Saturday morning

‘Teams, please present yourselves!’ Frank, the official called.

‘I’ll start it and I’ll finish it,’ Tommy’s dad said, running a thumb over the blade of his axe.

‘Dad, I’ll help, okay?’ Tommy insisted, looking across at the other pairs competing. They were entered in the family category and Tommy was relieved that their opponents didn’t look quite as scary as some of the other contestants he’d watched compete with his dad over the years. There were a couple of kids around Tommy’s size, but they were obviously 13 or over.

There were five pieces of wood – huge, thick sections of trunk sitting on blocks waiting to be attacked. A good-sized crowd had gathered, but Tommy couldn’t see any of his schoolmates. They were probably all over at the Big Hit, he thought.

It was a handicapped event which meant that the chopping would commence at different times. The organisers had explained that it was too late to adjust his family’s time which meant that his dad would begin second last, 12 seconds after the first team started.

‘Ready! Go!’

The chopping began. As the seconds ticked by more choppers joined in. Soon pieces of wood were flying everywhere.

‘Go, Dad!’ Tommy yelled, surprising himself. It was a competition after all and he would give it everything, if his dad let him. It was up to the teams to decide when the swap would take place and Tommy knew that doing a quick changeover could be the difference between winning and losing.

Tommy’s dad attacked the block of wood with frightening force, removing huge chips of wood with each blow. But chopping wood was incredibly tiring and it wasn’t long before his dad began to slow. Tommy glanced along the row of choppers. Already two teams had swapped over.

‘Whenever you’re ready, Dad,’ Tommy called, lifting the axe up over his shoulders.

‘I’ve got this, mate,’ his dad wheezed, delivering another lusty blow. Tommy watched his dad anxiously, concerned that he might collapse with exhaustion.

Now all the second choppers had taken over. His dad was slowing down.

‘Dad!’ Tommy yelled, suddenly afraid. ‘Please, let me take over.’

‘What’s he doing?’ Grandpa King grumbled.

‘Last one,’ his dad panted, hefting the axe over his head for a final swing. The axe crashed down onto the wood. Tommy willed it to break in two, but still it held firm.

‘Dad, STOP!’ Tommy roared, rushing out to the platform. Glazed, his dad stepped aside. Tommy raised the axe and stared at the wedge in the wood he wanted to hit. But just as he started his downward swing, the piece of wood cracked and split in two. Tommy stepped away. A split second later the team next door finished, followed in a rush by the other three teams. It had been a very close thing.

‘Dad, are you okay?’ Tommy shouted, rushing to check on him.

Still sucking in huge lungfuls of air, his dad nodded, giving him a wave.

‘That was awesome, Dad,’ Tommy gushed.

‘Bloomin’ stupid, more like,’ Grandpa King mumbled, shaking his head.

‘So, 13 years old, you say,’ Frank, the official sneered, tapping his clipboard impatiently with the back of his pencil.

‘I didn’t get to chop wood anyway,’ Tommy said.

‘Got a parent over there who reckons the boy here attends Mount Lofty. I think 13 is a bit old to be attending a primary school, isn’t it?’

‘The lad never chopped any wood,’ Grandpa King repeated, raising his voice.

‘C’mon, my boy, we should get over to the Big Hit.’ Tommy’s dad grinned as they left Frank and Grandpa King to argue.

‘Where have you been?’ Ali asked.

‘Long story.’ Tommy sighed, unzipping his cricket bag and pulling out his magic bat.

‘So, this is Tommy?’ a deep voice asked.

Tommy glanced up to see Dan Christian staring down at him, arms folded, smiling.

‘It’s not a real cricket bat,’ Ralph said as he walked over to the group.

Tommy groaned. Trust Ralph to spoil the moment.

‘Looks pretty much like a cricket bat to me,’ another voice said. It was Julie Hunter, Australian and Hobart Hurricanes bowling legend. She’d played T20 and ODIs for Australia and was a menacing right arm fast bowler. ‘And since I’ll be tossing the balls I reckon my view stands.’

‘Y-you’ll be bowling to me?’ Tommy asked, a mixture of excitement and nerves making his fingers tingle and the hairs on his arms stand on end.

Ali laughed. ‘Not bowling, silly. Just throwing the ball in the air for you to belt. Watch.’

There was still a line of about 30 people waiting to have a hit. The Hobart Hurricanes players were taking it in turns to toss the ball gently a few metres towards the hitter who smashed the ball as far as possible.

Tommy could see more Hobart Hurricanes and Adelaide Strikers players out on the oval rearranging big coloured witch’s hats.

‘See that purple hat?’ Ralph boasted, pointing out into the distance. ‘You’ll never get past that!’

‘Sure thing, Ralph,’ Tommy replied, swinging his bat and narrowly missing Ralph’s head.

‘Hey, watch it,’ Ralph cried.

