“Oh, isn’t that the truth though Dennis. It really is such a varied and changing world out there on the twenty two yard pitch – these sandwiches are great Billy.”
“Ka pai te kai, e hoa! I hope you like them, e. Better go, e noho ra.”
“And as we watch Billy go off in one direction I can see the next Out of It batsman making his way out now. Alfred Jarry is something of an unknown in this part of the world, although I believe he’s made the odd trip to New Caledonia and Mururoa Atoll to give advice on strong-overarm technique.”
“Makes a change from strong-underarm I suppose.”
“Ha, yes indeed!”
“Anyway, Jarry is standing at the wicket waiting for Hadlee. He taps his bat on the ground which listeners can no doubt hear.”
“It’s interesting that, John. The way they place those microphones under the surface of the soil, between the wicket-keeper and the wicket, if I’m not mistaken. It really brings an atmosphere of the immediate situation to those listening at home.”
“Quite! Anyway, in comes Hadlee past the umpire, he bowls and …”
“SHIT”
:Well, there’s no doubt from M. Jarry’s response as to what happened. We would like to apologise for such foul language entering the air waves and …”
“Really, while there is no excuse for that kind of occurrence, I suppose it is the price one pays for the kind of technology we were only just extolling the virtues thereof.”
“I couldn’t agree more, but we could have been forewarned, as this is not the first time the little French bohemian has opened play in a such a fashion.”
“Of course, it’s easy for us to sit here and criticise. We’re not out there facing Richard Hadlee. Anyway for those who may still be confused about what’s going on, well, Jarry was clean bowled by Hadlee – out for a city duck, and I do believe Hadlee is sitting on a hat-trick.”
“Indeed, he is! He really is a funky donkey, isn’t he! While we watch the spectacle of Jarry storming off the field, it may be an opportune moment to reflect upon the career of R.J. Hadlee…”
So I gave Maureen the pledge of hand in the traditional gael manner and she seemed to like it well enough and then she was with child – it’s all the guit buiks ya know. The great Malone was decidedly melancholy as he reflected upon his career of marriage to the fine gael-come Polynesian woman he had married. What a true wretch I am said he to himself inside his own head and all. Then he had a true idea, a brain-wave which lasts as long as it takes in the telling, but in that time he surely solved the mystery of his life long enough to only shatter that very illusion of solution. We’ll move to the very Ireland from whence we were hewn and away from this island from whence she was hewn also – thus we can save our wonderful mirage because there is none of the divorce in the only civilized country in the world. No divorce and no cricket – what a country for a marriage! But, Ireland is also the place of poets, said a voice which must have been his own for it has been written that there was no-one else in the great head. Not ta mention the Guinness and the whiskey, spelt ta proper way an’ all, said the same or another voice. The drink and the poetry, sure there’s a terrible country for a marriage – if they had divorce there, they’d have no marriage, with a tradition like dat, sure!
“And as Lord Byron stumps his way out to the crease, followed by his follower Hemi Baxter, we can only wonder at this remarkable change in the Out of It batting order there seems to be a certain amount of uncertainty creeping into the Out of It camp with the loss of those two wickets Dennis?”
“It’s hard to say really John. I mean if one looks at the scoreboard then one would think they were in the box-seat, so to speak. I mean, with a score of 172 in only nineteen overs you’d think they could be well pleased with their performance.”
“Exactly, but perhaps they’re thinking of the weather, or maybe Janis Joplin is just too out of it even to walk out on to the field at the moment. No-one really knows.”
“Yes, well I suppose that could be the case. Anyway, we turn our attention to the action as we see that Byron has finally hobbled his way out to take up the challenge of facing Hadlee, a task I hear that he won’t particularly relish, is that right John?”
“I gather so Dennis. Like a lot of spin bowlers, Byron himself is a very good player of spin with the bat. In fact for his own club – Foot Club, I believe he is actually their specialist batsman when it comes to playing spin.”
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Page #27 & 28 of “OUT OF IT” a novel by Michael O’Leary
“Well, we do get side-tracked don’t we John. But, no harm done. In fact I seem to remember a similar incident in Madras in the early fifties in, I think it was the fifth test when the Indian bowler Patel took J.R. Reid’s middle stump. But the umpire, who was it?”
“Joshi it was Dennis.”
“So it was thank you John! Anyway, it was about the first over Reid had faced that day and he went on to score forty-four in that innings!”
“And, if I may add, he scored sixty-three in the second innings so it didn’t seem to affect Reid’s confidence – it’s a pity Wilde can’t hear us but I’m sure he knows – he’s been around the cricket pitch long enough to understand all this.”
“Anyway, we’re watching Hadlee, who is back for second spell, coming in to bowl to Wilde and … Good Lord he’s bowled him again and this time there’s no no ball!”
“Well, that was a good piece of captaincy bringing Hadlee back. Wilde had really taken Cairns and Bracewell in the last few overs and Coney had the option of bowling them out and leaving Hadlee to come on in the last bracket. But, I think he’s done the right thing because the weather is so uncertain – I mean, Dennis, the fact that fifteen overs have been reached means that there is definitely a game on. In fact, we are now in the nineteenth over and with the Out of It team score being 172 means they are scoring at just under ten runs an over, a formidable run-rate – and this may be one of those games in which the run-rate, and not the final score, could be all important.”
“I couldn’t agree more John. I think whatever happens the New Zealanders have got an uphill. Well, you can’t help but admire Wilde. He was at the crease for just six overs and in that time he scored fifty-nine runs including 5 fours and 4 sixes. I should imagine he would be feeling quite pleased with himself as he makes his way back to the pavilion with that arrogant, manly stride of his.
Yet each man pulls the stumps on himself
By each let his be heard
Some do it with a simple French cut
And with unflattering word
Cowardly commentators say “played on!”
Cutting deeper than a sword
Some play careless strokes when they are young
And some when they are old
Some leave such a gap twixt bat and pad
That the ball, like an arrow of gold
Straight to its target blindly goes
Leaving the batsman out in the cold
Some hit too little, some too long
Some wait for an extra or a bye
Some leave the field almost in tears
And some without a sigh
For each man pulls the stumps on himself
Yet none can answer why.
“I’d like to welcome back to the commentary box Billy T. who’s just brought us a lovely plate of mutton bird and cucumber sandwiches and some drink – thank you so much Billy. Now I believe you have something interesting to tell us about the Put of It Captain.”
“Yea, a kia ora everyone again. Seems that Te Rauparaha only just made it into the team, despite what his present batting performance would suggest. They got this fella who plays for Central Districts called Titokowaru, e. I was talking to Ian smith before the game today and he told me ‘bout this, e bro. Apparently old Titokowaru has a similar relationship with the Out of It selectors as Glenn Turner had with the New Zealand Selection Panel. The result is that he rarely gets to play on the international scene. A great loss to Te kirikiti O Aotearoa ia bro!”
“Well, Billy, that certainly is interesting. It’s a constant source of amazement that this game of cricket throws up new or unknown knowledge no matter how long one has been associated with it.”
“Joshi it was Dennis.”
“So it was thank you John! Anyway, it was about the first over Reid had faced that day and he went on to score forty-four in that innings!”
“And, if I may add, he scored sixty-three in the second innings so it didn’t seem to affect Reid’s confidence – it’s a pity Wilde can’t hear us but I’m sure he knows – he’s been around the cricket pitch long enough to understand all this.”
“Anyway, we’re watching Hadlee, who is back for second spell, coming in to bowl to Wilde and … Good Lord he’s bowled him again and this time there’s no no ball!”
