V&A PLAYERS:  R Ashcroft (Capt), R Morris, L Nieboer, N Emley, C M-T, T P-G, N P-G, T Bird, A Taylor, A Wayland, V Grantham 

One carload of V&A for the annual match against our kind hosts, Stonor CC, was badly delayed by the Rewind Festival traffic. This was very bad news in turn for B) Vin Grantham and the P-Gs – having to share the car with the fetid wino Wayland, B), for the fancy dressed Rewind revellers that Wayland blearily and volubly doubted had matching collars and cuffs, and C) for skipper Ashcroft as he tried to guess what team would turn up

A ‘Word on Wayland’ from our skipper follows….

“As hosts turned guests the V&A were this week displaced from their usual dressing room and spiritual home. Acclimatising to their new setting – complete with beige carpet – a few early birds talked shop whilst they waited for the stragglers to arrive with travel stories that would cure entrenched insomnia. The tardy arrived en masse apologising without sincerity. There was an inkling and odour that they had taken mead or alike the night before this local derby. So not to have his professional reputation questioned Andrew Wayland arrived in the dressing room chewing a bale of spearmint gum in a vain attempt to disguise a liaison with an ice sculpture and some industrial vodka the previous evening. He may have got away with it and avoided enquiry but for a little genius called Cassius.  

It was nearly Cassius’ eighth birthday so he’d received an early present: a remote controlled fart machine. In the claustrophobic melee of our new quarters Cass had planted the amplified end of the fart device in a kit bag not far from where Mr Wayland was slowly changing and quickly chewing. Cassius then positioned himself – replete with remote control – on the grassy bank outside the changing room. He watched through the window and with excellent timing discharged the first missive. Many players looked in the direction of Wayland but were too well mannered to voice any objection. After more travel bore tales and a strategically excellent pause Cassius aired the next thunderclap of flatulence – this time a little longer. V&A manners didn’t stretch to ignoring this. 

After the first ‘who done it’ the propaganda war began and accusations flew with reckless abandon. Cassius was ecstatic. Singlehandedly he had reduced what should have been a temple of sporting excellence down to something that made Prime Minister’s Questions look civilised and urbane. With tensions rising Wayland was getting some inbound and starting to question others but also himself. He wasn’t exactly on the ball. Cassius hit the nuclear biscuit again – this time prolonged and sustained. The V&A appealed at Wayland more vigorously than they have for any LBW appeal in more than a decade. He was in all sorts of trouble. “I honestly don’t think it’s me – I could be wrong” he offered in meek South African drawl. 

Cass was now euphoric as he had eleven arguing men literally in his hands. Happy Birthday. Wayland then made a schoolboy error. After his less than convincing denial he said to a team mate “look buddy if it is me I can’t even feel I’m doing it my bottom half must be numb – and why no odour?” This confused admission of sorts elicited a volley of barbs, amateur gastroenterology tips and then social exclusion.

Rarely has a man been so hung-over he’s unaware of his own flatulence – it’s even rarer that he confides in his teammates to tell him if he’s guilty or not. After mass admonishment and some quite excellent expletives Wayland was on the ropes and beginning to do some soul searching. He had lost control and now questioned his own bowels and being. Cassius had inadvertently created a moment that Piggy in Lord of the Flies would recognise. In his understandable delight at the chaos he yielded to euphoria and punched the detonator again but this time too long – the arse bagel amplifier was located and the plot foiled.

Never have you seen a man more relieved than Mr Wayland who, holding the speaker end of the fart contraption,  collapsed into the corner safe in the knowledge his arse wasn’t faulty. Tom Bird gently admonished his son telling him that in future it’s vital to keep the pressure on but also to exercise restraint – “like cricket” he sagely chided. Cassius won the day before a ball was bowled. He clearly has Bird genes – a born joker who always finds the funny – a certain future V&A cricketer. Wayland’s future as a V&A cricketer hangs in the balance – not for excessive drinking – but for the grave crime of thinking that an ice sculpture (he pretentiously labelled it ‘a vodka luge’) is socially acceptable drinking device. He did recover his reputation a tad when we took to the field.

Ashcroft elected to bat first on a greener wicket than that of last week against a 9-man Stonor CC in a timed game. Sadly, there was not time enough to complete the game before the rain came down and stayed down. Moist it became.

