En-gal-lund part 4

Mick being the most organized and conscientious man alive, set the alarm for 6am local time..he figured that if he set his alarms and kept his body clock closely aligned to Australian time he would suffer less jet lag, it was either genius or OCD.

After a quick shower we strolled the sights of London, making our way past Buckingham Palace, Harrods, Big Ben and many other famous landmarks capturing photo's as we went. We walked past a statue and I noticed a security type figure patrolling the area with an eagle on a leash taped to his arm, when I asked what was its purpose Mick told me that because of the pigeon plague in London the eagle scared them away thus leaving the statue pigeon shit free. It was an enjoyable morning and after a continental breakfast in Michael's plush hotel, I made my way back to Croydon for yet another game of cricket.

I caught up with Menace and he chauffeured me to the game, it was a beautiful day for cricket and the first time I'd celebrated my birthday in summer. The wicket was a cracker and our skipper won the toss and we made first use of the conditions. I was batting fourth wicket down and after an impressive spell by their opening bowler I was out in the middle at 4/40 odd, as I made my way out I heard a cheeky snigger about my performances to date. I made my way to the crease and took 11 balls to get off the mark before getting one over pitched which I gratefully hammered over mid off for four (a by product of the Nuffield sixes the week before). I then proceeded to scratch around to about 50 odd with a few decent shots in between, once I got to fifty I attempted a cheeky reverse sweep but put it in the kit bag after copping it on the forearm. From then on I hit my last fifty off just 19 balls, I have never before or since hit the ball as cleanly, the standard of the opposition wasn't brilliant but I was still ecstatic to finish on 111* of 107 rocks. It was also enjoyable to share a partnership with menace valued at 79...of which he hit nine!!

In the field I took a catch, was involved in a run out and snared three sneaky wickets, happy birthday Mr Wheatley!! After the game we headed to sanctity of the chip shop clubhouse where I was informed that I would be shouting everyone a beer to celebrate my hundred, surely it must be the other way around!? I thought they must have been joking....they weren't!! It was well worth it however and I went to bed that night very pleased with my birthday weekend, it would be one that I wouldn’t be forgetting in a while.

Showing up to work the next day is always a sobering prospect after a weekend like I'd just had and it was back to listening to poms whinge about their over priced auto mobiles failing them. I worked in the Premiere Auto Group section which handled vehicles from such prestigious brands as Aston Martin (the car that James bond chaperoned his sexy lady companions around in), Jaguar and Landrover.

Dealing with the Aston Martin customers was a breeze, when their car broke down it was just a matter of organizing a technician to visit the site. When offered the option of a hire car which was standard in their cover they would simply reply 'nah that's ok, I'll just drive the Merc or the Beamer today.' Wouldn’t it be nice to have the luxury of that kind of money!?

The Jaguar customers were not so pleasant, often a screen would pop up when the phone rang indicating it was a Jaguar customer I would sigh, take up a deep breath and answer the call and more often than not it would be some rude posh twat on the other end of the call!!

These three brands had recently been taken over by the auto group Ford, what we knew and what we were allowed the tell the customers was as interesting as it was frustrating. The standard Jag was essentially a glorified Ford Mondeo with plush leather seats and fancy interior trimmings and as such when their cars broke down our first option for a hire car was of course a Ford Mondeo. Well you can imagine that went down about as well as a cheap King’s Cross prossie.. 'a Ford Mondeo!? Do you know who I am!? I'm Sir Lloyd such and such' or 'I am the Lord of stoke on Trent I'm not driving around in the mediocrity of a Ford Mondeo' what I wanted to say and what I was allowed to say were two starkly contrasting things. 'I think you'll find sir that as a replacement car the Mondeo will provide you with what you require to keep you mobile until we get your vehicle back on the road' is what I had to say.... what I would have preferred to say was 'listen Sir Lloyd twat Lord of the c*+#'s, your ridiculously over priced shit heap is actually a Ford Mondeo that's been pimped up by Xzibit and his homie’s, maybe if you earned a bit more dosh you could afford a real car... Like say.... an Aston Martin!?'

Anyway it provided me an income to enjoy my holiday. I was quickly running out of money after enjoying myself and spending a night in 'For Your Eyes Only' an English exotic dancing establishment which I would normally never be interested in visiting except for the fact that it was co-located with a walk about pub and one Friday night after a few Vb's and extra dry's (it was nice to have an Aussie beer sometimes) I spent 170 pounds (at the time it would have equated to over $400 Australian) on the charming and hospitable dancers therein. There was one rather plump Swedish girl who was trying her best to alleviate me of the money in my wallet and when I politely denied her request she retorted with:

Fatty: That would be right, its true what they say about Australians, your all arrogant wankers!!

Taken aback I gathered myself before replying...

Wheats: Sorry chubby.. Obviously it's not true what they say about Swedish women then"

Fatty: and what's that!?

Wheats: that you're all blonde and hot!!

Needless to say she was not pleased...

The other good thing about work was that it was providing me with some fair dinkum pommy colleagues with which to socialize....

En-gal-lund part 3

After a whirlwind entry to the country, it was time to settle into the English culture and find some employment to prolong my stay but not before squeezing in a few more games of cricket. I was looking for work in pubs and clubs or retail which I had been doing for the previous couple of years on Australian soil but found them more elusive to come by than Osama bin laden.

My next game of mid week cricket, proved slightly better than the the first, I hit one decent on drive through midwicket before trying to launch the following delivery into the next postcode... sadly I only managed as far as mid on!! The oval we played at had a foul odour (the only thing that had stunk more up until that point was my cricket) that lingered across the ground, it wasnt until tea that I was informed a sewage plant was stationed near-by... not the ideal location for physical exertion. After tea I watched the oppositions over sea's player go about his work.... he only scored 40 odd but he was prepared to bat for extended periods and I realised I'd just been throwing my wicket away, a habit I'd had for a while. It was enough to inspire me to 'dig in' and be more patient next time.

The following game, I was up against the might of Chipstead in the President's day game...I had been given a spot in the visitor's side which normally comprises of ex-chippies, former international's and opposition who had built a rapport with this incredibly friendly cricketing village. I was keen to show them that I could play a bit and was better than my previous efforts and hoping to do it against rather than for them on this occasion.

