It seems de rigueur in the current climate for cricket to court controversy, be it bad behaviour on the field of play, whilst walking off the field of play to incidents of punishing innocent chairs in dressing rooms or even behaviour not befitting that of a gentleman in cricketing cyberspace. We have had million dollar winner takes all matches introduced, batsmen changing grip and stance during a bowlers run in, slaps between international team mates, bans from international cricket, the proclaimed announcement of the demise of the 50 over format and even the grounds themselves prompting public spats over the subject of what makes a suitable test venue.

I’m not going to go further regarding this clubs record so far this season but as the self styled lord protector of the spirit of cricket within this club, some of the events so far this season have left a taste in the mouth akin to eating several lemons. If you agree that our cricket has been somewhat spoilt by isolated events in the past month, then draw comfort from reading what I am about to proclaim. If you don’t regret anything that has gone on, then more reason for you to read this. So settle down and I will begin.

I was told by a wise old grandfather that Cricket was the window to a mans character. If you wanted to find out what a person was really like, then dress him in whites and plonk him in the middle of a field on a hot summers day. Any participation in toy throwing out of prams, refusing to walk, questioning umpires decisions, poor sportsmanship or wearing a baseball cap back to front in the field, was a sure clear sign of a rotten egg, a bounder, a cad, one not to trust. Sulking whilst saving four in cow corner is deemed borderline behaviour however and open to interpretation. Your real self cannot hide once you step over the boundary ropes.

Perhaps Rosaneri players with young daughters should remember this saying. In a few years time, when little Sarah brings home her first boyfriend to meet you and the misses, take the grubby little chav by the scruff of the neck and drag him down to the local rec. Arm him with nothing more than a bat and pads and proceed to steam in downwind and bowl lighting fast bouncers aimed at his head (Steve should be good at this one). As soon as the acne ridden youth shows signs of dissent or excretion from his pants, it time to send him packing. Job done. Congratulations on excellent parenting. Any survivors should be signed up for the Rosaneri CC youth academy.

It reminds me of the time I was asked by a girl I was sort of seeing at uni to travel down to her home in the west country during holidays and meet the family. Her parents had a huge place and I had nothing else going on so I agreed reluctantly. Her father, Caesar, turned out to be high up in the army ranks and after my long drive down the M4, took me out for an afternoons shooting. Naturally, my aim was as scattergun as my bowling but I felt that what I was lacking in terms of holes in targets, I made up in the art of conversation.

That evening at the family dinning table, the well above average wine was brought out by Caesar and distributed around the family. Caesar stood there with the family assembled awaiting his decision, and then he gave me the thumbs down. I was only offered soft drinks. I took that as a pretty good indication that I wouldn’t be staying the night under his roof with his daughter. I left at the next appropriate opportunity, drove home and didn’t speak much to the girl after that. She turned out to be abit of a nutter and some other poor sod had to put up with her, so I had something to thank Caesar for in retrospect. In a way, I now suspect that he knew of his daughter’s failings and actually liked me enough to facilitate my future well-being. So the moral of the story is to act like a gentleman at all times, on and off the cricket pitch. Or Caesar will let you have some of the family vintage.