Free Spinner by Ron Elliott

his coat and hat and fob watch to a pretty lady in a bright yellow dress. He strode to Michael’s cricket bag and took out the heaviest bat in there before taking his time to flex his shoulders again, and roll his big neck. He went to the wicket and finally took his guard. ‘Nothing personal, lad. You bowl pretty good for a nipper.’
    David wasn’t sure what to say. He’d heard of Jack Tanner. He was a batsman for the Western Australian combined side who played visiting teams from the other states and from overseas. He looked to his uncle, who gave the ‘dancer’ signal, but he wasn’t smiling his usual smile.
    David took a moment to think. What would Grandad say now? Probably that this was a good thing. If David was going to learn to bowl better, he should bowl against better batsmen. Learn. The crowd started muttering a little at the delay. David decided to bowl a high bouncing leg break, to avoid the dancing down the wicket. He bowled.
    Jack Tanner didn’t move. He didn’t raise his bat. He simply stood before the wicket and watched the ball hit the mat and spin a long way to the off side.
    The crowd groaned.
    â€˜Nice overspin there, lad,’ said Tanner.
    â€˜He’s having a look at you, David,’ said his uncle.
    David next bowled a ball on the other side of the pitch. He gave it everything, ripping his fingers across the stitching as he let go of the ball. It sang in the air like a little car motor. It was another leggie and it pitched perfectly outside leg stump where it spun behind Jack’s legs, knocking over the wickets with a lovely woody sound.
    Some of the crowd cheered. Some gasped.
    Jack stood smiling and nodding towards David. He still hadn’t played a shot. ‘That was a beautiful ball, boy. Just about impossible, it was so good.’ Jack Tanner went and retrieved the cricket ball, examining it.
    â€˜No tricks, Jack. Just good bowling,’ said his uncle.
    â€˜I’m sure there’s a trick, Michael. Just can’t see it yet.’ Then to David, ‘You got a googly?’
    â€˜Don’t bowl him one, David,’ urged Michael, as he put the wickets back in position.
    â€˜If you bowl me a googly next ball, I promise I won’t hit it.’
    â€˜He’s going to start playing little guessing games in your head,’ said Uncle Mike.
    â€˜Unlike Michael Donald, I don’t tell lies, boy. I don’t know where he found you, but I hope he’s paying you your bloody share in advance.’
    â€˜Oi, no call for that in front of the ladies now, Jack.’
    â€˜Apologies ladies. David. Uncalled for, I grant. How much money you got in the kitty there, Michael?’
    â€˜Just try to hit the ball, Jack.’
    Jack nodded. Waited. David bowled another leg break, but it never landed. Jack Tanner took a huge step down themat and caught the ball on the full. There was a gasp from the crowd, and maybe from David, as they ducked. They didn’t need to. The cricket ball flew high and far, crashing into the tent near the central arena. There was applause.
    When David looked back to the wicket, his uncle was handing Jack Tanner the pound note they’d been showing everyone as the prize. Michael applauded too. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the great Jack Tanner, famous son of Northam, takes the prize. Congratulations Jack. Now who else wants a turn? Come on folks. See, no tricks. It can be done.’
    Jack shook his head. ‘By my figuring I’ve got twenty-seven balls left.’
    A cheer. Jack grinned at the crowd.
    â€˜Come on, Jack,’ said Michael quietly. ‘You’ve taken me.’
    â€˜Not yet. Not while you’ve got all those coins in the can there and not while you’re still in Northam.’
    So Jack Tanner proceeded to hit David’s bowling everywhere. When David tried to land shorter, so he couldn’t hit the ball on the full, the batsman let it bounce and collected it on