“Well, that was a good piece of captaincy bringing Hadlee back. Wilde had really taken Cairns and Bracewell in the last few overs and Coney had the option of bowling them out and leaving Hadlee to come on in the last bracket. But, I think he’s done the right thing because the weather is so uncertain – I mean, Dennis, the fact that fifteen overs have been reached means that there is definitely a game on. In fact, we are now in the nineteenth over and with the Out of It team score being 172 means they are scoring at just under ten runs an over, a formidable run-rate – and this may be one of those games in which the run-rate, and not the final score, could be all important.”
“I couldn’t agree more John. I think whatever happens the New Zealanders have got an uphill. Well, you can’t help but admire Wilde. He was at the crease for just six overs and in that time he scored fifty-nine runs including 5 fours and 4 sixes. I should imagine he would be feeling quite pleased with himself as he makes his way back to the pavilion with that arrogant, manly stride of his.
Yet each man pulls the stumps on himself
By each let his be heard
Some do it with a simple French cut
And with unflattering word
Cowardly commentators say “played on!”
Cutting deeper than a sword
Some play careless strokes when they are young
And some when they are old
Some leave such a gap twixt bat and pad
That the ball, like an arrow of gold
Straight to its target blindly goes
Leaving the batsman out in the cold
Some hit too little, some too long
Some wait for an extra or a bye
Some leave the field almost in tears
And some without a sigh
For each man pulls the stumps on himself
Yet none can answer why.
“I’d like to welcome back to the commentary box Billy T. who’s just brought us a lovely plate of mutton bird and cucumber sandwiches and some drink – thank you so much Billy. Now I believe you have something interesting to tell us about the Put of It Captain.”
“Yea, a kia ora everyone again. Seems that Te Rauparaha only just made it into the team, despite what his present batting performance would suggest. They got this fella who plays for Central Districts called Titokowaru, e. I was talking to Ian smith before the game today and he told me ‘bout this, e bro. Apparently old Titokowaru has a similar relationship with the Out of It selectors as Glenn Turner had with the New Zealand Selection Panel. The result is that he rarely gets to play on the international scene. A great loss to Te kirikiti O Aotearoa ia bro!”
“Well, Billy, that certainly is interesting. It’s a constant source of amazement that this game of cricket throws up new or unknown knowledge no matter how long one has been associated with it.”
Monday, September 27, 2010
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Monday, September 20, 2010
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Page #25 & 26 of “OUT OF IT” a novel by Michael O’Leary
“Yes, Dennis, I was talking to Glen Turner just after the New Zealand team had been announced and what you say is quite true.
There is, of course, a lot of similarities between these two players on the field. Goering is a big hitter of the ball and both men are useful, second strike bowlers. The Luftwaffe chief, like Lance, likes to flight the ball and they both excel at the in-swinger and out-swinger which should be facilitated by the cloud cover today.”
“Curiously enough, also John, the two men are not unlike each other to look at, so it should be an interesting contest just between these two, let alone the two teams, although I think the Reich Air Marshall has the edge over Cairns when it comes to black-market art theft, but that of course, does not concern us as we watch Cairns bowl to Te Rauparaha who goes to come forward and them at the last minute moves back pulling his bat away from the line of the ball which ends up safely and uneventfully in the gloves of keeper Smith.”
“Dennis, I know you’re sceptical about my oft quoted and maligned “mania” for statistics, but if I may, I shall inform our listeners that Te Rauparaha has been at the wicket for a total of eleven and a half overs and had scored fifty nine runs….”
“Very illuminating, but Cairns is ….”
“I’ll just finish if I may Dennis. In the first six of those he scored fifty eight and in the last five and a half only one run. He does seem completely unable to play either Cairns, who gets such lovely variation of delivery, and the spin of Bracewell who ….”
A huge roar from the crowd drowns out the announcer’s sentence.
“John, how many times have I told you not to talk so loud. The big Maori chief has just answered your “Statistics” by hitting a cracking shot down to the third man boundary.”
“Makes Harry Lime look like a boy scout! And he made me look like I’m still in nappies. What a fine shot that was as the Out of It score moves on to 118 for three with two balls remaining in the fourteenth over.”
A terrible example of a human bean I am. It was the Malone thinking to itself again. The memory thought of the melancholy of the once lying on his own bed alone and on the radio is City of New Orleans, a famous, sad song about the disappearing rail road blues.
This is what heaven must be like, the Great Mind had thought and the Great Guilt had rebuked and the Great Hand crossed himself with the famous “mea culpa” – some things are never forgotten even though they were never learnt in the first place – such was the place of the Latin in the life of the P.S.M. for it had permeated the distorted Irish cerebral cortex at an earlier age and even though he had never been an Altar Boy, a fact he resented and held as a dark sin in his human heart, he never forgot the ancient archaic language and when he finally left off going to the Holy Roman it coincided with the Mass of English – Sure why did ya leave the Mothar Church Patrick Sean Michael – he would reply “Who wants to belong to a religion you can understand” – and the petitioner would stare in wonderment.
“Now here I sit in cold, wind-swept isolation watching the great game and I’m feeling like it’s the end. Since I was the young child I have never done what I wanted. The others have told me what was right and wrong and I just said yes. Ma, Da, Holy Church, Wife, Holy Taxman all say do this and it is done – “Say but the Word!” – and here I am doing it at last and it ends in the isolation of the self from the holy human family.”
“Just a small point Dennis, but I have just checked up with Mr Vulu who was here before with Billy, on the greeting he used when he came on air. I thought he was saying something about Maloney who plays for Wellington but I didn’t like to take it up at the time. However, Billy T. has informed me that Sef greeted us in his native Tokelau tongue with the word “Maloni” which is similar to Kia Ora, or Talofa or just “hello”.
“Well, John with all this talk about the Maori being the lost tribe of Bryan Boru it doesn’t really surprise one that there should be other connections between the Irish and Polynesians in general. And of course, if you look at the Irish in London and other British cities, then they’re occupying a similar position as the Pacific Islanders who live in Auckland and other New Zealand cities. And of course Ireland was Britain’s first colony and remains her last. So that …. Oh! It looks like Oscar Wilde has been bowled out, but there seems to be some doubt!”
“I think I see what happened, and that is it seemed that the umpire called a no ball but the bowler didn’t hear the call and thought he had bowled Wilde.”
There is, of course, a lot of similarities between these two players on the field. Goering is a big hitter of the ball and both men are useful, second strike bowlers. The Luftwaffe chief, like Lance, likes to flight the ball and they both excel at the in-swinger and out-swinger which should be facilitated by the cloud cover today.”
“Curiously enough, also John, the two men are not unlike each other to look at, so it should be an interesting contest just between these two, let alone the two teams, although I think the Reich Air Marshall has the edge over Cairns when it comes to black-market art theft, but that of course, does not concern us as we watch Cairns bowl to Te Rauparaha who goes to come forward and them at the last minute moves back pulling his bat away from the line of the ball which ends up safely and uneventfully in the gloves of keeper Smith.”
“Dennis, I know you’re sceptical about my oft quoted and maligned “mania” for statistics, but if I may, I shall inform our listeners that Te Rauparaha has been at the wicket for a total of eleven and a half overs and had scored fifty nine runs….”
“Very illuminating, but Cairns is ….”
“I’ll just finish if I may Dennis. In the first six of those he scored fifty eight and in the last five and a half only one run. He does seem completely unable to play either Cairns, who gets such lovely variation of delivery, and the spin of Bracewell who ….”
