Minute of the Annual General Meeting of Spicy Lambburgers Cricket and Hare Coursing Club, Season 12
Directors present:
Mr Keith Miller, representative of Mr Brausen, (please refer to biography by Mr Mihir Bose for details of Mr Miller’s qualifications)
Ms Letitia ‘Titty’ Flaherty, General Secretary, Impresario
Mr Jeremiah Stanford, Financial Officer, Accountant (ret’d)
Dr Diaz Grey, Director, General Practitioner
Mr Cosimo Politan, Director, Import/Export
Mr Pooka MacPhellimey, Pooka
Apologies:
M. Henri Charriére, Director
Also present:
Mr Paul Cannell, Team Manager
Mr M. Lanza, secretary and minuteman
Formalities:-
The assembled ensemble intoned the preamble – “Lord Brausen, keep away the rain, bring the sun.”
Mr Lanza was then required to recite the creed of the Lambburger minute-taker, which is:
“1. Direct treatment of the ‘thing’, whether subjective or objective.
2. To use absolutely no word that does not contribute to the presentation.
3. As regarding rhythm: to compose in sequence of the musical phrase, not in sequence of the metronome.”
Mr. Stanford was invited by Mr Miller to the podium in order to make the presentation of the club accounts with his charming Barbadian lilt. Declining to assume a false accent for the mere theatre of the occasion Mr Stanford presented the accounts in a gruff undertone with a hint of Alabama twang:
“Balance at start of season 12, £1,444,636. Balance at end of season 12 £1,981,247.” Ms. Flaherty is peering into her bag. “Outgoings during season 12, £6,869,727, of which: Academy repairs £90,000, investment in Youth Academy” Pooka MacPhellimey makes a courtly offer of his penknife to Ms Flaherty, which is accepted. “£200,000, transfer fees £4,103,689, staff costs £928,000, player salaries £1,348,038.” Mr Politan’s pencil breaks. Mr Stanford pauses politely while he sharpens it using the penknife proffered him by Ms Flaherty. Mr Politan nods. “Incomings during season 12, £7,379,778, of which Interest on Savings £1,199,458, Sponsorship £740,292, transfer fees £2,430,180,” Mr Cannell draws heavily on a Trinidad and signals for a glass of Uruguayan Tannat. “Income from one-day matches £1,242,944, income from first-class matches £970,106, income from BT20 matches” Dr Grey spits heavily on the floor, narrowly missing the club foot of the Pooka MacPhellimey; his apology is graciously accepted. “£376,946, income from cup matches £90,667, income from friendly matches £109,285, prize income £660,000. Membership of the club has risen from 1,813 members to 2,011 and we anticipate a further rise of approximately 3% as a result of the promotion of the team from FC division V” Ms Flaherty whoops, then apologises to Mr Miller. “in season 12.”
Mr Miller requested a glass of porter from the porter, and scratching his head, absently enquired after directions from the directors.
“It’s none of my business, I know, and I couldn’t care less myself.” said Dr Grey. “But we’ve invested over half a million in the academy and as far as I can see we’ve got no players in the first team from it and total sales amount to under a hundred and twenty thousand. What’s the point in persevering with it? Just to keep a stream of young boys for el Chamamé?”
As Ms Flaherty reddened and fluttered, Mr Cannel stood and said, “The academy represents the club’s best opportunity of making a sudden advance, through the sale of an excellent player swelling the coffers to enable players of quality to be attracted to the club; though admittedly it has yet to produce one. I should mention, too, that the academy has over the past 2 seasons been refurbished to a superb standard and will require funds in the order of £30,000 per annum to maintain that condition henceforth – thus the running costs will amount to no more than £350,00 per annum at a maximum. There is no doubt in my mind that it would be a false economy to divert funds from the academy at this stage where any transfer that would enhance the first team is going to cost more than £1.25 million.”
Spotting the flash of Ms Flaherty’s eyes Mr Cannell added, “Dr Grey’s reference to el Chama has, in passing, been dealt with. Didier Sebastian is no longer permitted to take promoted trainees for their initiation there, or anywhere else”
“He doesn’t go anywhere else, Pau, em, Mr Cannell”
“Is it true, Titty, that he lives in your establishment?”
“Well the girls like him and he’s popular in the bar; and it’s good to have a regular paycheck.”
“His!”, snorted Dr Grey. “Cannell you should sell him to a team in Pakistan. Have a hard time there getting……a hard time.”
Mr Politan passes a note to the Pooka, who smiles, and orders a bottle of port from the porter and a packet of Weights from the waiter.
“I propose we vote acceptance of the accounts.” Said Mr Miller, bringing his empty glass down on the table and signalling for a refill. “Perhaps a Pernod and Black for Ms Flaherty, too. A wee restorative, dear lady.”
Hands are raised unanimously, including both those of the Pooka, with the exception of Mr Trellis. Mr Politan, “Could you poke that spotty bastard, Cannell?” “I wouldn’t poke him with yours, Mr Politan.” “Oh, Pooka. Would you be so kind?”
