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And FB is in stellar company - many great artists have withdrawn at the height of their powers.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.