‘So how does this work?’ Tommy asked, ignoring Ralph’s moaning chatter.

‘Well, there’s different categories for girls and boys, you know, depending on how old you are,’ Ali explained.

‘So that’s why there are all different coloured cones out there?’ Tommy asked.

‘Yup.’

‘You had a go yet?’

‘Yup.’

‘Well? How did you go?’ They both watched as a boy smacked the ball high into the outfield. It landed just short of a blue cone.

‘Okay,’ Ali said. ‘That yellow cone is me,’ she added.

Tommy nodded with approval. ‘Awesome!’ It was an impressive hit. Though small, Ali had great timing. She’d obviously connected really well. ‘So how many shots do you get?’

‘Well, that’s the thing. Because there are so many people, Mr Price is only allowing one shot each. But everyone’s hanging around in case he changes his mind,’ Ali said hopefully.

‘Hmm, better make this first shot count,’ Tommy said, spinning the bat in his hand. He strolled over to join the queue.

‘Just remember what I said.’ Ralph scowled, this time keeping his distance.

‘I’ll just let my bat do the talking,’ Tommy replied with a shrug.

‘Whatever,’ Ralph sneered. ‘You think it’s some sort of magical bat. That’s just so stupid. As if a bat can have magic in it. It’s just a big ugly hunk of wood that kind of looks like a bat.’

‘Oh leave it off, Ralph,’ Ali groaned, shaking her head. Ralph opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it as a Hobart Hurricanes player appeared, asking the ages of everyone waiting in line, and sauntered off.

Most of the competitors weren’t getting anywhere near the markers on the oval. It wasn’t long before it was Tommy’s turn.

‘I was wondering if you were going to make it,’ Mr Price said, jotting Tommy’s name down on his scoring sheet. ‘Okay, Tommy, you’re aiming for the green cone,’ Mr Price added.

‘The green cone? Not the purple one?’

Mr Price glanced at his notes and stifled a laugh. ‘Tommy, the purple one is Dan Christian’s hit. Hobart Hurricanes colours. Not sure you’ll get it that far.’

‘We’ll see,’ Tommy muttered.

‘Give it a belting, Tommy boy,’ someone in the crowd called. Suddenly, everyone hushed as Tommy stepped up to the mat the strikers hit from. There was something about the large boy with the even larger bat that made people stop and turn.

‘You ready?’ Julie asked.

‘I’m ready,’ Tommy replied, licking his lips. Spinning the bat one last time, he rested it baseball-style on his shoulder and waited. Although he’d been chatting in line, he’d watched the routine carefully, noting how Julie underarmed the ball around waist height to each hitter.

Tommy stood patiently, flexed his knees and swung the bat gently, eyeing the ball in Julie’s hand.

And then the ball was in the air, looping towards him. Thrusting his left foot forwards, Tommy leant back then swung through with all the force he could muster, pulling on every inch of muscle from his arms and shoulders. The sound of bat hitting ball could be heard across the oval.

A hundred plus faces turned as one to watch the ball sail through the air. There were sighs, squeals and shouts of delight as the onlookers realised that the ball was arcing over the coloured hats and heading towards the purple.

‘What on earth?’ someone exclaimed.

‘No way,’ another spectator gasped as the ball hit the turf a couple of metres beyond the purple cone.

‘That bat is magic,’ Dan Christian said, holding out his hands. Tommy handed it over, grinning sheepishly.

‘You try it, Dan!’ someone from the crowd called.

‘Can I?’ Dan asked, turning the bat in his hand. ‘This is some bat. Who made it?’

‘My grandpa,’ Tommy said proudly. ‘He knows heaps about trees and forests and wood and stuff.’

‘Yeah, I reckon he must,’ Dan said. ‘He could be the Hobart Hurricanes bat supplier,’ he added. Those that had gathered in close took a few paces back as Dan approached the hitting mat.

WHACK!

Once again there was a chorus of excited gasps as Dan’s shot flew into the sky.

‘It’s way over the purple cone,’ someone cried.

The ball finally came to rest against a huge old cypress tree, well beyond the far end of the oval.

‘That, my friend, is an awesome bat.’ He grinned, handing it back to Tommy. ‘Can I borrow it for the Adelaide Strikers game next week?’

‘Seriously?’ Tommy gasped.

‘Well, let me give it a net session first, okay? Can you get to training on Monday afternoon?’

‘Of course,’ Tommy breathed, thinking fast. Surely Mum or Dad would drive him down to Bellerive Oval after school.

‘Sweet. And good luck with the Clash selection too.’ Dan held out his hand and Tommy shook it.

After returning his bat to the car, Tommy, Lazarus and Ali spent the rest of the day wandering around the school, enjoying the food and the rides.

It had been an amazing day. Not only had his dad won the woodchop – Frank, the organiser, had finally agreed that Tommy had in fact not chopped any wood – but Tommy had won his age category at the Big Hit.