Indoor Cricket

So why have I pulled out of this weeks match?

It is my melancholy duty to announce that I will not be able to take my place in the heavily defeated indoor cricket team known to its loyal supporter as Jesus Brian.

The loyal supporter I refer to is my wife Lisa who still can’t believe I suddenly sprang off the lounge and did any kind of exercise more than once in a row.

Lisa could rightfully be expected to think that a more likely happening would be a crane arriving to lift me through the roof so I can go to work.

PHOTO: © Flan /

PHOTO: © Flan /

I’m loving playing cricket again even though it’s fair to say we have been beaten so badly, every game, it’s like we are the love-children of Rhonda Rousey and Leonardo de Caprio’s character in the Revenant.

I swear when I walk on court I can smell the bad breath of the bear.

Yes we get flogged.  But we pick ourselves up and that’s about it.  We just look around to see who saw us get belted like a dusty rug.

For example;  I was wicket-keeping last week and the batsman snicked the ball which I dropped, it hit me on the toe then hit the stumps and he was given not out caught and not out stumped.

This is how bad we are, I failed twice on one delivery to get a guy out.  Lordy, that is genuine crapness.  That’s Eddie the eagle level of rubbish.  He was the worst ski-jumper in Olympic history.



After only 2 matches our season already hangs in the balance.   Figuratively, a sick kid could stand on a chair and push us over.  And literally, a sick kid could stand on a chair and push us over.

So why this sudden burst of exercise?

I went to see my doctor a couple of weeks ago and he confirmed for me that I had lost 18 kilograms since last November.

My theory is that somewhere around the point where I lost my 15th kilo the vacuum lock between my buttocks and my couch was disrupted and up I jumped.

The gravitational attraction of the lounge overcome I stood, like the first ape to ever lurch up onto its hind legs and I looked around and thought, what could I do for a bit of fun?

A mate suggested we start an indoor cricket team that he wanted to call The Great Batsby.  God I’m so happy we didn’t call ourselves that, we couldn’t back that up.  We bat like we are defending ourselves from imaginary brown bears.

I’m told a rep player went onto Hot Tomato’s Facebook page and was looking for a game.  I say to you sir, please consider it very carefully.  Our crapness could rub off.  We are having a meeting to consider if good players should be allowed to join our ranks but in truth we are so desperate for a win we are considering paying his $12 match fee which would cost us another $1.50 each per week.

So why have I pulled out of this weeks match risking not being part of our first ever victory?

I’m playing in the Gold Coast Airport golf day at Sanctuary Cove on Thursday and I don’t think my heritage listed knee will get through 18 holes of golf then indoor cricket.

If I did both I’d be so tired I may fail to wake up in time to give away $20,000 at Jupiters Casino on Friday.  Good luck to everybody with a chance to win it.

Either way, what a week!  I can’t wait. I’m pretty happy with my peculiar brand of 1st world problems.

Flan is half of the Flan & Emily Jade Breakfast Show which can be heard week days from 5am-9am on 1029 Hot Tomato.


FLAN: I started playing indoor cricket …

I started playing indoor cricket with a bunch of my great mates recently.  Lordy, trying to get 8 people in the one place at the same time is ridiculously hard.  The world shouldn’t be so busy.

Further, we copped two ferocious floggings (one by 200 runs) then we lost a game we could have won.  We choked.  The performances soon tracked down to sub-woeful levels.  It got so bad I thought Hot Tomato would ask for their shirts back.

The point is the thrill of victory is unknown to the Battle-hardened warriors of the indoor cricket team, Jesus Brian.

So we were all hunting for a ring-in.

We needed an 8th player who could carry us to a glorious victory that we have vowed to celebrate with a 4 day bender and full mad Monday carry-on.  Not a grand final… just a win in any game.

We had a beauty of a ring-in a couple of weeks ago but we broke him the first day we got him like a toddler tossing his Tonka under an actual truck.

Mark, the ring-in batting was brilliant, his bowling beaut! But he broke a finger wicket-keeping to our thunderbolts.

Why do the super-talents have the same chemical composition as a KitKat?

Then rumours began to swirl that someone had convinced an Australian test cricket batsman to join the Jesus Brian team.

Speculation was rife.

The doomsayers said “It’s a friend of one of our friends so it’s probably not a great player.”

The texts kept pinging back and forth across the city like; Trevor Chappell?  #UnderarmAwesome!!!

Then the answer came in; it’s Greg Ritchie.

And the text messages ceased for a while.  We were in the eye of the selection storm.  Then I realised Greg Ritchie can bloody bat.

Okay, my memory was that Greg was not the fittest bloke to ever wield the willow. But I have the skills to sew two Hot Tomato shirts together for a quality batsman.

Greg was not renowned for his running between the wicket but neither are we…..Greg Ritchie was a stylish, punishing batsman.  The members of Jesus Brian had definitely heard of people like that.