The Chippies had a few handy players up there sleeve including a young buck playing for a spot in the Essex under 19's squad by the name of Chris Sterling or 'Sterlo' as he was affectionately known. He was a great kid who listened intently and we often talked cricket and I tried to impart some of my experience to date on to him (one theory I was throwing around at the time was 'owning the zone' but Ill go into that more later.) Anyway the 'chippers' won the toss and threw us into bat and I opened the innings, one of the more pleasant idiosyncrasies English grounds provide are tree's (normally only one large oak tree) which are allowed to grow in the outfield. Every club has thier own rules relating to thiers, some are dead ball, others are six on the full etc... so it's best to ask around before you get on to the pitch. So it was very pleasing to bring up my first runs on chipstead soil by cutting one into the outfield and watching it roll up the trunk of the great oak flourishing at backward point, picking up four bikkies along the way.

Unfortunately young 'Sterlo' got me soon after with a late outswinger which was his trademark nicking into the slips cordon, whilst being slightly annoyed I was happy to go to the young fella. One thing I was not doing was owning the zone.

Late in the Australian summer I had developed a strategy in conjunction with legendary westies left arm ortho Mark Hatton of protecting my stumps, as it is roughly 70% of batting. I drew an imaginery line about 6 inches outside the off stump and anything outside of that line I left alone, but anything within that line including on my pads marked 'my zone' and being in complete control of that area. It seemed to work in the last game of the season where I managed 79* against a very strong ANU first grade line up after I had struggled badly throughout the season against much weaker teams with a highest previous score of 36.

Lunch time was an incredible feast with many tales of Presidents day gone by.... one of the better ones was of a fast bowling chap who was invited to take part for the opposition for the day. One of the more experienced Chipstonians challenged the most dangerous of the 'oppo' to a drinking competition during the lunch interval. I could understand the young fella's thinking 'how much damage can you do over a 40 minute period!?'  Over the course of lunch they managed to get through 2 pints of lager and a couple of quick ports, those who have experienced the hard hitting fortified wine know it can pack a punch rivaling a youthful Mike Tyson. The big fast bowler made it out to the field, got through a couple over before feeling a bit dry and requested a jug of water at his quarters down at fine leg. The 'chippies' pounced quickly filling a huge jug (comparatively it must be able to handle three pints) with not only water but also six shots of vodka. Down at fine leg the thirsty trundler knocked back half the jug without blinking an eye, three balls later he polished off the rest, after his next over he was lay sprawled across the boundary line KO'd and unable to take part in the rest of the game.... Well played Chippies, well played!!

Back in my game, we had an Ex Kiwi international floating around in our side but at the age of 46 was well past his best. Still I was keen to impress and as I have a tendency to do, over thought things in the field and put in another embarrassing display... still it was hard not to enjoy a day like this one, the social side of cricket in England is incredible and something I wish could be replicated down under.

Off the field things were looking up, Menace had lined up an interview at his work for Mondial Assistance a company similar to the NRMA in Australia. How bad could it be listening to whining poms whinge incessantly about their poshed up cars breaking down!?

On the Monday we had a tournament called the Nutfield 6's, a great competition built around two of my favourite things slogging sixes and emptying pints.... sounded like my perfect day and the following week was the 25th anniversary of my date of birth!!

I was pumped for the 'Sixer's' comp and it would be the last day, before I started work (could be dangerous.... and was...) we made our way cracking a beer before we had a chance to crack the first ball of the day. Fielding after a couple of cans was difficult maintaining balance and co-ordination but batting was great. There obviously wasnt much time to build an innings so it was the norm to go after it straight away, whether it was the relaxation of the tinnies onboard or the fact there was very little pressure I managed to hit a few big sixes down the ground and over mid off, not my usual hitting zones but I enjoyed them immensely. Finishing runners up for the day, we proceeded to the bar and ordered a few Pimm's and lemonades, a charming concoction that went down refreshingly well... after one too many it was hometime and off to bed.

Now I dont reccomend starting your first day in a flash new job hungover but I reasoned 'how much can you learn on the first day!?' normally its a bit of orientation and ensuring you know where the lunch room and gent's are. I battled through the first day and week without too much trepidation. I was too busy looking forward to my first trip to London to catch up with my mate Dennis and brother in law for my birthday.



At the curry house for my Bday with Sterlo and a junior.



On the Thursday we headed for a curry with menace"s junior cricket side accompanied by their folks at a local establishment, this was the first time I'd fallen captive to the Indian cuisine. Photos were taken, birthday cake eaten and taste buds burnt to an inch of there existence.

The following day it was off to London town where I caught up with 'The Den', he was one of those friends I mightn't see for years at a time but when we did, we we're straight back where we left off. I remembered he also had a way with the ladies, as we made our way outside kings cross station he noticed an attractive girl in front he deliberately tripped her up, she turned up around sharply and he unleashed a disarming smile, apologized and promptly asked her what she was upto that night... (gee this bloke worked quickly).

Later I caught up with Michael Aspinall who was stopping over after captaining a flight with Qantas and we shared tea at a local pub had a brisk walk around the city before an early night as the next day was shaping to be a busy one...

En-gah-lund (Part 2)

Having spent the previous two days on the piss in the confines of the hotel bar educating my new American friend on Australian slang, I thought it was time I ventured out of my comfort zone to seek a visa to ensure my safe and swift exit from China... after two days and one too many horror stories I was anxious to get out and get out quick. The thing about China is that if you’re on top of your game you embrace the natural buzz of the place and ride with it but when you're not it can suck you in and trample all over you.... at this stage I was feeling the latter.

Apprehensively I made my way to the Visa office with the yank in tow, he had a better command of the language and general local knowledge than I, so he came in handy. For a 'septic tank' he had a very good sense of surroundings, he realised that the world didn’t evolve around him and United States, which is a lot more than I can say for a lot of them... while waiting to be allocated a room by the hotel receptionist, an American woman in front of me was chastising the friendly staff about their lack of communication skills before turning around to me and whining 'I can’t believe these people don’t speak English?'..I thought to myself... 'Are you kidding me? You are in THEIR country you should be making the effort to speak THEIR language'..The epitome of hubris.

Useful as pockets on a pair of underpants!?

