The Scourge of our Times

I used to have a lot of respect for the Worcestershire captain. But not any more. I’ve taken down the posters. I’ve dismantled the Solanki shrine in my living room. I’ve even stopped stalking him every Tuesday afternoon in the Bromsgrove branch of Waitrose. The fact is, I can’t look Vikram Solanki’s life-sized mannequin in the eye anymore.

It’s not just the mighty Vikram. I can’t hear the name Chris Read without feeling sick to the stomach and my campaign to have Justin Kemp’s autograph removed from EBay has entered its second weekend.

Why do I harbour such ill-feeling towards the moderately talented? Well, ever since I read Lalit Modi’s autobiography (Modi, Modi, Modi – A Rich Man’s World) I have started to see the activities of Vikram and his cohorts in a new and sinister light.

What is the biggest problem in the world right now? I think we all know the answer. Unofficial cricket. Let’s be frank, it’s the scourge of the modern age. It is sickening to think that even as you’re reading this there are gangs of rebel cricketers hanging round on street corners all over India. Wealthy residents of Delhi are frightened to leave their homes lest they encounter some unofficial cricket. Only this morning, I had to confiscate a bat from a group of eight year olds playing in the local park. Had they sought ICC clearance? Had they hell!

Thank heavens then for the BCCI and their efforts to save us all from these dangerous insurgents. This dedicated band is working tirelessly, literally one, sometimes two afternoons a week on our behalf. You might say that they seem to be doing very well for themselves in the process. But you’d be wrong. They don’t drive top of the range cars because they like it. They don’t wear expensive suits because they want to. It’s just part of the job. In order to infiltrate these gangs of international desperadoes they have to think like them, act like them, get paid more than them.

The ICL rebels are undermining Test cricket and grabbing the cash to play in a pointless domestic Indian league designed purely to make vast piles of money for the shadowy clique in charge. Let’s be clear, that is something that the BCCI simply will not tolerate. You might not like Lalit Modi or Shashank Manohar. But that’s because you’re a neo-colonialist and frankly you deserve to be crushed underneath a heavy roller pushed by Jesse Ryder.

So join with me and stand up to these rebels, these ICL bullies, with their half-empty stadia and pink tracksuits. Go along to New Road, stand by the pavilion and tut loudly as Solanki strolls out to bat. If you meet Paul Nixon in the queue at the butchers, pretend you don’t know who he is. And if you see Dinesh Mongia flagging down a taxi, it is your moral duty as a cricket fan to steal his ride. Let these people be in no doubt about two things. Firstly, that there is more to cricket than money. And secondly, that the BCCI know where they live and where they do their grocery shopping.