Lying half conscious on the cold hard concrete floor of the causeway at the back of the Players Stand at Kardinia Park being cared for by paramedics I weakly whispered, “Is that blood?”

My own memories of attending Ashes Tests in the 1970’s at the MCG are dominated by the brilliance of Australian fast bowlers like Dennis Lillee, Jeff Thomson and Rodney Hogg and also of Rod Marsh and the Chappell brothers catching edged cricket balls travelling so fast you could not see them from the outer with the naked eye.  

They would then throw the ball as high as the rooftop of the packed, noisy, beer drenched and sunburnt old Southern Stand in celebration.

In these years my own playing commitments and the cost of supporting a young family restricted my attendance to one day per match.  

Comprehensive coverage by ABC tv, books, magazines and newspapers partially compensated.

Opportunities in the eighties and early nineties then took my passion to a new level.  

In 1990-91, for the first time, I managed to attend all five days of the Ashes Test at the MCG. I savoured the ups and downs of a game which on paper was won easily by Australia by 8 wickets. But the fortunes of both sides had fluctuated and the result was in doubt until post lunch on day five.

I understood then the total satisfaction of witnessing the whole intricate cricket journey.

In January 1983 my wife, Chris, and I made it out of Geelong to Sydney. Coincidence of coincidences it was the same time as the 5th Test of the 1982-83 Ashes series.

Chris gave me permission to travel from Cronulla to Moore Park on day three. Immediately I entered the ground and walked around to the gap between the old Hill and the Brewongle Stand I knew I had a new love.  

David Gower and Derek Randall were trading cover drives. The big crowd were buzzing. And the intimacy of the outer to the cricket in the middle surpassed the MCG.  

Michael Slater once told me how both venues and occasions were special. The electricity from the towering MCG filled stands almost lifting you off the ground as you walked to the centre on Boxing Day, followed barely a week later by the SCG with its engaged knowledgable crowd close enough for individual faces to feature to the players.

The back drop of the historic Members and Ladies Stands smacked me in the face with delight. I have been back 17 more times including five more Ashes Tests. The excitement has never wavered.

Thankfully I missed that 2010-11 SCG disaster. Instead I went to Adelaide. With Australia belted by an innings it was also a hard watch. But the Adelaide Oval wasn’t to blame. Pretty then, impressive now, the sense of festival and the link to the city centre, makes the Test at the Adelaide Oval another perpetual lure. Twelve Tests including three for the Ashes being the current attendance count.

In 1989 with pennies saved and teaching Long Service Leave available Chris and I journeyed to the UK and Europe for the first time.

Again, there was an Ashes calendar happy coincidence. But the cricket had to fit in with the ‘once in a lifetime’ travel. So it was limited to day four in the first Test at Leeds and days two and three and first session of day four in the second Test at Lord’s.

Lord’s!

Okay, forget the MCG, SCG, Gabba, WACA, Bellerive and Adelaide Oval, or Headingley, Trent Bridge, Edgbaston, Old Trafford, The Oval and Cardiff. Each and every one is wonderful.  

But there is only one Lord’s. I see what Keith Miller was getting at. Beyond ‘wonderful’, it is my heaven.  

If the sun shines and Australia are dominating, that is.  

It was and they did on Saturday June 24th 1989. One nil up but not holding the Ashes they were chasing England’s 286. Australia began day three on 6-276. In the better position, but not yet dominant.

By this time I had occasional Media Accreditation so I sat in the Press Box.  

New to me, that in itself was a fascination. In the back row with no deadline hanging over me, I listed in awe, then gave up so numerous were they, the playing and cricket writing legends passing through the old tiered musty room atop the now demolished and replaced Warner Stand.

Geoff Boycott went past and asked if I had a pencil. When I timidly held up a biro Boycott did his best Mr Pitt of Seinfeld impression and said, “No, not a biro, a pencil! It has to be a pencil!’ And followed up with a piercing glare as if I were a Yorkshire bowler sending down a succession of full tosses and long hops.