A huge roar from the crowd drowns out the announcer’s sentence.
“John, how many times have I told you not to talk so loud. The big Maori chief has just answered your “Statistics” by hitting a cracking shot down to the third man boundary.”
“Makes Harry Lime look like a boy scout! And he made me look like I’m still in nappies. What a fine shot that was as the Out of It score moves on to 118 for three with two balls remaining in the fourteenth over.”
A terrible example of a human bean I am. It was the Malone thinking to itself again. The memory thought of the melancholy of the once lying on his own bed alone and on the radio is City of New Orleans, a famous, sad song about the disappearing rail road blues.
This is what heaven must be like, the Great Mind had thought and the Great Guilt had rebuked and the Great Hand crossed himself with the famous “mea culpa” – some things are never forgotten even though they were never learnt in the first place – such was the place of the Latin in the life of the P.S.M. for it had permeated the distorted Irish cerebral cortex at an earlier age and even though he had never been an Altar Boy, a fact he resented and held as a dark sin in his human heart, he never forgot the ancient archaic language and when he finally left off going to the Holy Roman it coincided with the Mass of English – Sure why did ya leave the Mothar Church Patrick Sean Michael – he would reply “Who wants to belong to a religion you can understand” – and the petitioner would stare in wonderment.
“Now here I sit in cold, wind-swept isolation watching the great game and I’m feeling like it’s the end. Since I was the young child I have never done what I wanted. The others have told me what was right and wrong and I just said yes. Ma, Da, Holy Church, Wife, Holy Taxman all say do this and it is done – “Say but the Word!” – and here I am doing it at last and it ends in the isolation of the self from the holy human family.”
“Just a small point Dennis, but I have just checked up with Mr Vulu who was here before with Billy, on the greeting he used when he came on air. I thought he was saying something about Maloney who plays for Wellington but I didn’t like to take it up at the time. However, Billy T. has informed me that Sef greeted us in his native Tokelau tongue with the word “Maloni” which is similar to Kia Ora, or Talofa or just “hello”.
“Well, John with all this talk about the Maori being the lost tribe of Bryan Boru it doesn’t really surprise one that there should be other connections between the Irish and Polynesians in general. And of course, if you look at the Irish in London and other British cities, then they’re occupying a similar position as the Pacific Islanders who live in Auckland and other New Zealand cities. And of course Ireland was Britain’s first colony and remains her last. So that …. Oh! It looks like Oscar Wilde has been bowled out, but there seems to be some doubt!”
“I think I see what happened, and that is it seemed that the umpire called a no ball but the bowler didn’t hear the call and thought he had bowled Wilde.”
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Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Page #23 & 24 of “OUT OF IT” a novel by Michael O’Leary
“Baffled, bemused and beguilded indeed Dennis! And I thought that Morrison himself was deep in some mystery when he walked back to the dressing room. It almost seemed he was singing or talking to himself – one could imagine him doing a self-jig or some similar dance had his leg not been crook.”
“Yes! The words mystery and Morrison seen to be very closely linked in this game. And look at Hemi disappearing down the player’s tunnel as though he were entering Dante’s Inferno. He’s crossing himself in the Roman tradition and whipping his very back with what appears to be a large rosary.”
The Malone listened empathy and sorrow and each stroke he saw hit Baxter’s back was a memory of his life with the Maureen Moana and their children marked his and hers, a life which he knew he would never live again…. They had not been married two months and she was expecting. Then they had not been married eight months, they realised upon close inspection what the situation was, they then got married. “You carnt be too carful these daze,” the Malone had thought. “Shotgun?” Murphy, in his enquiring way, had asked “Double barrel – we’re having twins,” Malone had retorted with his fingers crossed, not realising the prophetic nature of his nature. “Better luck next time” the Murphy had said after the birth of one single child. And so it was, that not long after nine months, after the birth of the first Malone child, two twins were born. “Hopefully, ta, the sam farther – never like the case bein’ now at this moment contested in the very courtroom I was born at the address of the Emerald Isle whence I cam from” said the Murphy, who had had a life-long interest in the law, you know! For was this not the sam Murphy run foul a the law in the Mercantile Gehenna and him a lawyer. “You’re a liarwyer” the judge had said accusing him a not tellin’ the truth….
Malone’s Murphy Memories were interrupted by the noise of the roaring applause for the next Out of It batsman. Oscar Wilde strode out onto the field with the confidence and arrogance of a man who has nothing to declare or fear but his own genius as a batsman.
Here comes a great man the Malone thought. He had forever thought this of the Wilde Irishman and it forever had him thinking of the greatness of the Gaelsand of one and all of his race, and of one in particular it that’s the case. Mango O’Brien he was by name known. He was the reason that Malone and his pregnant wife had been able to buy their very house in New Lynn and he was the reason that should P.S.M. not be able to return to the great domestic life of a lifetime that he knew his family would survive. For, and let it be said, had not Mango O’Brien and his Polynesian wife and their several children, had they not all lived together in a Zeppelin moored only several feet above the ground on the corner section which was next door to where the newlywedded Malone’s house on the one side and the railway line on the other. The fact that no-one would but this house for fear and prejudice enabled the unprejudiced and fearless Malone family to buy a perfectly good, respectable suburban dwelling for a very low and acceptable price indeed.
Mango and Malone and Marisia and Maureen and all the more several children had become a close whanau by the time that the Malone got off the train one evening after the work in time to see the O’Brien Zeppelin casting off from its moorings and sail away into the arms of Rangi. “Where did the man go?” was the question on New Lynn’s lips. Anyway, the small compensation for the Malone family’s grief over the loss of their true friends was that the day after the Zeppelin had soared into the heavens and beyond, the house prices in the immediate area had soared also, thus providing in the form of material and financial security what they now obviously lacked in emotional and spiritual nurture since the half whanau had headed skyward. “See you in Heaven!” he called and crossed himself as the wonderment of invented palagi imploded into the sky above!
“ and it’s not often you see Lance Cairns give away an extra run from a no-ball John.”
“quite true Dennis, but the umpire, I think, is a bit worried about the bowler’s making a hole just at that particular point at the Railway end of the crease. I notices that Mr Woodhead spoke a couple of time to Ewen Chatfield and that must have been what it was all about.”
“Interesting, John, to see Cairns brought back into the New Zealand team, and I believe it has something to do with the fact that the Out of It Number Nine, Herman Goering, is in such good form.”
“Yes! The words mystery and Morrison seen to be very closely linked in this game. And look at Hemi disappearing down the player’s tunnel as though he were entering Dante’s Inferno. He’s crossing himself in the Roman tradition and whipping his very back with what appears to be a large rosary.”
The Malone listened empathy and sorrow and each stroke he saw hit Baxter’s back was a memory of his life with the Maureen Moana and their children marked his and hers, a life which he knew he would never live again…. They had not been married two months and she was expecting. Then they had not been married eight months, they realised upon close inspection what the situation was, they then got married. “You carnt be too carful these daze,” the Malone had thought. “Shotgun?” Murphy, in his enquiring way, had asked “Double barrel – we’re having twins,” Malone had retorted with his fingers crossed, not realising the prophetic nature of his nature. “Better luck next time” the Murphy had said after the birth of one single child. And so it was, that not long after nine months, after the birth of the first Malone child, two twins were born. “Hopefully, ta, the sam farther – never like the case bein’ now at this moment contested in the very courtroom I was born at the address of the Emerald Isle whence I cam from” said the Murphy, who had had a life-long interest in the law, you know! For was this not the sam Murphy run foul a the law in the Mercantile Gehenna and him a lawyer. “You’re a liarwyer” the judge had said accusing him a not tellin’ the truth….
