Country members were mostly farmers who would toil to get the crops harvested before the New Year. The annual pilgrimage for a week in the big smoke for the Test was booked and paid for as they departed Moore Park 12 months earlier. Plenty made a second trip in winter for the rugby league grand final or a Wallabies Test. Felt hats, buttoned-down collared shirts and formal moleskins were vestments for the broad church of cricket.
The result of any series was irrelevant to attendance and the use of the most prestigious membership was an honour, not a right. Disciples of Spofforth, Trumper, Kippax, Bradman and Walters once took the 20-minute walk up Foveaux Street from Central Station through Surry Hills and across the Sydney High sports fields. Now, the Tibby Cotter bridge takes you over Anzac Parade, or perhaps the new tram drops you right at the Moore Park stop.
Patrons take part in the ‘Paddo Sprint’ for an unreserved seat in the Members Stand on day one of the SCG Test last year.Credit: Getty Images
The baton has been passed down the generations to those who now revere Cummins, Starc, Carey and Lyon, but they still queue at the Members’ gate from the pre-dawn hours to emulate the ancestors who took part in the “Paddo sprint” to an unreserved members seat as soon as the attendants flung open the turnstiles.
Twenty years ago, the SCG Trust discussed putting a halt to the sprint, as it was feared a number of the senior members might come a cropper. The Trust was in favour of a reservation system, but the members rejected the notion, insisting the tradition was more important than a few possible scraped knees. The culture of cricket fans might run deep, but that doesn’t lessen the curiosity of their thinking.
I was one of the country teens who skipped up Foveaux Street, light-headed with expectation at the thought of entering the sacred halls of the cricket ground. The actual cricket would be the icing on the cake.
The New Year’s Test in 1975 was another “dead rubber”. I had no idea what that actually meant. To each soul lined up on the footpath on Driver Avenue, this was a live and kicking Test match.
With my best mate and opening batsman Steve Kiddle, I began the journey on the midnight Southern Aurora from Wagga Wagga. We had our own polystyrene mini esky, and there was no security to ensure not a single contraband soft drink or egg sandwich entered the precinct. Innocent times. We hustled for a spot on the fence in front of the Bob Stand (now the pristine Bill O’Reilly) and could hear every grunt, wheeze and thud as a Dennis Lillee rocket cracked John Edrich’s rib. We felt a cricketer’s empathy as David Lloyd was struck slightly lower, splintering his protective box.
We rose from our weathered planking seats when Inverell lad Rick McCosker emerged from the Members, helmetless, with only a spanking new Baggy Green protecting his brow. The series score was as far from our minds as St John’s Wood, home of Lord’s Cricket Ground, is from Moore Park.
Cricket is not baseball. England want to win this Test for a number of reasons: 3-2 looks, and is, respectable.
Players and coaches will keep jobs and maybe justify their philosophy. The visitors want to give hope to the thousands of fans who have travelled to show and sing support. They want to win because that is why this has been going on since 1877.
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Australia want to win because they lost their way in Melbourne and then lost the game. Losing to England anywhere, any time, is painful.
One or more players are playing for their spots. It will be the final Test for a great servant, going out on a successful note is preferred.
The new relevance is that Test Championship points are at stake and Australia are looking to atone for their defeat in the 2025 final. The fans want to watch five days of simmering drama spiced with dollops of spin bowling. Real cricket.
The country visitors want extended time for the annual catch-up with friends, put worries of drought, flood and tariff behind them, soak up the cricket and be reminded of the soothing power of this theatre of dreams.
Banjo Patterson was an SCG member. He revered the place: “Breathes there a man with soul so dead that he never heard of the Sydney Cricket Ground.”
Indeed, Banjo.
Other sports have “dead rubbers”. Cricket has Test matches.