Away days: Victoria v NSW at the MCG

The Boxing Day Test at the Melbourne Cricket Ground. It’s every player’s dream to play there in front of 100,000 spectators in the biggest match on the global cricketing calendar. But, for most of the MCG’s 160-year history, that dream, which now fills the hearts and minds of millions of young men and women across four continents, did not exist — because Boxing Day at the MCG was reserved for the annual first-class match between Victoria and New South Wales. Victoria first played New South Wales in a first-class match at the MCG on 26 March 1856, when the ground itself was less than two years old. By 1865, the annual fixture had found its blockbuster home on Boxing Day.

By the time the Earl of Sheffield made, in the words of Australia’s third Test captain, Tom Horan (writing in The Australasian under his nom de plume of Felix), his “gracious gift” in 1892 of “a magnificent trophy” to be presented to the winners of “the [annual] triangular intercolonial [first-class cricket] contest” between Victoria, New South Wales and South Australia, the annual Boxing Day match at the MCG between Victoria and New South Wales had already acquired “time-honoured” status.

The 1892 Boxing Day Shield game lasted five days and attracted a total crowd of approximately 48,067 people which equates to 9,613 people per day. And healthy Boxing Day Shield crowds were not some 19^th century, pre-Federation phenomenon. They continued well into the 1960s and ’70s with a total of 28,693 people attending the four-day 1969 Boxing Day Shield game at the MCG. That’s an average of 7,173 people per day.

1977 was the last year in which the Victoria versus New South Wales Shield game was played on Boxing Day at the MCG. The match lasted three days and attracted a total crowd of 11,430. Here are the average per day crowd figures for the marquee Victoria versus New South Wales Shield game in the seasons that followed its loss of the Boxing Day fixture date: 2,132 (1978–79 season); 1,507 (1979–80 season); 1,592 (1980–81 season); 417 (1981–82 season in which the game was played in St Kilda instead of its usual place at the MCG); 844 (1982–83 season); and 472 (1983–84 season).

It seems reasonable that this clear, immediate and growing decrease in crowd numbers was at least partially caused by the game’s loss of the Boxing Day fixture date. The other likely causes were the increased frequency of Test cricket in home summers from 1973 onwards — prior to 1973, Test teams did not tour Australia every summer — and the MCG Test’s move to the prime Boxing Day fixture date in the early ’80s, both of which combined to stimulate greater public access to, and focus upon, Test cricket.

Last summer, the Victoria versus New South Wales Shield game at the MCG was played in early November. The average crowd per day was a paltry 527. By contrast, 91,112 people attended the first day alone of last summer’s Boxing Day Ashes Test.

This summer, the Victoria versus New South Wales Shield game at the MCG is again played in early November. The match starts on a Friday in bright sunshine underneath a clear blue sky. I am fortunate enough to be there for three of the four days of what turns out to be an absorbing match. Full disclosure: I’m Victorian and I love watching Shield cricket. I firmly believe that, in some respects, the experience of watching Shield cricket at the MCG is qualitatively better than the experience of watching Test cricket at the G.

When I later tell some friends with a passing interest in cricket that I recently spent three days watching Shield cricket at the G, their universal response is: “It must be weird watching a game in an empty G.” But it’s not as weird as you might think. Although, from certain angles, the G looks empty during Shield games, it certainly doesn’t feel empty. Indeed, one feels closer to the game and the men who play it than one does during Boxing Day Test matches — there is an intimacy, a closeness that is unavoidably absent when the G is packed with 80,000 plus people.

Much of this intimacy is aural. In the vast echo chamber of an empty G, one can hear almost every word from the sparse crowd, who are restricted to sitting at just one end of the ground. Even the sound of native birds squawking — in Australia, birds don’t chirp, they squawk — is clearly audible. When cries of “have a go!” start ringing out after the New South Wales openers, trying to save the game, block their way to 0-35 off the first 15 overs of their second innings, I am almost certain that they can hear them. By contrast, during a Boxing Day Test, apart from the utterances of those seated within your immediate vicinity, the only crowd sounds are indistinct murmurs, claps and roars.

