Cricketers for Cricket, Cricket for Cricketers!
The Society of Cricketers, Retired And
Playing (the use of the acronym is not permitted) recently held an emergency closed
door meeting at the Silly Point Bar to listen to the startling
revelation and mission statement about to be made by one of the older, sober
members.
The older, sober member
first stood up straight with the help of his walking stick on one side and a
willing comrade’s shoulder on the other, and walked up to the lectern, pausing
along the way to throw a hasty salute towards the portrait of Sir Garfield
Sobers
executing a cover drive. Then, after mumbling something about parched throats
and drip irrigation, he launched into his speech.
"My beer remembers", he began, and stopped when he
realised he had mixed up his
words. He mumbled an apology and began again.
"My dear members", he said, "I am Sobers, G. Sorry, I
mean, let me put it clearly, I am sober, ji. I will come straight to the point, even though we are already at Silly
Point, ha ha!
Let me tell you about a mission which has remained highly secret all these
years. I am now about to let the cat spill the beans out of the bag.
This hush-hush mission (we code-named it “hush-hush-mish”) was born many
years ago when I was a young and able cricketer. I got together a few of
my like-minded comrades one fine evening at a wonderful place just like this,
called The Square Leg Watering Hole. What a watering hole it was, renowned for the several fine beverages it
served. I particularly favoured the amber coloured one. Highly nutritious stuff made out of food grains
like barley and what not. Simply thinking about it makes my mouth water!”
At this point, the willing comrade sitting next
to him gently prodded him in the back with the blunt end of a pencil to remind
him that he was going off-track. He sheepishly nodded, took a sip of plain
water from the glass placed in front of him and continued his narrative.
“But I was digressing. Now let me take a fresh
stance with an off stump guard and get back on track.
All of us like-drinking
comrades, sorry, like-thinking comrades, were terribly worried about the influx
of non-cricketers into cricket. There we were, a bunch of gentlemen cricks
quietly playing our game and suddenly there they were, the non-cricks,
spreading like some deadly virus, into our territory. Selecting, umpiring,
coaching, commentating, even spectating, they did not spare anything. We deliberated non-stop for 3
days and 3 nights and then came to the conclusion that we must do everything
possible to make sure that cricket will be only “for cricketers, by cricketers,
of cricketers”.
We would send the
non-cricks a clear message to “clear off”.
Our mission was born –
to cleanse the system of non-cricks.
We took the first step when one of our senior players retired from playing
and became a vampire, sorry, umpire. We propped him up, held his hand, taught
him how to raise his finger and say "Out" in a loud and clear voice!
In time he became famous as “the man with the raised finger” and developed his
own signature style of signaling a boundary. A few years later he retired from
umpiring but then wanted to remain on the field and become a selector or coach
or at least a cheer leader, but we were able to slowly turn him around and push
him home.
We encouraged many of our fine cricketers to become fine umpires and they
did. Our efforts paid off. Now nearly a quarter of the umpires in the
cricketing system are our brethren. Of course, we will be happier if some of
our sistren, I mean, sisters, also become umpiren, I mean, umpires.
Then, by a stroke of luck, thanks to a spelling mistake made by one of the
newly recruited clerks in the selection committee notification order, one of
our brethren became a selector. This was a most unexpected opportunity! We
grabbed it with both hands and, working hard, slowly took over the selection
committee and began showing the exit to non-cricketers one by one. Since then,
many of our tribesmen have become selectors. It is only a matter of time before
we take total control.
Having covered selection, we turned to coaching. We roped in some of our
trusted but idle clansmen and convinced them to become coaches. Those who were
bowlers in their playing days became bowling coaches, those who were batsmen became
batting coaches and many of the remaining were made fielding coaches.
There were some who could not get any coaching position. But not to worry!
We take good care of our brethren (and sistren too). To those who could not
become coaches, we gave them luxury air-conditioned multi-axle coaches to run
as team coaches for pick-up and drop-off services for coaches, assistant
coaches and coaching assistants, thus covering that angle too.
Next, we covered the commentary positions. Why should we allow some
non-cricketing chappie to sit in the box and gab, I mean grab, all the
attention? No way! It took a bit of effort but we managed to put in several of
our chumps, I mean chums,
in the box. They quietly slipped into their roles, and now are
happily chattering away! Of course, there is still the odd man out who is in,
you know who I mean! But he is a good
chappie and we don’t want to be harsh on him. We treat him like an honorary
ex-cricketer but it is only a matter of time before we show him the door. The commentary box bores, I mean doors,
will be closed to non-cricketers. The box will be ours!
Our eyes then turned towards the central board and the
associations. Ha, I thought, here is a pie I would like to have my thumb in! So
I called up a few of my thumbs, I mean chums, and set the process in motion.
Soon those pies will be ours. Just wait and
see!
You may wonder why some of our regular comrades are missing this important
meeting. Well, they are right now in a far-off undisclosed location undergoing
training under professionals to lead the cheer. When they return, lo and
behold! We will have our very own cheer leaders. Cheers to the leaders!”
(The member paused to take a few sips of plain water, a wistful look in
his eyes as he drank. Then, with a sigh, he continued.)
“So here we are, doing all the hard work. We man the associations. We
coach the players. We ply the coaches. We umpire the matches. We lead the
cheer. Our brethren, and
sistren too, are out there in the middle, batting, bowling, fielding, umpiring,
carrying the drinks tray and sometimes even doing odd jobs like sledging,
spatting and so on and so forth.
In short, we are the cricketing world, we are the cricketing children, we
must be the ones to benefit, so let's start taking, er, I mean giving.
But coming back to the point, not the
Silly Point, we are already there, ha ha ha, the only area we have not covered
are the spectators. And that is the crux, the raison de etre of my speech, the nub of the point I am trying to
make! By the way, I also learnt that “raison
de etre” is a term in Malayalam meaning “how many dried grapes?” and is
increasingly being used nowadays by bowlers to check the number of dot balls or
unproductive balls they bowl. Our umpire comrades should make a note of this
term. I wonder if we should raise a toast to our Malayali friends for
contributing this term.”
The willing comrade once again gave
him the blunt pencil treatment to bring him back on course. Pulling himself up
and clearing his throat, the older, sober member continued.
“But I am wandering again! Coming back
on track, as I was saying, the fruits of the labour of us cricks are being
enjoyed by those non-cricks! Only the other day, I happened to be sitting in
the Sponsors’ Stand watching a keen tussle between the bowler, the batsman, the
square leg umpire and the drinks-cart driver. I was also keenly listening to
the two persons sitting next to me heatedly discussing the price of onions. The
heated discussion led to them calling each other some brilliant names which I
hurriedly noted down but that is a story I will save for another day. Then they
started referring to each other’s professions and I was horrified to discover that
one of them was a professional magician and the other a part-time water diviner!
That is what worries me. Today we have magicians and water diviners watching
our matches. Tomorrow I won’t be surprised to find tinkers and tailors, even soldiers
and spies in the stadium! I mean to say, this is all very well, but where have
the cricketers gone? We must make sure there are only playing cricketers,
retired cricketers, former cricketers and ex-cricketers in the stadium. Catch
my point? And it is not a silly point, even though we are already there, ha ha!
We must keep all cricket for ourselves
and only ourselves but, of course, ensure that the revenue continues to pour
in. That, in short, is my mission.
So, my fellow cricks, my new slogan is
Cricketers for Cricket, Cricket for
Cricketers!
Crick-Crick-Crick-Crick in short.
Think about it while I irrigate my throat."
© Shiva Kumar 2015
