THE WARRIOR'S CODE

My brother, Alf Stewart and the Sydney Cricket Ground By Steven Doherty AS a sports writer for a newspaper in Derry (the best newspaper – Ed.), you take a bit of a chance writing about cricket. Outside of Martin McGuinness and half the Waterside, the sport of cricket invariably induces a negative response. Unfairly so, in my book. As I’ve written before (in my least read Warrior’s Code column) I don’t like cricket, I love it. For me it’s a brilliant, brilliant sport. At one time a five day chess match of move and counter-move, at other times a cracking carnival of thrills, spills and sixes. The Aussies arrive on these shores (you see I’ve gone all ‘UK’ on you there, just to keep my Waterside audience happy) for the latest Ashes series in a couple of weeks time and I for one cannot wait for it. Here comes the summer. I spent a bit of time in Australia back in 1997/98 with my brother Simon and we were living in Sydney at the same time as perhaps the greatest of all Australian cricket teams were playing a very good South Africa in a test match not far from where we lived. Now Simon is a normal person and doesn’t really like cricket, but he's generally up for the craic and enjoys a bit of rascality. And although we were working at the time, like all Irish men abroad, we spent every penny we earned on drink and factor 50 sun cream, and hence were penniless most of the time. Undeterred, I explained to my brother I heard that you could get into the Sydney Cricket Ground for free after 4pm during every day that the test was on. I may have made that up to get him to come along with me. The SCG So one day on the way home from work we jumped off the bus at one of the great ampitheatres of world cricket – the SCG. Even if we didn’t get in, just to be at the Sydney Cricket Ground brought the goose pimples up on my arms. In the days before smart phones, we took a few snaps with our wind-up Kodak camera bought from Dennis Grants chemist in Ballykelly. But God loves a trier and we decided to chance our arms and get in to see some of the 'action’. We dandered up to the main entrance to find that the reception desk was closed. That wasn't a great omen. A security guard, with the very same head and manner as Alf Stewart from Home and Away, caught us in his steely gaze and asked what we were up to. I explained that we were looking to get into watch the cricket, and not only that but now that as it was now after 4pm we were looking to get in for free. Alf Stewart glared at us in that Alf Stewart way of his and was having none of it, and informed us there was no such ‘free after 4pm’ concession. Crest-fallen, we turned to leave and as we walked away Simon nudged me and pointed towards a sign that read ‘The Donald Bradman Stand - Members Only’. There was no need for any words to be exchanged. A quick glance reassured us that Alf Stewart wasn’t watching and we legged it up the stairs, fairly sure that we were breaking a number of Australian laws in the process. The staircase seemed to go up for ever, but when we finally got to the top it led into a very plush seating area, and thankfully for us, other than one old codger wearing his best members’ shirt, tie and freshly pressed beige chinos, and who happened to be sleeping, we had the place to ourselves. There we were, two Irish eejits abroad, not only sat at the SCG, but sitting in the swankiest seats in the magnificent old stadium. And watching cricket in the late Australian evening sunshine, kings of all we surveyed. We were a long way from The Nedd! Just when I thought things couldn’t get any better, Simon spotted a mini fridge at either side of our chairs. Our own personal fridges – full of cold cans of Toohey’s beer. That moment was probably as close as I have ever come to feeling what heaven is like, apart from the time I mooched two goals for Doire Colmcille Reserves. Thirsty from our exertions, we went through that beer as if we were Clint Eastwood coming out of the desert in The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. And while my brother couldn’t give a toot about the cricket, I myself enjoyed an hour or two watching some of the great exponents of the game – the Waugh twins, Shane Warne, Glenn McGrath, Jacques Kallis, Allan Donald. We even witnessed that old scoundrel Hansie Kronjie score 88 runs. A tap on the shoulder But you're not really interested in the cricketing goings on, you'd prefer to see if our two heroes/bluffers (delete where appropriate) get their comeuppance or not. They do. Well aware that we were probably on borrowed time, the two wee fridges took a serious hit from the two Irish chancers, and soon enough the tap on the shoulder arrived. “Excuse me sirs, this stand is for members only.” It was Alf Stewart. Full of drink and Dutch courage by this stage, Simon insisted that we both were members, for years in fact, and how dare the Summer Bay Diner custodian question our integrity. Whether it was the ‘Glack accents’, the dirty work shorts and adidas trainers, or Simon with his long golden mane of hair and his Big Country T-shirt, it didn’t take Colombo to work out that neither of us were actually long standing members of the SCG. It was a fair dinkin cop. However, Home & Away fans will know that Alf Stewart is certainly a firm but fair kind of guy and in fairness to the security guard he was able to see the funny side of things and enquired: “Where you two flamin gallards from anyway?” “Ireland!” came the joint reply. There’s nothing makes you feel more Irish than being about as far away from Ireland as you could be, and full of illicitly attained drink. “Jeez, why didn’t you say” came the reply. I could tell, some how against all the odds, Alf Stewart was warming to us. “I thought you were a pair of blaady Poms! Tell you what, why don’t I escort you down to a different stand and you can watch the rest of the cricket in an environment more suitable to your attire?” And indeed we were ushered to another sitting area, populated with an unholy mix of the great uncleansed and drunken Aussie fans. We felt right at home. What a day and what an experience, we’ll never forget it. Simon still doesn't like cricket, and I still love it. A few years later I found myself back in Australia and again chancing my arm. This time by asking a woman far more attractive than myself to marry me. For some reason, and both Patricia and her family have still to come to terms with it, the current Mrs Doherty said yes. And of course there's no better way to celebrate your engagement than by taking your betrothed to the Gabba in Brisbane to watch an Ashes Test match. But that's another story... Read THE WARRIOR'S CODE in the DERRY NEWS every Monday.