“Can’t bat, can’t bowl, can’t throw.” “Doesn’t blink, but.” “Put her at silly mid-on.” Blinking is a hazard in the Cross, you learn to stare straight ahead: no eye contact but excellent field vision. And so a verge cricket career took off for the girl dropped into an outer Newcastle suburb. The field was paspalum grass bordering a gravel road, no gutters. It was four to the road and six to the Reicherts’ fence, with a fruit box for stumps. If we were playing late on Saturday afternoons, Doreen and Roy Reichert would appear on the front veranda with their…
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