Welcome to our world, Lynda

One of the hottest-selling items at the Sydney Cricket Ground during any major sports event has to be the cheapest, nastiest polo shirt sold at the merchandise stand closest to the Members' entrance.

It doesn't matter if it's hot pink, costs $78, and has Mitchell Johnson pashing Merv Hughes and David Boon printed across the front in an ill-conceived homage to moustaches in Test cricket. Blokes will buy it if it has a collar.

Why? Because it's a tradition as predictable as beer snakes and beach balls on the boundary rope that at least one man invited to join a group in the most hallowed of Sydney sporting venues will forget to wear a collared shirt.

It's like turning up to the airport without your passport or Cape Canaveral sans space suit. You'd think every guy who can count to 21 without needing to strip naked would remember the rule. But blokes just forget.

It doesn't matter if you're wearing a $2000 cashmere Viktor & Rolf sweater, silk slacks and Gucci loafers; if you haven't got a collar, you're not getting in, hombre.

So, for decades, men in their thousands have turned around, run to the merch stand or cabbed it home to get changed, swearing at their own stupidity, their mates (more recently) sending them cackling texts asking, "English is your first language, right?"

I'd have thought the same thinking would apply to the length of a dress when a woman tries to enter the Members.

Despite the handy picture on its website illustrating what is considered an "appropriate" length for said attire, a Sydney solicitor came to more grief for going short than England's bowling because her skirt was "above the knee".

Lynda Reid, 35, had read the admittedly vague regulation for the M.A. Noble and Ladies stands, which states "women are expected to maintain a suitable standard in keeping with the dignity and traditions of the Members Reserve" but, like many lawyers, I guess she was sniffing 'round for the loophole.

I don't know a huge amount about women's fashion but the old "hemline below the knee" is one of those infuriatingly stodgy rules even I picked up listening to Catholic schoolgirls as a teen travelling on the 604 bus.

And when words like "dignity and tradition" appear in a dress code, I'd put it to the goodly members of the jury you'd have to be cock-eyed or contrary not to get the vibe of it; ie. you dress like you're going to a job interview. Or a funeral. Or a christening.

If you wanna get tricky, you do so at your own risk, which is why only a visiting Indian radio commentator would try slip into the Members wearing a Nehru collar (and if he'd visited the SCG as a player, even he'd know better, which Reid, as a member of 25 years' standing, certainly should have).

However, instead of copping it on the chin like the 500 gajillion men and boys who've done the abovementioned quick change in the SCG toilets, Reid launched a public campaign of breathtaking petulance, quitting the SCG Members because the stewards (earning about $18.50 an hour) "absolutely ruined" the poor sausage's day.

It's a reaction that must have had every man who's been turned away from a bar or club for wearing running shoes, jeans or a T-shirt shaking their heads.

In fact, I reckon the only person in Sydney more clueless of how luck and privilege have smiled upon their life is this week's new SCG Member who's taken Reid's spot after 15 years on the waiting list. 

Anyway Lynda, welcome to our world, where men are routinely culled from any number of venues by dress regulations that "lack clarity". It certainly is "quite ridiculous".

Now you're no longer a Member, let me be the first to extend you an invitation to join us "hicks" in the O'Reilly Stand - my fave when I can't scam a corporate box or a Member's pass - for the one-day series.

I always enjoy Bay 10 and, believe me, you can wear whatever you want. Yellow and green wigs, sombreros, T-shirts boasting a "King Pair" - you could even don a Union Jack bikini top and charge $5 a pop to put sunscreen on the backs of the Barmy Army.

You'll also get to participate in another of those rustic traditions you might have missed out on sitting in the genteel shadows of the Ladies Stand. It usually starts sometime after lunch, when even the mid-strength beer we plebs are forced to drink kicks in and the crowd starts to chant.

"Members are wankers!"

I'm sure, even you, would now agree.

You can follow Sam on Twitter here. His email address is here.

Please don't take it personally if I do not reply to your email as they come in thick and fast depending on the topic. Please know, I appreciate you taking the time to write and comment and would offer daddy hugs to all.