Placing the tips of his fingers together, the Pooka lowered his eyes. Suddenly, with an almighty clump Mr Trellis flew out of his bed and smashed into the ceiling, then dropped to the floor; his right leg under him sustaining an unfortunate compound fracture. Screaming with pain, Trellis raised his hand.
“That’ll do. Unanimously accepted, thank you Mr Stanford. A large Mickey Mouse for Mr Stanford, please.” Said Mr Miller. “Now if that fat pig will stop screaming for a bit we’ll have Mr Cannell’s report.”
“A season of progress on the field and the training ground, I’m please to report.” Muffled approbation was heard from the vicinity of Mr Politan and Ms Flaherty. “Progress in the One-Day game, with a rise to 5th place in III and finally revenging ourselves on Les Miserables. Promotion from division IV in First Class unbeaten.”
“All very commendable, Cannell, what about the training. And a Bombay frog for myself, please porter” asked Dr Grey. “Would you care for something for you, Pooka?”
“Two glasses of wormwood tea would be most welcome, Doctor.”
“Mr Cannell, do go on.”
“Transfer activities: we sold two old servants, Chris Parkin and Derek Atkinson, who we felt were better suited to lower league cricket, raising £640,000, a loss of about £220,000. We also recruited then sold 2 foreign players during the course of the season, at a loss of £140,000. However one of these players underperformed significantly and the cumulative sales enabled us to strengthen the team considerably and effectively with Mark Davis, a spinning all-rounder, Samashmore, a swashbuckler who’s added spine to the middle order. In addition we invested in Danny Husbands a proficient 19 year-old destructive fast bowler who will be trained for at least another 2 seasons.”
A low moan issued from Mr Trellis which was quelled by a glance at the Pooka MacPhellimey.
“We remain in the phase of mass training, and I have decided to focus Mr Iffla’s training on batting in order to accommodate Husbands. In all 5 players plus Husbands were training in season 12 and the same 6 will continue in 13, with Otis Redding receiving half a season to boost his concentration.”
“When, pray tell Cannell, do you plan to train youngsters heavily, perhaps to international standard?” enquired Mr Politan, with agreeing nod from Dr Grey.
“I’m planning to continue with this group of trainees until the end of season 14, whereafter ahem, cough. Porter, porter! I should be able to train a batsman heavily, double netting primaries and all that malarkey.”
“It’s my opinion that two is always better than one, Mr Cannell.” Broke in the Pooka.
“Thank you, Pooka. An other reason is that by then it will be essential to train heavily when the boy is most receptive in order than his insertion may benefit the team at age 19.
Mr Miller scanned the room. Dr Grey staring ahead, both hands on his cane, Mr Politan head on elbow idling considering the rise and fall of Ms Flaherty’s chest, the Pooka re-arranging both his tails for comfort and Mr Trellis comatose on the floor.
“I suggest we move to awards then. Show of hands in approval of Mr Cannell’s efforts”
Hands were raised unanimously with the proper exceptions of Mr Cannel and myself and the improper exception of the inert Mr Trellis. Mr Trellis’ bed raised itself on end then toppled onto Mr Trellis, the headboard striking him on the forehead and raising a welt the size of a goose’s egg above his right brow. His hand moved feebly.
“That’ll do. Awards, awards! And a glass of beer, dear.” Said Mr Miller to the porter.
“Ahem. Have we a budget for the trophies?” intoned Mr Sandford in a charming Barbadian lilt.
“Yes, well, anyway, here they are:
Young player of the year – Bishop Benjamin ‘Bunny’ Burnham 10 OD wickets in his first half-season
Most improved player of the year – Avery Perfect – 295 OD runs at 59.4 and 560 FC runs.
Bowler of the year – Carlyle Wilson – with an excellent 23 OD wickets and 26 in FC
Player of the season – Otis Redding 1,072 FC and 602 OD runs.
Players player of the season (let me open this envelope) is Didier Sebastian. I told you we shouldn’t let the academy boys vote.”
“Thank Brausen.” Now a final vote of acceptance and we can get down to el Chama. Hands!”
Smartly, with alacrity, hands are raised unanimously, with the exception of Mr Trellis, who is gibbering quietly.
“Mr Trellis?” Mr Miller enquired solicitously, and receiving no clear response. “Pooka?”
Trellis flew in a heap to the window and with a horrid thud broke through it, his howl fading to a thump as he crashed to the lawn below.
“I believe his hand was raised as he tried to grab the lintel.” Dr Grey observed.
“Splendid, that’s a yes, then. Have we food prepared, Ms Flaherty?”
“I’ve got a lovely turkey, Mr Miller, special today.”
“Grand. Will there be stuffing?”
“Once you get there, there will.”
End of minute of the Annual General Meeting of Spicy Lambburgers Cricket and Hare Coursing Club, Season 12