Hair Today

Mrs FB's home from home - no longer available

Mrs FB observed to her espoused, as they sat close together at an appropriate distance apart last night, that it was all very well him fretting about there being no cricket for the foreseeable future and beyond, but what was a more serious issue was the closure by government diktat of all hairdressers.

For Mrs FB has a weekly appointment at a local coiffeur that is verboten for the duration.   Her anxiety knows no bounds, for without the ministrations of the salon, her normally neat barnet blossoms into a spectacular mass of hair which would out big-hair even Tammy Wynette.

Fantasy Bob could only mutter his sympathy before recommencing the practice of his late cut in front of the mirror.   But his mumbled sentiment that she will always be beautiful in his eyes didn't  have quite the intended effect.  He could feel her giving the ball an extra shine on her flannels as she turned at the top of her run.

With little mercy, she drew to his attention the unimpressive state of his own locks.  Now, Mrs FB continuously monitors the state of the increasingly infertile plain across the top of his shiny pate.  When she deems the undergrowth to be getting a bit too Mr Pastry (a favourite 1960s comic character of dishevelled appearance), she suggests that he toddle down the road to Julie's Gentleman's Barber and spend an exacting 3 minutes in the chair while he is clipped back to near presentableness.

Under current conditions Julie's is closed.  FB's tresses, such as they are, must continue to sprout.  In which ever direction they choose.

The results will cause Mrs FB considerable distress.  She might however console herself with the thought that it is unlikely that they will ever prove as challenging to her conception of good grooming as they did in the days long before she took him under her wing.

FB pre Mrs FB

Social Distance CC

There won't be cricket for some considerable time.

But a new club has just been formed and is applying to join the league.

Fantasy Bob has pleasure in introducing the Social Distance CC First XI (not in batting order):

Don't Stand So Close To Me - The Police

Too Close - Next

Too Close For Comfort - Peggy Lee

I Can't Get Close To You - The Temptations

From a Distance - Nancy Griffith

She Don't Want Nobody Near - Counting Crows

You Can Look But You'd Better Not Touch - Bruce Springsteen

All By Myself - Eric Carmen

Dancing By Myself - Billy Idol

Stay At Home Mother - Sheryl Crow

(Home) Workin' For A Living - Huey Lewis and the News

Essential Workers

The present crisis has brought about a sudden and radical re-appreciation of those whose roles are vital to our survival and way of life.  As many commentators point out the importance, of these roles is in inverse proportion to the rewards offered, or the status and recognition given to those who selflessly carry them out.  The nurse and the delivery driver, the hospital cleaner and the checkout assistant cannot work from home and must take risks very minute of every day.   Life has got harder for them in unimaginable ways.  The premier league footballer and the hedge fund manager, meanwhile, work from home in the luxury that they are accustomed to.  The question is being asked as to how this disparity can be justified.

This week has seen interesting conceptions of what essential services are.  Mike Ashley's attempts to insist that selling cut price trainers should be considered an essential service was, to put it lightly, not well received.  Tim Martin's argument that pubs were essential to the morale of the nation, and not incubators of infection, similarly caused many eyebrows to be be raised first sceptically then in considerable anger.

The uncertainty has been damaging - there are disappointing reports of workers doughtily engaged in various practices in holes in the road, doing essential repairs to utility services, being abused by members of the public passing on their government sanctioned excursions from house arrest.  A social media campaign is now underway to improve the wider understanding.

The cricketing community is not without challenges in this area.  A club's star opening batsman might get all the kudos.  But compare the Doughty Groundsman on whose selfless labour the fortunes of the star batsman depend.  Who is the essential worker?  Who should we come to our doors to applaud?  Who should be given the appropriate Government dispensation to go about his vital work - subject to social distance being maintained?

The criteria of strict social distancing are not likely to be an issue.  Fantasy Bob's experience is that the majority of Doughty Groundsmen have long been expert in socially distant practices, indeed their frequent exhortations to GET OFF THE SQUARE could be considered model practice.  Doughty Groundsmen everywhere could have a vital role to play as expert advisers.  He invites the authorities to take due notice.

Adopting good social distancing practices

A sacrifice

One of the challenges of this period of home arrest is the restrictions it places on physical activity and the burning of calories.