If that was slightly intimidating the form of Allan Border’s side in front of a gradually melting NW8 full house more than compensated.

First with Merv Hughes and Trevor Hohns, then with a belligerent Geoff Lawson, Steve Waugh backed up his Leeds 177 with 152, both knocks not out and filled with clean sweet strokes on both sides of the wicket. Australia, labelled pre-tour the weakest ever, roared their way to 528.

Terry Alderman trapped Graham Gooch lbw third ball of England’s second innings. Ready to condemn the umpire the English tabloid press contingent tipped over chairs and noisily crowded underneath the press box tv replay screen for confirmation the Aussies had been cheating again, only to almost immediately return to their seats disconsolate. The BBC were on strike and only had a camera operating from the Pavilion end, the wrong one to judge the accuracy or otherwise of the lbw decision by Dickie Bird.

Soon after Lawson neatly removed Chris Broad’s off stump. England limped to stumps on 3-58.

It was the most amazingly fulfilling day of my cricket watching life. I kept looking at the clock on the side wall of the press box. I wanted it and time to stop.

After play I just wandered around the ground a little. The sun remained proud but was softening its impact in the evening sky. Graham ‘Garth’ McKenzie chatted to a few people on the steps leading from the seats up from the fence at the Nursery End in the Compton/Edrich stand.  

I stood and stared for a moment at the man who as a 20 year old had been a match winning fast bowling star on debut at this very ground 28 years previous. He was the last of the Test legends I had come to within touching distance that day between 11.00am and 6.30pm. Too starry eyed I failed to ask any of them for their autograph.

It was hard to leave.

I desperately wanted to accost some significant MCC official and plead with him.  

‘Please! Please! Please! Bring them all back. I need some more!’

Two afternoons later I was on the tube train to Heathrow Airport looking forlorn as the city of London skyline disappeared into the eastern horizon.

Chris looked at my sunken expression and placed her hand on my shoulder.  

‘Don’t worry you’ll be back,’ she offered.

She didn’t know how right she was. At times to her mild chagrin, we have been back, many, many times. For cricket watching, cricket playing, cricket coaching (eleven summer school terms of that) and classroom teaching. Both Southend-on-Sea and Bath feel like second homes.

Between 1986-87 and 2021-22 I saw at least one day live of every Ashes series home and away, except for 1993.

When Shane Warne took his hat trick at the MCG, I was there. When Darren Gough took his hat trick at the SCG, I was there. When Steve Waugh completed his resurrection final ball of the day century at the SCG, I was there. When Billy Bowden understandably but incorrectly gave Michael Kasprowicz out and England won by two runs at Edgbaston, I was there. When Shane Warne claimed his 700th Test wicket at the MCG, I was there. When Ashton Agar on debut made 98 batting at No.11 at Trent Bridge, I was there. When Steve Smith made twin centuries in his first Test back from ‘sandpapergate’ suspension at Edgbaston, I was there. Then when he was cleaned up by a Jofra Archer bouncer at Lord’s next Test, I was there. And I was there when Scott Boland took 6-7 and became an instant, statue worthy, MCG icon.

As the old prisoner in the Roman cell in ‘The Life of Brian’ would say, “You lucky, lucky bastard.”

I was also meant to be there when Alex Carey ruptured a relationship between two teams and two countries by running out Jonny Bairstow at Lord’s. But I wasn’t.

Geelong were due to play Melbourne at Kardinia Park on the evening of Thursday June 22nd 2023, six days before the Lord’s Ashes Test. I was scheduled to fly out to Heathrow on the Saturday, June 24th.

My sister-in-law who normally sits with Chris at games couldn’t go. Despite a horrible weather forecast I agreed to use the free seat.

Another consideration was that six days previous I had a gastroscopy. During the procedure I was having mutated cells that threatened to become cancerous removed.  

I told the gastroenterologist of my exciting travel plans.

