Tasmania University Cricket Club

Latest News (2nd. February 2006)

A weekend of cricket in the Tropics - the 'Real' Ashes.


(Townsville Bulletin front page)

Many an Aussie bloke has mused that Australia's true religions are sport and drinking, with that classical national pursuit the barbeque uniting them in perfect harmony. There is no better illustration of the amalgamation of these sacred icons than at a remote, once booming country town in North Queensland every year on the Australia Day long weekend. Charters Towers plays host to what is believed to be the world's largest cricket tournament - the Goldfield Ashes. The Ashes, as they are affectionately known, attracts hundreds of players and perpetual twelfth men from right across Queensland and further afield. Here, people do play for sheep stations. It is the Mecca of amateur cricket.

When gold was discovered in 1871 the township of Charters Towers sprung out of the dusty red soil, the type that leaves an indelible stain and renders cricket whites white no more. At the peak of the gold rush the population reached 30,000, making it the second largest city in Queensland after Brisbane. There were nearly 100 mines, 25 pubs along Mosman Street alone and Charters Towers even operated its own stock exchange - the only one outside of a capital city. Nowadays Charters Towers' population of 10,000 prides itself on the golden heritage and historic buildings that flourished from the wealth. This number swells by half with an additional 5,000 people turning up for the annual Ashes. Many a mateship has been forged at the Ashes - because of the staggering distances and isolation of the outback, the Ashes provides a once-in-a-year chance to catch up over a cold one whilst standing around under the baking sun. Cricket is the perfect excuse.

The Goldfield Ashes bears sports colourful characters, colourful uniforms and sometimes colourful language. Each January the Ashes are played on concrete pitches amidst tufty and gravelly fields under big country skies and the blistering heat of tropical Queensland, which may indicate why, on average, the equivalent of 4000 slabs of beer are consumed over the long weekend. To put that quantity into a perspective that cricket lovers and statisticians can relate to - it would take Boony over 900 Sydney-London trips drinking at his record pace to consume the same amount of the liquid amber. That's return trips. Cricketers in the Ashes can lay claim to being endurance athletes. Positive drug tests are frowned upon- if a syringe full of equine growth hormones is found at the Ashes then it most likely belongs to the local vet or farmer just in town for the weekend. The boys in blue conduct most random drug tests at the Ashes. Designated drivers are as rare and precious as solid gold nuggets.

We arrive on the Thursday evening, make camp and settle in for the night. As the caravan park fills the excitement grows. The next morning we decide on a pub on Gill Street for breakfast. I imagine that pubs don't typically do breakfast in Charters Towers but the economic boom that the Ashes provides for the town (reportedly a cool $1 million) leads anybody to try their hand at serving some greasy food to lace their hands with gold. Wearing our brightly coloured shirts specially printed for the carnival four of us stride in.



"Whereabouts are youse guys from?" asks the cheery barmaid as she dollops a pile of baked beans onto a plate. This is my first real test as a member of the team. The previous night I had our team traditions of the Ashes explained to me over a game of cards. Turns out that I'm playing for a team with a bit of history, a running joke now turned into a tradition - Dimbulah Rugby Club, that's us. We had practiced the line and I am the first to respond - "Dimbulah. It's up north in the Tablelands." Phew! Straight face kept. Credible enough answer. Dimbulah even is a place on the Atherton Tablelands, inland of Cairns. The relief is tangible. "It's just there's a Stuart Motel in Townsville, like that one on yer shirts. I used to work there." Our cover is blown. We are exposed as cricketers from Townsville, not some far flung distant dust-bowl town that can only sustain one sporting team, with that team not being a cricket one. There's no shame in being a cricketer from Townsville - the majority of teams at the Ashes come from Townsville, a leisurely one and a half hours drive away. It's just not the same though.



Our first match is out at the Airfield Reserve. Pitches stretch as far as the eye can squint but you can count the number of shade-providing trees on one hand. Thankfully our field has two - one for us and one for them. The roll-out, peg-down canvas mats (the same as the first game I played as a seven year old at the annual Boxing Day game at Gordon) take a surprising amount of turn but yield no wickets for the leg spinner entered in the score book as "Tas". After a shaky start the blokes from Hughenden post a competitive total and have the Dimbulah Rugby Club in early trouble. Following a brief break to meet a couple of The Picture girls (this picture can not be included unfortunately) it's the Hughenden team who seem unable to refocus on the task at hand. Chances go begging, the quality of the change bowlers drops away and the effects of the daytime drinking starts to take its toll in the unforgiving outfield. The Dimbulah team eases to victory with a few wickets in hand and a couple of overs up our collective short sleeves.

January is the hottest and wettest month of the year with a mean daily temperature of 22 - 34°C. The statistics tell you that on average 26 days each January the mercury will reach at least 30°C, with 12 of those days topping out at over 35°C. Your dehydrated body, sunburnt neck and chapped lips thank you for the data confirmation that it is hot. The heat is relentless, especially for a fair-haired white boy from Tassie just out to play a bit of social cricket. Thankfully there is great emphasis placed on keeping the beer chilled.

After a big night in town for many of the guys there is a more positive start to the day after yesterday's deflating breakfast experience - a gentle stroll from the caravan park across the lush, manicured grass of the golf course and into the clubrooms for some greasy goodness. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, especially after a social night. Today it seems to do the trick. Good form is continued on the field with the Rugby Club posting a healthy target thanks to some lusty middle order hitting. Some witty bowling actions impersonating other team-mates lead to a few early breakthroughs and we are well on our way to win number two. Slowly but surely the sky grows dark and heavy, the storm clouds roll in. My flatmate says that the weather in Townsville is "polite" - by that she means it only rains during the night. The weather now doesn't seem polite but has a threatening air of "I'll rip yer bloody arms off" menace to it. Wickets continue to tumble and victory is in sight, clearly visible through the beer goggles. Then it happens. The heavens open with such vengeance that play is impossible to continue - the roll-up canvas mats have become slippery and dangerous, the field has suddenly turned into a mud paddock, any open can of beer is catching rainwater, making it dilute and dangerous. After a while of standing around undercover, drinking now with no excuse of watching or playing cricket, a deal is struck. Thanks to generous sportsmanship the captains agree to sign off on a Dimbulah R.C. victory, gifting us the last wicket. The result is ratified with a beer bong being consummately put away by the captain from Dimbulah.



The rain persists endlessly into the afternoon and long into the night. Some spontaneous mud slinging and wrestling brings the caravan park to life, attracting a boisterous, raucous crowd. The final day of games are scheduled for tomorrow but people are already talking about the forecast being too foreboding and discussions lead to getting out of town before the river gets too high. The river they talk of is the Burdekin, running from inland through to the coast, separating all roads from Charters Towers back to Townsville and north. The incessant downpour does not stop the revelry that night, with patrons scampering, or staggering, from one pub to the next. By the morning the caravan park resembles a shallow billabong. The expected cancellation of the final day's play comes early and with it the unexpected announcement that Dimbulah Rugby Club has taken out the B1 title.

The punters will be back next year for more of the same, to pay homage to this great tradition of sport and mateship. The Poms might have won that tiny urn in 2005 but they didn't win 'The' Ashes.

AWK


Yet another 'roving report' from an ex-player - the Uni. CC spare no expense!

For further info. on the experience you can hit the goldfield ashes website.

Maybe the TUCC can provide the first Tasmanian club to participate next year?


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