driveway cricket

I learned how to play a cover drive from you, Mr Bryan.

The neatest footwork I’d ever seen, bowler and batter you could do anything.

A mix between Lara and Ponting, throwing leggies like Warney and in-swingers like McGrath.

And quick in the slips like Waugh next to GIlly. 

We played cricket in each other's driveways and sometimes dreamt of mowing backyard pitches.

We had cricket and football in our blood, leathery hearts, and synchronicity at primary school and in our clubs.

We both stayed in for each other, a fist bump at the end of each over. 

Cubs, scouts and catching the bus.

We even caught that famous land in the sand match back when the Dons were better than the Hawks.

Lloydy kicked 7, threw his grass in the air, and pulled his shorts up, we beat you by 74 points but Essendon were very much more beaten, bruised and bare after the scuffle.

You didn't like Lloydy and that was fine.

He threw grass in the air and was kinda rough.

But I smirked and liked how much he rustled the Hawks. 

Tormenting them for years with his trademark quirks.

I'm so glad that your Hawks have had more glory in the sun, Mr Bryan.

Premierships galore for you my friend. 4 is a lot. 

There have been times when I felt like I could have been a better friend. 

But know Mr Bryan that those times in the driveway, at footy games and fist bumping between overs made such an impact on me. 

Golden memories of our driveways in summer and homemade ginger beer feel like a journey home to an infinite summer with you. 

Go Hawks.