The very idea of Ritchie joining Jesus Brian immediately made me embarrassed in advance.

Possibly because I have less cricket talent than Warrick Capper has common sense.  Perhaps because if you looked up who was averaging 12.23 in 3rd grade Burgengary club cricket, that bloke would be our best batsman, daylight second, then probably Brian (the actual Brian from Jesus Brian).

Then I arrived at cricket…and it was a stitch up, Greg Ritchie turned out to be a bloke called Greg Richardson.

Needless to say we lost by 80 runs.  Seldom have so few done so little to so many!

However, I met the lion-hearted Australian opening Bowler Ryan Harris at RACV Royal Pines recently and he had this to say to the members of Jesus Brian.

EMILY JADE: Ode to a couch

As I turned up at my best friends’ house a few months ago, two young women were loading some of her old furniture onto the back of a trailer. My best friend of 20 years has discovered GumTree and nothing in the house is safe. Stuff that used to sit in the garage, under the house, or even in the corners of forgotten rooms has all been snapped, up-loaded and then off-loaded to anyone who pays the highest price and is willing to come and collect. I’m surprised her kids haven’t featured in a fire sale on a bad day such is her passion for the ease of getting rid of stuff she thinks is useless but others useful. The biggest haul for the two young ladies was an old blue couch. Let’s call the couch, say, Kevin because that old blue couch, Kevin, was like family to our circle of friends.

14 years ago ‘Kevin’ came into our lives, he was new and flashy and super-duper comfortable. Made of soft fake suede with deep cushions that seemed to embrace you as you sunk into him, Kevin cradled all our dreams. Young, happy and carefree we’d sit for hours rabbiting on about life, love and hopes for the future. Kevin was there sharing our inner thoughts and keeping our deepest secrets. Often we would sip wine and talk well into the night, too late or safe to drive home Kevin’s big arms would be the pillow I safely rested my head on, his body securely cuddling me to sleep.

It wasn’t just soft and safe conversation we shared with Kevin. He was there for every party we threw. Partying around him, spilling food and wine on him while dancing to the Dixie Chicks on top of him. He never minded, nor seemed to show a mark the next morning as we lay around for hours while he nursed our sore heads back to health.

He was there for us for the good times as well as the bad. When my first marriage broke down, it was Kevin I turned too along with my best friend as I sat comatose or crying, his pillows soaking up my tears as I asked the universe what’s next. When my friend and my best friends’ sister-in-law was taken from us far too early, it was Kevin who comforted us for days, weeks and years as we reeled from her loss. On Kevin we grieved and reminisced for most of our time with her was spent with him quietly in the background.

And finally when I found love again, it was on Kevin I sat canoodling inappropriately with the new love of my life as I introduced him to my tribe. And as two became three that new baby was breastfed in the safe comfortable arms of her Mama, who was embraced by the calming Kevin.  As my baby and those of our friends grew, Kevin was downgraded to the kids couch because only old Kevin could withstand the onslaught un-tidy toddlers bring.

So when I saw those young girls taking Kevin away I cried, overwhelmed by the thought of a life without comforting Kevin in it. I never thought something without a breath, could have so much life. My friend on the other hand patted my back and told me to get over Kevin, she already had, and to look at it like this – he was going back to the beginning, starting afresh to create new memories for those lovely young girls. In other words he was leaving us for a younger model. Bloody typical.

Emily Jade is half of the Flan & Emily Jade Breakfast Show which can be heard week days from 5am-9am on 1029 Hot Tomato.

This piece originally ran in Bmag here:


EMILY JADE: School fetes need to calm down

A few weekends ago I noticed a sign on the school fence I’d love my daughter to go to. It was advertising the yearly fundraising fete. A perfect opportunity I thought to check out the faculties in a fun way; we could go as a family, meet other families, maybe some teachers and get Millie excited about going to big school.

I know the dollar is hard to chase in this day and age, but school fete’s need to calm the hell down. I thought I had turned up to the Ekka. I wandered around in a confused daze. The school oval became sideshow alley – the quadrangle, an international food court. The school hall was a full shopping mall and the art auction rivalled Sotheby’s. If the day’s activities weren’t enough, the evening was a full concert of ex-reality TV stars followed by fireworks. This little private school was transformed into the RNA and cost about the same.

As my wallet haemorrhaged money I wondered what had happened to the crafty quaint school fete’s of old. When had a 10kg tin of international roast coffee served out of the school tuck shop been replaced by a funky barista coffee van?

When I was a girl the most exciting thing was the hay bale ride, which was my friends’ Dad’s tractor pulling a trailer around the oval. The thrill was he didn’t really care if any of us fell off, he’d pick us up on the next loop.

The lucky dip was the ultimate re-gifting experience. Mum’s simply emptying the present cupboard at home and purging the awful stuff they couldn’t legitimately give but sure as hell could wrap in newspaper and charge $1 for the luxury of finally being able to get it out of the house.

