WESTON CREEK CRICKET CLUB Magazine

THE CRAZIEST
MATCH I EVER
by FRANK LONIE
PLAYED IN
* X
The year was 1969. The place was a large air base called
Phan Rang, in South Vietnam. There was a war going on. Wars
do a number of things to Australians. For a start, their
attention is gained. Furthermore, they tend to become absorbed
in the nastier aspects of their day-to-day activities. War
has, however, never been able to remove from Australians their
pre-occupation with cricket. Quite the contrary. So it was to
prove while I served in Vietnam with No. 2 Squadron, RAAF.
I was on the tarmac one day when a young airman, whom
I knew very well and respected greatly, approached and said:
"What about a cricket match between the officers and airmen?"
I was not so much surprised, as somewhat taken aback. I didn't
know how we could find the time, I told him. There were, after
all, somewhat more important activities going on around us.
A match would take at least half a day, even with limited overs.
"I happen to know," he said, "that you do a good deal of the
programming. Couldn't you organise the programme so that all
of the strikes were completed by about midday?"
"I suppose so," I said thoughtfully.
So it was done. I left the arrangements pretty much in the
capable hands of my airman friend. "Can you find a reasonable
pitch?" I asked.
"Of course," he grinned. "The Americans have a great area
down alongside the strip, they've set it up as a Softball field.
It's ideal."
"Okay," I said, "You're in charge of arrangements. What about
gear?"
"No problems," he said, "The Australian RSL has sent us a lot
of gear. All new too. We've been using it a bit for practice,
but it's really as good as brand new."
This was reassuring. "Okay," I said, "I'll tell the commanding
officer and we'll consider the match a fixture for about a
week's time." He grinned again. "Four dozen cans? Loser
buys?" I thought for a moment. I knew that most of the
officers, even those who were players, were out of practice,
including me. But I considered that I held an ace. This was
Mike, one of our young pilots who could have played for his
State, at least, if he had decided to be a full-time cricketer,
rather than a bomber pilot. I had played with him and against
him and I knew his cricketing capabilities fairly well. He
bowled very quickly and could move the ball both ways through
the air. He could also use the seam to destructive effect,
off the pitch. He batted at about five or six and was always
good for forty or fifty. Little did the airmen, I thought to
myself, appreciate my secret weapon.