Suspect Action

I’m an immigrant to Australia.

I arrived here nearly 20 years ago after my wife, an Aussie, became homesick. Most people don’t put me into the same category as other “new Australians”, though. I’m American.

Our people share a language, a history of oppressing native people, and a love of sport. Assimilating should have been a piece of piss, to use the vernacular. It wasn’t.

It all came to a head when my son signed up for Milo Cricket at the age of five. I was never an enormous fan of sport, but cricket was completely and utterly alien to me. He asked me to help him with his bowling in preparation for his first game. This was going to be a disaster on several levels.

My son was left-handed, I was from the States, and the only thing I knew about cricket was drawn from the constant speculation about Muttiah Muralitharan. Nothing was simple. We took up residence at the dead-end of our street for the afternoon.

As my son swung his arm around in a circle and let go of the ball I tried to appraise it. “That doesn’t look right,” I said, with absolutely no idea what I was talking about. “Try bending your arm less. I think you’re throwing it. Chucking it?”

I was trying to apply what I’d read about body mechanics in newspaper columns to a five-year-old. What the hell did 15 degrees look like? He asked me to show him the right way.

“Like this, I think. But with your other arm.” I was a fraud and my shoulder hurt. The ball bounced somewhere within 90 degrees of the intended direction.

“How about now?” he asked.

I still thought he’d have a hard time convincing the ICC that it was all above board. “Better.” I guessed.

Assimilating should have been a piece of piss, to use the vernacular. It wasn’t.

Several hours later, we gave up. The first practice was on the upcoming Saturday. I stressed about it for the remainder of the week.

Game day dawned and I drove him down to the oval. Thirty small children spent two hours hitting themselves in the pads and boxes with bats. Boys let balls bounce past them, deep in conversation about Bakugan. Three of them, the superstars of the team, performed like professional sportsmen, miniature Shane Warnes on the pitch. The rest wandered around in a daze, confused and unable to follow instructions, like Shane Warnes after the match.

There was nothing at stake. Everybody was having a good time. He would be fine and I could relax.

He lasted one season and switched over to Auskick; the cycle began again.