Still laughing over Liam P’s gift. We did always want a son!

A photo posted by Emily Jade O’Keeffe (@emilyjadeokeeffe) on

The craft stall was every mum’s chance to show off their latest hobby, from femo jewellery to folk art hat hooks. Other mum’s showed how gracious they were and willingly bought other mum’s, let’s say, ‘creative’ creations, supporting the school and simultaneously collecting stuff that would end up in next years’ lucky dip. Petting zoos have replaced the pet parades where Ralph’s, Rex’s and Ruby’s, rambunctiously ran up and down the cricket pitch to win the school’s best bitza. It was $5 to enter your pet, to win a $5 prize, but no-one cared about winning; they just wanted to bring their puppy to school, something you can’t do on an ordinary day. And oh the sweets at the cake stall. Toffee’s you broke your wobbly tooth on, heavenly home-made marshmallow covered in a mountain of coconut that stuck to your jumper like dandruff, butterfly cupcakes with the cakey wings sitting in a pool of jam and Mrs Whoeveristhebestbaker’s champion sponge with cream, so much cream. You had to get in quick before every last crumb was sold and all that was left was the weird looking rock cakes who no-one ever owned up to baking.

I really do understand that money needs to be made at these events, but the amount of work that I could see that went into this Fete had me considering home schooling because being on the organizing committee would surely be a full time job.

And as for Millie?  Despite the overwhelming amount of flashy and expensive rides to choose from, all she wanted to do was play the whole time on the school monkey bars, which obviously were free.

Emily Jade is half of the Flan & Emily Jade Breakfast Show which can be heard week days from 5am-9am on 1029 Hot Tomato.

This piece originally ran in Bmag here:

EMILY JADE: Sending your child into danger

“Stop! That’s dangerous” is a phrase most parents have yelled at their children at some point in their lives.

Whether they were climbing too high, riding too fast, skipping across a street without looking both ways, or watching Sofia the First for the 38 billionth time. Seriously, if Millie requests to watch little purple princess one more time I’m going to run away from home. See, dangerous.

As parents it’s our job to protect them and ensure they make it to adulthood in the best physical and mental shape possible. But the truth is, danger watch starts as soon as your pregnancy test says; “yup, up the duff”.

Then it’s all steer clear of offensively dangerous food’s like Brie, ham or salmon sushi, while a swat team of mums-with-experience start swarming your home and tut-tutting your inappropriate interior taste. Don’t worry, they then take an almost gleefully evil interest in helping you baby proof every inch of your house. Delighted that you will now suffer the same fate they did. I swear an interior design fairy dies every time a baby is born. Baby proofing basically means all your pot plants and pretty things are banished until the growing baby inside you grows up and leaves for University. Warning: You may be a little insulted in the beginning, and even refuse to baby proof at first insisting that you will watch your child like an eagle and educate him or her on what he or she can or can’t touch confident that he or she will be good and listen. If you do that be prepared for your friends to laugh at you, a lot.

When your baby does start moving or as I like to put it, tearing your house apart, you will firstly secretly blame your husband’s gene pool for your child’s destructive behavior, and then you will learn fast that your primary job as a parent is to be one step ahead of predicting danger. The good thing is, it is mostly instinctual and very, very primal, danger spotting switches to 11 in your brain as soon as that kid take’s the one-way ticket out of your body. So you can imagine my dismay when I unwittingly sent my Millie on the highway to the danger zone last month. I sent her to play outside in the backyard. Cue horror movie style music. More specifically I told her to go play in her cubby house. Cue screaming; “NO, DON’T GO IN THERE.” Millie’s Taj Mahal like cubby rival’s some beach shacks in style and sophistication. White weatherboard on the outside, black and white lino tiles on the inside and simply cute to boot. Lovingly renovated by her Dad, what was once an old garden shed is now a thing to behold, so good my brother has asked to move into it.

One day after a few to many Sofia episodes I banished her to abyss of the backyard to get some vitamin D so I could do something important, like look at Instagram on the toilet. After a good solid 10 minutes of alone time in the house a very excited Millie came running from the west wing, and presented me with a very special new friend she had found crawling in the corner of the cubby.

A very un-healthy dose of mind swearing bounced around my brain as I pried her new pet, which she had named ‘Puppy’ from her perfectly healthy little hands. A red-back spider. Needless to say, I have sprayed that cubby with so much bug spray that if a spider doesn’t kill her, the fumes just might.

I know what you are thinking: “Why did you do something so dangerous? Did you hit your head?” I know, I still can’t believe I encouraged her to do something do dangerous, I’ll be more careful next time, I promise.

Emily Jade is half of the Flan & Emily Jade Breakfast Show which can be heard week days from 5am-9am on 1029 Hot Tomato.

This piece originally ran in Bmag here: