V&A METROTRASH PLAYERS: N Bird [SKIP], A Jacot [VICE SKIP], R Taylor, N Emley, L Nieboer, S Julka, M Terblanche, C Behan, E Nicoli, M Morris, J Clayman, H Turpie

V&A YOKELS PLAYERS: C Jonkers [SKIP], N Constantine, P Goodliffe, V Grantham, A Knight, M Bowden, T P-G, N P-G , A Wayland, N Martin, B Horan

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‘An umpire should be a rock of insensitivity. He must be insensitive to raucous and determined appeals. He must be insensitive to being hated by 11 men, one of whom, the bowler, would like to see him impaled on a stump.’  – Simon Barnes

‘When I retired from first class cricket, I turned out for my village side. But I gave up ‘cos the pitch was a cabbage patch. And the dopey umpires were swayed more by loud appeals and a yen to get to the pub than the laws of cricket.’  – David Steele

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I was a football ref for many years, at a lowly level. I was called a w*nker most days. Fair comment I thought. I now umpire at Stonor more than play, and although I am still a w*nker, cricketers are more couth and (mostly) only call me rude names as they trudge back to their mark. We had lots of controversial umpiring decisions on Saturday, in this hugely enjoyable V&A v V&A fixture, which perhaps affected the game. But controversy is the stuff of life.

Originally this match was conceived by Dennis de Caires as Gentlemen v Players, a revival of the defunct Lord’s fixture. But separating the V&A into social divisions seemed somewhat divisive in these liberal times. Could we find 11 gents? I have the trappings of the gent: member of Boodles, can eat peas with a fork; but the MCC tie is a fake and my wife says a ‘gent’ would lift the seat. If Fred Trueman was right that a gent is ‘someone who gets out of t’bath to piss’, I just about qualify.

Anyway, we plumped for a sensible division: ‘Metrotrash’ – louche Londoners – and ‘Yokels’, country folk from around Wargrave and Henley. I skippered (sort of) the Metrotrash and Jonkers did the Yokels.  For some reason the bastard swiped Constantine who lives in Hampstead, which made rather a difference. I won the toss and thinking the damp wicket would be easier in the afternoon, elected to field. After 10 overs or so Rob Taylor asked Adam Jacot who our captain was, so uncommanding had been my presence. I took the hint and when Mike Morris turned up to make us 12, left the field with Adam taking the captain’s armband. He captained with tact, even allowing Sunil two overs of dreadful shite because the poor chap hasn’t seen a cricket ball or pitch for so long.

We opened the bowling with the excellent Lachlan and Enzo. The Yokels’ opening batsmen were the Pritchard-Gordon father and son duo. They didn’t stay long, but Nick P-G claimed his ‘blunting’ of the attack was ‘masterful’. Tom P-G seemed in poor shape, belching all day. I haven’t got the score book so the details elude me but the Yokels were about 24 for 3 after 8 overs and going nowhere. Christiaan thought the day doomed and a beer match beckoned. But he reckoned without a) Adam’s generosity and b) N. Constantine. Sunil was put on and Nick C doubled the score in an over and then doubled it again. He was out for 41 but had made a game of it. Ben Horan scored 30*, Vin Grantham a butch 17. Rob Taylor bowled masterfully and got 4 wickets. Lachlan bowled the ball of the day to nick Adam Knight’s off bail. It would have bowled Bradman. They were out for 150.

Our keeper was Charlie Behan, who was at St Andrews with Constantine. Excellent cricketer, hope we see more of him. Related to Brendan Behan, the drunken Irish brawler and writer, but Charlie seemed comparatively sober. Another Irishman, GB Shaw, once said baseball was better than cricket ‘cos it was over quicker. Ignorant Mick.

Forget who opened our innings but we were always way above the run rate and racing along thanks to Lachlan’s command of the bowling. He was our star turn. He might have been out LBW on 30 but a confident appeal by Tom P-G was rejected. He scored 78 runs, all power and style, his effortless pulls to midwicket were a delight (Jonkers called them ‘hoiks’). Now that Dennis is in Barbados (and perhaps just past his glory days) Lachlan is our talisman – with both bat and ball (and brainy too, he speaks fluent Latin and Greek). He was brilliantly caught by Nick P-G at square leg off Constantine when looking to heave the winning boundaries.

And then things went wrong for The Metrotrash, largely due to five wickets from Constantine, and some honest umpiring decisions that nevertheless went against us.

In my view, before the umpire raises his finger he should ask himself the following questions –

1. Could I defend a not-out decision?
2. Is there any doubt?
3. Will it ruin the game if I give him out?
4. Do I owe the batsman money?
5. Do I covet his sister or mother?
6. Will I be dead if I give the batsman out?
7. If the answer to any of these is ‘YES’ then it is ‘Not Out’.

Rob Taylor was steaming along in his swashbuckling style when he rashly tried to wallop Tom P-G into Watlington, and was bowled. Tom has become a very canny bowler, wilier and more disciplined than even two years ago. He is not phased by being hit, as so many young spinners are.

One ball from Nick C was a beauty; John Clayman left it, it was so far outside off stump; but it turned and hit middle. John was stunned.

Nick Emley’s dismissal was interesting. Mike Constantine, Nick’s father, was the umpire in question (he gallantly umped all day). A ball from Nick C grazed Emley and was caught legside by Phil G, the keeper. Howzat?! Out, signalled the ump (presumably caught behind). Nick Emley began to walk off but said to the umpire – ‘I didn’t hit it.’ ‘It’s LBW,’ said Mike. By the time Emley returned to the pavilion he was a picture of composure.

Mike Morris, the noted photographer (we are an artsy lot) was stumped off Nick C. Phil Goodliffe, our venerable keeper with dodgy hearing and dodgier knees, is as nimble as a schoolboy despite pushing 70 and having to lie down for a week after a game. He whipped the bails off in a flash – but was he out? Not from 100 yards away in the pavilion. Umpire Terblanche, a lot nearer, said Mike’s heel was raised. Perhaps our umpires were being overgenerous.

Jacot sacrificed his turn to bat for me, and I fucked up, partly ‘cos I can’t see much when my varifocals are rained on. Enter our last man, Enzo Nicoli, the actor (don’t miss his mafia movie Artichoke, based in Worcester). He came in with Henry Turpie (24*) the other end, batting with skill and confidence. In the 36th over (of a 40-over game) Metrotrash only needed 3 runs to win. Henry got a full toss outside leg for his first ball from T P-G. A certain four. But he missed the thing! Next ball they ran a bye. On the third ball Enzo charged down the pitch, missed it, and the ball hit his thigh above the pad. There was an appeal, an optimistic one, I thought. The umpire, Charlie Behan, hesitated, then raised his finger. Charlie said later that the ball would have hit the wicket, thus it was out. Enzo begged to differ.

So the countrymen beat the urban sophisticates by one run.

A very good day, a very good turnout from a healthy club. Catering by Mrs P-G was of the highest, superb ham and beef, fine salads, home-made cakes. The rain didn’t dampen spirits (which I later had rather a lot of at Jonkers’ excellent BBQ).

I was surprised, incidentally, at how unclued up The V&A and their WAGs are. Not so much outré as unworldly. I asked the company if they knew what ‘woke’ meant. None did. But all us young hipsters in Acton know it means being aware of racial and gender microaggressions. I will give context – ‘property is a white, heteronormative, patriarchal, cis-gendered, colonial construct’. Ross would know this. He is woke. He knows about crypto-genderism. Speaking of erudition, it was a delight to see John Langley of National Theatre fame. He is a cut above the some of the shoddy types you meet in the pavilion. We discussed the French Nouvelle Vague, and what year Bardot was at her peak of desirability (1954 in my view). I debated with Dr. Vin Grantham, a rare intellect whose hero is Douglas Haig, whether Dinky toys were better than Corgi, Airfix kits better than Revel, with no clear result. As a child, he said he didn’t pull the wings off flies ‘cos he was too busy making Nazi battleships. Not sure that was the healthy option.

The highlight of the day for me was the arrival of Sunil and Ali’s delightful baby boy. Made Mrs P-G all broody; so I offered to make a baby with her on Tuesday when I have a window but she seemed to blanche at my suggestion and steady herself on the railings, which I thought hurtful.

The evening’s jollity at Jonkers’ gaff was preceded by an entertainment by the pavilion. Mike Constantine decided for some reason to run over the groundman’s enormous mower. Which then got stuck under Mike’s enormous vehicle. Soon a crowd of 14 arrived despite the rain to advise, gawp and interfere.

“Yes, that does look rather stuck…” – C. Jonkers

All it really needed was one Polish bloke to do the job. It reminded me of the day my neighbour Rob Taylor broke his finger and was rushed to hospital; I was asked to take his kit home. Someone put his helmet, bat and kitbag by my car. I then ran them over in turn. I smashed his bat, then his hat, then his kitbag. I didn’t mean to but that didn’t help. I went home and gave him the mangled stuff, which didn’t improve his mood or his finger.