Sam Perry > Quotes

“Like many, I haven’t totally abandoned the idea that I will one day become a professional cricketer. And if I’m not dreaming about playing first grade, or gaining selection as an overage player in the newly formed Futures League, I’m dreaming about the coveted ‘triple C’: the Century, Circuit, Chop. To score a hundred during the day, get drunk with your mates all night, and then have sex with a woman later that evening — all within a 12-hour period — is to achieve the holy trinity of amateur sport. If I am honest, it’s the slim chance of nailing this mouth-watering trifecta that drives me to continue playing cricket. I have never done it, not yet, but I desperately want to.”
― Sam Perry, The Grade Cricketer

“We finished our warm up and went into the sheds, with just five minutes left before the start of play. I knew that I was obliged to say a few words to the team, but what would they be? I was not a natural orator. I lacked the physical presence and polish of a Barack Obama. Was there any point, though? Looking around, I saw a bunch of disorganised adults frantically trying to get their shit together in time for the session. ‘Got any sunscreen, Damo?’ Can you spot me some zinc, Trav?’ ‘Has anybody got a hat?’ I could have recited Lincoln’s Gettysburg address in full — ‘four score and seven years ago …’ — and these blokes wouldn’t have batted an eyelid. As such, I fell back on the versatile, tried and true maxim that all grade captains are well familiar with. ‘Let’s just fucking work hard and get these cunts out!’ I screamed at the top of my voice, just as the old umpire poked his head into the room.”
― Sam Perry, The Grade Cricketer

“It’s incredible, really, the amount of pain cricketers are prepared to put themselves through. Say you’re an opening batsman who gets out for a duck in the first over on day one. What compels you to hang around for the rest of the day, let alone turn up the following Saturday for day two? Yet you do, lest 10 blokes who you don’t even like think slightly less of you. You retain a sense of loyalty to the club, to your teammates, even though those same teammates will not hesitate to rate your girlfriend a ‘six out of 10’ in front of your face. During the time I’ve spent watching my teammates bat after getting out cheaply, I could have learned a language by now. I could be speaking Mandarin. Instead, all I’ve got to show for it is a career average of 13.6 and a 10 percent discount at our local pub.”
― Sam Perry, The Grade Cricketer

“Mate, I’ve only been here for a few weeks, but I don’t think anyone even knows my name. I’ve already slipped three spots down the batting order. I’ve got no idea what the lyrics to the club song are. And every time I get a hit at training, I hear the faint sound of blokes whispering that one word under their breath: “Yuck.” What am I doing wrong?’ I began, nervously. Nuggsy paused, took a long swig of his Reschs schooner, and reclined languidly into his seat. He scratched his bald head for a moment, seemingly in deep thought, before embarking on the long-winded response that would indeed shape my cricketing future. ‘Listen, bud. You’re a grade cricketer now. And it’s time you learned a little bit about what that means. This isn’t club cricket, “Shires” cricket, or that stupid school shit that you wasted your time on for all those years. This is grade cricket: the highest level of amateur cricket in the world,’ he said with pride. Just for those who don’t already know, I should quickly provide a bit of background on the grade cricket competition. Grade cricket (or ‘Premier cricket’, as it is known in some states/territories) is the level directly below the state competition.  Despite this close proximity to the professional arena, it is nonetheless an amateur competition. Sure, one or two first graders might get paid a little bit under the table, but everyone else must pay a registration fee in order to play. Normally, each club has four to five grades — first grade being the strongest; fifth grade the weakest. Those in first grade enjoy a status that the fifth graders can only dream about. Being a first grader is like being a celebrity to 50 blokes whose names you’ll never know — or never even need to know — unless you end up playing with them after a severe run of poor form (or a serious disciplinary breach). The rest of the club — seconds, thirds, and fourth grade — is basically an assortment of talented youngsters and ageing desperates. The common denominator between the young and old brigade is that they were all once told they were ‘good enough to play for Australia’. In many cases, it was the first and last compliment they ever received — and the reason why they’re still playing. In all cases, it was the worst thing that could have ever happened to them. The ultimate grade cricketer, therefore, will possess the perfect balance of good and not good enough that will haunt them for all of their playing days. All this of course, is something that can only be learned with experience. At this early stage in my grade cricket career, I considered these young players to be ‘cool’ and the older players worthy of my respect. Nuggsy tilted his head to one side as he lit up a cigarette. He took a deep drag, holding it in for what seemed like hours, before launching his head back to expel a thick plume of smoke towards the ceiling. ‘Listen, great man,’ he began. ‘Success in grade cricket has nothing to do with skill, ability, or even results. It’s all about the social ladder, bud. You’ve got the big dogs up top, the peasants down the bottom, and everyone in between is just trying to stay relevant,’ he offered. In many ways, grade cricket social hierarchy bears great similarity to the feudal systems that first appeared in the Middle Ages in Europe — something I’d learned a bit about at high school. As I remembered, kings and monarchs sat at the top, enjoying their pick of the land, women and food. They were the ones who established the rules that everyone had to live under. The barons leased their land from the king; the knights leased their land from the barons; and the knights granted the lowly peasants their land.  The peasants were not allowed to marry, nor could they even leave the manor without permission. Basically, they were the fifth graders of the 8-12th Century.”
― Sam Perry, The Grade Cricketer

