The First Day of the Season

How Fantasy Bob has marked the special day of the start of his season through the years.

In prayer; 

The importance of biscuits; 

Worrying about equipment; 

More worries about equipment; 

Observing the beauties of nature; 

In a short nursery rhyme.

HAVE A FINE SEASON ONE AND ALL

Hope Springs Eternal

Alexander Pope - looking at last season's averages

Hope springs eternal in the human breast;

Man never is, but always to be blessed:

The soul, uneasy and confined from home,

Rests and expatiates in a life to come.

So wrote Alexander Pope in his Essay on Man in 1734. Apposite words for the start of another cricket season.
Remarkably, however, cricket was far from Pope's mind when he dashed this ditty off.  He had a more mundane purpose. As Fantasy Bob understands it, Pope's intent was to explain God's ways to men. Basically he was of the opinion that since God has not revealed his full purpose (rather like the skipper who opts to bat on a soft green wicket), there is no good players standing around moaning about things.

Obviously, this tells us only that Pope had never met a lower league cricketer on his return to the pavilion having been triggered by a team mate for a ball that pitched outside leg, took an inside edge and hit him six inches above the knee roll. Had he done so he might not have been so ready with his optimism - and the course of European poetry and philosophy might have been different. 

 
Cricket would however have remained the same - and cricketers too at this time of year find their breasts swelling uncontrollably as the hope springs up. Last season's averages are no guide to future performance. Even FB, who has been playing since about 1734, and who should by now realise that there is a straight one out there that is going to undo him yet again. He is never blessed. Confined from home, he will sit silently beside his teammates and expatiate on that innings still to come when he will play down the right line. Ay right ,as the saying goes.

But there again Pope seems to have had the measure of FB for he also wrote:

Blessed be the man that expects nothing for he shall not be disappointed.

FB wishes the best of seasons to all cricketers in whose breasts hope springs eternal today - may 2017 bring them no disappointment.

Pre-Season

It is the time of year when the cricketer's pulse quickens.  As the days lengthen, as the temperature soars to near 5 degrees, he or she knows that the day is coming near when that old weakness against the straight one will once again be cruelly exposed.  But for the moment, it is the phoney war of the pre-season. A time ripe with hope and anticipation. Pre-season.  When dreams of hattricks and

hundreds crowd the cricketer's mind.

It is also the time when respectable media outlets lose sight of their year long policy of wholly ignoring club cricket and desperately look for human interest stories to stimulate interest in the coming season.

Ever seeking the celebrity angle, a journalist took it on himself to phone Fantasy Bob at home earlier this week. His timing was ill chosen, for Fantasy Bob was fully occupied in practising his improved batting stance in front of the wardrobe mirror.  It has taken him all winter and he was on the point of perfecting it.  He had given strict instructions not to be disturbed for the next 3 hours.

The call is therefore answered by Mrs FB.  Her clear soprano rings through the house:

'You want to speak to Fantasy Bob, the celebrity cricketer?' (There was a cruel trace of mocking laughter in her tone). 'I am sorry he can't come to the phone - he is upstairs having a temporary bout of insanity.  It could last until August.  Maybe I can help you?

'You want to know how his pre-season preparations are going......'

The short silence should be a warning to the inquirer.

'....Uh.  Huh.......'

The alarm bells should be ringing louder.

'.......Well, let me tell you.......'

There was now no escape.

'.....Don't give me pre-season.  It's longer than the wretched season itself.  The day after the final game last year he starts.  I've had months of him moaning on about whether he can manage another season. Is his back up to it, he groans.  I suggest he could give his back a bit of a test by painting the bathroom but he says that would risk unbalancing his bowling action.  Pathetic.  Two months ago he has to get his kit out of the various cupboards he squashed it in last August.  Of course the only place he can leave it all is exactly where I am bound to trip over it.  I've measured my length three times today already.  Then he's sitting in front of Line of Duty with his pads on - just to get them flexible for his big innings he says.  How flexible do they have to be for your usual duck? I ask.  He doesn't talk to me for 3 days. Then the linseed oil - the stink is everywhere - I think he's drinking it.  I look out to the garden and make a hint that the grass is beginning to grow.  Does he take the hint - does he hell? He'll never do a hands turn in the garden, but the minute that Doughty Groundsman phones, you won't see him for dust and he'll be there cutting the outfield like a man possessed with a glaikit look on his face.  It's pathetic.

'Pre-season - don't give me pre-season - just get the season started and I can get him AND HIS KIT OUT OF THE HOUSE.'

Sounds of the 60s

Fantasy Bob was sorry to hear of the passing of Brian Matthew last week.  Brain Matthew was the long serving host of Sounds of the 60s - the programme which has accompanied FB's Saturday breakfasting for many years.

Indeed in these days of the introduction of listener phone-ins on Radio 3 and the endless Faragification of the wider air waves, Sounds of the 60s has been just about he only radio programme FB has been able to enjoy without feeling the constant need to shout back at the set.

