Milk

Sir Charles Walker MP (Fantasy Bob uses the term advisedly) may be attracting all kinds of brickbats from social media commentators for his declaration last night that he would henceforth carry with him a pint of milk as a protest.  FB was unsure what Sir C wanted to protest, but that is beside the issue.

Because lower league skippers, including FB, will not be amongst the detractors.  They recognise how following Sir Charles' example would save the agonies they go through many times during the cricket season.  

The first innings has been completed.  The tea table groans with the assembled provender - the home baking from the juniors' mothers putting to shame the student member's contribution of out of date Wotsits and dog biscuits. 

The tea pot has been filled.  All is set. Then comes a tentative inquiry, 'Where's the milk, skip?'

Skip's blood runs cold. 

Packing for a match is a lengthy task best commenced at the crack of dawn when the mind is clear.  The memory test is exacting.  His own kit must be assembled - many skippers will simplify this challenge by not opening the kit bag from one week till the next - indeed many skippers mitigate all risk by simply leaving it in the car boot all season.  Occasionally even the most risk averse skipper's social conscience tells him that washing machines were invented for a reason.  It is on these occasions that an extra hour becomes necessary to reassemble his gear.  Both socks may have survived their encouter with the washing machine but in their unaccustomed cleanliness have mysteriously been assigned to random drawers throughout the house. The petulant early morning cry of, 'Where did you put my other sock?' is not the wake up call most likely to foster marital bliss.  An enquiry about the last known location of his jock-strap even less so.  

Then he must remember the scorebook, a pen, another pen should the first one disappear, and a third just in case;  the team sheet;  the league rules; the rain calculator.  Then keys, the ground keys, the pavilion keys, the scorebox keys, the tractor shed keys. It is always at this point that his car keys suddenly appear to have moved from the exact position he clearly remembers putting them last night.  Only further hazard with the marital relationship establishes that they have been put on the hook that they always hang on.

Then the sundry items of junior kit that were left behind last week.  For no self-respecting junior will leave a dressing room with all that he brought into it.  It is some kind of long forgotten genetic impulse to territory mark.  It is only scant relief that they use batting gloves or helmets, rather than methods adopted in the animal kingdom.

There may be sundry other items - books borrowed overdue for return; tickets for social evenings.  The list can be endless.  

By the time he has in-gathered (as the Scottish legal profession has it) everything, he is already late.  He rushes out the door, lucky to reach the ground in time.  So is it any wonder that he forgets the milk?

'Where's the milk, skip?'  The repeated inquiry breaks his reverie.

'Isn't there some in the fridge?' He suggests weakly.

He opens the door in hope.  He is saved!  At the back there is a half-full bottle.  He reaches for it - and notices the sell-by date suggests it has been there since the middle of last season. 

'Sorry, boys.'  The atmosphere turns sour.  Not as sour as last season's milk, admittedly, but sour nevertheless.

'Not again.  And I bet you haven't got that book I lent you two seasons ago'

Now, with Sir Charles' example, no lower league skipper will face this embarrassment again.  He will always have a pint of milk with him.  As a protest.  Against not having a pint of milk.

What a service to cricket.  Well done Sir Charles.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AuGWNshGM64