Geoffrey is tired. It's been a long day, and not unusually for him, he isn't happy. He'd gone back to the hotel early, following the Test Match Special Christmas Party. The evening had got off to a bad start, so far as he was concerned, after Jonathan Agnew had been teased him about his new hat. Some people just have no respect, Geoffrey thinks: 8,114 test runs at 47.72, and the fools in the commentary box still couldn't recognise that he was better than them. And when the sommelier mixed him up with Tony Greig - well, enough was enough, and he knew he had to storm out.
He lays back on his bed and flicks through the channels on television. He is initially encouraged when he sees on the on-screen guide that Desmond Tutu's Top 50 Christmas Songs Ever! is on, but after enduring The Frog Song covered in Afrikaans, he decides that enough is enough and turns out the lights.
Geoffrey falls asleep.
After what seems like a few seconds, a crouched figure gingerly emerges from the room's wardrobe. He is wearing a long white umpire's coat, and a flat white cap on his bespectacled head. He is just putting his notebook away.
"Dickie!" exclaims Geoffrey, "What the heck are you doing here? Oh no - there hasn't been another breakout from the Retired Umpires Home again has there? You and your friends got into a lot of trouble the last time this happened, remember?"
"It was Steve Bucknor's idea to take readings with our light meters in that underground nightclub. Anyway, Geoffrey, you misunderstand me. I am not the real Dickie. No, I am the Ghost of Christmas Past. Tonight, it is my role to take you through some of the cricketing misdemeanours in your past, in order that you can reflect on how you have hurt people."
The umpire pulls out a print-out of Geoffrey's www.wikipedia.com entry from his coat pocket. He scans the front page, frowns and flicks through the next few pages.
"Actually, I think this could take quite some time. We'd better get started."
Several (very colourful) hours later, a very tired Dickie Bird bids Geoffrey farewell. He walks back into the formaldehyde wardrobe from whence he came. Geoffrey ponders a second, lays his head on the pillow and quickly goes back to sleep.
A few moments later, and a second ghost emerges from the background. It's Nasser Hussain.
"Geoffrey, I am the Ghost of Christmas Present. I am here to show you how other people around you are spending their Christmases, in order that you can watch and learn. cCome with me, please."
The former England captain gestures Geoffrey from his bed, and takes his hand. And, in a trice, Geoffrey finds that he has been whisked through the Durban sky, and is looking in on a hotel room on the other side of the city.
"This is the England team's Christmas Party," explains Hussain. Geoffrey peers inside. The England team are unwrapping their presents: "Secret Santa" explains Hussain, but Geoffrey is embarrassed to admit that is an unfamiliar concept to him. Andrew Strauss is unwrapping
his present. He smiles as he sees it is the latest John Grisham thriller, The Construction Lawyer. Elsewhere, Stuart Broad is delighted to find he has been bought hair cream.
"But they're all happy!" says Geoffrey. "How can this be?"
"It's simple, Geoffrey. They're a team. They work for each other, rather than for themselves."
"Maybe I should make more of an effort to get on with the other commentators. Maybe I'll drop into the TMS party and apologise...hang on, what's going on over there?"
In the far corner, one player is not looking so happy. Ian Bell is sat apart from the rest of the team, quietly weeping into a glass of blackcurrant and lemonade.
"What's wrong with him?" asks Geoffrey.
"Well, Geoffrey, you might ask yourself that question" explains Hussain. "A number of journalists have been calling for him to be dropped; the trouble is he's a bright lad, and he knows the hacks probably have a point."
Geoffrey looks troubled for a moment, swallows and says: "Maybe I should be a bit more sensitive when I commentate in future."
Hussain smiles at him: "That's what I wanted to hear Geoffrey. It seems that my job here is done."
Within a few moments, Geoffrey finds himself back in his bed. He nods off once more, albeit with a troubled heart.---------------
But Geoffrey's sleep is short-lived, as no sooner has he started to snore, than has the apparition of Mark Ramprakash arrived: "In case you haven't already guessed, I am the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come," he explains.
After stepping into the Tardis, kindly loaned by Doctor Who to Next Week's Scoreboard for the purposes of this prediction, Ramprakash and Geoffrey find themselves in Birmingham, in 2020. Ramprakash explains that they are attending the Warwickshire County Cricket Club annual awards.
Compere Ashley Giles explains the next award: "Now, to celebrate the achievements of Warwickshire's greatest ever batsman, can you please give a big hand to Ian Bell, who this year scored his 100,000th first class run!"
The room stands to give Bell a worthy ovation, but Geoffrey is incredulous.
"100,000 first class runs? That's extraordinary. How many of them were test runs? Surely he must have been England's greatest ever test batsman as well - better even than me?"
"That's the tragedy, Geoffrey," laments Ramprakash, "he only scored about 4,000 test runs. Due to constant carping from commentators, his confidence was shot and he was dropped after the 2009-10 series to South Africa. He carried on scoring runs at will for Warwickshire, but the national selectors just couldn't trust him to pull his finger out at international level. He was, in short, just like me but better."
"This is awful news; what a waste! Why couldn't someone sort him out?" asks Geoffrey.
"There is one piece of good news. It does not need to be this way. It is not too late for someone to get a grip of him and coach him into the international batsman which his talent merits. The majority of those 100,000 first class runs could still be scored for England. But it needs someone to take action now, Geoffrey. Someone outside the England set-up, someone with experience. Someone with gravitas. Get my drift, Geoffrey?"
"Clearly" says Geoffrey, before he is transmuted back to his present day bed in RSA.
---------------
The next morning, Geoffrey is a changed man. He is happy, for he knows what his life's mission now is. The first person to experience his bonhomie is Ian Bell, upon whose door Geoffrey knocks at 7:00 am on Christmas Day. A bleary eyed Bell eventually responds.
"You're coming with me, lad" says Geoffrey as he grabs the Warwickshire man by the ear, "we're spending Christmas in t' nets".
Several hours later, both men walk back to the England hotel, feeling progress has been made.
---------------
It is now 5:05 pm on the final day of the Durban Test Match. Graeme Smith gesticulates to his bowlers. He knows this has been too easy for England. He had set them a target of 370 for the last day, and he had assumed that England were defeated when he had them 4 down before lunch with only 52 on the board.
But something extraordinary had happened. Ian Bell had started slowly, but had built up steam; and now he seemed unstoppable. At the other end, Jonathan Trott had batted steadily. Now, England were on 367 for 4, and just needed 3 to win. The only question was whether or not Bell could reach the double century which had eluded him at Lords years earlier. He was on 195: surely he couldn't hit a six?
Dale Steyn started his run up. He was clearly wearied, but was still doing the right thing by his country. Picking up speed, he approached the wicket. He leaped, and hurled down the ball. Short-pitched, it rose towards Bell's face. Smith dreaded the thought of Bell hooking it for six. Bell shaped to hit the ball into the stands, just as Smith feared.
But as he hit the ball, he rolled his wrists over the shot, and hit the ball into the turf before it could reach the boundary. It became clear he had preferred the boring over the bold.
"That's my lad," smiled Geoffrey, without realising he was talking out loud. And for the first time in his life, he felt a special feeling in his heart. Was this happiness, he asked himself?
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