On the journey to the Visa office we felt very much the outsiders, I have a feeling our hotel was not placed in the tourism hub of Shanghai.. and as we made our way down the street I felt many eyes watching these pasty skinned, round eyed westerners walking the pavement... more of curiosity than aggression, I saw them murmuring to each other what I can only assume was something along the lines of ‘Hau du dey get dere eye’s opwen so wide!?’. I also happened to notice parents dangling their children ala Michael Jackson style out of windows and over bridges, when I quizzed the 'tank' about their actions; he explained that because many struggle financially under the communist regime they could ill afford nappies. Instead they had pseudo nappies with the crotch and arse cut out of them (pointless really), so whenever nature called it was a matter of whipping 'We-ing Cok' out the window and letting it run down the side of the Toyota.

After brief negotiations with the Visa's office they told me all I needed to do was pay a fine to the Custom's officials and they would let me through the gate (Money talks in any language). I went back to the comfort of the hotel and sadly farewelled the 'tank', we promised to keep in touch but as it was the day’s pre-facebook it was a promised left un-kept. I kept myself occupied the evening before my flight by reading the Holy Gospel, the word according to Stephen Waugh in 'Out of my comfort zone'. An incredible read, as if his unflinching, ruthless style of cricket was not enough, his ability to analyse and compartmentalise not only cricket but life made him an even bigger hero in my eyes.

Eventually my head hit the pillow but not before setting every alarm clock available, leaving the curtains open inviting the morning sun to wake me and having the television on turned up whilst the Chinese version of Australian Idol (it should be Idle Australians) played in the background. If this show was not agonising enough, you should hear this shit in Chinese... Finally I was off in the land of Z's and before I knew it, safely onboard my vessel to the Motherland...

The flight was largely uneventful, it felt surreal to look at the navigation tracking system that maps the planes journey and think that I was flying over places like India, the Middle East and Europe. Finally we hit the tarmac and I said my goodbye's to a lovely American/Chinese tee tolling lass who was studying French in England (work that one out) who accompanied me during the flight. During which she preached to me the evil's of alcohol 'All my friends go out and get wasted and embarrass themselves and yadda yadda yadda... why would you do that to yourself!?' at which point I was too tired to argue the many pluses of the amber fluid 'the lack of inhibition, increase of personality and the improved if somewhat unwarranted self confidence levels' and agreed with a polite but empty 'Yeah.... why would you do that!?'.

We exited the plane and I entered a tin shed to collect my luggage.... not exactly what I had in mind for Heathrow one of the world’s busiest airports. 'Puleease loin up here sir' were the first words I heard spoken in a broad Londoners accent straight out of East Enders as a staffer ushered me into the cue.

Getting through customs, I was picked up by Western Districts and Chipstead legend Mark Ennis, who was sporting a rather ordinary looking 'tach, long before Movember’s popularity. It of course was part of his costume for the long awaited 'Extravaganza' (a night of boozing, dancing and frivolity) which I had made in just a nick of time. All I remember is Matty Boothroyd buying my first English beer (which was made in Japan) and seeing some massive unit (I later found out he was the 'Big Big Jimmy') dressed as Richie Benuad..... THAT IS IT!! Those poms know how to throw a party.

The following day I was woken up by Mennis' mum offering me a cup of tea...'yes please, white and two' was my response. Somebody ludicrously scheduled a cricket game the day following the extravaganza that I was selected to play in. So it was a collection of dusty heads and parched mouths that met outside of the Pavilion. I don’t remember too much about the days play apart from when I walked out to bat a Bangladeshi spin bowler wished me luck on the way to the crease... I was taken aback 'is this bloke having a f*%#en crack or what' by the time I thought of something smart to say back I realised he was genuine... clearly I was not accustomed to these sorts of well wishes in Australia. Approximately four minutes and one run later I made my back past the 'deshi who consoled me with a 'better luck next time... it was almost as bad as being sledged!!

In the field my only memory of worth was a ball being skied my way at mid off, instantly I set off charging into catch the miscued off drive before realising the ball was sailing over my head, quickly I tried my best to rush back but my spikes failed me and I ended up splayed out on the turf only to see the ball land precisely where I was standing whence it was delivered. In the distance I heard some Pom quip 'This is why we now have the ashes'. Filled with embarrassment, the only thing I was looking forward to was the tea interval.

At tea I was surprised somewhat that they actually drank tea, I assumed like in Australia it’s just a 20 minute stop to freshen up and smash some icy cold fluids to rehydrate after spending a few hours in the hot Australian sun but of course the mercury over here has more trouble getting up than a seventy year old war vet.

After whinging and taking the piss out of their tradition I succumbed to their peer pressure and made myself a cup of tea 'but only with milk and sugar, I’m not drinking that black shit' after pouring the tea and applying my sugar I then proceeded to spill what was left of the milk all over the tea room the table leaving me with a boiling hot overly sweetened tea....Brilliant!!

Welcome to England..

1st test V's the Kiwi's

The opening test of the series got the first day of summer underway with the Aussies taking on the sheep shaggers. A new look Australian line up spent the first day in the field with three debutants donning the baggy green for the first time. Openers McCullum and Guptill replaced the velcro gloves for batting gloves and made their way to the crease confronted with the new ball partnership of Pattinson and Siddle. Pattinson impressed with brisk pace and movement in the air and off the deck, while Siddle played role of workhorse with plenty of hustle and bustle, he is a modern day Mervyn Hughes.... without the penchant for Big Macs and salted fries!! He managed to nip out Guptill to Haddin for just 13 runs.

A left handed, darked haired quick named Mitchell came on at first change and praise the lord his last name wasn’t Johnson, that bloke has dished up more loose balls than a swingers party. This Mitchell was a 'Starc' contrast to his namesake bowling with consistent swing and control; his fastest ball clocked 146 on the gun and was delivered from a height. He picked up two fortuitous wickets much in the vane of Johnson caught at point but that shouldn’t diminish his performance, he bowled with swing, pace, lift and most importantly control. He could be a star of the future....

The last prong to the attack was added to the bowling attack just before lunch... The 'Gabba' known as a fast bowlers dream on the first morning of a test was no distraction for Nathan Lyon who came on and impressed with drift, drop, bounce and spin. Like Swann of England he has a knack of dropping the ball out of the sky and exploiting lazy footwork, if he can continue his rapid improvement hopefully we will have a full time fixture in the spin department.

The Kiwi's were reeling before lunch at 5 for around the tonne.... former black cap international Chris Cairns must have gone to lunch eating humble pie after spraying the Aussies and embattled number four batsmen Ricky Ponting earlier in the week at the XXXX beer promotion in Queensland, one can only assume a few too many amber ales had impaired his judgement.