Fantasy Bob has for many years been a bit of a gym bunny, spending vast tracts of each day lathering himself into a molten stew on the various instruments of torture he finds there.  His effort means a quick single is still more than a theoretical possibility, for he retains that that electric speed between the wickets.     All he needs to do is get the bat on the ball which is another kettle-ball of fish entirely.  But suddenly access is denied.  All gyms are closed.

As a substitute for his customary level of activity, the Government sanctioned daily constitutional is considerably wanting - especially as FB's fragile joints have taken enough punishment over the years to make pounding the pavements an unwise choice.   Access to an elliptical trainer or rowing machine is therefore sorely missed.  The weights rack too.

FB recognises he is not alone - there has been a surge in subscription to on-line work-outs.  He is not quite the target audience for Joe Wicks - to whom a big well done for getting the kids tired out - but he has looked far and wide on YouTube.  Just looking at most of it would tire out the fittest of the fit.

But rescue has come from closer to hand.  One of the trainers FB works with from time to time has enterprisingly set up his own virtual work-outs.  So FB, and friends and colleagues, can tune in daily for the pleasure of hearing him bark his instructions at them as they go through their paces.

Even when working at home gets in the way of this schedule and he misses the virtual gym, FB has  devised a series of punishing routines for himself.  So his neighbours have the great pleasure of continually hear all manner of thuds and bumps as he burpees and mountain climbs has way across the living room carpet and wondering when the plaster is going to give.   They must wonder if that is really what home working is meant to sound like.

A punishing schedule

But is it not enough to ensure that when the cricket season finally returns FB is able to bowl his full spell up the hill against the wind?

He has cause for concern.  FB's resting metabolic rate round is about 1800.  An empire biscuit - to which, as his handful of readers well know, FB is exceedingly partial - contains about 300kc.

So FB has taken the most difficult decision since he rashly decided to bat once last season on winning the toss.   That turned out to be a disaster as his team was skittled out on what looked to be a belter of a wicket.  He hopes this latest decision is not accompanied by similar failure.

It will make headline news; shares in Greggs and other producers will plummet even further.  But he is resolute. 

FB will forgo his daily empire biscuit until the good times return and the elliptical trainer is.once again available.  It may not be much of a sacrifice compared to those many are making on a daily basis during this crisis.  But FB has to start somewhere.
He consoles himself with thoughts of how happy the celebration will be when the conditions of house arrest are lifted.

A pleasure foregone

Public Information

Fantasy Bob has spotted an opportunity for cricketers to help the present emergency. 

He noticed how Indian spin bowler Ravichandran Ashwin  joined the campaign to stress the seriousness of the Indian Government's lockdown. 

Ashwin exploited his infamous Mankadding of  Jos Buttler during last season's IPL to plead with his countrymen to stay in their crease on penalty of something worse than being run out.

Because all of a sudden public information and public service announcements are back in vogue.  The Chief Medical Officer solemnly intones in the space where only 2 weeks ago daytime TV viewers were being seduced by the delights of a Fred Olsen Cruise.   Social media platforms are awash with keep safe messages.

The clock has turned back.  FB is of the age that he can remember the hayday of public service announcements.  When ITV was a new kid on the block, each ad break would feature exhortations to the watching public across a range of worthy subjects.  Learning to swim (one such ad was fronted by Rolf Harris - a rather uncomfortable thought in the light of more recent revelations); to cross the road safely; to wear something white at night; to get the strength of insurance around them; and perhaps most famously to hear Jimmy Saville urging us to clunk-click every trip.  FB can't help wondering whether it was an accident that Jimmy Saville and Rolf Harris were engaged in these advertisements?  No wonder they went out of fashion.

Crossing a road Keegan style
 (the jacket would make any driver
slam on the brakes)

Sportspersons occasionally lent their celebrity to these advertisements - Kevin Keegan helping lads cross the road safely, David Wilkie (in the skimpiest speedos) encouraging kids to swim, even Jimmy Hill asking drivers to think once, think twice think bike, reminding drivers that a motor bike might be in the blind spot.

But FB can find no trace of cricketers being used in such campaigns.  He has a vague memory that Ian Botham had a spell on road safety duties, but he has been unable to trace any record of it. FB must be mistaking a zebra crossing for Shredded Wheat - an easy mistake to make.

Now Ashwin has shown the way.  It is a new age.  FB looks forward to the likes of Joe Root or Ben Stokes lending their celebrity to help their fellow citizens.  Stay at home, says Stokes who knows what dangers are out there in the streets at night; don't flirt with danger, says Root who knows to well what happens on following temptation outside the offstump. 

