“The two things that amazed me on my first visit to the SCG Hill (C8) were spectators willingly throwing full cans of beer and the sheer number of urinals in the toilets under the scoreboard,” writes Peter Miniutti of Ashbury. “I guess they needed that many for those who tossed down their beer rather than chucking it.”

“Who remembers rest days in Test cricket, the non-play day that was historically scheduled within a five-day match, often on a Sunday, to make it a six-day affair?” asks George Zivkovic of Northmead. “I’m sure Aussie speedster, Jeff Thomson, can recall injuring his shoulder playing tennis on a rest day in 1975 during the Fifth Test against England in Adelaide. These days it seems that golfing strains are the injuries of concern well before a ball has even been bowled, since the last time any Test match had a rest day was in 2008 due to an election in Bangladesh.”

“My Cornish friend tells me that Oggy! Oggy! Oggy! (C8) is still used as a rallying cry to purchase pasties,” reports Lyn Langtry of East Ryde. “I wonder if the purchasers still say Oi! Oi! Oi! when they arrive?”

“These border crossing stories remind me of leaving Heathrow for Sydney back in 1991,” writes Steve Hulbert of West Kempsey. “The four-month hair and wild beard, the Irish themed T-shirt (this was during ‘The Troubles’), and the lead crystal baubles in my hand luggage (a gift for Mum) which apparently showed up as ‘sinister’ on the X-Ray, led to unwanted attention – pushed against the wall and spread-eagled by armed guards until I heard laughter behind me when they discovered the lead crystal gift. I was free to board, but experienced some strange looks from my fellow passengers.”

Ian Morris of Strathfield has a major announcement: “I’m sure that mention of Major Major (C8) has opened the floodgates, but as I remember it from the book, he was christened as Major Major Major by his father as a joke. Then he was promoted by an IBM computer with a sense of humour to Major Major Major Major.”

Once again, Jim Dewar of Davistown has donned his poetry hat, partly due to Piri Walsh’s travelling underpants (C8):
Lurid tales of folk with fangs,
Guineas still extant?
Saxa salt and number plates,
Pauline’s burqua rants,
But none could match the pulling power,
Of Piri’s purple pants.

Column8@smh.com.au

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