V&A XI:Constantine, N (skipper); Jonkers, C; Bird, T, Bird, R; Bird, C; Tetlow, J; Krunic, I; Pitlarge, A; Pitlarge, D; Arnold, J (wk); Horan, B.

Summer solstice, hottest day of the year, and a Bacchus team that promised us (based on previous form) – a big victory and lots of wine. Why wouldn’t one want to play?  Even Nick Constantine, despite ramming a London bus with a Lime bike, wanted in.

Nick knows Bacchus well. So well, in fact, Nick had been on the receiving end of intense lobbying from their captain at 10 Cases wine bar in Covent Garden. Bacchus wanted to ensure they were invited back, after successive thumpings. Bacchus love their cricket, their wine, and their day out at Stonor, much like us. And they are smart guys too (like us…), from Oxford, and smarter still – they knew that if they were to get anything from Constantine, you had to put wine in front of him.

I don’t want to ruin the ending, but on this occasion, the Bacchus were more cricket team than wine society. Their opening bowler, quick and tailing the ball in from a long run, challenged Horan and Jonkers, who both failed to see off the new ball (out for 0 and 4 respectively). Following a somewhat makeshift opening pair, Pitlarge Snr and Tetlow had to be watchful. But after the 10th over, the scoreboard had barely moved (28-2). With a timed game being played, the V&A needed runs before any declaration….

Who was going to get them? Tetlow hit three fours to the leg side, one of which did for the fingers of Bacchus’ captain, but just as he looked to press on, the dreaded part-time non-spinning off spinner struck. Oh dear.

Jasper Arnold was in next. He had been waiting on the bench at long-on, chewing on Marlboro Golds. He took a quick diversion to the middle, sliced the ball to backward point, and continued walking to the pavilion, swiping any inanimate object that was inconsiderate enough to be in his way. Jasper swears a lot, usually the f-word. Nicky does too.

A lot rested on Alex Pitlarge’s shoulders. He had just been picked up from his final year at Oxford and had gone to bed at 4 in the morning. He was out for the same number. Next we had C Bird, R Bird, and T Bird, batting together and in succession. C Bird gloved it to the keeper for a duck, R Bird was caught one-handed at cover by a fielder named Swann, and so too was T Bird, the fielder miraculously repeating his feat. Birds of a feather, they were out for a combined total of 8, of which Rufus Bird scored 7. A duck is a bird, a swan is a bird, and a Bird is most definitely a Bird.

At lunch, Steph Bird provided an excellent lunch of jacket potatoes, coronation chicken, and more chicken, to continue the theme. Nicky serenaded those assembled with a speech about the importance of family: “…Arthur Balfour once said, nothing matters very much – and few things matter at all”, providing an extra helping of fatalism to that which had already been served up by the lunchtime scoreboard. Fear not, though, Constantine could still save this for the V&A, in at number eight. With one final glug of Flint Wines’ finest Rosé, a greying but growing mop of hair descending from his helmet, our bandaged warrior took to the middle. Four! Four! Four! Four! Out.

Krunic and Jacot battled for the final wicket, but their energies would be needed in the field. All out for 80, it wasn’t much to defend. Still probably wondering where he was, what he was doing, and discombobulated by a Stonor Pavillion clock that is now woefully wrong, Alex Pitlarge was thrown the new ball to open down the hill. For a fast bowler, there are fine margins at play – especially down the hill, and they get highlighted without proper practice. After a year, and without a net, one cannot expect metronomic line and length accuracy and those who did were disappointed. As for Krunic coming up the hill, there were no freebies, only missed opportunities as he castigated the gully fielders. In a low scoring game, extras and poor fielding can do a lot of damage. Bacchus capitalised and made light work of our attack, as the sun came out and tea approached. Neither Jonkers nor Jacot could send the opposition into reverse and their bespectacled opening bat retired with 50*. Still convinced that Lachlan was going to appear from the boot of someone’s car, or from behind a nearby tree, and skittle them, Bacchus batsmen prudently discussed the 2 more runs they needed to claim a historic victory. Alas, Lachlan did not appear and the disbelieving looks on opposition faces turned to jubilance as they were clapped off the better team (by far).

All smiles, carrying tables in and out, clapping the batsmen in and out, and usually (usually) obliging with defeat, the Bacchus are certainly welcome back next year. And there is absolutely no need to take Constantine out for lunch.