Humming with health, eleven Willowers arrived promptly for the match. So did a monsoon. A farmer from Ashley was taken to hospital suffering from happiness.

The opposition arrived late and looking like a warning poster from ALAC.

Returning from a pitch inspection the captains shook their heads like dogs returning from the sea. The game was off. The opposition expressed their disappointment by opening cans of breakfast. A moving speech from Captain Hastings was followed by lunch and stories. Then we went home.

For the middle-aged player, the cricket field is a field of fantasy. As he drives to the game he can almost convince himself that this will be the day when he takes the slip-catch or heaves the half-volley over the macrocarpa or bowls the leg-break that bounces once. On this day we drove home with the windscreen wipers playing sweep shots, and our fantasies intact. It was the perfect match.