Lumberjack written in the style of Mr Ernest Hemingway
She sat at the table and drank tea reading the classifieds.
For sale. Baby shoes. Never worn.
“Why do people put this stuff in here”?
He was on the couch going through his iphone. He said nothing.
The muffled voices of children playing in the park could be heard from outside of the window.
The day was clear and bright.
“The Bashers won”.
“What”. He responded.
“The Bashers won”.
She took a sip from the tea.
“Now you listen”
“Well, they won. It was raining from the start but they decided to play anyway”.
“Bloody idiots. What was Sharapova thinking? Pope has fucked her up”
“Why is it always Pope’s fault”?
“I’m just saying”.
“They only had seven men so Sharapova chose to bat”.
“You can talk. Remember 2006 when Gooding wanted to leave the Bashers?”
“I don’t want to talk about it”.
“Shrek got a fifty”.
“Bullshit. That old bloke? Did they check the scoresheet to make sure he got fifty?”
She lifted the paper towards him and showed him the picture of the scoresheet that was in the paper.
“Proof right there”.
“Ok what else”?
“Cranky played across the line to a full delivery and was bowled”.
“Fingers scored a few runs but lost his wicket playing the same shot as Cranky”.
She leaned in her seat and let crescend what started off as a purr and finished like the beginning of a Mahler concert.
“Parrot made a fifty also”.
“Hit 5 boundaries and a six. The Gear helped him on his way with a fine 26. And Omega scored runs as well”.
“It says that Sharapova, Scooby and Timbers batted but no details”.
“What did they score?”
“Wow. The D1 injection strategy seems to have worked”.
“Yeah, but Shrek is back in Australia. Cranky might be in Thailand and the Gear is not available.”
“So Parrot has to keep? Bloody hell”.
“Better than Madein. The Gear kept well it says”.
“Let’s make love”.
“Come on. It won’t happen again.
“How do you know?”
“Last time I wasn’t prepared. I have got the right stuff this time”.
“I said no. Apparently Sharapova kept Shrek on the sidelines, so Bullet fielded as the 12th man”.
“How many catches did he drop?”
“You are so cynical”.
“Wanker. He set the tone of the day with his fielding it says. G’rilla dropped two at mid-on, so Sharapova moved him to cover. Cranky was moved to mid-on and dropped one as well”.
He got up off the couch and went to the bathroom. He pushed his pants down and took a shit. He did three crosswords, wiped his arse and came back in.
“Cranky’s lost it. Smokey needs to put him out to pasture”.
“But G’rilla caught one after juggling, and the new guy Timbers snared three wickets. Parrot caught a screamer apparently”.
“Was Timbers in Basher’s gear?”
“Who got the other wickets. Don’t tell me Sharapova opened with Cranky and G’rilla. I bet they didn’t get a wicket between them”.
“Cranky no, but G’rilla picked up one. Sharapova stole two wickets from them and copped a nasty bruise on the shin stopping a ball.”
“She needs to use her hands not her bloody shins. Captain of China…give me a break. What the hell is Pope doing?”
“Why is it always Pope’s fault. You think he’s the chosen one don’t you for the Blueblood?”
“Did Birdshit do anything? Bat? Bowl”?
“Doesn’t say but it says Hardon was there”.
“What the fuck was he doing there”?
“It doesn’t say but he did do a 6 minute piss on the side of the road after Sharapova berated the driver”.
“Six minutes? What is he? A fucking racehorse”?
The sun had left and the gloaming began. She shut the windows and he shut the doors. She made strawberries with ice cream and sat on the cane chair on the balcony.
“So they are in the finals then”.
“I don’t know”.