My father was a man of his generation, which meant when summer rolled around and the cricket season started, he insisted on muting Channel Nine’s coverage and blasting the ABC’s radio commentary instead.
And while the reasons for my father’s aversion to the collegiate atmosphere of Nine’s commentary remain a mystery, I’m glad he insisted on the ABC commentary, because it led to radio and cricket becoming synonymous to me.
So I dashed to the car when my mum picked me up from school, desperate to turn on the radio – usually to hear one the great West Indies teams of the 1980s had yet again laid waste to the Australian batting order.
Ours was a complicated relationship but one thing for which I’ll be forever grateful was the way my father shared his love for Test cricket with me.
My love for the game survived childhood, adolescence, and even the realisation that, given I was batting No 11 for South Melbourne under-12s, my dream to open the batting for Australia was unlikely to be fulfilled.
