The Don, The Hill … and the flying meat pie

My first memory of the Sydney Cricket Ground is going out there with my team-mates from the Panania-East Hills under-10s cricket side. After playing a match in the morning, we travelled to the ground in the back of our coach's van to see New South Wales play South Australia in the Sheffield Shield. It was November 1973.

Inevitably, my memories of that day have been clouded by time, but I do recall that we sat on The Hill and I was taken by the greenness of it all - not just where we sat, but also the playing surface and the roofs of the grandstands.

The ground needs its history and memories to keep it sacred. Back in 1973, I recall the immediate feeling that the SCG was a special place, and how I enjoyed the barrackers who were brave enough to yell good-naturedly at the players. The ground seemed so huge. Doug Walters seemed to be everyone's favourite; he quickly became mine.

Two summers later and I made my Test debut, so to speak, when dad took my twin brother Mark and me to the third day of the Test against West Indies. A study today of the scorecard shows that the day was dominated by Greg Chappell, who made 182 not out, the second of his four Test centuries at the ground. However, my main memory is of Aussie keeper Rod Marsh hitting a pull shot smack in the middle of his bat, but being caught spectacularly, one-handed with his body parallel to the ground, by Lance Gibbs in front of square leg. We were sitting in the Sheridan Stand and I was entranced by how much more vibrant the ground was with a full house in. The green grass of The Hill was now a mass of colour, bare backs, noise, energy and - late in the day - the odd brawl or two as well.

The story goes that when the young Don Bradman was taken to the fifth Ashes Test of 1920-21 at the SCG by his father, to see Charlie Macartney make 170 as Australia completed a unique 5-0 clean sweep of the series, he said flatly on the way home that he would not rest until he too played at the ground. I cannot say I had the same determination after that Windies Test. But I knew that it would be fantastic to be out there.

Within 12 months, Kerry Packer's World Series Cricket had brought night cricket to the ground, and I had come to appreciate the SCG in all its forms - the Tests, the one-dayers and the Shield, and also its place as the headquarters for rugby league, rugby union and for major soccer internationals. One of my strongest memories is of a soccer friendly between Australia and Uruguay in 1974, played just six weeks before the two teams appeared at the World Cup Finals in West Germany. Uruguay were two-time winners of the World Cup, had finished fourth in 1970, but this day they were beaten 2-0 by the Socceroos and shamed themselves when their defender, Louis Garisto, floored the Aussie striker Ray Baartz with a karate chop.

In my favourite dream, I am sitting on the grass of The Hill at a packed Sydney Cricket Ground, watching Don Bradman carve into an English attack. It is a beautiful summer's day and the operators in the old scoreboard at the back of The Hill are working overtime as The Don goes to another superb hundred. When he gets there, the spectators around me - among them the legendary "Yabba", Stephen Gascoigne, originator of lines such as "Send 'im down a piano, see if 'e can play that" - are on their feet, as hats are thrown in the air.

Strangely, Bradman's Test record in Sydney is not (by his standards) brilliant. In eight Tests, he scored "only" two hundreds and averaged "just" 58.58. By contrast, in 11 Tests at the Melbourne Cricket Ground he made nine hundreds and averaged 128.54. Bradman's finest Test performance at the SCG was probably his 234 against Wally Hammond's England team in 1946-47. Away from the Test arena, however, Bradman certainly made his share of runs in Sydney, most notably in early January 1930.

In the second innings of a Shield match against Queensland - having been out for 3 first time round - Bradman scored 452 not out. The innings, a new record for first-class cricket, took just 415 minutes. The slowest of his nine fifties took 58 minutes. When NSW's captain Alan Kippax declared, Queensland immediately collapsed to 70 for 7 at stumps, and were all out for 84 the next day, which suggests that there might still have been something in the wicket. Of course, they were also seriously exhausted from fielding to The Don.

The honour of the best innings by an overseas batsman at the SCG must, in my view, go to Brian Lara, who in 1992-93 played with surety and brilliance against Australia for 277, made from just 372 balls. It was Lara's maiden Test century, and only ended when he was run out; otherwise he might still be batting today. It wasn't so much that he regularly beat the field but that he consistently bisected the gaps between fieldsmen. His placement and power were unbelievable.

Incidentally, in that same Test I scored what was probably the most important hundred of my Test career. Batting at No. 3, I made an even hundred, after word had reached me that if I didn't get runs then I was going to be dropped. I couldn't complain about the pressure, I needed the runs. Had I been omitted, I might not have made the 1993 Ashes tour, which is when I finally cemented my place in the Test XI.

Night cricket is a different game, more of a social event, there for the spectators and the treasurers who have to balance the books. The lights add to the theatre. Even now, 25 years on from the first night game at the SCG - a World Series Cricket one-dayer between the Australians and the West Indians which was played out in front of a full house - there is still a novelty value. And you are guaranteed a result.

For the players, day/night games are terrific value. You start at a different time, stop at a different time. It is exciting to walk out under the lights at night.

The crowds were different too; after dark The Hill wasn't a pleasant place to be. Sitting there one night during a one-day international in the early 1980s I was struck on the back of the head by a pie. Night cricket - and night football - hastened the demise of The Hill. The recurring headlines about the drunks behaving badly forced the authorities to concrete it over, and put plastic seats in. It's a shame The Hill is gone, and there is no doubt some of the character of the ground departed with it, but I understand why it had to go.

In January 2003, I had my own moment of last-ball excitement at the SCG when I scored a century in the fifth Ashes Test. The runs came after a spell in which my place in the side came under fierce scrutiny. I find that at a time like this some people like to put the boot it, but many more - family, friends and fans - offer strong support, so it was that on the second afternoon I walked out to applause and adulation.

Three hours later, I hit a four from the final ball of the day to reach my hundred and 40,000 people went crazy, clapping and cheering, roaring out my name. I never imagined that this would happen, and when it did it was very emotional for me. This was one of those occasions as a sportsperson when you are in that special place called "the zone", something that happens only once or twice in a career.

A few weeks later, in a Pura Cup match in Sydney, I was fielding in the covers on the eastern side of the ground, in front of the Bill O'Reilly Stand, the grandstand that grew out of where the old Bob Stand once stood. From there I could look past the batsman over to the Members Stand and the Ladies Stand. And I was thinking, "Jeez, how lucky am I? There's a lot of people who'd give a great deal to be where I am right now, playing cricket on this ground." There may even have been one or two boys in the crowd preparing to write the next chapter in this great ground's history.