V&A PLAYERS: Lachlan Nieboer(C), Ross Ashcroft, Tom Bird, Martin Bowden, Christiaan Jonkers, Dennis de Caires, Adam Jacot, Nick Emley, Chris Mounsey-Thear, Andy Taylor, Nick Constantine. 12th Man: Nicholas A Bird

‘Cricket makes men of boys, sportsmen of dullards, gentlemen of ruffians, Englishmen of foreigners.’ History of Cricket, Ward Lock, 1898

‘Serious sport has nothing to do with fair play. It is bound up with hatred, jealousy, boastfulness, disregard of all rules and sadistic pleasure in witnessing violence. Sport is war minus the shooting.’ The Sporting Spirit, George Orwell, 1945

Orwell was right about SERIOUS sport, but we are hardly serious. I prefer the first quote, though how playing cricket can make Johnny Foreigner an Englishman is a mystery. Our serious sporting moment in the Battersea Bandits game came right at the very end, a moment of high drama that tested our Corinthian pedigree.

I am back on match reporting duties after a prolonged absence due to not playing and other people doing it better; and being incapacitated through drink, dicky knees or battlefield touring. Am just back from Normandy. A land of cider and Calvados, bocage and beaches. 75 years ago the beaches were lethal. Now the only things to fear are fat Frenchmen who retire at 50. They seem to take an age drinking themselves to death. A medical report last week cheered me (and no doubt Dennis) as it appears that people who exceed the recommended weekly alcohol dose actually live longer.

We lose Dennis after this match; not to an early grave but to the delights of Barbados and his art. We lose Estelle too, dammit. But I still have the tea lady who done good with her lunch, which was perfect. Apart from the filthy industrial pâté. She and her misshapen dog buggered off after luncheon and thus did not hear my talk on obituary euphemisms. Their loss. Her dog, like the tea lady, no longer interferes with my leg, which is hurtful.

We played that 70-over game where one side can bat up to 38 overs, which allows for a draw. Timing the declaration is key. We batted first. It started poorly with Ross bowled first ball. He should have gone forward but it was a freak delivery that turned a foot. Enter Andy Taylor, back from Canada, to partner Chris M-T. Chris began in tentative form and should have been caught on 10, a simple chance to mid-on. ‘Bollocks!’ shouted the fielder as he missed it, a restrained outburst in the circs (they missed a few others as well). The Bandits were all under 40, and fit, but their West Indian opening bowler never turned up and they badly needed his 7 overs. Yet there were the odd testing deliveries. Chris seemed released by being dropped and began to dominate and thwack boundaries. There were two shots of beauty in his innings, a Goweresque cut and a perfectly timed on-drive off his legs that reminded me of Ranjitsinhji, whom I used to watch at Hove.

Andy is a masterful technician and his batting had both elegance and power. The 50 partnership was broken when he was bowled for 20. Nick Constantine, another fluent stroke player, also made a quick 20; Dennis smote a butch 4 before being bowled (for 5) and in came Jonkers with ancient flannels held up by his V&A silk tie. He and M-T upped the run rate with some mighty hitting. Chris had passed 50 with a six and on 95 he did the same – to pass his century. He retired on 101*. His missus arrived soon after, but she will no doubt hear of the innings’ highlights over dinner, and breakfast. Nieboer, our skipper, walked in commandingly but was stumped for 7, which brought Emley to the crease. Lachlan delayed declaring until Christiaan had scored his 50; but in his desperation to finish the innings with a boundary Jonkers missed ball after ball, eventually being run out on 49 in a vain effort to do it in singles. Jonkers said later that Nieboer should have declared with him on 43 or so but he might not have been too pleased at the time. Our innings ended on 235, a target beyond the Bandits I thought, but not perhaps beyond their ability to sneak a draw.

At luncheon we discussed briefly whether it is better to be held in contempt by one’s spouse or held in disdain. Contempt is at least positive. My wife, who lives in a different wing, passes me sometimes and probably thinks I’m one of the staff using the wrong stairs. Emley or someone criticised me for writing and talking bollocks, clearly unaware of E.M. Forster’s famous dictum – ‘Nonsense and beauty have close connections.’ It also transpired that Christiaan had never been to Battersea. Or heard of Stockwell.

The Bandits have two good batsmen and one very good one – their ebullient skipper, Alex Lang. [The Bandits fixture is courtesy of Alex being an in-law of our Russian (Chatham House) expert James Nixey. I was reminded of James walking in to field with a bloke called Julian Stewart, one of our less intellectual players. James, just back from talking to Putin, opined that ‘within the Russian Federation Kamčatkan hegemony is pivotal’. Of this sentence Julian understood the words ‘the’ and ‘is’.]

They started slowly with good de Caires and Nieboer bowling tying them down. But it was the first-change bowlers, Jonkers and A. Jacot who started to make inroads, with Jacot inducing a catch to cover (well caught by M-T, making amends for a gay moment when he squealed and avoided a ball that might have hurt his handies) and Jonkers trapping Cox LBW and bowling Marsden. Jacot also picked up an LBW. Which pleased his Mum no end, as she looked up from the Telegraph crossword. Only Lang gave them a chance of victory. He unwisely charged down the pitch to Christiaan and was bowled. But we had to get wickets and at this moment fate played a hand. Little Alexa Ashcroft tumbled from the pavilion steps and cut her face, so off to hospital went our brilliant wicketkeeper, her daddy Ross. Andy took the gloves and I came on to field. Dr. Johnson compared a woman preaching to a dog walking on its hind legs – ‘it is not done well but you are surprised it is done at all.’ You could say the same of my fielding. Luckily Ross returned to take my place.

Mounsey-Thear grabbed a wicket; Nieboer bowled Clarke, a good cricketer with a beautiful lawyer wife who scores impeccably (what a combination!) and it all came down to the last over, with their last men in. Facing de Caires was their famous transplant surgeon, star of ‘The Crown’, Pankaj Chandak. All he needed to do was stay, but he immediately smote a couple of fours – not that our score was remotely in reach (they were on 150). On the penultimate ball he stabbed a ball to Lachlan, and then – as was his habit (being an occasional cricketer) – he wandered about. Lachlan threw down the wicket. He seemed to be out of his crease by some margin. Ecstatic V&A celebrations! But wait! The umpire’s finger stayed down. There was much consternation and not a little argy bargy. The umpire’s verdict was (and must be) final. The batsman survived the last ball and the match was drawn.

Why the not-out verdict? I offer three reasons – a) because the ball was deemed to be dead b) because the batsman shouldn’t be punished for his endearingly casual approach c) because the umpire didn’t want to be lynched by his chums.

A great and varied day played in lovely sunshine. While you lot fielded, I banged on about obituary euphemisms (I used to write obits for The Times and Telegraph). Here, as promised, is a shortlist:

Did not suffer fools gladly = bastard
Convivial = drunk
Life and soul of the party = very drunk
He never married = homosexual
He loved the Ballet Russe = homosexual
Enjoyed the company of young people = pederast
Liked the good things of life = greedy fucker
Exacting master = liked to beat small boys
She was more striking than beautiful = big
Bubbly personality = ghastly
Larger than life = bully
Eccentric, lonely figure = incontinent.

We send our best to Estelle and Dennis, now lost to us. What a stalwart, what a hero, what a gent he’s been over the years:

‘…he doth bestride the narrow world
Like a Colossus, and we petty men
Walk under his huge legs and peep about
To find ourselves dishonourable graves.’