Malone’s Murphy Memories were interrupted by the noise of the roaring applause for the next Out of It batsman. Oscar Wilde strode out onto the field with the confidence and arrogance of a man who has nothing to declare or fear but his own genius as a batsman.
Here comes a great man the Malone thought. He had forever thought this of the Wilde Irishman and it forever had him thinking of the greatness of the Gaelsand of one and all of his race, and of one in particular it that’s the case. Mango O’Brien he was by name known. He was the reason that Malone and his pregnant wife had been able to buy their very house in New Lynn and he was the reason that should P.S.M. not be able to return to the great domestic life of a lifetime that he knew his family would survive. For, and let it be said, had not Mango O’Brien and his Polynesian wife and their several children, had they not all lived together in a Zeppelin moored only several feet above the ground on the corner section which was next door to where the newlywedded Malone’s house on the one side and the railway line on the other. The fact that no-one would but this house for fear and prejudice enabled the unprejudiced and fearless Malone family to buy a perfectly good, respectable suburban dwelling for a very low and acceptable price indeed.
Mango and Malone and Marisia and Maureen and all the more several children had become a close whanau by the time that the Malone got off the train one evening after the work in time to see the O’Brien Zeppelin casting off from its moorings and sail away into the arms of Rangi. “Where did the man go?” was the question on New Lynn’s lips. Anyway, the small compensation for the Malone family’s grief over the loss of their true friends was that the day after the Zeppelin had soared into the heavens and beyond, the house prices in the immediate area had soared also, thus providing in the form of material and financial security what they now obviously lacked in emotional and spiritual nurture since the half whanau had headed skyward. “See you in Heaven!” he called and crossed himself as the wonderment of invented palagi imploded into the sky above!
“ and it’s not often you see Lance Cairns give away an extra run from a no-ball John.”
“quite true Dennis, but the umpire, I think, is a bit worried about the bowler’s making a hole just at that particular point at the Railway end of the crease. I notices that Mr Woodhead spoke a couple of time to Ewen Chatfield and that must have been what it was all about.”
“Interesting, John, to see Cairns brought back into the New Zealand team, and I believe it has something to do with the fact that the Out of It Number Nine, Herman Goering, is in such good form.”
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Page #21 & 22 of “OUT OF IT” a novel by Michael O’Leary
“Listen ta me son, even the St Bernard thought the Irish (and that’s us – never forget!) – thought the Irish were barbarians with no sanity and no law – beasts rather than men he called us!”
Dad’s eyes, like all the organs in his body, were on fire. He took a slug and continued – “even he based his condemnation of the Irish fo havin’ no marriage on a mis-conception!” It was too much for dad, the tears rolled down his cheeks and his laughter rolled around the room like thunder after the lightning flash of humour. After an interval he continued somewhat hesitantly and with his eyes closed, as though he would not be able to continue if he looked at someone else. He had quite an audience by now and what had been a private talk between father and son meant to lead into my introduction to Miss O'Shea, became an open lecture, in the history of Irish marriage before those “heathen Christians” as he called them, arrived. He went on like a saint in a trance “it’s not a though there was no marriage and a kind of universal concubinage existed,” he took a swig to wipe the smile which threatened to break out into open laughter, off his face, “no, but there was like a custom with a mutual promise of marriage – then the two lived together until they got married or got sick of each other.” All sorts of drunken cries were coming me father’s way, most condemning him for being anti Holy Roman. But he didn’t care and said “You should never be listening to grown up conversation – come now Patrick Sean Michael Malone, come over here and meet Maureen O’Shea and marry her….”
“Oh! And there’s a terrible mix-up here and Hemi’s slipped over with his bare feet and I’m afraid that means Morrison has been run out.”
“Well, there you see the problem of using as runner, John. Morrison called his captain through, probably thinking that it would be on – but judging it as though he were doing the running himself. The chief, obviously eager to push the score along because of the weather, came. But, Baxter without shoes, struck what is obviously a bit of moisture out there, lost his footing and there you are.”
“I remember the hapless Geoff Howarth being run out in similar circumstances, Dennis. Howarth had got off to a good start for the first time in ages and then much the same thing happened. I forget which game it was exactly, I always confuse it with the one where Howarth had just moved out of his crease after John Wright, I think it was, had hit what looked to be a powerful scoring shot, but the ball came straight back towards the bowler, just glanced his hand and went into the wickets and the poor New Zealand captain was out!”
“One sees so many games that they do tend to merge don’t they. Anyway, this is the one which we have our focus on at the moment and as Morrison and Hemi make their way back I can tell you that after twelve overs the score is three wickets for ninety nine runs, leaving the Out if It team one short of a hundred. Morrison in the end scored twenty-three after that lovely performance in the last over of Chatfield’s first spell, hitting thirteen runs. Altogether he faced nineteen balls and was at the crease for just over twenty minutes, five of which were not played while the umpires checked the light.”
“Well, Dennis, Jim will be a little disappointed because he certainly looked in good touch. He played a couple of lovely pull shots which simply raced off to the boundary – Oh well, he’ll be thinking of what have been, no doubt…”
Cricket is strange when you’re a batsman
Muscle gets strained when you’re alone
Bowlers seam wicked the way that they bounce you
Even though they know your muscle’s been pulled
Cricket’s strange – runners come out in your place
Cricket’s strange – then they fall on their face
Cricket’s strange – a funny game
Cricket’s strange – all right now –
“I’d just like to return for a while to the over before last.”
“Oh yes, that was interesting Dennis, I assume you are referring to the fact that Bracewell’s spin completely baffled the Out of It Captain, indeed it almost had him L.B.W. off the last ball.”
“Exactly, John, it was of course a maiden over, and it really seemed to keep the chief – well, almost bemused I think would be a fitting term.”
Dad’s eyes, like all the organs in his body, were on fire. He took a slug and continued – “even he based his condemnation of the Irish fo havin’ no marriage on a mis-conception!” It was too much for dad, the tears rolled down his cheeks and his laughter rolled around the room like thunder after the lightning flash of humour. After an interval he continued somewhat hesitantly and with his eyes closed, as though he would not be able to continue if he looked at someone else. He had quite an audience by now and what had been a private talk between father and son meant to lead into my introduction to Miss O'Shea, became an open lecture, in the history of Irish marriage before those “heathen Christians” as he called them, arrived. He went on like a saint in a trance “it’s not a though there was no marriage and a kind of universal concubinage existed,” he took a swig to wipe the smile which threatened to break out into open laughter, off his face, “no, but there was like a custom with a mutual promise of marriage – then the two lived together until they got married or got sick of each other.” All sorts of drunken cries were coming me father’s way, most condemning him for being anti Holy Roman. But he didn’t care and said “You should never be listening to grown up conversation – come now Patrick Sean Michael Malone, come over here and meet Maureen O’Shea and marry her….”
“Oh! And there’s a terrible mix-up here and Hemi’s slipped over with his bare feet and I’m afraid that means Morrison has been run out.”
“Well, there you see the problem of using as runner, John. Morrison called his captain through, probably thinking that it would be on – but judging it as though he were doing the running himself. The chief, obviously eager to push the score along because of the weather, came. But, Baxter without shoes, struck what is obviously a bit of moisture out there, lost his footing and there you are.”
