The Old Man and the C


Colin Mohammed

"A LITTLE old man and I fell out;
How shall we bring this matter about?
Bring it about as well as you can;
Get you gone, you little old man."

Cricket and controversy often are not coupled in the same sentence; or so it is perceived. The reality of the situation is that controversial issues follow the game wherever Britain exported her influences. Regardless of time and geography, our glorious game has seen itself boiled in the middle of class, political and social issues. The icons and lawmakers at the ICC are still deploying their spin doctors and "Intelligence Officers" to repair the opening of the match fixing floodgates.

Well, out of the clouds into our own little village of the Greater Toronto Area. We have our fellows in lillywhites playing ye olde Sunday game whilst children frolick and play in the meadows and heather. Is that really the image? Not by any story the Brothers Grimm can create. It is more of a post modern, apocalyptic, tragic-comdedy, where no families and children are in the storyline. Why is that? Clubs refusing to step onto the field to play another? Spectactors storming the grounds at critical moments? Odd decisions given by umpires, and according to one eyewitness, "more police than onlookers…" It seems that our little village has thrust itself into the ugly underbelly big cities of New York proportions.

Our little village is ruled by an aging regency that is either afraid or cannot exert control or discipline into the players. Perhaps it is because they have spent so much time on the various thrones that they can no longer see that our game is de-evolving into disrepute and hooliganism. Whilst the kings are in the counting houses and listening to the merry piper in the public house, fear reigns among the villagers. Fear of talking, fear of being cast out of the village by the regents and mostly the children fear not being able to leave the village and represent Canada because they did not offer up their souls to the regency.

So, the villagers toil on in the sun, mostly on Sundays, and when the time comes they are rewarded by going to a public house, where, alas, no children can frolick or play, nor can wives socialize and dance because the aging regents deemed it so.

Perhaps the villagers need a leader, or at least get together and unify against these regents who would rather listen to the pied piper, and watch other nations play hard ball cricket on a big screen TV.

"Fear is the main source of superstition, and one of the main sources of cruelty. To conquer fear is the beginning of wisdom, in the pursuit of truth as in the endeavour after a worthy manner of life. "
- Bertrand Russell, "An Outline of Intellectual Rubbish"


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