Symonds is back, or, I told ya so

Andrew Symonds is back in the test team and I, for one, couldn’t be more excited. You see, I’ve been Andrew Symonds fan and apologist for years. Long before he was in any Aussie side I used to tell anyone who’d listen about this Queenslander who should be in the one-day team, and about how, once he found his feet, there wouldn’t be a better one-day player in the world.

I’d tell them about his unbelievable batting power and ability to dismantle an attack, and about the time he hit something like sixteen 6’s in an English county game. I’d say how he comes down the track to spinners and puts em back over the head, where all batsmen should put them. I’d venture that there wasn’t a ground big enough to contain him and that he’d shatter all strike rate records in world one-day cricket. He’s the next Viv Richards, I’d say, only better.

I’d go to explain he was without doubt the best fielder in the world, about how he’s worth 30 runs in the field, how he’ll catch anything and hit the stumps from anywhere. I’d explain how during an Australia A game, a ball was rolling towards the fence, and Symonds, after giving a team-mate a 15 meter head start, sprinted past him, dived headlong for the ball, saved the boundary and cannoned the ball back over the stumps, some 65 meters away. The batsman was run-out coming back for the 3rd. Unbelievable.

Then, just when I was winning them over, I’d tell them he bowls too. Yep, nice medium pacers, and later, his off-spinners. And not just spearing them in at the legs like Darren Lehman, or rolling his arm over like Damien Martyn, he actually understands flight and variation, and has a great faster ball when bowling his offies. He’s got it all, I’d say.

I’d tell all these stories and sit back, hoping I’d convinced another punter, and hoping the selectors would finally be convinced. Then all the people I’d told could see I was right. Had always been right. But it didn’t come that easy for either of us.

Roy was given his chance in the one-day team but after a series of inconsistent performances and seemingly rash judgement he still had many detractors. Then came the World Cup.

As it happened, I was waiting for a mate to finish work and thought I’d wet the whistle at the Keeper’s Arms, beautifully positioned a mere 30 seconds walk from my mates place in North Melbourne. The game was on, and the Aussies were in trouble against Pakistan. 4 down for fuck all, and in strolls Symmo, lips covered in zinc.

My adopted friends at the bar, (having bonded over beer and being Australian), were sceptical. Don’t worry, I said, Symonds is a gun. And I laid it on thick, reverting back to my familiar spiel, no doubt made more impassioned by the presence of the 6 schooners in my belly. And after each boundary he smashed to the fence I’d look over at them and raise my glass, summoning my best ‘told ya so’ look.

He ended up with 140-odd that innings, striking it at better than 100. My mate eventually turned up (he knew where I’d be) and the Aussies eventually went on to win the match and the World Cup. History viewed with an ice-cold draught from a back-packers pub in Queensbury St. Not bad, not bad at all.

Afterwards I remember thinking. ‘this’ll make him, no looking back for Symonds now.’ And it seems I was right, to a degree. Turns out the only person that needed convincing of his greatness was Symonds himself. Go out and make a hundred, Roy, and tell 'em I told ya so.