After lunch the Kiwi's staged a gutsy comeback with former skipper Daniel Vettori leading the way, apart from his impressive left arm spin he offers great value down the order with the willow in hand. It took him a while to get his batting career started but with 22 half centuries and six tonnes under his belt he has turned into a genuine all rounder. An all rounders value can be judged on whether their batting average is higher than their bowling average, with figures of 30.27 with the stick and 33.61 with the leather shows his class.

Unfortunately the day was brought to a halt by inclement weather and bad light, hopefully today’s proceedings with brighten up the day!!

En-ga-lund (Part 1)

During the English heatwave of '06' when the British Isle was battered by temperatures occasionally soaring into the early 30's, I traveled the Indian Ocean to engage in some social cricket in the Surrey Sunday League. Disgracing myself as I left Sydney International Airport (and my girlfriend at the time) in a flood of tears. Sadness quickly turned to joy when I realised that my in-flight entertainment would consist of Fosters beer and re-runs of Jake and the Fatman.

My excitment was short lasting however when Jake and the Fatman was screened on what I can only assume was an antique VCR player and my beer was the taste and temperature of a cats excretory fluid. (mental note: Do not fly China Eastern Airways again, no matter how reasonable the fare.)

Coming to terms with my situation, I resisted the temptation to give the flight stewards a peice of my mind (not that they would understand my now inhibited speach) & instead opted for a couple hours of pushing out Z's.

A rush of adrenaline gripped me as our plane rushed the tarmack as I was soon to experience the cultural melting pot that is China. Casually I strolled the hallways of the Shanghai Airport after devising a fool proof plan hatched brilliantly late one night after being charmed by 'John' the travel agent at flight centre Belconnen, who convinced me of the financial and cultural benifits of travelling through the worlds most populous continent onboard China Eastern Airways. The plan essentially was to nestle into a quiet corner ala Tom Hanks in 'the terminal' and wait for my connecting flight the following day.

My plan was quickly 'rissoled' when I was informed by security staff that Shanghai International airport closes for maintenaince at 1:00am and I would have to make my way to one of the region's glittering hotel/motels. (mental note: Remember to inform 'John' that this is the case in Shanghai and definately not fly China Eastern Airways again)

After assistance from a freindly guide by way of recommendation for safe and affordable accomodation, I ventured to the cab rank to be escorted to my hotel. It was hard to judge whether my sense of anxiety stepping into the cab which came in the form of a Mitsubishi Starwagon stemmed from the lack of seat belts, the three triad looking figures wheeling & dealing on the back seat or the fact my escort saw road rules as mere guidelines, demonstrated by accelerating rather than braking through red lights. I comforted myself with the knowledge I would soon be greeted by a warm shower and a comfortable bed.

So it was with relief that I exited the Starwagon and entered the hotel foyer. Unpacking my bags I thought I should experience some of what China had to offer and made a beeline to the resturaunt and bar. 

Not wanting to destabilise the digestive system too much I scanned the menu for a conservative nutritional option, Pork with vegetables seemed a reasonable selection and I assumed would be fairly standardised across cultures. It appeared that 'Pork' came from what must be a relative of the pig in China, the dog. After washing poor old 'Rover' down with a couple of the regions famous brews I engaged myself in conversation with a few of my fellow westerners.

I sympathised with the weary travellers after hearing they had not enjoyed the finest this country had to offer, one a middle aged English business man being scammed by some dodgy Chinese criminal croonies and the other a sweet twenty something American teacher whose billeters failed to gather her from the specified location.

Travelling to a foreign country it is easy to assimilate with just the westerners so I decided to engage in conversation with a local called 'Kim'. Kim was a 40 year old half Japanese/Chinese traveller who had stopped in at the bar for a nightcap, as Bill's 'Engrish' was scratchy and my Chinese was non existent we participated in a game not dissimilar to Pictionary where I would ask Kim questions and he would answer by drawing pictures on our bill. For example: The question how many kids do you have? Would be answered by three stick figures and one with a skirt, which I assumed meant two sons and daughter and not the cross dressing black sheep of the family!!

Kim also introduced me to the Japanese tradition of finishing the night with a plate full of steaming green vegetables which was a pleasant change from the greasy 3am burgers from checkers that had become the norm after a night on the D-floor at the 'fighthouse'. 

Sadly I bid farewell to my new BFF and headed for the comfort of room 161. keeping 'bill' in hand as a memento and noted in my journal the story of 'Kim, Bill and I'. 

The following day I awoke somewhat shadey after possibly one too many cold one's with Kim but felt the all the richer for experiencing his company. I gathered my gear and took my chances re-boarding the Starwagon back to the airport with PUH-LEN-TY of time in hand before take off.

Loading my luggage onto the conveyer belt, I queired the attendant on what time I should make my way to the plane, in broken English she replied, ' you go 1:50, 1:50, ok?', 'Sure, thanks lady', once was enough I thought before she pulled out a flyer and biro, penning on the back '1:50pm'. 'OK, I GET IT...Sheesh' before returning to my seat primed outside the gates ensuring I didnt miss a beat with an hour and 20 mins up my sleeve, only vacating my post for an urgent call of nature, thinking to myself 'Well done buddy, youve given yourself plenty of time... probably given yourself too much time if anything' 

I peered through my spectacles as the big hand slowly made its way in traditional clockwise fashion towards 1:50pm target, 'best be a bit early' as I collected my carry on's and shuffled through customs. After the obligatory inspection of passport and accompaning identification I strolled the hallways to my flight happy with the way I'd negotiated my China experience, giving myself the figurative pat on the back, before glancing lackadaisically at the departure board ahead.

{Flight CE732 Shainghai-Heathrow Gates: Closed} 

Closed, that cant be right, surely that's an error.. so confident was I that there was no need to break stride as I made my way to the counter to speak to Chung Li the attendant.

Wheats: Hi Chung, terribly sorry to interupt you, there seems to be some sort of mistake.. it says on the board my gate has closed but as you can see its only 2pm, so just point me in the right direction and Ill be out of your hair!!

Chung: YOU LATE, YOU LATE... THAT PLANE BEHIND YOU, THAT YOUR PLANE .