It was Mrs FB who suggested that for the good of his health he should desist from such vigorous responses - for if he didn't stop his caterwauling she would come downstairs and put him in hospital herself.

There was no need for such responses when Matthew took to the air.  His smooth voice was familiar and comforting.  His knowledge of the music at hand effortlessly compendious.   He conveyed the impression that he knew all the musicians personally.  Test match quality.

This was a voice FB recognised from his childhood.  For FB recalls earlier Matthews programmes - The Saturday Club and Easybeat back in the day.  He has a distinct memory of hearing the Saturday Club as he sat in the local barber waiting for his short back and sides leafing through a well thumbed copy of Reveille.  The pubescent FB found this a somewhat racy publication  although this did not make up fully for its disappointingly limited interest in cricket.  For some reason the song that comes to mind, as he sits there leafing, is Frank Iffield's I Remember You.

Just around the corner from the barber shop was a small sports shop - the type of outlet that no longer exists.  No moulded soles or screw in studs - FB recalls the box of  leather football boot studs which had to be hammered into the traditional boot, their sharp nails obtruding.  FB cannot remember buying anything in the shop except dubbin and laces for his football boots, but it was the place you went to get your leather football blown up or the grip on your cricket bat changed.  Services which Sports Direct lamentably fail to offer.

But FB digresses.

Brian Matthew was cruelly removed from the show earlier this year, very much against his will. There was a petition to reinstate him.  Sadly however the grim reaper pays such popular will no respect.

The show lives on.  It is now introduced by Tony Blackburn.  While FB can remember listening to Blackburn in the early days of Radio 1, he did so with little pleasure.  His habit of talking over the start and end of records and the inane jokes make it a trying listening experience.  He was soon a refugee to Radio 3.

But with the advent of Blackburn accompanying his Saturday breakfast, FB has found he has started shouting at the radio again.   Vigorously.

Mrs FB is suggesting that this can't be good for his health.

Wellness

Fantasy Bob has recently returned from his annual visit to the Austrian ski slopes.  It was perfect cricketing weather.  Indeed for the Scottish cricketer it seemed unnatural - the sun shone continuously and the temperatures soared to 0 degrees.  Well beyond the usual temperature at the high point of the Scottish cricket season.  FB felt renewed, rejuvenated, ready for anything (maybe even facing leg spin).

But the weather may have had little to do with the new spring in his step.  In his hotel room he found the following exhortation.

Nature is our most beautiful example of holistic wellness. As is wellness in the Ötz Valley. It spurs us on to keep thinking. To create new things – to go one step further. To grow and evolve. Our wellness concept in the Ötz Valley picks up on this idea and achieves it in a world of simple elegance. A world where precious materials and perfected aesthetics meet in a seductive duet with a symphony of perfection, balance and harmony. You are invited to become acquainted with wellness in the Ötz Valley in its purest form.

How could he resist this siren call?

Readers who have had the misfortune to follow FB’s Witterings across the span of time will know how his every move is a  seductive duet embodying a symphony of perfection, balance and harmony.  (Particularly when he faces leg spin bowling). They will therefore understand how he hurried to accept the invitation to become acquainted with wellness in its purest form.

With simple elegance he entered the Hotel’s Wellness Centre to find a pristine world of saunas, steam baths, sprays, herbal tea and relaxation couches.  Bring on the Wellness - FB was ready to grow and evolve.

Pride of place in this complex was a large glass sided sauna with a commanding view of the mountains. This was a temple, nay a cathedral, of Wellness.  This was Wellness taken to a new level.  FB was about to discover there are levels of Wellness that he could not previously have imagined.

Celebrants in the Cathedral of Wellness

As FB sat contemplating the mountain view (and growing and evolving in his own manner), a high priestess of wellness entered the cathedral.  She greeted the faithful as they sat pink and perspiring on the benches.  She was here to perform the ritual aromatic infusion.  She assured them that the aromas of Meadow Herbs, Woodland Flowers, Alpine Spruce, Mountain Pine, or whatever was that day’s infusion, would regenerate them, banishing all manner of ills affecting their liver, heart, lungs and all other bits restoring them to the level of new born babes. 

She lifted her bucket and poured her magic solution on the coals.  With a hiss of steam the already demanding temperature soared to the barely bearable and amongst the faithful thousand pores opened.  The badness of wurstl, knodel, and in FB’s case, empire biscuits was eased away. The high priestess then took a specially designed ceremonial fan and wafted the sweetened hot air over the faithful.  FB inhaled deeply and sweated it out with his fellow disciples.  But he began to worry – Mountain Pine was all very well;  Alpine Spruce had its place.  But there was one aroma that seemed necessary to this level of Wellness.  He approached the High Priestess in mid-waft.