“I remember the hapless Geoff Howarth being run out in similar circumstances, Dennis. Howarth had got off to a good start for the first time in ages and then much the same thing happened. I forget which game it was exactly, I always confuse it with the one where Howarth had just moved out of his crease after John Wright, I think it was, had hit what looked to be a powerful scoring shot, but the ball came straight back towards the bowler, just glanced his hand and went into the wickets and the poor New Zealand captain was out!”
“One sees so many games that they do tend to merge don’t they. Anyway, this is the one which we have our focus on at the moment and as Morrison and Hemi make their way back I can tell you that after twelve overs the score is three wickets for ninety nine runs, leaving the Out if It team one short of a hundred. Morrison in the end scored twenty-three after that lovely performance in the last over of Chatfield’s first spell, hitting thirteen runs. Altogether he faced nineteen balls and was at the crease for just over twenty minutes, five of which were not played while the umpires checked the light.”
“Well, Dennis, Jim will be a little disappointed because he certainly looked in good touch. He played a couple of lovely pull shots which simply raced off to the boundary – Oh well, he’ll be thinking of what have been, no doubt…”
Cricket is strange when you’re a batsman
Muscle gets strained when you’re alone
Bowlers seam wicked the way that they bounce you
Even though they know your muscle’s been pulled
Cricket’s strange – runners come out in your place
Cricket’s strange – then they fall on their face
Cricket’s strange – a funny game
Cricket’s strange – all right now –
“I’d just like to return for a while to the over before last.”
“Oh yes, that was interesting Dennis, I assume you are referring to the fact that Bracewell’s spin completely baffled the Out of It Captain, indeed it almost had him L.B.W. off the last ball.”
“Exactly, John, it was of course a maiden over, and it really seemed to keep the chief – well, almost bemused I think would be a fitting term.”
Monday, September 6, 2010
Page #19 & 20 of “OUT OF IT” a novel by Michael O’Leary
“The other aspect is of course, Dennis, that he hasn’t taken any unnecessary risks. He’s played every ball on its merit and he hasn’t been at all reckless.”
“Yes, it’s the great skill of the man that one has to admire. I shouldn’t wonder, John, that his bat will take it’s place among every other national taonga at Te Marae Taonga o Aotearoa when they build it down there in the Capital.”
“It would certainly deserve to be there amongst the rest of our country’s treasures and Te Rauparaha is one who is very much aware of his own mana within cricketing circles and the wairua which is part of his toanga.”
“I’ll interrupt you there John to say that a rather large dark cloud is just crossing over Eden Park and out towards the West things are looking decidedly gloomy.”
Malone was thinking, as was his habit –
“as was his habit, me own father was a man of habit, and he did the same things over and over. And the one time he didn’t was when he introduced me to me darlin’ wife Maureen O’Shea.
He was drunk that night, as was his habit (he used to say that the drink made him a religious, holy man because it was his habit) and he had told me about the beautiful young girl. My parents were worried about me because I was over thirty and unmarried (dad used to love coming up with me, standing beside me with a serious look and then blooming out in his particularly baritone voice “funny he never married” before collapsing into gales of laughter). There was, however, no undue concern because it was an Irish custom for a man to be nearly forty, even still living with the parents, before he was married or joined the priesthood or somethin'.”
“Well Patrick me son, she’s a loverly garl this O’Shea and she’s part Maori too which should be to yer likin’ now!” He, the Malone senior, took another drink of the Tullamore Dew. “They say she’s even related to the Kitty O’Shea who was the undoin’ of the great man Parnell – so you’ll be in good company then, being undone by an O’Shea yourself..”
“The umpires seem to be checking their little devises as regards the light. It would be an awful shame if this most absorbing game were to be interrupted.”
“Yes John, how true, in the meantime I should like to welcome back Billy T. who has with him Mr Sef Vulu who is a local Auckland cricketer. Gentlemen, welcome. Perhaps Billy, you would like to introduce Mr Vulu to our listeners.”
“Kapai, e, Dennis. Kia Ora Sef.”
Maloni, Billy and everyone.”
“Well, bro, what do you reckon about this game so far, pretty neat e, hehehe.”
“Well Billy bout this game, it’s goot. An I like to make comment bout this Te Rauparaha so far. I saw him play in Barbados a coupla summers ago an I always like the look a him.”
“Sef, you’re like he opening batsman for your own Auckland club, e! Would you like to comment maybe on either Lewis or Hendrix’s performance today.”
“Wella Billy I think they both never got off to a goot start. It’s not easy opening when you’re out of it an I think they both try but never get off the ground.”
“You also play Pacific Island cricket. What’s the main difference between that and this kinda cricket e bro?”
“I think the numbera people ona field. That, ana I think there’s not dancing and singing when you score in a palagi game.”
“Kapai e hoa. I think it’s time to go back to my cousey’s Dennis and John, Kia Ora.”
“Thank you, Billy and Sef Vulu. We’ll be seeing Billy again later on of course, but right now it’s back to the game here at Eden Park where for the time being anyhow the news is good. The light seems to be o.k. although looking westward I think there may be problems later in the day.”
“and me father who could quote Irish history like a book when he was drunk. In fact the amount of words he spoke bore a direct relation to how much a the drink which had passed his mouth. So that night he was on his second bottle, having finished the first whilst singin’ the rebel songs with young Paddy Murphy on the fiddle and Colleen O’Reilly on the whistle. The final song was “Cottage by the Lee”, and everyone was laughing and crying for the sake of beauty and sadness.”
“Yes, it’s the great skill of the man that one has to admire. I shouldn’t wonder, John, that his bat will take it’s place among every other national taonga at Te Marae Taonga o Aotearoa when they build it down there in the Capital.”
“It would certainly deserve to be there amongst the rest of our country’s treasures and Te Rauparaha is one who is very much aware of his own mana within cricketing circles and the wairua which is part of his toanga.”
“I’ll interrupt you there John to say that a rather large dark cloud is just crossing over Eden Park and out towards the West things are looking decidedly gloomy.”
Malone was thinking, as was his habit –
“as was his habit, me own father was a man of habit, and he did the same things over and over. And the one time he didn’t was when he introduced me to me darlin’ wife Maureen O’Shea.
He was drunk that night, as was his habit (he used to say that the drink made him a religious, holy man because it was his habit) and he had told me about the beautiful young girl. My parents were worried about me because I was over thirty and unmarried (dad used to love coming up with me, standing beside me with a serious look and then blooming out in his particularly baritone voice “funny he never married” before collapsing into gales of laughter). There was, however, no undue concern because it was an Irish custom for a man to be nearly forty, even still living with the parents, before he was married or joined the priesthood or somethin'.”
“Well Patrick me son, she’s a loverly garl this O’Shea and she’s part Maori too which should be to yer likin’ now!” He, the Malone senior, took another drink of the Tullamore Dew. “They say she’s even related to the Kitty O’Shea who was the undoin’ of the great man Parnell – so you’ll be in good company then, being undone by an O’Shea yourself..”
“The umpires seem to be checking their little devises as regards the light. It would be an awful shame if this most absorbing game were to be interrupted.”
“Yes John, how true, in the meantime I should like to welcome back Billy T. who has with him Mr Sef Vulu who is a local Auckland cricketer. Gentlemen, welcome. Perhaps Billy, you would like to introduce Mr Vulu to our listeners.”
“Kapai, e, Dennis. Kia Ora Sef.”
Maloni, Billy and everyone.”
“Well, bro, what do you reckon about this game so far, pretty neat e, hehehe.”
