Crick-Crick-Crick-Crick

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