It’s always a bad idea to let Tony Greig loose in front of ladies who are paid to disrobe. He was straight into the usual “pitch report” routine, salivating openly at the Cabaret of Angels and running around like a giant, blazered Benny Hill, glasses askew, brandishing his car keys and making puerile comments like: “not much grass on the wicket here…” and “Plenty of cracks around that will hopefully be opening up as the match wears on…” until Richie was forced to punch him in the face and tell him to behave.
Boycs started off more circumspect, preferring to build an innings and was, at first, oblivious to the advances of the stilettoed lovelies parading around him in their smalls. He almost caused a scene by refusing to stick ten pound notes in the constantly proffered garter belts, instead emptying his pockets of shrapnel and muttering about the avarice of today’s working stripper compared to back in his day when the “dolly birds were grateful for a kind word and a gentle pat on the backside”. By the end of the evening though he had become particularly enamoured with a brassy lass from Bradford who claimed her dad was big mates with Brian Close. She was sitting on his knee and wearing his Panama and Boycs was talking about the “corridor of uncertainty” in a weird high-pitched voice.
As for me, I was bloody well stuck with Bob Willis all night. And they say I’m a curmudgeonly bastard? My God. That man could make even the most chipper optimist want to slit his wrists in despair. Apparently Sky banned him from the Ashes victory parade in case he depressed Ian Bell.
There he was, naked women gyrating on his lap, pert buttocks sliding across his face and all he could talk about was how hurricane Katrina had hiked up the fuel prices so much he was considering trading in his Volvo Estate.
I managed to slip away just as Mark Nicholas and David Gower, stripped nude and oiled up were attempting to recreate the famous Alan Bates/Oliver Reed scene in Women in Love, and a shrieking Blowers and CMJ had successfully flushed Slats in the gents.
Enough is enough. I’m going to jack it all in and become an umpire…