Walking to the 'G' is to take a stroll through Australia's cricketing and political history
It is the anticipation that precedes a great sporting occasion that I love. The pristine pitch, the blank canvas, the empty stands that gradually fill, the deeds yet to be done.
On Boxing Day morning lovers of Test cricket and the grand stage will flock in their tens of thousands to the Melbourne Cricket Ground. Many will pour out of Flinders Street station, and make the walk as one long crocodile, through Federation Square, along the bank of the Yarra, through the parkland known as Birrarung Marr, the river of mists, before diverting over the William Barak footbridge, built in 2005 for the 2006 Commonwealth Games to commemorate an influential 19th?century spokesman for Aboriginal social justice.
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As they walk, as if listening to ghosts in the wind, they will hear a welcome song, in Woiwurrung, the indigenous language of Barak's Wurundjeri people, sung by his descendants. Then on to the magnificent hulking heaving "G", with the highest glowering light towers in the sporting world, to be greeted on the concourse outside by the bronze statue of Dennis Lillee in full flow, an image of leaping controlled fury that should be pinned on every bowling coach's board. On a sunlit morning the whole process is uplifting. In 2006, only a few hundred shy of 90,000 made the trip, despite unseasonal chill, most of them come to see the triumphant, rampant Australia team and to say Melbourne's farewell to two of the gods of the game, one a local boy to boot. The Ashes had gone at the Waca and, if a whitewash beckoned, this was by way of a celebration.? Sign up now for our weekly email The Spin
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Four years on, though, it is different. The series is square, the sides are well?matched and the outcome will not be decided until the final match. Initiative has swung alarmingly from one extreme to the other and is as likely as not to maintain its erratic path. There is a match on and already the executives of Cricket Australia are rubbing their hands gleefully at the prospect not only of a massive crowd but an official record for a cricket match.
At some stage on the first day, I shall leave the soundproofed press box and climb to the dizzy height of the top of the Great Southern Stand, the edifice that on its own can seat as many as Lord's and almost half as many again, take in the atmosphere, listen to the noise, and watch the table-top cricket played out way below. First day at the "G", the 10th-largest sports stadium in the world, is like no cricket anywhere else.
Cricket's official record goes back a few months shy of half a century, to February 1961, and if CA is buoyant about the prospect of in excess of 91,000 on Sunday, sometimes simple poignancy demands that things should stay as they are. That winter, West Indies toured Australia and under their first black captain in Frank Worrell, helped create not just a memorable series but one that remains a defining time in cricket history. No other sporting team have been embraced by the Australian public as were Worrell's men. In Brisbane they played out the first tied Test in the most dramatic fashion, before losing over the new year in Melbourne, winning in Sydney and drawing in Adelaide. 90,800 people attended the first day of the decisive match, at the MCG once more, a rain?affected affair in which, amid some controversy, Australia scrambled a win by two wickets.
Afterwards Sir Donald Bradman gave the inaugural Frank Worrell Trophy ? designed by the former Test cricketer and jeweller Ernie McCormick and incorporating the ball from the tied Test ? to Worrell himself who in turn presented it to the Australia captain, Richie Benaud. Benaud spoke warmly but before Worrell could respond, the crowd cheered him to the rafters and sang For He's a Jolly Good Fellow. Worrell then gave Benaud his cap "as representation of my scalp", his shirt "my neck" and his blazer "the upper half of my body". "I refrain from offering you the lower half," he continued, "as my knees would not stand you in any stead."
Such was the impact of the tour that on their departure Worrell and his men were accorded a ticker-tape farewell through the streets of Melbourne, an unprecedented honour for a visiting team, watched by an estimated half a million people. The significance of such an affectionate public response to a team of black cricketers did not escape those who were pushing for the abolition of the White Australia policy, the origins of which went back to the time of William Barak, and who in it perceived proof of an enlightened approach towards race and immigration. The walk to the G is testimony to that.
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