The old Jesuit saying ''give me the child until he is seven and I will give you the man'' could, in my case, be paraphrased as ''give the child something when he is seven and it will make him the man''.
Thirty years ago this month, my mother bought her seven year old son a copy of the ABC Cricket Book. By the end of the summer, all the scorecards at the back of the book had been lovingly filled in, presaging a lifetime of recording sporting statistics when the boy, and the man, perhaps should have been doing something else.
Just as the receipt of the book sticks in the memory, so does the annoyance of the Grade 3 teacher at Chinchilla Primary School when she discovered on the last Friday of November, 1980 that the ABC's normal schools programs had been displaced by coverage of the Australian first innings from the Gabba.
For anyone much younger than 30, the thought of the cricket being televised anywhere other than Channel 9 must seem strange, but back in 1980-81 the ABC did the television coverage, as well as its perennial radio broadcasts and, of course, the ABC Cricket Book. Perhaps because of this, conservative cricket lovers often seem a little more tolerant of the national broadcaster than others of the same politics who did not grow up with the two entwined in their consciousness.
Until I reached adulthood, ABC radio always meant Alan McGilvray running through the details of the previous day's play ''for those who have not got their morning papers yet'', lecturing those sitting near the commentary position to turn off their transistor radios and, unlike many modern commentators, studiously telling listeners the score every time a run was added.
On that first day in 1980-81, the third wicket partnership of Keith Stackpole and Doug Walters batted till stumps and then into the following morning, making 207 and 112 respectively. Having reached 2-372, one might have got the impression Australia was going to dominate the summer. The fact they collapsed to be all out for 433 was a truer guide to a series Australia ended up losing 2-0.
Unfortunately, I did not get taken to the cricket that summer, despite Brisbane hosting one test. In particular, I would have always loved to be able to say that I was there on that famous Saturday when the spectator leaned across the fence and grabbed John Snow, an action which led England captain Ray Illingworth to take his team off the field.
This was not the only reason to remember the series. It also saw the playing of the first ever Test in Perth, the complete wash-out in Melbourne, and consequently the playing of the first limited-overs international, plus the debuts of Rod Marsh, Greg Chappell and Dennis Lillee. By the end of the summer, Bill Lawry had not only been sacked as captain, but dumped from the side.
As Australia slumped to defeat in the only Seventh Test in history, no one quite appreciated that new captain Ian Chappell would end up not only turning the Australian team into a dominant playing force, but also be a key figure in the radical reformation of the game via World Series Cricket. A myth seems to have developed that Kerry Packer saved cricket from the doldrums whereas, in reality, the very reason he wanted to secure cricket for Channel 9 was that it was booming in the mid-1970s, and he was sure it would be a hit on commercial TV.
Some aspects of the ''establishment'' position now seem completely arcane in the modern sporting world, but in one sense it has held up remarkably well. The Test matches, despite the weakened Australian sides which participated in them, remain part of the rich history that stretched back a century before them, and now stretches forward a third of a century after them. The WSC games, despite their quality, are mere footnotes.
The longevity and regularity of Ashes series provide a profoundly reassuring presence as every four years a home Ashes series rolls around and one can take stock of changes in the game, society and one's own life.
Certainly, the game itself improved significantly in the 1990s and 2000s, as scoring rates returned to earlier quicker levels, rather than the funereal rates that produced too many draws in the 1960s. The revival of spin bowling was another swing of the pendulum which one would not have predicted in the pace-obsessed 1970s and 1980s.
Technology has delivered advantages, an obvious one being replays on scoreboards, which helps spectators who miss wickets through momentary distraction, a fate which most famously befell Mrs Park, who missed her husband Roy's entire Test batting career when she bent down to pick up her dropped knitting. Then there is the wonder of mobile phones. In 1990-91, one member of our group did not show up at the appointed time. The rest of us, keen not to miss out on the best available vantage point inside the MCG, decided to punish his tardiness. After a solitary day at the cricket, he was none too happy when I spoke to him on a landline that evening.
However, just when mobile phones made rendezvousing easier, along came pre-booking seats, a decidedly mixed blessing. Never have modern practices looked as inane as they did when an unexpectedly large crowd suddenly rolled along to the SCG for the final day of the January 2003 Test. In such circumstances in the 1970s, we would have all just slapped our cash down and headed in to find a spot. Now, ticket sellers were trying to satisfy seat preferences and process credit card payments, while the rest of us waited in scarcely moving queues experiencing the worst sound in sport, excited noise from inside a ground when one is stuck outside.
Most of the noise that day was coming from the Barmy Army as England surged to a rare victory. Surely, no development would have surprised the mobs in Bay 13 or on the Hill in the 1970s than the fact that the majority of noise inside our grounds now comes from the English. Without wanting to reflect on the Barmy Army, who can be quite an amusing aspect of a day at the cricket, one can argue that not only has Australia generally been better at cricket than England over the past 40 years, there is a fair argument that we have also done better economically and socially.
Of course, these days crowds have to compete with the constant noise coming from public address systems pumping out advertisements, superfluous music or, most irritatingly of all, statements of the bleeding obvious about on-field events. One of the great beauties of the longer versions of the cricket is that they should allow reflection time, quiet moments between the exciting ones. The availability of the dull draw as an option provides a whole range of shades of nuanced grey in a world which increasingly seeks black and white outcomes.
Yet, one only has to think back to the final day in Adelaide four years ago to know that Test cricket can always surprise. At the start of the day's play, it was basically inconceivable that there could be any result other than a draw. Yet the weight of history seemed to make England freeze; their inability to score was far more captivating than any barrage of sixes in a Twenty20 game could ever be. As the England batsmen crumbled to the will of Shane Warne, people who had happily made plans on the basis that the day's play would be routine suddenly forgot all about their work commitments, knowing that occasionally what is happening on the sporting field can be more important.
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