Decision makers,
Forget about the small matter of the thievin' cheatin' Seth Efreakens and the breaking of Law 42 regarding "fair and unfair play", there once was a saying in Strayan cricket "it's harder to get dropped from the Test team that it is to get picked".
Not anymore, unless you have the negatives of the photographs of the selectors like Shane FIGJAM Watson did.
How many first class games did Mike "Mr Cricket" Hussey have to play before he got picked at age 30?
Just how it was...and that's in recent times.
The system had long history.
The Stats Guru is still manically whirring the beads on the abacus trying to work out when the last time was that six players were dropped in one fell swoop from a Strayan test team, outside the World Series Cricket era?
He's still looking for the answer.
After throwing RW Marsh MBE under a bus, seems like TV Hohns has been down to the local costume shop over the weekend and picked up the full Grim Reaper outfit.
Off with their heads!
You can say anything you like about it, but there's no doubting it's a gutsy call from the Interim Chairman and the Temporary Three Wise Men.
Always thought, to do their job properly, selectors should act like judges - shun the limelight altogether, be the Faceless Men, and should not necessarily be asked to give reasons, let alone volunteer them.
All Trev had to say...Madds "enormous potential", Renso "in-form", Chadds "plays good in Adelbrain", The HandyComb "made a double ton on the weekend", Bird's "just Bird" and Wade "can bat"; nothing at all to say about those dropped apart from the wicky Nevill - "unlucky".
No mention of one-test wonders Ferguson and Rennie having already put their Baggy's in glass display cases.
Back in the day when he was skipper, MJ Clarke got right jack of being a selector, quite rightly pointing out that he thought it was a conflict of interest.
But they forced him to be one anyway.
Then he dusted off his little history book and found out that up until the very recent past Strayan captains were never required to be a selector, except on tour, when the skippy, his deputy, and the team manager would pick the playing XI from a set-in-stone squad of players, chosen by the selectors.
Soon enough Pup told The Board they could "shove this job for a joke", and promptly resigned as a selector while retaining the Captaincy, home and away.
Clarkey said "just give me a team, piss off, and I'll captain it, OK?".
Of course he wasn't very popular in certain circles and found Boof, Pat the Freakin' Freeloader and a myriad of other hangers-on in his way, busy protecting their own patches and their own bloated stipends.
In the entire course of cricket history, "coaches" never used to have a role in the main game; yoof would learn, and learn hard, how to play a hard game from experience.
When they got over the utter nonsense that was the Amatuer/Professional pommie class shit, the proscribed method of team management worked - by and large - pretty well for a very long period of time; that's not to say there weren't unholy stinks, perceieved slights, accusations of favouritism, nepotism, sheer bastardry, vitriolic acrimony, fisticuffs and bar brawls, etc etc etc et al over who, or who shouldn't, be in the team.
That was all part of it.
But persistency and consistency were still valued.
What do we want? Gradual change! When do we want it? In due course!
Things are different now in the age of instant gratification, and yet, people still hate change.
Could very well be starting on down the road to losing it, but do find the current debacle all very confusing, perplexing.
Pup had nothing nice to say about the Rosy Ball last time out, so what will he be expected to bark on about on Channel Nine, who are fond of paying the piper and towing the CA party line?
As My Spy at The Ground was heard to say "imagine making your Test debut under lights in the Pink Stink at Adelaide Oval. No wonder Trev's asking everyone to be very patient".
Five days in the glare of the spotlights is a long time to be treading the boards - so, now for some Shakespearean oratory! Heroics! Comedy! Tragedy! and chin music in five acts.
Bring the fans flooding back through the turnstiles for five nights in a row.
That couldn't be too much for Marketing to ask?
Surely?
Wandered into the Front Bar at The Local for a quick mid-morning Monday cordial and found The Philosopher, as is his wont, in his usual corner nursing this week's favoured tipple [a strong bone dry vermouth and soda on the rocks], looking rather dazed and disheveled poking his bony finger into this photograph from AAP on the back page of the paper; so impressed was he by the Captain's quizzical visage, he decided to caption it:
"In the name of sweet weepin' Jesus upon the Cross! Who the Hell are you?"