“Well Billy bout this game, it’s goot. An I like to make comment bout this Te Rauparaha so far. I saw him play in Barbados a coupla summers ago an I always like the look a him.”
“Sef, you’re like he opening batsman for your own Auckland club, e! Would you like to comment maybe on either Lewis or Hendrix’s performance today.”
“Wella Billy I think they both never got off to a goot start. It’s not easy opening when you’re out of it an I think they both try but never get off the ground.”
“You also play Pacific Island cricket. What’s the main difference between that and this kinda cricket e bro?”
“I think the numbera people ona field. That, ana I think there’s not dancing and singing when you score in a palagi game.”
“Kapai e hoa. I think it’s time to go back to my cousey’s Dennis and John, Kia Ora.”
“Thank you, Billy and Sef Vulu. We’ll be seeing Billy again later on of course, but right now it’s back to the game here at Eden Park where for the time being anyhow the news is good. The light seems to be o.k. although looking westward I think there may be problems later in the day.”
“and me father who could quote Irish history like a book when he was drunk. In fact the amount of words he spoke bore a direct relation to how much a the drink which had passed his mouth. So that night he was on his second bottle, having finished the first whilst singin’ the rebel songs with young Paddy Murphy on the fiddle and Colleen O’Reilly on the whistle. The final song was “Cottage by the Lee”, and everyone was laughing and crying for the sake of beauty and sadness.”
Sunday, September 5, 2010
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Friday, September 3, 2010
Page #17 & 18 of “OUT OF IT” a novel by Michael O’Leary
to the priest to tell him all his evil and dark ideas which would never have occurred to him had he not been told to go to confession!
He was so pleased with himself and could not understand the holy man’s reaction of disgust that “such filth could come from one so young, Holy Mother of God, etc.” He thought he had done what he was supposed to, and he found that when he really tried he could think of anything, no matter how degrading.
The Malone determined to take an immediate interest in the minutest aspects of this cricket game. He would follow each ball bowled and that was all his mind would be on. His mind, however, had other ideas so that the more he tried to keep the dark clouds of chaos and madness away, the more in reality they were there. And his struggle of will was enhanced and punctuated by the outside reality. So, the sky darkened over the Waitakere Ranges threatening to move eastwards from the west, thus nature was empathising with the Malone’s uncertain internal spirit. It was like masturbation thought the great Malone mind –
“thinking what you shouldn’t be thinkin’, but only being able to think it because of what you were doin’, which is what you should be doin’. But it’s worse if you think about something else and keep doin’ that because then you’re thinkin’ what you’re doin’ whilst doin’ what you shouldn’t be doin’ or even thinkin’ of doin’. Yes that’s it. Catholicism is two nutshells. A grand cock and bull story, it cannot be denied. Well, it can but…”
The thoughts were drowned by the crowd cheering, as Morrison hit Chatfield down to deep cover and sent Hemi, grey-hair, grey-beard flying like sails, off for a run. The chief ran like the wind so that Baxter, who was obviously the least fit of the two, was stretched to the limit but made it home for three runs.
“Ha Ha! I bet that got the old cogs in the wheels turning, John. I thought the old guru of the New Jerusalem was struggling a bit there.”
“Yes Dennis, but he made it and his thinking must be matching his physical triumph at this moment.
Man! He has called me again
From that place inside me – the unworthy
Servant! He called me three times
When I, in my mortal dung heap mind
Would have settled for one
And all the lice in my beard jumped out
For fear of this terrible century’s (looming) speed
Who will torment me now, at night
Who will remind me of Him –
And sin! Which this mad old devil
Commits with every eyelid bat, every thought
Kei te Rangitira o te ngati porangi, ahau –
I stand at the end of the crease Colin
Knowing He only wants what He knows I can do
“Well, John, it’s difficult to imagine Hemi taking a victory easily. His sense of guilt is so finely developed that you can’t even imagine him waking up in the morning without him saying he was sorry to someone. I’d really like to see if he actually thinks in sonnets. Oh well, I suppose that will remain one of life’s imponderables…….
“Dennis, you know so much has happened here that while I remember, I must acknowledge Te Rauparaha’s fifty has come up! In fact it came up a couple of overs ago – and he faced only thirteen balls.. I’ll look through my records but I’d say that must be one of the fastest half-centuries of any batsman in the world.”
“What a cricketer he is! Out of a team score of seventy-eight, two of which have been extras, this man has scored fifty-eight. If there ever was a case of a captain leading by example, this surely must be it.”
He was so pleased with himself and could not understand the holy man’s reaction of disgust that “such filth could come from one so young, Holy Mother of God, etc.” He thought he had done what he was supposed to, and he found that when he really tried he could think of anything, no matter how degrading.
The Malone determined to take an immediate interest in the minutest aspects of this cricket game. He would follow each ball bowled and that was all his mind would be on. His mind, however, had other ideas so that the more he tried to keep the dark clouds of chaos and madness away, the more in reality they were there. And his struggle of will was enhanced and punctuated by the outside reality. So, the sky darkened over the Waitakere Ranges threatening to move eastwards from the west, thus nature was empathising with the Malone’s uncertain internal spirit. It was like masturbation thought the great Malone mind –
“thinking what you shouldn’t be thinkin’, but only being able to think it because of what you were doin’, which is what you should be doin’. But it’s worse if you think about something else and keep doin’ that because then you’re thinkin’ what you’re doin’ whilst doin’ what you shouldn’t be doin’ or even thinkin’ of doin’. Yes that’s it. Catholicism is two nutshells. A grand cock and bull story, it cannot be denied. Well, it can but…”
The thoughts were drowned by the crowd cheering, as Morrison hit Chatfield down to deep cover and sent Hemi, grey-hair, grey-beard flying like sails, off for a run. The chief ran like the wind so that Baxter, who was obviously the least fit of the two, was stretched to the limit but made it home for three runs.
“Ha Ha! I bet that got the old cogs in the wheels turning, John. I thought the old guru of the New Jerusalem was struggling a bit there.”
“Yes Dennis, but he made it and his thinking must be matching his physical triumph at this moment.
Man! He has called me again
From that place inside me – the unworthy
Servant! He called me three times
When I, in my mortal dung heap mind
Would have settled for one
And all the lice in my beard jumped out
For fear of this terrible century’s (looming) speed
Who will torment me now, at night
Who will remind me of Him –
And sin! Which this mad old devil
Commits with every eyelid bat, every thought
Kei te Rangitira o te ngati porangi, ahau –
I stand at the end of the crease Colin
Knowing He only wants what He knows I can do
“Well, John, it’s difficult to imagine Hemi taking a victory easily. His sense of guilt is so finely developed that you can’t even imagine him waking up in the morning without him saying he was sorry to someone. I’d really like to see if he actually thinks in sonnets. Oh well, I suppose that will remain one of life’s imponderables…….
“Dennis, you know so much has happened here that while I remember, I must acknowledge Te Rauparaha’s fifty has come up! In fact it came up a couple of overs ago – and he faced only thirteen balls.. I’ll look through my records but I’d say that must be one of the fastest half-centuries of any batsman in the world.”
“What a cricketer he is! Out of a team score of seventy-eight, two of which have been extras, this man has scored fifty-eight. If there ever was a case of a captain leading by example, this surely must be it.”
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Page #15 & 16 of “OUT OF IT” a novel by Michael O’Leary
“Oh yea I heard of you, e. There was some kind of feud between your wife and her family e! Anyway, I’ll go now. I’ll tell Golly I saw you, maybe we go for a drink or a smoke after the game.”
