Dear David Morgan

Dear David Morgan (or is it Dai?),

First and foremost, may I offer my heartfelt if somewhat belated congratulations. In graduating from the Lord’s Management Training Centre to be “elected” as the next president of our beloved game’s occasionally respected and ritualistically derided governing body, you have demonstrated beyond a shadow of a doubt that the Welsh takeover of cricket knows few bounds.

I’m sure you had your sights trained on the top job in rugby union (and may well still do so), but as consolation prizes go, this is preferable, surely, to a wooden spoon. Not least when it involves taking charge, albeit in mostly name only, of a business whose latest “consolidated financial statement” (accounts to you and me, squire) reveals a net surplus that has inched up, year-on-year, by the small matter of 700% ($4.98m to $39.45m).

Of course, I realise that there is only so much that is within your power – and, if you’ll accept a bit of advice, squabbling with Indians is less than heartily recommended as a means of enhancing said power. And then there’s all those advisory committees populated by meddling do-gooder ex-players instead of honest-to-goodness businessmen-turned-administrators like your good self. Listen to them with half an ear, yes, but remember that, while they have nothing to lose, you and the other members of the Ooby-Dubai-Do branch of the Frank Sinatra Appreciation Society have pensions, profit-sharing clauses and vested interests to protect.

The last thing I would want to do is to add to your burden, David/Dai, but remember, it will be on your watch, in 2009, that the ICC celebrates its centenary. Given that the first 98-and-a-half years have not exactly been marked by uninterrupted brotherly love, you’ll have your work cut out changing public perceptions, but I’ve got confidence in you.

You could do worse than launch your reign with a spot of pomp, circumstance and Shirley Bassey singing “Hey Big Spender” – patriotic AND multi-racial. Or even splash out and get Abba back on stage doing “Money, Money, Money”. That would certainly demonstrate your commitment to being on-message. That said, by way of balancing the books, you might deem it appropriate to bring on Paul McCartney and Stevie Wonder for a rendition of “Ebony and Ivory”. I’d suggest a blast of “War – What Is It Good For?”, but Edwin Starr, sadly, is no longer with us. And besides, Steve or Mark might take offence.

I do have one fairly major concern. Unless what I read in the papers is woefully wide of the mark, it seems you have not, as yet, mapped out anything that could be described as a strategic masterplan. Or even, for that matter, an unstrategic so-so plan. If that is indeed the case, may I humbly offer some pointers on behalf of your most passionate constituents? Or, to make things simpler, a wish list. Just to make your life that wee bit easier, don’t feel obliged to make all five come true: three or four will suffice.

1) Insist – and if that means stamping your foot and singing Sospan Fach, be my guest - that Zimbabwe should play no further part in officially-sanctioned events until that bounder Mugabe has vacated the crease;

2) Tackle the burnout beast and sort out the slackers by tearing up the current Future Tours Programme and replacing it with a fixed annual requirement. We can’t have some sides playing two Tests a year and another 16. How are Bangladesh going to improve? How are we going to persuade anybody under the age of 15 that it might be worth trying to bowl fast for a living? Impose a minimum of eight and a maximum of 12 Tests, 15-20 ODIs and as many Twenty20s as you can pack into either a week or a sardine can;

3) Renegotiate the current TV deal, ensuring:

a) An annual Twenty20 World Cup replaces the Champions Trophy, the latter to be ceremonially cremated at the earliest possible opportunity and the ashes sent to Siberia;

b) Highlights programmes last a minimum of one hour (excluding any Mark Nicholas extemporising);

c) Richie Benaud, or a deft impersonator of same, commentates on every match (for exception, see d);

d) Ian Chappell and Ian Botham do three-hour shifts during every Ashes series, refereed by Bob Willis and David Boon;

e) The banning of expressions such as “crackerjack shot”, “My word!” or any other exultations that ought only to ever issue forth from the mouths of chaps named Jeeves or Bertie;

4) Change the voting system – the longer a nation has been a full ICC member, and hence the more deep-rooted its sense of invincibility, entitlement and moral rectitude, the less say it should have. Give Bangladesh four votes, Pakistan three, New Zealand, West Indies and India two, England, Australia and South Africa one, and Sri Lanka three and a half – on condition the Muppets retire forthwith, gracefully or otherwise. And give Nepal the veto;

5) Legalise ball-tampering for the last 15 overs before the new ball is due. Introduce legislation, however, decreeing that, before the start of every session, each member of the fielding side is subjected to a strip-search for metallic objects, creams, liquids and jellybabies, followed by a nail-filing session from a qualified pedicurist. An independent and/or neutral one, ideally.