He's the Man

Fantasy Bob drew inspiration from  this wonderful response to self-isolation by the musicians from Rotterdam Philharmonic Orchestra joined virtual forces to perform Beethoven's Ode to Joy  together from their bedrooms.

The Rotterdam Phil giving it laldie in their bedrooms

It reminded FB that today is the 193rd anniversary of the death of Ludwig van Beethoven.  Beethoven is already getting a lot of air time this year, it being the 250th anniversary of his birth.  That is quite alright with Fantasy Bob who can never ever have too much Beethoven.

Longstanding, not say long suffering, readers might pause here.  They might think, 'Is this the FB who has wittered endlessly about Gustav Mahler, and the mysteries of his bowling action, and who apparently would always ask Richard Wagner to open the bowling? How can this be?'

Ludwig van - he's the man

FB is sorry for any confusion.  Beethoven has always been his first love ever since at the age of 12 he was taken to a schools concert by the Scottish National Orchestra, as it then was, in the Music Hall Aberdeen and heard parts of the Pastoral Symphony.  This was a transcendental, transformative experience not unlike his first fully powered cover drive.  Both experiences live with him still.  He can repeat the Pastoral Symphony any time, but that cover drive is increasingly elusive if not unrepeatable.

Now Beethoven's sad demise is hugely significant for cricketers, who might think otherwise that the year 1827 was notable only for the first University match being played at Lords that summer.   It is true that Beethoven was no cricketer.  But his music is wholly about and inspired by his intuitive understanding of the game.  Readers may be sceptical, but FB will illustrate with some examples from the better known works.

As a batsman LVB shows the soft hands necessary when playing forward on a dodgy surface in the opening movement to the Moonlight Sonata.  Any edge will never carry to slip.  He rocks onto the back foot to slam the ball backward of point in the coda to the Egmont Overture (which also invented rock and roll - go to 9.01).  He imperiously slots the ball between cover and extra cover in the opening to the Archduke Trio.  He pulls viciously to the boundary in the finale to the Emperor Piano Concerto.  Nor is he limited to the conventional coaching manual - he ramps in the slow movement of the Piano Sonata Op111 (and he was unafraid of Nelson) - a movement which is as near jazz as it can get - go to 4.45 for the boogie-woogie section.

And when he takes the ball, his change of pace in the coda (9.20) to the finale of the Waldstein Sonata will have any batsman playing at thin air.  He shows his mastery of flight in the Cavatina from String Quartet Op130 (reputedly the only piece that reduced him to tears as he wrote it - a vision of heaven from afar he said).  But express pace was also his weapon - as in the scherzo from the Eroica Symphony. Make the batsman jump.

Who can doubt what cricket meant to him.  His final symphony said it all - an expression of the brotherhood across the world that cricketers feel.  Every time they take the field is an occasion for an Ode to Joy.

Thy magic binds again

What custom strictly divided;

All people become brothers,

Where thy gentle wing abides.

Which takes FB back to where he started.

PS - FB apologizes for the ads at the start of some of the links.  Modern living.  He hopes you enjoy the music.

PPS - readers may safely deduce that Alfred Brendel is FB's favourite pianist.

She's At It As Well

Saints preserve us - Fantasy Bob is now part of a 2 blog family.

All this social distancing and social isolation is very well.  But it is having an effect on Mrs FB.

The strain was evident when she read an article in the Journal of the British Horse Society (or some such) suggesting that horses don't need to be ridden everyday.  It was compounded when the Government's advice precluded her daily ventures to seek the emotional comfort and physical stimulus of her beloved equestrian friends.  They, as much as she, are in lock-down.  Things got worse with the added stress of having FB around all day under the pretext of home-working.

Even then the situation might have been manageable - the postponement of cricket meant that FB's conversation (if that is not an oxymoron) was not dominated by tales of his woes against leg-spin bowling.  His kit too remains in its winter quarters and she can tread the house safe in the knowledge that her next step is not going to see her end tail up as she trips over some strategically placed article of gear.

But then came the shattering news that the producers of the Archers were reducing the number of episodes.  Mrs FB has listened to every episode of the show since Eddie Grundy was a mere twinkle in his mother's eye.  To describe her as having a dependency on the everyday doings of the folks in Ambridge is no exaggeration.  FB's ears prick up occasionally as the characters worry about the village cricket team, but for the rest they might as well be speaking in ancient Greek for all it means to him. But not Mrs FB.  This is life or death.  How could she survive with such reduced rations?