The P.S.M was afraid. His mind meandered back through the past and speeded forward to an uncertain future. His stable, safe life was threatened from all sides by the past and the present and the shape of things to come, which were no longer geometric, nor measured by such as quarter-acre or 5.15 train. He wanted to run back to a past which had already passed. His thoughts were swimming in a sea of uncertainty, like some Spinozarian nightmare. The fish-bowl of reality he had lived in had smashed open and the big fish he was now became a small fish thrown into a large, unknown and frightening ocean, where nothing was familiar or certain – if only he’d gone to work! Going to the pub, the allusion to smoking dope, the mention of family fights, the magnetic pull of his heroes out there on the pitch – The Malone felt like he was being sucked into the vortex of emptiness, away from his Maureen, away from Colleen and Sean and Tahana the twins, and the baby Rua, away from New Lynn and the fenced-in section, away from it all – he was being sucked out of it, out of this world, out of T.V. and Radio, out of the weekly paycheck, out of it he was moving out of his woman’s mind and heart, out of his woman’s body, he was losing contact, he was heading skywards, he was taking off from the point of contact between Rangi and Papa – the two elements. When he was inside his woman he was secure, he belonged to earth, when he was inside his office or his living room, or his train or his supermarket he belonged to society, when he was – he was! But he began to feel he wasn’t, his bohemian daze was returning. He was the wild wolf on the outskirts of town, he was Rubesahl, the dark ghost of the mist and mountain, he was the renegade, the degenerate, the uncentred point of the turning world and spinning fast and off-centre, he was Rangi, porangi, haurangi, sky father, sky fool, he was blue and endless, grey and formless, black and eternal – he was heading out, towards nothing, away from everything. The Malone was alone. Almost man alone, he struggled. He tried to focus – “what about the time!” But he was out of it. There was no more time, no more place, no more –
“All this – what? Am I going back or am I staying. Am I at cricket match or am I going.”
"What a catch, and that’s the end of Hendrix!”
“Yes Dennis, a great take at second slip by the skipper Jeremy Coney and he’ll be a happy man. I feel that after a firey start Hendrix just slipped back a little, a few overs without scoring, being pinned down by Chatfield. And then finally getting down to what may be termed the “action end”, where Hadlee is bowling. He hit one four after not really adjusting to the change of pace, and the very next ball caught the edge, the ball went flying at a cracking pace, but Coney’s got a good pair of hands and there we are – Hendrix walks slowly to the pavilion.”
“Well, John, it’s a funny old game. I thought Jimi was looking great when he came out to bat. He, as you say, played a couple of delightful scoring shots and, well I can only really re-iterate my absolute admiration for Ewen Chatfield. I know Richard Hadlee took the wicket, I know Richard Hadlee had the penetration but, and I can’t stress this too often, it was Chatfield who tied Hendrix down, got him frustrated – Hendrix is a player who likes to get on with the game – and Chatfield primed him for Hadlee.”
“Well, we could go on talking about who primed who for the rest of our lives, Dennis. The fact is he two Out of It openers are out. So the score after only seven very eventful overs here at Eden Park is two wickets for sixty-six runs, although I’m sure my colleague would correct me and say sixty-six for two!”
“Ha Ha! That’s an old argument perhaps we can revive at lunch John. But at the moment I can see the fourth Out of It batsman coming to the crease. And it looks like we have a change of batting order. Yes, it’s Jim Morrison coming out and he’s using twelfth man James K Baxter as his runner. Well, what do you make of this turn of events John?”
As the two commentators prattled on the Malone was thinking…..
“I must stop all this thinkin’ To have a rebellious heart at any age is a mortal sin – to have one at my stage in life is just stupid. I’ll just sit here for what I cam for to watch the cricket and I’ll send the bad thoughts –“
But it was no good. Even thinking in terms of bad thoughts was a childish thought, a throwback to his first confession when, after a terrible struggle, he had triumphantly gone
The P.S.M was afraid. His mind meandered back through the past and speeded forward to an uncertain future. His stable, safe life was threatened from all sides by the past and the present and the shape of things to come, which were no longer geometric, nor measured by such as quarter-acre or 5.15 train. He wanted to run back to a past which had already passed. His thoughts were swimming in a sea of uncertainty, like some Spinozarian nightmare. The fish-bowl of reality he had lived in had smashed open and the big fish he was now became a small fish thrown into a large, unknown and frightening ocean, where nothing was familiar or certain – if only he’d gone to work! Going to the pub, the allusion to smoking dope, the mention of family fights, the magnetic pull of his heroes out there on the pitch – The Malone felt like he was being sucked into the vortex of emptiness, away from his Maureen, away from Colleen and Sean and Tahana the twins, and the baby Rua, away from New Lynn and the fenced-in section, away from it all – he was being sucked out of it, out of this world, out of T.V. and Radio, out of the weekly paycheck, out of it he was moving out of his woman’s mind and heart, out of his woman’s body, he was losing contact, he was heading skywards, he was taking off from the point of contact between Rangi and Papa – the two elements. When he was inside his woman he was secure, he belonged to earth, when he was inside his office or his living room, or his train or his supermarket he belonged to society, when he was – he was! But he began to feel he wasn’t, his bohemian daze was returning. He was the wild wolf on the outskirts of town, he was Rubesahl, the dark ghost of the mist and mountain, he was the renegade, the degenerate, the uncentred point of the turning world and spinning fast and off-centre, he was Rangi, porangi, haurangi, sky father, sky fool, he was blue and endless, grey and formless, black and eternal – he was heading out, towards nothing, away from everything. The Malone was alone. Almost man alone, he struggled. He tried to focus – “what about the time!” But he was out of it. There was no more time, no more place, no more –
“All this – what? Am I going back or am I staying. Am I at cricket match or am I going.”
"What a catch, and that’s the end of Hendrix!”
“Yes Dennis, a great take at second slip by the skipper Jeremy Coney and he’ll be a happy man. I feel that after a firey start Hendrix just slipped back a little, a few overs without scoring, being pinned down by Chatfield. And then finally getting down to what may be termed the “action end”, where Hadlee is bowling. He hit one four after not really adjusting to the change of pace, and the very next ball caught the edge, the ball went flying at a cracking pace, but Coney’s got a good pair of hands and there we are – Hendrix walks slowly to the pavilion.”
“Well, John, it’s a funny old game. I thought Jimi was looking great when he came out to bat. He, as you say, played a couple of delightful scoring shots and, well I can only really re-iterate my absolute admiration for Ewen Chatfield. I know Richard Hadlee took the wicket, I know Richard Hadlee had the penetration but, and I can’t stress this too often, it was Chatfield who tied Hendrix down, got him frustrated – Hendrix is a player who likes to get on with the game – and Chatfield primed him for Hadlee.”
“Well, we could go on talking about who primed who for the rest of our lives, Dennis. The fact is he two Out of It openers are out. So the score after only seven very eventful overs here at Eden Park is two wickets for sixty-six runs, although I’m sure my colleague would correct me and say sixty-six for two!”
“Ha Ha! That’s an old argument perhaps we can revive at lunch John. But at the moment I can see the fourth Out of It batsman coming to the crease. And it looks like we have a change of batting order. Yes, it’s Jim Morrison coming out and he’s using twelfth man James K Baxter as his runner. Well, what do you make of this turn of events John?”
As the two commentators prattled on the Malone was thinking…..