Wheats: Huh?? (my heart raised a murmur, as I looked at the monstrous China Eastern Plane, reflecting from the mirror behind Chung) 

Chung: YOU LATE, YOU WAIT HERE I GO TELL SOMEONE.

Judging by Chung's leisurley pace, I assumed it was only a matter of a quick word via walkie talkie to the captain notifying him of my whereabouts before being ushered down the platform with a few apologies a long the way for my tardiness and into my seat.



COME BACK!!!!

 As Chung's gait approached snails pace, I noticed in the reflection flight CE732 doubling back before TEARING down the tarmac and LAUNCHING itself into the stratosphere. 'FUCK....that's not coming back.' I dropped my head into my hands, wishing Mum was here for a cuddle and an encouraging word.

After what seemed like a FUCKING eternity Chung moseyed her way back to the counter informing me

Chung:  'YOU MISS FLIGHT!!

Wheats: "NO SHIT, CHUNG!!' 

Informing me that Id have to wait for the next flight, 'Fine' I thought anticipating another departure just around the corner.

Wheats: 'Cool' I said, 'whens that?' 

'Two days', was not the reply I was expecting nor wanting.

The words 'FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!!!!' crossed my mind..

Resisting the temptation to dig a hole to bury myself in, I quickly snapped out of my self pity and into emergency mode, a state of mind sharpened to an sense of urgency rarely encounter by one M Wheatley. I reached into my bag and fished out the bill from Kim and my previous night on the cans, showing the cab driver 'please take me here', to which he seemed perplexed, I tried the fail proof trick when encountered with someone who does not share the same language of talking slower and louder 'PUH-LEASE' pointing with more vigor 'TAKE ME HEEREE!!' 

I felt a slight sense of relief as I made my way back into the hotel foyer, the familiarity of the hotel eased my frazzled state of mind. I placed my bags back on the counter and sheepishly murmured 'can I please book a room for another two nights'. 'Oh your back' quipped the concierge in improved English as if half expecting my return. 

I wheeled my baggage to the elevator in which an American joined me.. 

Yank: 'How you doing?' 

Wheats:"Not so good" I replied "Ive just missed my flight'.

Yank: 'Really...so did I', 

Wheats:'Really?'. 

Yank:'Yep' he replied in a slightly more optomistic tone that expected, before a slight pause and a knowing nod to see if we were sharing the same page.... 'meet you at the bar in 10 minutes?'. 

Wheats: 'Better make it five'.

In five minutes flat there were two of the finest looking Tsing Tao's sitting prouder than a honey mooner's stiff one on the counter..

'Don't worry about it dude, this happens all the time.. its part of the Chinese experience' - comforted the yank.

The following hours my education on 'The Chinese experience' was expanded as the yank told me stories of corruption and fornication and that was just in the McDonalds restrooms. He also provided me with the three most important words in the Chinese language.. the only words I needed to get me through the following days.

Mi Hau = Hello

Pejo = Beer

Shai Shai = Thank you.

Thanks Morgs!!

(2nd grade One Day Grand Final '04-05', Western Districts V's North Canberra, Majura Oval)


This all I remember.. 1 run needed, 1 wicket in hand and 1 ball to be delivered. Jack Scaz at the top of his mark wiping the sweat from his brow while I'm Scratching a hole in the ground with my spikes at mid off quietly hoping the comes nowhere near me so I'm not the one to blame if we lose.. Scaz turns at the top of his mark and approaches the crease with the same gusto as he had all day.


 Brad Morgan at the wicket batting at number 11 but with the strut of a first dropper, scaz hits the bowling crease and sends down a fullish offering, Morgan backing his freakish batting talents unleashes his hands at the ball.. At mid off a pensive M Wheatley is relieved to see the ball flying comfortably over his head.. Then it hit me.. Fuck I can probably get to that, all I can hear in the distance is skipper cosgrove screaming 'WHEATERS, WHEATERS!!' and then there was silence....

I settled myself under the ball for what seemed like an eternity, the clouds were dark and grey and all i could see was a silouette of the pill, My intention was to get my hands as high above my head as possible so if I fumble it I'll have a second grab at it.. All the while a million excuses are running through my head that I'm rehearsing to tell my team mates for when I shell the chance!!

As The ball makes it's way down I put up my hands and feel the impact and squint my eyes as it hits.. I open my eyes and out of pure relief the ball is thankfully still in my grasp!!

I have never been so happy to see ten other blokes running to give me a hug.

At the end of the day as I'm quietly changing nappies in the change rooms robbo says 'ay Wheats, I'm glad you took that fucken catch ovawise you weren't fucken comin' home wiv us!!'


All I could think was 'Thanks Morgs"

Super coach

John (Super Coach) Cheadle
John Cheadle loves cricket training, infact he lives for it.. whether you see John at Aranda or Manuka, theres a certain aura about him you can tell he's really alive.. If only he had the same enthusiasm for toilet training..
Early last year when Cheads was on the prowl women scattered everywhere when he hit the nightclub scene, backing himself as somewhat of a silver tongue John began working his magic with the ladies at the bar abley accompanied by few lip loosening amber ales, imagine the big guys excitement when his 'chat' was appreciated by a lonely interstate traveller who was looking for someone cuddly to keep her warm the night.
 He whisked his catch away from the bar and took her back to the 3 and half star hotel room she was staying in.. so exausted was the super coach after strutting his stuff he hit the sack unable to 'peform' after possibly one too many lip looseners before his lady friend had the opportunity to get down to his members end and face a couple balls!!
Cheads drifted off to sleep dreaming of fielding drills and net sessions.
Taking his friends request to keep her warm a little too seriously John soaked the mattress in the bodies second warmest fluid..
Being the gentleman he is, John collected his belongings ordered a cab before his mistress awoke.. leaving a pineapple on the bedside table to cover the dry cleaning.
John Cheadle... 'Cant root, Can wet the bed!!'

