Spud Read Online Free Page B

him). My mother, dressed in a bright orange sundress many sizes too small, immediately waved and shouted out to me. I pretended not to notice them and busied myself with my batting gloves.
    I couldn’t help but notice the raucous shouts of ‘Go, Johnny!’ as I stumbled out to bat. I was mortified. The crazy people sitting in deckchairs and uncorking bottles of wine had just identified themselves as my parents. I felt miserable and ashamed and, even worse, ashamed of being ashamed.
    After missing the first four balls (which I never saw) I miraculously succeeded in snicking the next ball through the slips for four runs. The big Westwood fast bowler ran down the pitch and glared at me, allowing me a closer look at his receding hairline. His next delivery was a scorching bouncer that whistled past my nose and flew over the wicketkeeper’s head for another boundary. A hundred and ten, with seventeen runs needed and only Mad Dog left to bat. The small crowd of boys on the grass bank had grown in number and each run was whistled and cheered. I noticed The Guv hiding behind a tree, sucking away at his pipe, and peeping out like a terrified squirrel.
    Slowly but surely our target came closer, with a nudge here and a snick there, my batting partner, Shaun Grey,and I crept our way to 123. The crowd cheered with every run and all the terror of the last week slipped away as I sampled the delicious taste of heroic success! That is until my middle stump was uprooted by the oldest fourteen-year-old ever. My heart sank and the crowd groaned as I trudged back to the changeroom. As I looked up at my parents I noticed the third deckchair was occupied by The Guv who was pointing vigorously with one hand and holding a large plastic goblet of red wine with the other. Suddenly everyone was waving and pointing at me, shouting ‘Go back, go back, Spud!’ I turned to see Mr Moodley (biology teacher and part-time umpire) standing with his arm extended. ‘No ball.’
    I wasn’t out. By the grace of God I had been given a lifeline by the shady figure of Mr Moodley. I galloped back to the crease only to be met by a crowd of sulky Westwood players muttering the word ‘cheat’ under their breaths. I gratefully accepted my second chance and casually stroked a single between my legs and scampered to the other side. Unfortunately, Grey was caught behind off the next ball and the groan from the crowd signalled the arrival of Mad Dog. (It was already common knowledge that Mad Dog had little coordination and no brains whatsoever.)
    The Guv downed his goblet of wine and shook his head sadly at the demise of our cricket team. The scoreboard read three runs to get, one wicket in hand. Mad Dog looked nervous and swung wildly at the first ball, which narrowly missed the wickets. Suddenly I was running and shouting ‘Run, Mad Dog, run!’ The wicketkeeper hurled the ball at the stumps and missed. I was safe. Another roar echoed around the ground. The Guv was now pacing, smoking and drinking and the team was huddled together in their blazers on the grass bank as a thin misty drizzle slid through the trees. In came the speed merchant and delivered a ball that was terrifyingly quick. I swung my bat, made contactand ran. The ball sailed high into the air but straight to the man on the midwicket boundary, who positioned himself perfectly underneath it. I kept running and running and suddenly The Guv, followed by the team, was running towards me with his arms outstretched and screaming wildly.
    We had won! The fielder had dropped the catch and the ball had trickled over the boundary line. I hate to admit it, dear diary, but I am a hero!
    After handshakes all round, The Guv took us all into the changeroom and recited the Asiancaw speech again. Unfortunately, due to all the wine he was slurring quite badly and forgot some of the lines, making up most of the second half of the speech with swear words. Simon was awarded man of the match. The Guv put his arm around me