He promised to be careful and when I awoke from my heavy sedation he assured me he had scraped off just a very small, little finger nail sized growth that was non-cancerous and that it wouldn’t effect my travel plans in any way.

I had a few days of soft diet and felt slightly under the weather, but well enough, I thought, to watch my approximately 800th footy match at KP.  

During the 2nd quarter an umpire I had had problems with previously made decisions against Geelong right in front of me near the boundary line in the forward pocket.

I felt it was duty to advise him that he needed to review the competence of his decision making. And being 20 rows back had to raise my voice significantly so that he could hear the wisdom of my suggestions.

It’s fair to say I may have overstretched my vocal capacity and emotion. My voice unexpectedly trailed off and my heart rate was noticeably higher than normal.

Frustratingly I don’t believe he followed my advice for the remainder of the match, but Geelong played better after half time.

Intermittent showers and a freezing wind made me question my sanity in attending, but the thought of lovely balmy summer England and the Ashes only a few days hence sustained me.

Or so I thought.

At three quarter time I stood up to stretch and breathe deeply, but had to sit down again feeling light headed.  

Again, I thought it was nothing significant and was pleased that a last quarter goal scoring burst saw the Cats to victory.

With Chris, I departed immediately and briskly after the final siren to circulate some blood to my extremities and beat the exiting crowd. Except at that moment there wasn’t quite enough blood in my veins and arteries for me to circulate. At the top of the stairs in the causeway, with people all around, down I went.

Chris said I was out for about 20 seconds. When I regained consciousness I was told to stay where I was. A passing doctor took my pulse. He reassured Chris it was okay.

Four different St Johns ambulance people asked me if I had been drinking. I hadn’t, except for a half time hot chocolate. I didn’t think they meant that.  

Then I felt nauseous and vomited. I thought I must have brought up what I ate before the game at home. It might have been. But it was also a litre of blood. My oesophagus had sprung a bloody leak and it drizzled into my stomach. Blood apparently has two possible exits from the stomach. Mine came back up out of my mouth.

I calmly wondered if I was dying, but felt no pain and thought if this was the finish it was better than the exit and future of my older siblings. One had already died from early onset Alzheimer’s, another was in serious cognitive decline from it. Anything was better than that.

And I knew my Ashes trip was a goner (fucked?).

I was meant to chaperon an Ashes in England uninitiated close mate. Craig, taking a different flight the day after me, was in tears when Chris opened our front door to him. He had just been told the the bad news. He only boarded the plane at his wife’s insistence.

A novice with English sporting crowds he shrank and cringed at their anger at Lord’s after the Bairstow run out incident. Our mutual ex-pat friend Bill sitting next to him using my ticket, far braver in standing up to the most irrational overtly nationalistic virulent local behaviour.

The stretcher in the ambulance that took me to emergency at Geelong hospital was still warm. It was the crew’s second visit that evening to Kardinia Park. They had also taken Cats star forward, Jeremy Cameron, to hospital just over an hour earlier after he had been concussed by of all people, teammate Gary Rohan.

Chris, bless her, at my urging, took a signed medical certificate from the hospital to the travel agent and with minutes to spare I received a credit.  

Still seedy from the medical incident I used that flight credit to visit friends in London and Southend-on-Sea in September. There was not much cricket left. I got to see one day of the County Championship at Canterbury.  

I also watched soccer at Craven Cottage, Loftus Road, the Olympic Stadium and The New Den. At the latter, Millwall’s ground, I extended my knowledge of the force and decency of language abuse needed to properly castigate umpires/referees.

As great as it was, the Ashes 2023 is not on my viewing re-visit radar. Missing it still hurts.

Hopefully 2025-26 will be almost as good. The atmosphere inevitably sensational and England arrive believing they have a genuine chance of winning down under for the first time in 15 years.  

The sense of anticipation is undiminished, satisfaction, guaranteed. The prospect of an addition to that list of my greatest live sporting moments and memories already creating saliva and a flutter in the tummy.  

Then again, if Australia smash England 5-0 once more, I will probably enjoy that, too.