.
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