From a backyard in Irrewarra, a baggy dream is now a Baggy Green

IT must have been the early 2000s, out at Irrewarra. I had barely stepped foot out of the car when he threw me the ball.

“You’re bowling, ‘Ooss’,” Aaron Finch would say to me, hustling to the crease to take guard.

Without hesitation, I had ripped the windcheater off and gently rolled the shoulders over.

In my hands was a twopiece Kookaburra cricket ball that had most of the leather beaten out of it.

Aaron would scratch in guard with the outside of his shoe after shouting “two centres please”.

His backyard pitch was rolled, the grass mown and the popping crease freshly painted, it was game on.

I would tear in, spray a few wide, as the deliveries slapped the corrugated iron shed behind the stumps.

Eventually I would get one on target, only for “Aggots”, as he was affectionately known, to crunch it out of the backyard.

For the best part of two or three hours before dinner, I would be chasing after the pill.

If I was not hurdling the fence or stepping through a barbed wire fence, I would be scouring the paddocks or the neighbours’ yard for the ball he had powerfully dispatched.

Soon enough, he would feel sorry for me, declaring his innings short at 1-1000, and allow me to take the bat.

With my body aching and wiping sweat from my brow, I would play and miss, then he would knock me over.

I would get another chance, of course. This was Test match cricket. We had 10 lives each.

The runs would start to come, but, before I knew it, he would wrap up the innings and I would be handing the bat over.

We would toil into the darkness, until one of us could no longer see the ball.

Then, inside we would go.

Stuffing our faces with Friday takeaway, we would quickly turn our attention to indoor cricket.

In the loungeroom, at the opposite end of the house, we would bash and crash our way through a game until our parents would come tearing down the hall and rip the bat and ball out of our hands.

If we could not play, we would watch.

In summer, cricket was all we cared about. At his place

or mine, all we did was play, replicating our heroes. We were close as kids. Our parents are best friends.

His brother Jason and my brother Grant have been knocking around since they were in kindergarten.

Aaron and I played all our junior cricket together.

My dad, Maurie, coached us in the under-13s. We won an under-17 premiership together at Colac West. That year, we moved into the senior ranks.

One Saturday we went to Ditchley Park to play Otway in the juniors. By the time we had arrived back at the club, we were suiting up in B-grade to make up the numbers.

We moved up the grades at a similar rate, only when I debuted in A Reserve, Aaron was moving up to A-grade.

He was only 14 when he won a flag in the top grade at West.

And it was not long until he was playing for Victoria, then Australia as a junior, before dominating Premier Cricket for Geelong, accumulating runs for Victoria and later forging a reputation as limited-overs specialist for his country.

Tomorrow he becomes a Test cricketer.

What a moment for him and his family.

Enjoy the ride, Aggots.