The Boundary Brief
A Freewheelin’ edition covering caked in cricket spikes, a lengthy ticket queue and a potentially worrisome media diet.
Taking inspiration from
’s 10 things, and No Laying Up’s GHIN and Tonic, The Boundary Brief is designed to be wide ranging and casual. It might seem a touch indiscriminate, even objectless. In truth, that’s probably the point – it’s just me writing for the fun of it, more than likely with one eye on a bilateral ODI…Feel free to stay.
On Friday, I made a purchase – well three – that were long overdue. Replacement spikes, two grips in club colours, and 10m of fibretech bat tape.
One the eve of finals, maybe it’s an Adlerian life lie (more on that later), but these things all seemed essential to set me up for success. Marking centre had become impossible, a favourite bat donated to me at the start of the season has wood peeling from the face and a fresh grip always fills the mind with possibility.
The extent of that possibility probably left a stupid smile on my face as I made my way to the checkout.
“No, I’m not a member,” I told the Rebel Sport Assistant.
And “no, thank you,” I wouldn’t like to become one.
Back home, I wrestled the old spikes out of my shoes. Long caked in with dried black soil, the plastic replacement tool never quite does the trick and naturally a few of the old metal studs remain resolutely in place. I’m optimistic I can be that defiant at the crease this March…
As it happened, none of the purchases were particularly necessary on Saturday, as a wet wicket and more hail quickly put a line through our fixture at Northcote.
11,000km away, and totally unaffected by rain, a One Day International tri-series wrapped up in Pakistan this week. Contested by New Zealand, South Africa and the hosts, it was a precursor to the equally glib Champions Trophy. I bring up the tri-series not for its (overwhelming lack of) significance, but for the fond memories that the three-team ODI series evoke.
Formative years racing home from primary school to catch neutral ODI’s on a Tuesday afternoon; fixtures like England and Sri Lanka live from the Adelaide Oval. I would sit glued to the tv. A discarded Milo Scoop shake on the coffee table.
I wonder what the after-school ice cream of choice is in Karachi.
As summer comes to a close in Melbourne, tickets are now on sale for the AFL season, too. At work, that meant large parts of the office found themselves in virtual queues to secure a seat to their match of choice.
One Collingwood supporter managed to nab ANZAC Day but was timed out from the fixture against Carlton. It all felt like a mad sprint.
I look forward to scanning my barcode at Gate 2.
On the other side of the boundary, my media diet has been largely dystopian of late. A hundred pages into Tim Winton’s Juice, the climate fiction novel has me hooked. Interestingly, Amazon’s review reads as follows:
“An edge-of-your-seat post-apocalyptic thriller, perfect for fans of Station Eleven and The Road.”
Cuff me, I am a fan of all three. Funny thing is mum recommended the trio. Does this mean she knows me as well as Amazon’s algorithm does? Huge if true.
Earlier this month it was The Courage to be Disliked. Fumitake Koga and Ichiro Kishimi’s “Japanese phenomenon” is an introduction to Adlerian philosophy. A remarkable read unique in its simplicity, accessibility and for the practical advice it offers, I couldn’t recommend it more highly.
Perhaps the lessons it contains inspired this piece; it is for me to write earnestly, with care and passion. As for anyone seeing – much less enjoying it? That task belongs entirely to you, reader. (Thanks a bunch for still being here, I’m not a master of Adlerian philosophy, yet).
A few friends and I have been right into The Rest is History pod of late, too. Always a fascinating listen, recent episodes on the horror in the Congo during the time of King Leopold II have sparked a range of conversations and reflection at the cricket club. My interest in the time first sparked when studying Heart of Darkness at school, references to Conrad’s novella feature heavily in the series.
As for the friend who tried to fight his insomnia by listening to the three-part series in bed? Nightmares were inevitable, Tim. You should have stuck with the far more inspirational story of Wojtek the bear.
As for inspirational stories, A Complete Unknown was a complete success at the cinemas. The perfect Sunday hangover cure, Maltesers went into the popcorn and Ferg and I bopped along to the best of Bob for more than two hours.
Safe to say that electric-era Dylan has been on repeat ever since.