As FB's handful of readers know, Mrs FB is a woman of considerable resolution.  If the BBC were not going to give her the necessary fix she was going to take things into her own hands.  FB knew trouble was afoot when he heard giggles and loud expostulations of mirth from upstairs as she consulted a friend on the phone one night.  Slowly she came downstairs; with doe-like eyes and a trembling lower lip she supplicated FB, 'How do you do that Blog thingy?'

The results can be found on this link.  FB commends it.  He hopes that reference to the cricketing  efforts of the Ambridge First XI will feature soon.  For a small fee he will consider taking on the role of technical advisor.

Saints preserve us - FB is now part of a 2 blog family.

PPE

Until recently, Fantasy Bob understood PPE to refer to the degree which Old Etonians who wish to become Prime Minister study at Oxford University - the present post holder being a notable exception.

Recent times have however given him another interpretation of the acronym.  Many are the lamentations in the media about the redoubtable heroes and heroines of our NHS having to do battle with the present deadly virus wearing only a motley collection of bin liners and oven gloves. It is the, not unreasonable, view of most commentators that this doesn't really adequately count as Personal Protective Equipment.  Even the summa cum laude PPE graduate flexing his or her philosophical muscle would find it hard to disagree with that assessment.

Ready to face the fast bowling?

FB sincerely hopes that the situation improves rapidly and that those heroes and heroines get all the equipment they need.  He notes with approval reports that the Army is now distributing essentials.

For as a cricketer (if that is not extending the use of the term beyond credibility) FB is acutely sensitive to the need for proper protective equipment.  And the more personal the more important.

It is hard to believe that in the dark ages when FB first came to manhood and required to consider seriously personal protection at the crease, he had to dig deep into the team kit bag to liberate one from the confusion of unmatched gloves.  Dark and deadly though the kit bag was FB considered this a better option than that favoured by some team mates, who would not only gather information about the bowling from the outgoing bat but take delivery of a still warm box. In those days, trust in team mates was absolute - not only that they would take catches and not call for suicidal runs but that they had behaved themselves the night before the match.

Failures of this equipment also figure prominently in cricketers' memory - at all levels of the game batsmen remember the box escaping its moorings to slide down his leg just as he plays forward to an off cutter on a juicy wicket.  And there are many celebrated anecdotes placing the cricketer's PPE at their centre.  One of the most celebrated concerns Australian batsman and beer drinker David Boon. The story goes that Boon forgot his box when he went out to bat against a rampaging Jeff Thomson (an easy oversight for a professional sportsman to make). He was somewhat disconcerted to discovery this oversight at he end of the day's play after several hours dodging all kinds of grenades. He resolved to be doubly sure that he resumed his innings fully protected. Having done so the first ball of the morning struck what Richie Benaud would decorously described as his lower abdomen, shattering the box. 

But these are inconsequential trivia compared to the challenges being faced daily in hospitals around the world. All those PPE graduates need to get the PPE in place.

Mixed Messages

The Pentland Hills can be seen from some windows of Fantasy Bob's residence.  And whether gleaming white with frost in the winter, or deep green under the occasional sunny day, a fine prospect they are too and rightly popular with walkers of all sizes, shapes, and abilities. 

In usual times it would therefore be no surprise to learn that they had unprecedented levels of visitors this weekend.  Other public spaces seem similarly to have been rammed.  The weather, after all, was better than the recent 3 sweater conditions. But these are not usual times, and there is a suggestion that the Government's messaging about social distancing and self-isolation might not be having the desired effect.  As in comprehensively misunderstood and ignored.

The majority of pubs and restaurants and cafes may now have closed for the duration, but until they took that action themselves: the Government's gentle exhortation to people not to go out was rather undermined by the decision to leave everything open.  The so-called masters of communication have put out the most mixed of mixed messages.  And are surprised at the result.

Every cricketer has played under a captain whose approach to field placing is after every ball to move a fielder to exactly where the ball has just been despatched.  This skipper now seems to have charge of the GB First XI.

Now, in FB's experience, cricketers have a particular sensitivity to the mixed message.  Such communication challenges are at the heart of the regular tragedies that befall cricketers at all levels of the game.  FB speaks of course of the run out;  when body and verbal language collide, when yes means no, no means maybe, maybe means yesnoyes and just because a batsman is charging towards the other end yelling like a banshee, it does not necessarily mean he or she actually has any intention of going for a run.  Quite the opposite. 