Stonor’s innings was a generally steady affair interspersed with random acts of aggression. Jez Mayo (26) looked the more assured of the openers though should have been caught down the leg side by makeshift keeper, NPG, when trying to hook a rare bumper from the quite fierce Nieboer (10 overs, 1 for 18) that he pitched just south of the Thames to get any lift at all. So flat was the wicket, that Mayo and Cripps simply had to prop forward for 12 overs of Nieboer and CMT, but Cripps (2 runs off 12 overs) was taken low down by NPG. CMT (7 overs, 0 for 17) swung it far too much until he scrambled the seam. What would a non-cricketer think of the term, “scramble the seam”?

Mayo fell next to Andy Taylor’s second ball, caught behind the wicket keeper by Nieboer. Marc Lovatt showed scant respect for Taylor’s bowling, taking 24 off his next 11 balls until his mis-hit to Tom P-G at mid-off. Taylor knew that TPG was as hung-over as ever and fears the ball at the best of times, so took a dramatic catch off his own bowling to leave Stonor at 96 for 4 off 31 overs. 

31 overs in the field is way too much for most of the V&A. Nieboer said it was not the V&A way and taunted Emley with descriptions of his favourite meals. Wayland bowled 8 overs for just 14 and had John Powell (2) caught behind by NPG who threw the ball up in delight to run and hug the stinking Wayland. The ball landed a yard from Wayland, not that he noticed.

Not much else happened in the remaining overs of note. TPG bowled tightly conceding 16 off 5. Tom Bird stopped a ball with his gluteus maximus. The fielding was on and off. Rupert Morris now takes a twirling dervish approach to fielding. He runs around the ball till it stops, picks up on the first or second attempt, then runs part way to the keeper before throwing the ball. To gully. He did not have to catch anything which saves this report a column busting 50-words. Grantham damaged his hand making the ‘Long Barrow’ as JHW dubbed it last week. He could not hold his probe on Monday so cried off Endoscopy consultations. Stonor declared at tea on 140 for 5 off 42 overs. 42 OVERS WITHOUT FOOD. 

Being a trade Sunday match, we had a proper cricket tea. Who would have thought that Olly Kavanagh’s Marmite and banana sandwiches would be such a hit?

The rain beat the V&A to their target with Kavanagh and his freaky sandwiches having time to bowl Morris in the first over. Ashcroft (29*) and A Taylor (20*) were left wanting more. 52 for 1 off 9 overs, with batting in depth, would surely have been enough to overhaul the Stonor total, but it all got too moist and ting. A draw though and a retreat to the Crown for the first indoor post-match drinkies of the season. Stonor are a little short staffed at the mo, but it is good to see they are in good spirits. Martina and Lucinda had appeared in the afternoon. Lucinda’s hogget is up for national recognition, so buy some before she ramps her prices. Martin and Rupert announced that they are responsible for Tom P-G’s newfound maturity. Heaven help future colts, being mentored by a surf dude James Coburn look-alike and a Godless copy-pedant.

A note on nomenclature. Poor Lachlan. His surname is rarely spelt the same twice in scorebooks, match reports, IMDB reviews and charge sheets. But pity Vin Grantham. 3 games into joining the V&A and he has Crispin Jonkers calling him Viv, Alan Jacot calling him Vim and Russ Ashcroft listing him on the website as V. Graham. TPG is working on new names for the rest. There’s Rikkii Bird, Rubin “Hurricane” Morris, Malcolm Bowden, Dom Bird, the ludicrous James Huntington-Whiteley. A new name for Lachlan was beyond TPG’s Level 2 Fag Rolling Diploma, so NPG suggested something without thinking how the butch Nieboer (see I can bloody well spell it) might respond.  Lachlette’s coquettish grin came a little too naturally for comfort. Anyone want to room with him/her on tour?

MOTM? Sandie* Taylor. Like Sir IB, he gets runs, takes catches, takes wickets (with bad balls sometimes) and is prone to theatrical strops that have caused so many to request some V&A incontinence pads.

“Big” Doug “Dougie” “The Rug” Bollinger once celebrated taking a five-for for Australia by kissing his country’s emblem on his shirt. He missed and kissed the beer logo instead. A man unto Wayland’s heart.

*The feminine form is no accident.