Thank you for sending me a copy of the book of Conrad's collected letters, which Michael has assembled and produced. Give him my congratulations, please.
From the letters which I have read so far, Conrad seems to have found several aspects of modern life to be less attractive than he would have wished. I share these feelings, and admire his ability to turn the matter to a wry humour rather than to impotent rage or despair.
If Conrad and I could have found the occasion to know each other better we would probably have agreed about most things, though from what your sons said to us all after the funeral it is possible that Conrad would have preferred an argument just for the fun of it.
The letters reminded me about a short piece I wrote in a very similar vein about fifteen years ago. I called it 'Not Cricket', and enclose a copy herewith.
...
Please remember us to all your family. With love from Sheila and me.
Geoff Brunstrom
'Not Cricket'
Mr Simpson was an elegant and dignified man. He was sitting in his elegant and dignified office discussing a business proposition when his secretary brought the coffee.
'Thank you, Miss Clarkson', he said. 'And some sugar for Mr Rutledge, please.' He paused to observe her elegant departure. 'Now, where were we?'
'I was saying', said the visitor, 'that if you want to make money from sport it's no good being adored by children. You have to be hated by adults.'
'Come now', said Simpson, 'you're pulling my leg.'
'Not at all. Spectator sport is entertainment. In all entertainment, from Punch and Judy to JR, the man you love to hate is the bad guy who gets the publicity. And that's what brings in the cash.'
'How do you mean? What cash?'
'Payment for books and newspaper articles, fees for opening fetes, bonuses for participating in tournaments - it's the well-known name that commands the big money.'
'And so?'
'And so you have to be nasty to be noticed. Then you get written about in the papers. Then you're a name/ Then you're in the big money.'
'Good gracious, is that really true?'
'Indeed it is. Our reps use it as a slogan:
If you're nice you're no one;If you're nasty you're noticed.'What our people do is teach sportsmen the kind of nastiness that grabs the headlines. That's how we earn our percentage. It's not easy.''Goodness me. Have matters really gone so far? Tell me, how do you go about getting a client hated?'
'It depends on the sport, really. Rugby is hopeless. Tennis is fairly simple. The others come in between.'
'Why is rugby hopeless?' Simpson asked. 'I used to play my self. I can remember a good deal of hearty dislike on the field, some of it pretty physical, too.'
'Exactly', said Rutledge. 'When the players assault each other all the time, one more hooligan makes no difference and no one notices. And mere verbal nastiness is worse than useless - our client would simply find himself at the bottom of a maul with a few broken ribs, and still not get his name in the papers. No, anything bad enough to get you hated in rugby would get you imprisoned as well. It's hopeless.'
'Dear me. An why is tennis easy, from your point of view?'
'First, the spectators are close to the play. They can hear the bad language and so can the Press and TV commentators. Second, it's not usually a team game, so our client can't easily be sacked. And finally, it's a game with an umpire.'
'But my dear chap, most sports have an umpire or referee.'
'They're not the same thing. If you punch a referee no one truly hates you. Half the crowd may even cheer. But punching an umpire is almost literally unheard of! Think of the publicity for the first player - especially if it's a woman - to lay an umpire out cold. Think what the Sundays would pay for her story!'
'Well I never. Are there any drawbacks to tennis?'
'Yes. There's a lot of competition. We're having to specialize to hold our market share.'
'In what way?'
'By concentrating on the international angle. 'For example, a rival agency had a client who would call out "You British umpires are the world's worst!" when playing in Britain, and of course the crowd hated him for it. Then in Australia he'd say "You Australian umpires are the worst", and so on. It was a good gimmick, and sold a lot of interviews. But when he said the same about, say, German or Italian umpires the spectators didn't understand English, so it lost effectiveness.'
'And where do you come into this sad story?'
'We found people who could coach the client to be thoroughly offensive in the local language before each tournament It worked wonders. This particular play became one of our best clients, until his career endend suddenly in Central America last year.'
'And what about another sport - cricket, say?'
'Well', said Rutledge, 'it has an umpire - two, in fact - and the players are poorly paid, so there's good potential. But it's very difficult technically.'
'Why is that?'
'The crowd can't hear what the players are saying. We have to teach our clients to convey their insults by gestures instead of words. Mime, in fact.'
'Ah yes. The good old V sign, I expect.'
'Yes and no. Unfortunately there's an outfit in show jumping who claim copyright on that, so we're having to improvise.'
'Any other problems?'
'Cricket is a byword for sportsmanlike behaviour and lack of business sense, but progress is being made. A year or two the players started kicking each other, and that drew a lot of good publicity which the game wouldn't otherwise have got.'
This has been most interesting', said Simpson. 'You've certainly opened my eyes to the possibilities. Now, I think you want our bank to support you with a substantial loan to finance expansion?'
'That's right.'
'What if I said we'd turn you down, and use your ideas for an operation of our own?'
'But that would be monstrous. The most appalling commercial ethics. We'd make your name stink throughout the City!'
'That's what I thought. It would do our reputation a power of good. You see, Mr Rutledge, the financial public, too, likes to have someone to hate. People with a lot of money won't entrust it to a kind, generous bank. They prefer a more ruthless one. Wouldn't you?'
He pressed a button and Miss Clarkson entered.
'Mr Rutledge is just leaving', said Simpson. 'Will you show him out, please? And then I have some dictation.'
She swept Rutledge away before he could recover his poise, and then returned with pad and pencil.
'Ah, good', said Simpson, smiling benignly, 'take this memo for Sir John, please. Title: Career Advancement for Deserving Sportsmen. C.A.D.S. in brackets. Hmm, Cads. I rather like that. Oh, sorry, I'll carry on. I have investigated this project fully and recommend . . .'
