July 6 – Meeting Prince Charles

Diary of the 17th Man

Sarah handed out the Code of Conduct in preparation for the visit of the Prince of Wales on the Sofia Gardens pitch at 11am:

Rule 1: Address him as His Royal Highness. Do not call him Tampon Charlie unless he asks for an example of a good sledge
Rule 2: Mention Root in every answer. Using a wig as a beard is un-Australian, pro-Muslim and a slur on the Aboriginal term ‘walkabout’ which means wandering off the reservation without so much as a by your leave.
Rule 3: If he asks how fast Mitch Johnson bowls, tell him he would need to wear a box.

Charlie arrived by helicopter. He doesn’t know much about cricket but he remembers thanking Keith Miller once for doing so much to attract women to the game. “These days he’d probably get a Knighthood.” The Prince said he was a great fan of Kevin Pietersen and wished more south Africans play for England. He has read Tom Brown’s school days several times and sees many similarities between the modern ECB and the Rugby School of those days. He can see why Kevin’s attitudes to authority earned him Saturday morning detentions. He can’t wait to meet Trevor Bayliss. A down to earth South African Coach bent on winning is what England need to sort them out. The Prince is so English!

Charlie met Puff and was immediately impressed. He decided he wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley without a security detail from the Royal Marines (any more than he wanted to meet Nick Kyrgios on centre court). A potential VC winner with a combative nature rather than a piano playing public school boy is what you want in an opening batsman. He made a mental note to ‘invite’ the Third Umpire to keep the stump mics on during play. The ECB and the Indian nabobs in the ICCI (or BCCI, he couldn’t recall who was in control over what) never reply to his private correspondence.

When The Captain introduced me as the 17th Man, HRH told me with a wistful grimace to write only what I am prepared to read in the tabloid press, just like KP, and never to say anything over the telephone. No one appreciates a salacious analogy in a world consumed by political correctness.
“Even your Prime Minister confines his comments to repeatable single syllables like ‘stop the boats'”, he said.
“Just like The Captain”, I added “‘Watch out, I’ll break your arm’ is pretty clear.”
“Your f…..g arm, I think”, the Prince replied. This cracked us all up, except The Captain who turned a little red as if he had been kissed by the English Sun.

With a wave of his old hand, he was off to ramp up Cooky and the English team. They would love a visit from their future sovereign. They respond to authority. So does the rest of the Empire, including Greece for whom he has some residual affection. At least the Greeks don’t play cricket.

I spoke to my niece on Skype in the afternoon. She is a wistful soul.
“What are you doing over there again?”, she asked.
“Retaining the Ashes.”
“Why would you want to do that? They are only ashes from burnt things.”
“A burnt bail, Prudence.”
“Who would bother to do that? It’s stupid.”
“A woman.”
“Are you a misogynist?”
“No. Stop listening to your older sister.”
“As I said, a woman, Florence Morphy did it, in Melbourne in 1882.”
“Are you saying that all this Ashes stuff was started by an Irish girl who can’t spell her last name properly?”
“Well, she did it for love…”
“That is why I hate cricket. It’s stupid.”
“I did meet Prince Charles today Pru.,,”
“Prudence.”
“…Does that count for anything?”
“No!”

Perspective is everything. So is winning the Ashes.