The old man sat on a large beach towel which he had spread out on the grass, and was dressed in shorts and thongs, and had a white, floppy hat to ward off the sun.   His face was painted white by zinc-cream, his bulging beer-belly was bare, and beside him sat a gigantic Styrofoam Esky, full of ice-cold cans of Foster’s Lager beer.

“Surely this must be a true Australian?” thought Dernham as he made his approach.

“G’Day cobber,” said Dernham, tapping the old man gently on the shoulder.   “I’m a Yank tourist and I wondered if you could tell me how this game is played?”

“With a bat and ball,” said the old man, before taking a long swig from a can of Foster’s Lager.   Most of which missed his mouth and poured down his chin to run across his prominent belly.

‘My God, he even drinks like a true Aussie,’ thought Dernham in admiration.   He took a quick step backwards for fear of being drenched.

“No, no,” protested Dernham, unsure whether the old man was trying to be funny.   “I meant what are the rules to this game cricket?”

“Please not to ask me,” said the old man.   “I just flew in from Kyoto late last night.”

“Kyoto?” asked Dernham.   “Is that up in Queensland?”

“No, no, in Japan.”

“Japan,” repeated Dernham, amazed.   “Then you’re Japanese?”

“Of course,” insisted the old man.   “What do I look like?”

Wisely Dernham chose not to answer the loaded question.   Instead he decided to unburden himself.   “Look I wonder if you can help me?” he almost pleaded.   “I’m desperate to locate a true-blue, dinky-di Australian.”

“Then you’re wasting your time here,” said the old man.   “Australians don’t watch Australian Rules Football or cricket any more.”

“They don’t?   Then what sports do they watch?”

“Mainly baseball and basketball.”

“Baseball and basketball?” asked Dernham in disbelief.   “But they’re both American sports.”

“Maybe,” agreed the little, grey-haired old man, “but they’re both very big Down Under now.”   Seeing Dernham’s look of distress, the old man couldn’t help feeling sorry for him.   “Why not sit down and watch the cricket for a while,” he said.   He moved over on the towel and offered the American an ice-cold can of Foster’s Lager.

With a sigh of frustration Dernham accepted the old man’s gracious offer.   For the next seven hours they sat side-by-side on the towel, watching the test match, eating cold prawns and drinking their fill of Australian beer.

By the end of the day Dernham had given up his quest, accepting that the true-blue, dinky-di Australian is just a myth, but satisfied that at least he had experienced a slice of Aussie life along with the old Japanese man.

THE END