Captain (Dutch) Courageous

Captain dutch Courageous!!
Oaks has often been heard around the club boasting of his ability to handle his squirt, claiming his ability to stick on the amber all night while the rest of us pussies hit the variety of postmix beverages allows him to stay the distance longer than the rest of us therefore making him a man of higher pedigree.
Handling his drink wasnt the only thing Oaks claimed this year.. he also claimed to be the fastest man over 100 yard dash, so eager was he to win this title he practised at every opportunity , one such session took place after a big night out with Bush and fellow sprinter Adam Hewitt....The back seat of the cab was the startline and  bushy the start gun and when he said "GO" they all opened a cab door and bolted in differing directions, Oaks was quickly at full tilt.. Dreaming of a first place Benny could see the finish tape ahead and with one arm outstretched Usain Bolt style smashed across the line.. sadly for Ben there was no tape, only a barbed wire fence which threatened to split our opening bowler through the core.
Anyhow, I digress..
So it was somewhat of a suprise when In early March of this season when we tearfully farewelled our Irish leprechaun Stuey Poynter how his night unfolded.. after the men of the club downed numerous beers while the boys drank their vodka raspberries from the get go we headed to Mooseheads for one last rendevous for our red headed little friend.
Mooseheads being a famous setting for many a brown jacket nomination much was expected from this event...  even Ajay Mehta joined us for his first night out on the town in decades.. the last time Ajay was in Civic ICBM was the Private bin, beers cost 50 cents and tongue & groove was something you did in a back alley after mindnight..
Handling his beer with great integrity for the night things were soon going to slide down a slippery path.. as the clock struck 3 oaks' mood was swinging more than his outswinger .. when out of weary eyes he spotted two Northies players.. for those in the know Oaks has more form shaping up to these lads than Lester Ellis after a bottle of scotch..
He was once seen giving Bruce Mikellson bowling advice suggesting his skills may be better suited in the Major Leagues!!
After much bravado and chest thumping between the two, club heavy weight ' Matt Wheatley' stepped inbetween to break up the scuffle. Oaks was then directed by the bouncer out the front doors and towards the taxi rank.
Arriving back at his humble abode in Casey Ben topped off the night showing us all just how to handle your grog by projectiling quicker than his short ball all over his bed linen and floor!!
Nominee no. 4 .. Is Captain Courageous!!

Pinching a loaf

David Spare
Pinching a loaf, laying cable and drowning the Jackson Five... these  phrases all resonate strongly for our next nominee.. for when nature calls David Spare is all ears!!
Anyone fortunate enough to have met David knows by now that Sparey and Poo go hand in hand, sometimes unfortunately for him... quite literally. David has been with us only a few short seasons but has already had numerous fecal related incidents during his tenure.
but it is not cricket exclusive.. clearly David has a track record for when the Spares were having drainage issues with the household royal doulton sanctions were imposed on him by Father Spare who insisted that his first born was to immediately cease use of the facility until further notice.. Mumma Spare provided David with a bucket to make do with, along with a hand full of sorbent.
When feeling a turtles head making its exit Davids routine would kick in to gear... urgently collecting his supplies and making way for the tranquility of the family backyard, upon completion of the task our favourite incontinence sufferer would find the nearest storm water drainage and flush Cosby kids down the stream.
It doesnt end there..  when David started the first day of what he hoped would be a long and prosperous career with the regions local rag, the Canberra Times.. he had another call of nature, and this time she called at full roar!!
David excused himself from his work station and feverishly made a beeline for the nearest 'Throne'..   After snapping off one of his finest efforts to date David tidied himself.. satisfied with his efforts David took one final look at his handy work before hitting the flush button.. satisfaction soon turned to dismay when Sparey realised this was one turd that wasnt going down without a fight!!
Many options went through Davids head in the following minutes but having been witnessed by many of his new colleagues using the toilets he knew he couldnt walk out leaving this 'floater'
Given to a lack of tools at his disposal, Sparey covered his big right mit in as much toilet paper as possible and guided the stubborn log round the S bend.
Needless to say David ate left handed for the duration of his employment.
Last and not least..
David spent an evening  on good chums Jordan Smith front lawn after a night of heavy drinking.. not wanting to wake up the Smiths with his voilent chunder, he decided the best place to make his delivery was next to Smiths letter box.. When questioned about his suprise package next to the mailbox Mr Smith simply replied 'Im just glad it wasnt a poo!!'
Nominee number two ... Is David Spare!!

Puddles

In February of 2010 the club had its annual battle of the wits at the Southern Cross Wests facility.... The night was hosted successfully by Alan 'Sale of the century' Copeland and Mathew 'Who wants to be a millioaire' McGann.. with newly appointed Doctor in Sportsology David Mann's table, taking the spoils.

It was decided that in the true tradition of the the club, what better way to celebrate a night accumulating brain matter, then by destroying it all with a night on the piss!! 

Upon conclusion of the formalities, a collection of the Wests faithful gathered in the foyer in preparation for their weekly meeting at Moose Heads nightclub and bar. 

After the majority of players managed to negotiate their way past the Moose Heads security team, captained this year by Lote Turquiri.... we were well on our way to acheiving our goal.

After the intial stages of the evening went off without incident, the night was going to take a swift change of direction for one young man..

Enter Jayson Bush .. 

After pestering his mate working the bar relentlessly in the pursuit of cheap bevvies for 45 minutes 'Puddles', decided it was time to take a much needed pit stop.... after an unforseen navigational issue however, Jayson unexpectedly reappeared on the ground floor taking his much needed comfort break in the sanctity and serenity of the Mooseheads main bar.

After being turfed out the front door by big Lote in what many believe was a deliberate high tackle.. Puddles, mistaking his send off for only 10 minutes in the Bin thought with fresh change of guernsey he could make his way back onto the field of play unnoticed.

After being repelled once again by big Lote.. Puddles was last seen making his way down Northbourne Avenue arm in arm with close mate and confidant Todd Carney..

Brown Jacket Candidate #1
Jayson Bush.

Reverse Puma

Nominee: Dwane Hall
Age: 31 (Old enough to know better)
Nominated by: Peter McKell
Seconded by: Matthew Wheatley


On a warm sunny day in early November, Darty decided to grace us with his presence on the cricket field for his first outing of the season. All was travelling well with a brisk jog around the perimeter of the boundary followed by a light stretch and a succession of gentle catches to warm the hands up for the action that lay ahead...

The coin fell correctly for fill in skipper and well known tosser Matt McGann (See. Brown Jacket winner season '98/99') and we decided to put ANU in for a stick, Dwanes first day in the field was spent aclimatising to the rough patches in the point region and rolling the arm over with deceptive pace off a short run..

After the break Dwane was scheduled to bat in the stroke makers role at number 5. On resumption of putting on the pads on for the first time in over half a year Dwane known for his witty humour but also a general vagueness, realised the the required protection for his genitals was no longer in its allocated spot. As panic and then reality set in Darts decided that improvisation was his only saviour... Upon inspection of the remainer of his cricket gear he spotted in the deep dark depths of his cricket coffin a stray, sweaty but most importantly lonesome glove..

He applied the glove to the appropriate area in what now known as the 'reverse puma' postion, which requires the badge of the glove pointing forwards with the leather palm cupped towards the body and the pre-curved fingers pointing down and then shaping upwards for a comfortable nestling resting point.

At the fall of the 3rd wicket, dwane applied the velcro to his helmet and all 3 gloves and made his way out to the middle in reasonable comfort... his comfort was short lasting however when in pursuit of a sharp single to get himself off the mark caught him by suprise when errant middle finger protection made its way into what is supposed to be a one way crevace..

After a quick relocation of the glove and refastening of the velcro Darty continued with his innings mostly unaffected.

He also believes with a little redesign the new protection could prove a real advantage, especially for those who enjoys the comfort of leather on flesh!!

Brown Jacket Candidate #2

No Jamie Oliver (Brown Jacket nomination 1 of 2)

There has been a lot of conjecture in the media and various sources this week about my ability or lack there of in a kitchen setting.. I would just like to clear up a few things....

Yes I did set fire to my parents house
Yes I did shit myself
and Yes I do deserve a brown jacket nomination.

But I would like to re tell the story as I saw it.

On July 28 of this year I celebrated my 27th Birthday, after work I attended my duties at the AIS Stregnth and Conditioning facility bowling express pace to Ryan Carters to assist David Mann with his research on the effects of blur on batting performance.

Upon completion of my efforts I bid farewell to my fellow seamers Peter (One spell) McKell and Dylan (Mack Truck) Mackie. I was to be greeted at home by a chicken roast prepared lovingly by my brother in celebration of my acheivement of longevity to date.

Arriving at the Wheatley residence I quickly became aware there was to be no chicken roast, after surveying the premise I was able to tell that my brother had infact passed out and I was left to my own devices. I decided due to convenience that hot chips would be the order of the day, a decision which I would later come to regret.

For optimal results it was suggested to cook the potatoe fries in oil for 2-3 minutes at 168 degrees celcius... heating the oil I vacated the kitchen for a brief moment when I returned I noticed the oil was sizzling and decided I should remove the pan from the heat which created a blaze.... being the only human being on the face of the planet not to know that water is not the cure for an oil fire I made my way to the sink.

After the intial burst of water from the tap created a fireball effect on the pan a summation was made that perhaps not enough water was used in my first attempt after my second and lengthier spray from the tap it was clear I had a problem on my hand. The issue was raised with the local fire department with the phone conversation playing out as such:


*Bring ring*
*Bring ring*
*Bring ring* At which point I thought 'if this was a murder attempt I'd be dead by now'.
*Bring ring* Finally an answer..


Triple 0 attendant: Hello emergency services, do you require Police, ambulance or fire brigade?
Wheats: Hi, Ive just set the kitchen on fire please send help!!
Triple 0 attendant: Sorry SIR but DO YOU require PO-LICE, AM-BU-LANCE or the FIRE BRI-GADE!?
Wheats: WELL MAM, Ive just set my parents KIT-CHEN on FI-RE so I thought it would be pretty F-cking obvious but if you dont hurrry up Im going to need an AM-BU-LANCE as well!!

At this point I ventured outside to wake my brother out of his self imposed coma, after shaking him violently for 20 seconds I quietly raised the set of circumstances which had taken place upstairs saying 'THE FUCKING KITCHEN IS ON FIRE, WHAT SHOULD I DO!?' His reply was equally as calm 'Have you called the Firebrigade?' before rolling over and returning to his deep slumber.

After a brief inspection the Fireys vacated the premise deeming it safe and in working order.

I decided that these things should best be dealt with as soon as possible, so I rang my father, generally known at the more reasonable and relaxed gaurdian. However, much to my shagrin my Mother answered the telephone, the conversation went a little like this:

Mrs Wheats: Hello
Wheats: Ah hi, is Dad there?
Mrs Wheats: No he's at the shops what do you want?
Wheats:Um can you get him to give me a call when he gets back?

Sensing the anxiety in my tone she probed further

Mrs Wheats: Why, whats up?
Wheats:Nothing, nothing, just get him to give me a call back when he gets home.
Mrs Wheats: Ok, Bye.

My father soon returned my call and I explained what had happened, he seem slightly detered but handle the situation well under duress. Ten minutes later I recieved another call, this one not so pleasant.

Mrs Wheats: WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU DONE TO MY KITCHEN?
Wheats: I had an accident
Mrs Wheats: GOOD ON YOU, YOU FUCKWIT I LEAVE YOU HOME FOR ONE WEEK AND YOU BURN DOWN MY KITCHEN!!
Wheats: I didnt mean to do it, thats why its called an accident
Mrs Wheats: WELL GOOD ON YOU YOU JUST RUINED MY HOLIDAY.
Wheats: Yeah thats what I meant to do, I thought you know what for my 27th birthday I shall celebrate by burning my parents house down.

As it is now... the kitchen is as good a new after a couple of coats of 'Taubmans' finest.

Regards
Matthew Wheatley
Brown Jacket Candidate #1

Imapling..(True if somewhat over embellished story of my brown jacket year)

