Cheema Z: Drop Scene-A Short Play (Sept, 1993 - Humour?)

Drop Scene - A Short Play by Zahid Zia Cheema  (Pakistani  Crick-
eter, Sept 1993)

  Characters: Graham Gooch, David Gower, Mike Gatting,  Ian  Bot-
ham, and Mike Atherton.
  Scene: The English dressing room gripped by  pain  amidst  pin-
drop  silence;  not even a rat having the audacity to stir.  Four
easy chairs occupied by four  English  stalwarts,  searching  for
something in a vacuum, wearing a worried, even a petrified look.
  Botham (breaking the ice while saying grudgingly to Gooch):   I
reckon, it is time for you to vacate the centrestage.
  Gooch (least bothered): Better take care of your own  business.
I believe you should have hung up your spikes a decade ago.
  Botham (with a bemused look on his face): Why?  Don't I have an
enviable  Test record?  Probably I am the greatest all-rounder to
don the Test cap.
  Gooch: Yeah, scoring hundreds at home and too against  maligned
outfits.   If  that amounts to greatness, David Gower ought to be
treated likewise.
  Gower (intervenes rather indignantly):  Why do you guys pick on
me?  I  have  scored  runs elsewhere too.  Don't try to make me a
scapegoat for all your recent fiascos.  And by the way  (pointing
at  Gooch),  you  have laid me off since 1990 after that indecent
tigermoth affair in Australia.
  Gooch (sarcastically):  Well, you golden boy, you  can't  nudge
me  out  of  recognition  anymore.  I have also joined your elite
company by knocking off 8000-plus Test runs, more  hundreds  than
what you have barely managed and an equally impressive Test aver-
age.
  Gower:  Yes, I know how and when did that  sumptuous  runmaking
feast  take  place;  at Lord's, I guess where you stockpiled that
mountain of runs-456 (333 and 123) to be precise, against (unable
to  control  his  fit  of  laughter) Kumble and his companions in
1990.
  Gooch (retaliating):  If I am not wrong you scored 730 odd runs
against  Australia  in  1985 against a paranoid Australian leggie
Holland and an over-worked Australian warhorse Thompson.
  Gatting (jumps into the discussion with obvious  intentions  of
pacifying  the  two):  Leave the past in peace and better seek to
peep into the future, wise old guys.
  Botham (addressing Gatting):  You stay clear  of  this  discus-
sion.  You have handed us over nothing but insomnia, 'enfant ter-
rible!' (saying to himself inaudibly)...more loyal  to  Middlesex
and  hanging  fiddle  at  home  when abroad.  A shameless British
bulldog.
  Gatting (candidly):  But did not I help you record that  unpre-
cedented  Ashes  win  over  Australia  in 1986-87 and two coveted
limited-over trophies Down Under in a matter of weeks.   How  ac-
comodating is your memory.  Are not you going senile, Ian?
  Botham (in a fit of rage):  And how mean are you imbecile!  You
owe  gratitude  to  Broad, Gower, Small, and who else, but me for
the success in Australia.  No wonder you are very fond of shining
with reflected lights.
  Someone knocks hysterically at the door as if to  gatecrash  if
denied the permission to step in.
  Botham (fussingly):  Who the Dickens is banging the door?
  Outsider (in a mellow tone):  It is me.
  Gooch (fuming):  How on earth are  we  to  recognize  your  Mr.
Anonymous.   Don't  you  have  a tongue in your mouth?  Spell out
your name, bloke.
  Outsider (with a voice that has  undercurrents  of  shivering):
Atherton.
  Gower:  Step in kid.
  Atherton walks in like a timid lamb with a  face  of  revealing
mixed feelings of hushed fear and excitement.
  Gatting:  What are you looking for, Ted Dexter's spy?
  Atherton (addressing Gooch):  I have a special message from Mr.
Ted Dexter
  Gooch (rather perplexed):  What is that?
  Atherton (shrugging his shoulders):  I am afraid, can't make it
public.
  Botham, Gatting and even a man of finished manners David  Gower
all yell at Atheron simultaneously:  Today the toddler is keeping
things away from us.  Well said, diminutive creature.
  Gooch (to Atherton):  Kid, talk sense.
  Atherton:  It will be a sort of shock to you.
  Gooch (composed):  I am prepared.
  Atherton:  Shall I speak?
  Gatting:  Don't waste a second.
  Atherton:  Ted wants you to resign, immediately.
  Gooch (blushing): But why?
  Botham (winks at his colleagues and chuckles):  The old man has
sent his brain on a cruise.  Gower let him know what is the alle-
gation against him and how very correct it is.
  Gower (to Botham):  By the way, you are also on the wrong  side
of 30 and a few months younger than the old man.
  Gatting (putting a finger on his lips):  Hark!  Listen to  what
the infant in arms has to say.
  Atherton (hesitatingly):  And he wants me to take care  of  the
side.
  All the four stalwarts go into a comatose situation.
  Atherton (regaining his breath):  And he wants  Ian  Botham  to
announce his retirement from Test cricket.
  Gower (with bated breath):  Is that all?
  Atherton:  No, I am afraid.  He wants you (points at Gower  and
Gatting) two to quit county cricket.
  The four woe-struck former English skippers jump out  of  their
seats  with  threatening looks and haggard eyes, pouncing in vain
at Atherton, who sneaks out of the dressing room kept ajar,  like
a  scared mouse as if the tocsin had begun to ring, apprising him
of the presence of a cat in the vicinity.
  The four aging maestros throw themselves  into  the  comforting
easy  chairs,  closing their shutters.  But all they could manage
is a feeble recall of their once glorious past and certainly  not
the nightmare imposed on their nerves by Ted Dexter's new choice.

 Contributed by Shash(sshah@*.acns.nwu.edu)