Cricinfo - Blogs - Rob's Lobs

Therapist: Of course, how could I have forgotten? Many apologies. Had a heavy session last night. Let me rephrase it more delicately. So you felt a bit of a loser, right?

Patient (even angrier, shouting): Whaaat!? That’s no better, is it, mate? I thought we managed to work that word out of my vocabulary three years ago!

Therapist: Whoops, sorry. I’ll shut up. Tell me.

Patient: Okay. Well, you never like to come off second-best, do you mate? Almost forgotten what it was like. In a way, I missed getting the passions roused, having something to prove, you know. I just wish I didn’t have to go straight to Adelaide on another job.

Therapist: Come on, you’re avoiding the issue. Why’d you have that bluey?

Patient: Because, mate, I knew we didn’t approach the Perth job in the right frame of mind. We were too nice, too soft. And because, mate, I’m supposed to set the tone and dictate strategy, I’m to blame, mate. I should have told them not to listen to what everyone back at the office was saying.

Therapist: What were they saying?

Patient: Oh, you know, mate. A load of guff about how getting the job done wasn’t enough, about how we needed to be … well, more polite, less ruthless. They were peed off, mate, about the Sydney business. There’d been letters, mate. They felt we were spoiling and betraying the company image, though I’m not sure how they work that out, mate. After all, mate, given their treatment of migrant workers and minorities in general, the company image has never exactly been as white as an albino’s balls. Anyway, mate, the fact is, once we start being nice, being chummy, being Pommy … we just don’t operate the same, mate.

Therapist (puffs on pipe with almost manic vigour): So why did you insist your team be nice?

Patient (waving away clouds of smoke): Look, mate … [cough] … had to give my … [splutter] … word … mate. They demanded it. Even the … [cough] … managing director had a word … [splutter] …mate. My job was on the line. Mate.

Therapist (through gritted teeth, snapping pipe in two): But losing one deal isn’t that big a deal, surely? You’ve got to forgive yourself.

Patient: Ain’t that easy, mate. I told you last time how much I wanted to beat the company record for the number of consecutive completed deals, mate, how I wanted to stop people comparing me with You Know Who.

Therapist (plucking another pipe from a well-stocked rack on his desk): Oh yeah. You Know Who. The bloke who met Mother Teresa and wrote all those bestselling books …[barely suppressing a giggle] … what was his name? You know you’ve got to get beyond this.

Patient (clutching book even harder and slowly turning blue): I’m not ready. Soon … just not yet. Not now, mate. Have a care, mate.

Therapist (grinning): Of course. Silly me. Carry on.

Patient: And I was off my game, mate. Hopeless. Let some kid outsmart me. Not once but twice, mate. Same kid, mate. Had the worst haircut I’ve seen since Dizzy was on the staff but boy, he knew his stuff. Maybe my time has come.

Therapist (nods slowly but firmly): Now, now, what’s all this defeatism? You’re better than that. One blip, that’s all it is. There’s only a couple of guys better than you.

Patient: Yeah, mate, thanks, mate. But now they expect us to up our game but still be nice. The MD said he’d had letters and emails from all over the place, mate, saying how much they admired the company, and thanking us for all our good work, but they were switching suppliers. Maybe they’re right to think we’re not what we were. I had quite a few rookies in my team and only one of them was up to scratch, mate, one. The rest of us thought we’d be able to cope okay without the guys who retired last year, partly because we have so much experience, partly because the competition isn’t much cop. But there’s something about that lot we came up against in Perth and Sydney, mate. We’d smacked them good and proper in Melbourne, mate, but my opposite number is smarter than anyone ever gave him credit for. He’s got a couple of rookies too but they seem to respond better to him than mine do to me.

Therapist (smiling): Have you thought any more about what we discussed a couple of years back?

Patient: What? Doing that sponsorship deal with Jack Daniel’s?

Therapist (stifling a giggle): No. Changing career.

Patient (shifting uneasily): Well,sort of. But I’m still not sure I’m ready, mate, to run my own betting website. There’s still so much to do, mate, so many goals, mate. I’m only just short of 10,000 deals now, you know, mate. Not many in this company have done that, mate. Can’t stop now.

Therapist (impatiently): Yes, yes, but you’ve done so much, conquered so many mountains. How many Tasmanians have got to where you’ve got, done what you’ve done? You can rest on your laurels. Remember our mantra?

Patient (wearily): Yeah, yeah. “Been there, done that, earned this …” But really, I’m still hungry for this.

Sighing, the therapist rises from his chair, reaches into his desk drawer and gets out a gun, with which he proceeds to shoot the patient dead. Returning the gun to the drawer, he taps out a number on his mobile phone.

Therapist (whispering urgently): Here, mate, it worked. No name, no pack drill, right? Had to take the ultimate option, mate, but hell, when it comes to national security, you did say anything went. [Pause] No worries, mate. Just make sure I get those tickets to the company ball, right. Next to that Pommy shrink, what's his name … Spike Dreary. I hear he’s a well-connected boy as well as a bundle of laughs.