An Eternal Struggle: Flipping the Switch on Success

For many, cricket is a way of life. Summer months are reserved not for the beach or sunny picnics, but the folly of twenty-two yards of turf – think leather, willow and musings of “can’t – got cricket.” Us tragics are a unique bunch. Chasing elusive and rigid ideals of “success” from September to March, we are often left disappointed – even Bradman made seven ducks and failed to pass 30 on twenty-seven occasions in a 52 match Test career.

And the rest of us are nothing like Bradman…

I have played organised cricket since the age of six. In the ensuing sixteen years, I have averaged a tick under 30, made more ducks than hundreds and been part of just one senior Premiership side. Nevertheless, alongside legions of cricket fanatics, I will pad up again next season; imbued with an undying passion for the game, and perhaps false hope.

At the end of any given Saturday, cricketers will generally give a variation of these responses to club mates, family and non-cricketing friends alike; “yeah we won” and “nah no wickets today.” Our inflexible indicators of success as simple as the numbers in the win/loss column and those in our personal runs and wickets tally. Increasingly bound have we become to our statistics, that “how many’d you get?” is less a genuine wondering than a chance to compare and contrast.

For a game whose unique timeline means it takes up most of a day, and often an entire weekend, could it be reductive to limit triumph and enjoyment to that which lies in the scorebook? It might be bold for a cricketer to look outside of averages, aggregates and strike-rates for comfort. But to do so might just allow for an abiding, even eternal love-affair with the game; one that extends well beyond the boundary rope.

Cricket seems a world away at the moment

In the midst of yet another cold and locked-down off-season, perhaps cricketers have been given pause and a chance to reflect. Not only on the season just gone, but even to consider their relationship with the game as a whole. I was, and in doing so, returned to my home ground at Melbourne University. A stunning and picturesque ground in the height of summer, cricket seemed a world away as the early June rain continued to fall. Always struck by the tranquillity of a cricket ground after play, the stillness is even more stark now. What had, for six months been a hub of nerves, excitement, joy and despair, now lies empty and calm.

The Uni Main lies quiet

The statistical achievements of players do not live on here. Instead, goalposts stand at either end, worn out patches of grass at the interchange gates line the boundary, seats are empty, while the practice nets and roller are inaccessible. The scoreboard that once displayed hundreds and five-fors sits dormant behind lock and key.

Needless to say, the scene at the Uni Main this day is one replicated at cricket grounds across the country.

Locked away...

Yet, in spite of the inactivity, the stories and memories of our grounds, clubs and teammates live on. The six that gets bigger with every telling, the catch that becomes more and more horizontal as true remembrance fades, and the fuzzy recollection of joyful celebrations that were perhaps never really that clear. That is the thing about cricket; the joy lives on well past the expiration date of the game, season or even the career. We garner so much happiness from the shared memory that its value outweighs all of the ‘bad’ days – for how bad can a game with ten of your best friends really be?

Perhaps it is brave to look at the game this way, but it is also brave to share a beer at the end of the day’s play with the opening bowler who took your outside edge. It’s brave to toss up another leggie after the previous two disappeared into and over the carpark respectively and braver still to put your faith in an umpire who might just be keen for an early lunch.

Heck, if we are brave enough to put that much and more on the line each week, surely it is incumbent on each of us to allow ourselves to enjoy it. To embrace, fully, that cricket is more than its numbers.

Perhaps paradoxically, for an organisation named in honour of the greatest statistical player of all time, the Bradman Foundation promotes values of courage, honour, humility and integrity above on-field performances. Endlessly committed to growing the game of cricket for all people, it embraces and celebrates everyone’s involvement, regardless of narrowed preconceptions of ability. Acting in honour of Sir Donald’s vision that “cricket continue to flourish and spread its wings,” the Foundation ensures that everyone who visits, including those who play on Bradman Oval, leave with a broad and all-encompassing understanding of the game and its values.

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A desire to celebrate a miserly 2020/21 season batting average certainly wasn’t what lured me back to the University Main in the depths of Melbourne winter. Instead, embracing a shift in perspective. Joy in cricket is abundant and can be found in the people who play it, the stories they tell, and the memories created together.

Written by Andrew Young for the Bradman Museum. To see more of his work, click HERE