In February of 2009, the faithful entourage of Benjamin Manfred Keens joined him in St Kilda Melbourne to farewell one of the games all time greatest wingmen!!
Having recently made the move to Melbourne from Canberra, I considered myself somewhat of a local and made the journey from the quiet coastal suburb of Altona to the hip and happening surrounds of St Kilda beach.
For the opening session, we decided to strap on the pads and knock the froth of a couple of the local brews at the Esplanade (ESPY) hotel and bar. In an enjoyable but largely uneventful evening we returned to our place of rest with moderate levels of intoxication. Arriving back at the safety of our hotel, it became apparent that our swipe card was not allowing us to gain access through the front gate. After breif negotiations with the friendly staff at the St Kilda Best and Western a replacement and functional card was forth coming.
Waking the following day, we made our way to the freshly mown greens of the St Kilda lawn bowls club for a spot of bowls. In an attempt to get back at the dog that bit us, we indulged in a hair of the dog, infact a couple hairs of the dog. After sending down a few jack highs and more then a few Carlton Draughts, maturely and somewhat uncharacteristically I headed back to the sheds for a tactical kip before an evening of entertainment hosted by the hospitable and scantily clad temptresses of the Mens Gallery!!
Falling in to a deep and blissful slumber, I rose from my nap refreshed at 9 oclock.... the following day.
Giving myself every opportunity to make it through the long day ahead I waited a good two hours and rehydrated with a few spring waters before joining my fellow travellers in a few Saturday Sippers.  Having a night of rest that would make sleeping beauty envious, I rated my chances highly of being in the lead pack at the end of a drinking marathon.
After admiring the 'chicken' that paraded itself down the main thoroughfare from the comfort of the St Kilda RSL, we once again returned to HQ. Admiring one chicken too many from the hotel balcony, Redman raised the feathers of the young 'hens' 'cock' otherwise known as her boyfriend. Bravely and selflessly I left the safety of the group to secure 'Slamin' Sam Makeham and my own hotel room, only to be confronted in the hallway by this nasty 'cock'.
Surviving the attack a night out at the casino was on the 'cards', dodging the crowds and manic gamblers I followed Prunne Diddy and junior Keens, Danny around the black jack tables.
After handing over my hard earned to the smiling assasins working the table, I made my way back to the ST Kilda RSL to save my mates from a prowling seductress. A stunning 24 year old double divorcee had attached herself to the group and was spinning her web of charms in the direction of a few of the studlier men in the team.
When she sat next to the 'buck' instinct took over and I immediately jumped between the two proclaiming 'not on my watch Luv!!' Clearly misjudging the situation, I sheepishly excused myself from the table and focused my weary mind on nipple crippling possibly the angriest man on tour and group Alpha male David Jess.
Obviously lacking appreciation for my sign of affection I copped a Mike Tyson like upper cut to the sternum area and collapsed on the table in a crumbling mess, I miraculously recovered just minutes later to shout the bar bourbon & cokes and clearly not satisfied by my stint at the casino hit up the pokie machines.
UnexplainablyI was cut off from the bar I decided to make my way home with wallet, keys and a pocket full of one dollar coins intact, none of which were mine.
After the previous difficulties in the opening session of the weekend with the gate entrance, I once again found myself having issue's entering the premise.. Not taking into account the relative sobriety of the opening stanza compared to the final session, I attempted climbing the fence with all the skill of a Bear Grylls scaling a rock face.
Attempting to enter my shelter I found that the entry door was also blocked this time, after stumbling and muttering to myself at my great misfortune I took a few steps back observing the scene in more detail this time before realising much to my shagrin I was at the wrong hotel!!
Realising the hurdle infront of me Id tackled just a matter of minutes ago I again summonsed the strength to climb this massive everest.. it was incredible just how much that fence seemed to grow in just a few minutes.
Placing one foot on the gutter and using a technique Id learnt from my great friends in the Special Forcess I threw my other leg over the fence whilst placing my hands either side of myself. In a situation like this it is key to give yourself a mental cue to assist at the moment of exertion, using the tried and tested method I began....


This is photo is not actually of me.. but you get the idea!!



' And a 1 ..and a 2.. and a 3' before attempting to launch myself over the fence. 'WEVE GOT A BLEEDER!!' I can now say unequivocally, I fully understand what it feels like to be a cheap ST Kilda hooker after copping a full 6 inches between the legs or my specifically through the leg.

 I would like to say I took the hit like a man....however, in my anguish and in a tone normally reserved for soprano's I stated my predicament at full raor to the local neighbourhood calling for assistance. Closing my eyes for a moment I opened them and much to my relief saw a familar and common theme throughout my brown jacket quinella, the fire brigade.
I offered my sincerest praise and gratitude to the firey's swift response commenting 'Wow you guys were quick, were you just around the corner?'. To which they replied 'Mate, you been passed out for the last 35 minutes.' In genuine shock I thanked the couple who flanked me either side for saving my life.
Still in severe pain I pleaded with them to get me off the fence, the gents informed me that they would be cutting me out of the fence and the offending paling would be coming with us still imbeded. I was swiftly escorted to the ambulance and asked if I would like the benifit of a pain killing agent, namely morphine and replied with resounding 'FUCK YES!!'
As the morphine infiltrated my veins I went from suffering a severe case of Mehta-itis (whinging, whineing and generally being a pain in the arse) to worlds happiest and charming man even attempting to pick up the nurses by my side despite my situation.
I spent 5 hours in Accident and Emergency vigorously declining requests by hospital staff to call a team mates to notify them of my wear abouts, repeating the line 'Have you not heard of the Brown Jacket!? I ve already burnt down my parents fucking kitchen!!'
After a snooze I finally succumb and answered a phone call from the man with worlds juiciest plumbs, Jeff Clark..
A 24 hour wait was required to give my body time to rid itself of the toxins on board before I could have surgery only for my to lungs collapse.. I woke up coughing blood and was read my death rights but told because of my exceptional fitness and healthy lifestyle I was a chance of pulling through.. I nearly died from shock there and then.
I could see the bright light rapidly approaching.. when in the distance I heard a firm yet feminine voice and with a gentle shake of the arm, my eyes snapped open to my delight I saw what every man dreams about when theyre lucky enough to make it to the 'Intensive Care Unit' .. The "Hot Nurse".  'Was this it?' I thought.. 'Had I made it to Heaven!?'
I hadnt, but It was enough to make a man teetering on the edge fight, to give a man quickly deminishing the desire to live another day. Gradually.. hour by hour, day by day I fought my way back to health.
Sitting there a wounded warrior a thought traversed its way through my mind, as I lay there comparing the physical qualites of my Mrs at the time with the 'Hot Nurse' I contemplated (possibly under the influence of heavy medication) the suggestion of an indecent proposal.. but in a moment of clarity,  thought the better of it.
My next few days were filled with the joys of day time television including the phenomenal programing of channel 10's trifecta of Spongebob Squarepants, Ellen Degeneres and Bold and the Beautiful.
By the fifth day  I felt like I had returned to my infancy when my first steps were met with unbridled joy by those responsible for my care, this excitment was only surpassed the following day when the news broke around the ward of my first stool for the best part of a week.
That was the worst of it and now all I have to show is a scar visible in shorts so small they make Warwick Capper squirm but when people do see it one day I can say " Ah, let me tell you a story about when a good mate of mine decided to get married at the end of season '08-09'."