‘Achtung’, he intoned, summoning up his impressive command of the German language derived through painstaking study of Commando war comics in his misspent youth.  ‘Habenzie ein aroma auf linseed oil?’

For what other aroma could compare?  Even the smallest hint of linseed oil in the air would stir FB’s pulse, would cause all the world’s cares to slip off his shoulders, would bring to is mind images of sunshine, green grass, and the sound of leather on willow as that leg spinner was despatched to the far boundary.  It was real Wellness.  Wellness with a capital V.

‘Linseed oil.  I think not so.’ came the reply.  Noting the crumple in FB’s features teh priestess bravely tried to console him  ‘But we do serve Linsen suppe in the restaurant.’ 

FB returned to his perspiring contemplation of the mountain view.  He felt a little superior.   There was still a lot these people had to learn about true Wellness.  

Make Cricket Great Again

There has been widespread welcome for the appointment of Joe Root as captain of England. 

POTUS calling Yorkshire

Fantasy Bob's worldwide monitoring system eavesdropped a call to Joe from the recently elected President of the United States of America.  (FB would like to make clear this was wholly accidental and accomplished without the assistance of any Russian hackers.)

..Hello tha's through to Joe Root but I can't take t'call reet now - am at t'nets - please leave message after t'tone.

Hi Joe, Donald J Trump here, just wanted to say hi and welcome you to the band of world leaders following your election - we top order bats gotta stick together - lotta BAD stuff in the world - lotta BAD bowling - lotta BAD wickets. We gonna Make Cricket Great Again.

Hey - your election victory - yeh - I hear it was almost as big as mine - you know I got more college votes than anyone ever - anyone says anything else its FAKE NEWS.  You gonna find out about that FAKE NEWS soon Joe - failing mainstream scorers will tell LIES - invent FAKE BALLS - FAKE LBWS - say you got out for 0, when you know you made 250 easy, 300 maybe - like I've never made anything less. I bat bigly - every time. The CNN say I got no idea where my off stump is - FAKE NEWS - I got an executive order - says my off stump is where I say it is. 

Joe, thought we should get together sometime - you got some deals with the Australians soon - I can tell you about them - they're a bunch of losers - and I mean LOSERS - with a capital SAD - and can you believe that part of Obama's failure was some deal that they think they can send all kinda BAD guys over here - guys with real bad bowling actions - I gotta stop them - I got an executive order keeps bent arms in their own countries - did you see my bowling action - straightest arm you ever seen - arm so straight it comes round the other side.

Hey - I guess you might need some new gear - I'm thinking I need to bring out a brand new line in cricket bats - the Donald J Trump Hitters - all made in the USA.   Hit every ball for six home runs. No more FAKE BALLS.  They gonna Make Cricket Great Again. 

And Ivanka's getting together a cool line in sweaters.  It's so UNFAIR that Aldi refuse to stock her merchandise.  She's such a great girl.  Even though she's my daughter I'd give her a 10.  Bat her well up the order - know what I mean.

Hey your Mother Therese doll said I need to come over sometime, fix her Brexit for her - see if it needs a wall or something which I think is a great thing.  I like her bowling action.  

Well Joe that'll do for now - got some TV shows to watch to catch some more fake news.  Hope we can get a few throwdowns soon.  We gotta keep on top of those BAD guys - we're gonna Make Cricket Great Again.

Let Us Now Praise Famous Doughty Groundsmen

To paraphrase the Wisdom of Sirach, 'Let us now praise famous doughty groundsmen,  and the wickets they begat us.............'

Fantasy Bob's dwindling handful of readers, distracted these days as they must be by continual reports of the world going to hell in a handcart and 200 becoming the par score in T20, may not have noticed a momentous announcement this week from the go ahead Edinburgh cricket club Carlton.

It marked the end of an era with the retirement of the club's World Famous Doughty Groundsman. The announcement rightly noted the long years of doughty service with the scarifier that the WFDG had put in which have ensured that the Grange Loan wicket is as fine a playing surface as can be found anywhere.

Fantasy Bob adds his praise - the WFDG's support for the lower teams in the club was exemplary.  He prepared the wickets for FB's own lower league tussles with as much attention to detail as for the club's higher teams.  Never one to suffer fools gladly, or silently, he suffered FB's foolishnesses with saintly equanimity.

He might inwardly have groaned as FB spurned yet another fine batting service to bowl first in his obsessive pursuit of league points; he might have wondered to himself what was the point; but he stayed silent...........almost.

Yes, the WFDG has been an inspirational figure at Grange Loan and beyond -

Inspiring Rabbie Burns to a celebration of his work

Inspiring Sergio Leone and Clint Eastwood

Inspiring Doughy Groundsmen the world over to seek his advice 

Inspiring not quite Henry Raeburn but another celebrated Edinburgh portraitist

Inspiring a world famous charity appeal

FB offers his thanks to the WFDG for his inspirational role and all his work and is glad to note that he will not be a stranger at Grange Loan.