“Should you mix cricket with the rest of your life? Most grade cricketers would say no. The decision to mix your cricket and non-cricket friends can result in a horrible aftertaste. In all my time as a player, I have seen the two groups mix successfully. Integrated, maybe. Assimilated, maybe. But not ingrained. However, there have been moments where I’ve succumbed to ambition and entertained the thought that maybe, just maybe, both groups could get along. I’ve sadly learnt the hard way.”
― Sam Perry, The Grade Cricketer

“Umpires suffer from a tremendously low level of self-esteem, too, by virtue of the fact that they are umpires. As such, you should look to engage in light-hearted horseplay with them at all times. Negging him about the amount of sunscreen he’s wearing — which is always inversely proportional to his decision-making ability — is a good place to start. Like all of us, all they really want is to be loved. So your missus still doesn’t understand why you spend your whole weekend playing cricket? Imagine how an umpire’s girlfriend must feel. Seriously, imagine being an umpire’s girlfriend. He’d rather officiate a shit game of cricket than spend a gorgeous Saturday afternoon with you.”
― Sam Perry, The Grade Cricketer

“It was immediately evident that Tickets had suffered a compound fracture. A bone — his fibula, I believe — was protruding so far out of his leg that its outline was visible through his whites. He would probably never play cricket again. Lucky bastard.”
― Sam Perry, The Grade Cricketer

“Nuggsy continued on. ‘Seriously, legend. A bloke might have a six-figure salary at a job he truly loves, but it all means nothing if he has a shit rig and a poor grasp of Anchorman quotes. It probably doesn’t even matter if he averages in the mid-30s and does a lot at the club, because he’ll never go anywhere.’ I briefly wondered as to the relevance of Will Ferrell movie quotes, but then remembered back to my first training session. I had overheard a crew of second graders reciting dialogue from the movie Step Brothers while mucking around on the slips cradle. Obviously this broad style of comedy had particular resonance within grade cricket circles. The humour was absurd, male-skewed, anti-intellectual, and highly quotable. Suddenly, I was beginning to understand the things that made grade cricketers tick. Meanwhile, Nuggsy continued to bluster on, flecks of spit now hissing out from his animated mouth. The next piece of advice he had for me revolved around women: a subject I knew little about.”
― Sam Perry, The Grade Cricketer

“It wasn’t the first time I’d come across someone named Tickets. It’s actually quite a common nickname among amateur Australian sportsmen. There’s something beautifully simple and predictable about grade cricket nicknames. Those stockily built players are given the moniker ‘Nugget’. My ‘Nugget’ was the sole exception to this law, on the basis that his actual name was ‘Alan Nugget’. Someone with a strong sense of self-belief will usually have the name ‘Tickets’ bestowed upon them, as this bloke did, to indicate that he has purchased ‘tickets’ on himself, such is his confidence. On a similar tangent, one bloke I played with had the nickname ‘Bridgestone’ — a reference to the old Bridgestone Tires slogan: ‘Bridgestone: That’s Confidence’. This was narrowed to either ‘Bridgey’ or ‘Stoney’ whenever he was bowling. He was an absolute nightmare of a bloke — arrogant as fuck — but the ‘Bridgestone’ nickname was our affectionate way of telling him so. Naturally, all ‘Daves’ are nicknamed ‘Danger’ — an abbreviated version of ‘Dangerous Dave’ — just as all Rods are automatically known as ‘Rocket’. Those new to the club are generally just referred to by their initials (i.e. ‘great fielding, JP’) until further notice. At one club I played at, there were three blokes called Nugget and four blokes called Tickets. Needless to say it got a bit confusing at times.”
― Sam Perry, The Grade Cricketer

“Back home, there was always one bloke in the team who smelled suspiciously like coconut, having surreptitiously applied Reef Oil instead of actual sunscreen to get that golden glow for the Saturday night circuit.”
― Sam Perry, The Grade Cricketer