The composition of the crowd at Shield games helps create intimacy too. It’s not what you’d expect. Yes, there are some elderly gentlemen in straw hats armed with binoculars, but the majority of the crowd consists of casually-dressed young people — groups of mates from suburban cricket clubs, couples, individuals, and, especially on the Sunday of the most recent Shield game I attended at the G, young families with kids under the age of 12. Singlets, shorts, thongs and baseball caps are in abundance.

On the first day of this season’s Shield game against New South Wales at the G, there’s a sizeable contingent, decked out in training gear, from Ringwood Cricket Club, here to see their 24-year-old first-grade run machine David King make his first-class debut. King earned his opportunity at Shield level through old-fashioned sheer weight of runs — he’s been averaging 114.67 for Ringwood in first-grade this season and got a ton for the Victorian second XI to boot.

The swathes of seating space in the Olympic Stand allows the young patrons to prop their feet up comfortably on the empty chairs in front of them, a luxury that many are happy to make full use of. Some do so whilst catching up on some reading in book, tablet or laptop form. You’d be pleasantly surprised by the number of women present too. Some are part of young couples or families, but there are also small groups of young women enjoying a pleasant, sunny day out at the cricket.

At a Boxing Day Test, the majority of spectators do not get seats straight behind or straight in front of the wicket, therefore, it is impossible for them to see lateral ball movement and, if one happens to be seated particularly square of the wicket, it can even be difficult to tell what shot a batsman has attempted when he’s played and missed. By contrast, at a Shield game, the open stands — the Olympic and Members — are located roughly straight behind the wicket and the knowledgeable crowd gathers as close as possible to the sightscreen so as to afford themselves the best possible view of the game. They are able to see minute variations in the quick bowlers’ seam and swing movement and the spinners’ drift and turn.

The G has never looked in better condition in my lifetime. On the Sunday (day three) of the Shield game, I wander down to the Members’ Stand seat nearest the sightscreen — seat number 12 in case you’re wondering — to see the ground up close. So perfect is the green grass of the outfield that I can barely distinguish it from the artificial grass that surrounds the perimeter of the ground just inside the fence. The only visible clue is the difference in colour — the artificial grass is a slightly lighter shade of green. The pitch, as players from both sides tell the press pack (numbering a grand total of three people, including myself) after every day’s play, is hard, fast and true.

The players themselves are happy to be here in this beautiful empty coliseum. As the New South Wales stalwart Ben Rohrer told us outside the visitors’ dressing room after the first day’s play: “It’s always great to play here, it’s a fantastic stadium. It’s looking an absolute picture at the moment, that outfield’s fantastic so every time you get a chance to walk out there it’s a great day so I enjoy spending as much time as I can out there.” His tone is one of sincerity and gratitude. When, a week later, the G is used for a T20 international between Australia and South Africa, the Channel Nine commentary team (composed predominantly of non-Victorians) are equally impressed with the state of the ground.

Such heartfelt praise for the G from those north of the Murray was not always such a common occurrence. John Benaud, a former New South Wales Shield captain who later became an Australian selector, referred to the MCG as “that huge grey concrete, soulless stadium”.

This season’s Victoria versus New South Wales Shield match at the G turns out to be a stereotypically Australian (in a good way) game of cricket. The pitch is hard, fast and true, but offers turn for a good wrist-spinner from day one. The winning side, armed with a battery of quick bowlers, makes consistent and excellent use of aggressive short-pitched bowling, and are no less aggressive with the bat, scoring their runs much more quickly than their opponents. The winning side field better and pick a wrist-spinner who takes a crucial bag of wickets for them whilst their opponent’s finger spinners go wicketless.

Last Monday, I watched as the sun set on the G on the final evening of a Victoria versus New South Wales Shield game. As word of Victoria’s impending 9-wicket win spread, more and more people, especially kids, streamed into the ground. It was a beautiful sight. Then, when Victoria reached 1-124, just seven runs from victory, I heard the rhythmic, sing-song chant heard in every Australian schoolyard in support of the singer’s team of choice: “let’s go Victoria let’s go, [clap clap], let’s go Victoria let’s go, [clap clap]”.

One day soon, if all goes to plan, the Victorian cricket team will leave the G for a new permanent, state-of-the-art home at Junction Oval. It is the right move for Victorian and Australian cricket, but I, for one, will miss Shield games at the G.