My heart fills with pride

It is funny, you know, I read over what I have previously written and sometimes I think, wow, did I really write that? And then sometimes I think, gee, could I have fitted in any more cliches if I tried?
It has been a long time since I have stayed up late writing. But tonight I needed to, I don't know what it is, but I often feel the "need" to write. Like I couldn't concentrate on another thing until I got what was in my head, out. And, again the funny thing is, I often don't even know what is in that head of mine, I just start typing and the rest follows. Maybe it's the heat, too hot to sleep anyway, or maybe it's the fact the Rupert McCall (the very man who summed up my passion for Australia and inspired me to write for a living) just tweeted this to me:




This week I was awarded an Australia Day award, for the Buloke Shire. Pretty incredible. At first I try to pretend like it isn't happening, I worry that I have had so much already and things should really be shared around, and in fact, and in all honesty I haven't done much at all to deserve it. I am already lucky enough - I have a wonderful family and a job that I love - isn't that what everyone strives for? The rest I guess I wish I could do better at, but time is always poor. I wish I could give Donald a childcare centre and decent Kindergarten, then life takes over and I don't have seven days a week to dedicate to the campaign. Then I get the Young Citizen of the Year Award, not for Donald, but for the whole Shire and I think, well, these people reckon I am capable of something, so get stuck into it woman!

Every day (and that is no exaggeration) I come across people who deserve a medal for their dedication to the community, to a cause, to their families or to their work. And then I get the award, it really doesn't seem fair.

Despite all this, the pride is unmistakable. I mean, I accepted that award in front of such a large crowd of smiling faces, faces which all looked proud, I didn't see any with the look of "she doesn't deserve that", but admittedly, I was a bit taken aback.

I have always been a passionate person. To the point of annoyance. Sometimes I wished I didn't care, that winning a test match meant nothing and that Anzac Day didn't stir emotions I didn't even knew I had. But I never lost it, so there came a time where I had to embrace it. I guess, you could say, I beamed it. I mean, I love this country, it is amazing. I have never wanted to go overseas. I am sure there will come a time that I do, but for now all I want to do is take in every inch of this country and have my children experience it too. I want my children to realise how lucky they are. To take nothing for granted and appreciate that fresh air, the space, the freedom, the food on their table, the clothes on their backs, because so many around the world would give anything for these things, the things we might describe as "simple pleasures".

Growing up I lived and breathed cricket (I first encountered Rupert McCall on one of the first Allan Border Medal broadcasts, it wasn't long before the VCR tape was worn out and I could recite the cricket version of Green and Gold Malaria off-by-heart). I knew little about the game, but something drew me to it. I had my room decked out in every newspaper article about Steve Waugh's unbeatable team, 16 test wins on-the-trot. I knew their favourite songs, their birth dates and I would bore my classmates with statistics. One Christmas my Mum and Dad got me a cricket bat, I guess they were at a loss at what else to do, a pretty dress or make-up kit would have been a waste of money. I love it, I treasured it, I knocked it in. I even found a wooden stump, a golf ball and our old tank stand and set my mind on becoming the female version of Don Bradman. Turns out there isn't much call for female cricket players in the country (and if I was to be brutally honest - I really had no idea). But for some reason it didn't dampen my enthusiasm, even when I rang to book a spot on the cricket camps advertised during the ad breaks of the test match and I was greeted with "is this for you son?" (needless to say I didn't make it to the camp).

I still loved the game. I drove my family and friends insane and even earned the nickname "Clarkey" in late high school (because I would go on so much about Michael Clarke being the next Australian captain). During Year 12 exams I would get migraines. Then I would watch Gilchrist or Bevan smash a heap of sixes in a one dayer and....well....what migraine? I even convinced my poor Mum and Dad to take me to a live cricket match. You know, a couple who wouldn't drive in the city which we lived a good three hours from. They found a way, a bus from Ballarat to a one-dayer against Zimbabwe. I'll never forget, they even took my best mate Jess. We were on the third level of the MCG and the players resembled ants, but my gosh, the atmosphere is etched in my memory forever.

I called my first cat Bevanleemacgillypont (the Mac after MacGill with a little McGrath). Then my Dad and my brothers took me to the first match at Colonial Stadium. I was beside myself. Then there was the incredible cricket writer at The Age who agreed to take me on work experience. He somehow put up with the odd family connection request to take me on. I arrived at Jolimont Street to get my "press pass". My parents had allowed me to travel by train from Ballarat to the Boxing Day Test, 2001. It was Brian Mergatroyd who gave it to me, the press pass that is. I wore my ACB One-Day shirt (extremely professional, I know). I was gobsmacked I arrived on ball three of a Funky Miller hat-trick (my timing always impeccable). I saw a Steve Waugh and Matthew Hayden press conference. It was incredible. I knew I wanted to do this for a living - write about cricket.

I was again taken on another bout of work experience for a Pura Cup match at Punt Rd Oval between NSW and Vic (that angelic cricket writer for The Age).

It is only now that I realise that engrained passion, the love for this country that I have is what drew me to cricket. You'd go a long way to find another game so bathed in patriotic glory on an international field. I love it. I love it because of the Baggy Green, the green and gold and the national pride.

I went onto to secure a cadet ship as a sports writer. I did my days at square-leg with a camera trying to get "the " shot and writing match reports from half filled out score sheets. But what it really taught me is I love two things - Australia and writing - and somehow I had to make those two things combine.

And now I do, well at least I hope I do. I love what I do now, writing real stories about real people. I just love listening to an account of a life or event and then putting it in words for the rest of the community to appreciate. I love it.

I just hope, one day, I can master it as well as Rupert McCall. I dream of delivering a piece I have written in front of a crowd who can't breathe for fear of missing word, who will live forever with those words etched on their brains and who will have tears in their eyes, tears they don't know the origin of, but it will be because the words they just heard were exactly what their heart might say if it spoke directly and hearing those words left them with an out-of-breath feeling of disbelief that someone could incite such a deep emotion through words. Who might, just maybe, be inspired to follow their own dream, who may, just like I did after hearing "Green and Gold Malaria", who may, say to themselves, 'you know, maybe I'm not crazy after all, maybe I'm just passionate and maybe this is a good thing and maybe I could do something with this.' That would be grand. Actually, that would be bloody awesome.