His long experience has given FB the tools to deal with these desperate situations, so that what was ambiguous becomes clear.  He will not leave his crease until he has written confirmation of his batting partner's intentions.  He has even devised a form to be filled in, requiring evidence of the speed of the ball, the distance to the nearest fielder and his or her capability in the matter of picking the ball up and throwing down the wicket.  Only when these factors have been fully reviewed will he  consider accepting the call. 

Given cricketers' heightened sensitivity to the mixed message, FB is confident that no bowler or batsman was among the weekend's crowds swelling the nation's beauty spots. They know the right thing to do in these difficult times. 

FB's conclusion seems to be borne out by the numerous videos that have been tweeted in recent days of cricketers in full kit practising in front rooms, kitchens, hall ways, patios,  confined gardens - anywhere in fact.

There is a fine collection of these tweeted by @crickshouts - and this is FB's favourite - a reckless quick single - no mixed message by the batter but would FB have responded to that call?

FB urges all cricketers everywhere to be safe.

Social Distancing

It was a bit of a surprise to Fantasy Bob when Mrs FB suggested to him that he should resume his active existence in the blogosphere.  He wondered what could have prompted her - after all, his extended silence on these pages had only met with a similar, possibly louder, silence on the part of his handful of worldwide fans.  The clamour for further lengthy laments on his chronic inability to face leg-spinning bowling has been deafening in its absence.

And FB is in stellar company - many great artists have withdrawn at the height of their powers. Rossini had composed 39 operas, finished William Tell and said, 'That's your lot - you've got the theme tune for the Lone Ranger - I've nothing more to give.'  Shakespeare put the final full stop to Prospero's farewell speech in The Tempest - 'Now my charms are all o'erthrown' - and the rest was silence.  Sibelius thought he'd said as much as he need say in his Seventh Symphony and that was it.  No more blog posts from any of them.  Did Mrs FB not recognise this august company?

Three top class batsmen who gave up blogging like FB

FB raised a quizzical eyebrow.  Mrs FB turned at the top of her run up.  Next thing he knew an in-swinging yorker was on its way.  'In case you haven't noticed, things are tough.  No one knows more about social distancing than you.  And you've been self-isolating for years.  Share that knowledge.'

FB tried to jam down his bat to keep this delivery out.  Social distance?  The very thought - he had done his time in the slip cordon - he had not caught anything admittedly, but he had stood for hours within touching distance of the next man. A fine rebuttal; or so he thought.  For Mrs FB was in her delivery stride again, 'All that Mahler you listen to - you can't tell me that that is not self-isolation.'  FB resolution wavered - had she ever joined him in when he pulled out a CD?  The agonies of the great symphonist had washed over him in solitary splendour.  She finished her over. 'So get out there.'

FB's most recent post was in September 2018 at the end of, for him, a triumphant cricket season.  Not triumphant in the sense that he had scored any runs or taken any wickets.  But triumphant in that he had survived the season without the assistance of emergency services.  It had been the hottest summer since, well, the previous hottest summer.  It seems far off now, but even then, the tail spin of Brexit and the madness of the Hundred - or to put it another way the tailspin of the Hundred and the madness of Brexit - were overheating the blogo- and twitter- spheres.  In the interests of his sanity, FB had to withdraw.  Social distancing.  Self isolation.  Mrs FB has a point.

And now?  The UK's slow collapse into COVID lock-down has been greeted by the start of spring weather.  FB would have expected to be stiffening the sinews at the prospect of outdoor nets getting under way soon.  But the possibility of cricket seems a long way off.  And the powers that be have rejected FB's presentation of a set of  rules for socially distant cricket:

No slip cordon;
Wicket keeper always standing back (even to FB);
No elaborate celebrations after taking a wicket - recent hi-fiving histrionics to be replaced by modest applause and a mumbled, 'Jolly well done.'
Hands to be washed after every over.

It could have worked - but it is not to be.

Mrs FB's feelings about the demise of cricket may be ambivalent.  'Well at least all your kit won't be lying around just where I'm bound to fall over it.'  But after a pause the full awfulness of the situation struck her.  'I suppose that means you'll be under my feet just lying about the house all summer.  As if you working from home is not bad enough....'

So getting him to self-isolate at the key board blogging away seems to have a purpose.  Old softie that he is, FB had to sympathise.  So here he is again.