23 February, 2015


We didn't get to the cricket on Saturday. We almost made it to the Gabba (cricket ground), though.

On Saturday it rained and eased and rained again. The radar showed the rain depression heading across the city fairly quickly in the morning, but then it hung around and hung around. We went to wrestling training and the gym (David and I) as usual, prepared to go straight on to the cricket via Maccas for lunch. The training/gym is 30 min from our house, but closer to the Gabba. That was Plan A.

We got as far as Maccas for lunch, then launched into Plan B: returning home, planning to leave again when it looked likely that the rain would ease and the match would start. Thus began a long afternoon of "Should we go, or should we wait a little longer?"

We ended up leaving at about 3.30/4, in desperate hope. The groundsmen needed 2 hrs to mop up the outfield before play could begin and local restrictions on events meant they could start no later than 5.30pm.

We drove to a train station closer to the event, caught a train, then changed to a bus. (Public transport was free with our tickets and parking near the venue difficult, so this was always the plan.) As we drove, David and I grew more pessimistic, the showers continued.

When we got to the bus stop, one of our boys noticed a "colour-coordinated family" several metres away. Turns out they were Bangladeshi supporters and we ended up sitting with them on the bus, as well as another hopeful Aussie. There was encouragement in the camaraderie of mutual "cricket craziness", for it was still showering at times.

A bright spot in this whole saga was the little Bangladeshi boy, about three or four years old that we sat with on the bus. He was happy to tell me his favourite player (Shakib Al Hasan) and introduce me to "his baby" (baby in their pram, also dressed in team colours).

Confusion reigned as we arrived at the bus-stop closest to the Gabba. We were trying to get off, but a bunch of Bangladeshi supporters were trying to get on. And yes, when I checked the website after we alighted, the match had been called off!

Oh, the disappointment. The boys, who'd already been fractious because of the uncertainty of the day, didn't quite know how to deal with this new disappointment, especially our most cricket-crazy son, our nine-year-old.

I fairly quickly realised that though this was a deep disappointment for me personally (I'd been looking forward to this for months and hoping for this opportunity for years), it was an opportunity to help the boys learn how to cope with a relatively minor disappointment. 

Our consolation.
I'm not sure how we did, though we did talk about it as we waited for the train home. I named the feelings and pointed out that it is a part of life. I especially noted that compared to other disappointments, this wasn't so big (like the extreme "disappointment" of seeing a loved one dying young, we have a real-life example of this in our extended family just now).

In the meantime I came up with a consolation-prize. We took our sandwiches to South Bank, an urban recreational area near the train station, for a dreary picnic. Then we finished off with something a bit special. A chocolate "cafe" with fancy desserts. Definitely a nice consolation.

I also discovered later with a quick web search, that we could attend an interstate cricket match for free next month, although it is not as high a profile and it is not quite as exciting a format (four day match), it will at least be real, live cricket.

However, I was still feeling the disappointment the next day when we woke up to a gorgeous blue sky. Beautiful weather for a cricket match (though there were occasional showers later).

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