“I must stop all this thinkin’ To have a rebellious heart at any age is a mortal sin – to have one at my stage in life is just stupid. I’ll just sit here for what I cam for to watch the cricket and I’ll send the bad thoughts –“
But it was no good. Even thinking in terms of bad thoughts was a childish thought, a throwback to his first confession when, after a terrible struggle, he had triumphantly gone
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Page #13 & 14 of “OUT OF IT” a novel by Michael O’Leary
watching the clouds swirling dark and light and quickly across the sombre West of Auckland sky, he knew that his ten year investment in the illusion of the Protestant work ethic was a complete and utter failure.
“I came into this world with nothing but original sin and it is only God’s love and forgiveness which can absolve me, not good thoughts or words or deeds. I am a sinner, always have been and always will be – it is the darkness within which is my true self…”
Suddenly a roar went up from the crowd and someone pushed Malone violently to his left and a cricket ball came thudding out of the sky and landed where he had been sitting.
Malone, who had not seen the ball nearly land on his contemplating skull, was ready for a fight. Like a cobra’s head his fist was ready to strike the stranger who had just saved his life. The P.S.M. looked at his supposed adversary and saw a large, smiling Maori man looking down at his crumpled Irish self.
“Soon take the grin off his face!” The misguided Malone said to himself and it was only the intervention of the modern, almost broken transistor radio whose voice permeated the dim, primordial Celtic mind, which stopped what could have become the beginning of a racial conflict throughout the long white cloud – yes folks, it could have been the cloud wars all over again! But thanks to the Irish-Maori view of time, disaster was avoided –a disaster which would have been perpetrated by the Irish-Maori view of a good scrap!
As the cobra was about to strike, the sound waves of radio messages reached the Malone’s receiving apparatas with the following words of the English language,
“What a magnificent hit right into the grandstand making that the fifth six off five balls!”
“A stupendous shot indeed from the Out of It captain and…”
The Malone’s mind changed the direction and appearance of his cobra so that the snake-like venom of the clenched fist whilst in full flight, moving swiftly towards its target, became an out-stretched hand of friendship and gratitude. Had Anglo-Saxon clockwork time been used the punch would have landed because the mechanism for change is not an inherent component of the technological age.
The Malone breathed a sigh of relief as he introduced himself to Rewi, who had suspected nothing but what happened.
“..and the excitement is intense as Te Rauparaha attempts to join and indeed make a world team of those who have hit six sixes off one over in first class cricket. The existing duo of Garfield Sobers and Ravi Shastri may soon be part of a trio. Perhaps they’ll form a combo and do a world tour, who knows!”
“Of course Dennis, the remarkable thing is that this is off the bowling of Richard Hadlee, one of the…”
“Indeed John, and here he comes now, he tries to dig it in short but it doesn’t get up and Oh! He’s done it! Te Rauparaha has hit the ball right out of the ground and I’d say that that ball was trying to catch the next train up to Kingsland Station, Dennis! What a shot!”
“Hadlee can’t believe it. What a game this is! To have a maiden over bowled by Chatfield followed by this, is extraordinary. Well, this Out of It Eleven are certainly winning over even their most ardent antagonists amongst this Eden Park crowd. Young Ken Rutherford will be saying “So that’s how it’s done? To himself no doubt.”
The Malone went back from listening to thinking. “That was a close thing – it’s all this thinking that’s no good – it’s unhealthy I think. There I was with thoughts about the Nazi, Irish, Holy Roman Train, about the wife and about sin and guilt all going on and I missed a whole over by Chatfield and five sixths of an over by Hadlee – I even missed my own life being saved and here I am thinking about all my thinking – “
“Well, I gotta go bro! I gotta meet my mate Golly! Said Rewi.
“Thank you again Rewi, I don’t know what to say – how do you say anything to someone who saved – did you say Golly?”
“Yeah – he’s my bro, we came to the game to see the Chief e! – you know him?”
“I think so maybe, has he got big fuzzy afro hair – Oh, I know he had a sister called Hine.”
“Yeah, that’s him e! How you know Goll?”
“I guess we’re related – but I knew him years before I married Maureen O’Shea. Maureen is a relative of Hine’s husband, Paul.”
“I came into this world with nothing but original sin and it is only God’s love and forgiveness which can absolve me, not good thoughts or words or deeds. I am a sinner, always have been and always will be – it is the darkness within which is my true self…”
Suddenly a roar went up from the crowd and someone pushed Malone violently to his left and a cricket ball came thudding out of the sky and landed where he had been sitting.
Malone, who had not seen the ball nearly land on his contemplating skull, was ready for a fight. Like a cobra’s head his fist was ready to strike the stranger who had just saved his life. The P.S.M. looked at his supposed adversary and saw a large, smiling Maori man looking down at his crumpled Irish self.
“Soon take the grin off his face!” The misguided Malone said to himself and it was only the intervention of the modern, almost broken transistor radio whose voice permeated the dim, primordial Celtic mind, which stopped what could have become the beginning of a racial conflict throughout the long white cloud – yes folks, it could have been the cloud wars all over again! But thanks to the Irish-Maori view of time, disaster was avoided –a disaster which would have been perpetrated by the Irish-Maori view of a good scrap!
As the cobra was about to strike, the sound waves of radio messages reached the Malone’s receiving apparatas with the following words of the English language,
“What a magnificent hit right into the grandstand making that the fifth six off five balls!”
“A stupendous shot indeed from the Out of It captain and…”
The Malone’s mind changed the direction and appearance of his cobra so that the snake-like venom of the clenched fist whilst in full flight, moving swiftly towards its target, became an out-stretched hand of friendship and gratitude. Had Anglo-Saxon clockwork time been used the punch would have landed because the mechanism for change is not an inherent component of the technological age.
The Malone breathed a sigh of relief as he introduced himself to Rewi, who had suspected nothing but what happened.
“..and the excitement is intense as Te Rauparaha attempts to join and indeed make a world team of those who have hit six sixes off one over in first class cricket. The existing duo of Garfield Sobers and Ravi Shastri may soon be part of a trio. Perhaps they’ll form a combo and do a world tour, who knows!”
“Of course Dennis, the remarkable thing is that this is off the bowling of Richard Hadlee, one of the…”
“Indeed John, and here he comes now, he tries to dig it in short but it doesn’t get up and Oh! He’s done it! Te Rauparaha has hit the ball right out of the ground and I’d say that that ball was trying to catch the next train up to Kingsland Station, Dennis! What a shot!”
“Hadlee can’t believe it. What a game this is! To have a maiden over bowled by Chatfield followed by this, is extraordinary. Well, this Out of It Eleven are certainly winning over even their most ardent antagonists amongst this Eden Park crowd. Young Ken Rutherford will be saying “So that’s how it’s done? To himself no doubt.”
The Malone went back from listening to thinking. “That was a close thing – it’s all this thinking that’s no good – it’s unhealthy I think. There I was with thoughts about the Nazi, Irish, Holy Roman Train, about the wife and about sin and guilt all going on and I missed a whole over by Chatfield and five sixths of an over by Hadlee – I even missed my own life being saved and here I am thinking about all my thinking – “
“Well, I gotta go bro! I gotta meet my mate Golly! Said Rewi.
“Thank you again Rewi, I don’t know what to say – how do you say anything to someone who saved – did you say Golly?”
“Yeah – he’s my bro, we came to the game to see the Chief e! – you know him?”
“I think so maybe, has he got big fuzzy afro hair – Oh, I know he had a sister called Hine.”
“Yeah, that’s him e! How you know Goll?”
“I guess we’re related – but I knew him years before I married Maureen O’Shea. Maureen is a relative of Hine’s husband, Paul.”
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