V&A XI: Jasper Arnold, Tom Bird, Nick Constantine, Adam Jacot
(skip), Christiaan Jonkers, Ilija Krunic, Christy Kulasingam,
Chris Mounsey-Thear, Enzo Nicoli, James Waddington,
James Whiting
This one went right down to the wire. It seems to be what we like best or at least what brings the best out of us. Indeed such commitment to the cause was truly palpable. How, from being a mere 5 mid-week, this team showed real heart to play down a damaged finger (Christy) and shrug off two broken toes (James Waddington) to make us quorate. Every one of us were seen smiling with joy and relief into the lens for Stephanie’s team photo. We had snatched victory.
Their charming skipper Jez needed some persuading that the most likely solution to giving the maximum numbers of players a game was for us to bat first, understandably fearing, as he marshalled a team still mindful of Andy Taylor’s brutal knock last year, that we might reach 300 plus. In retrospect given that only 13 wickets fell in the match we were fortunate to play ‘35 overs’ as a timed game might have been beyond our reach for victory.
When players returning from abroad talk of the heartening reassurance of playing at Stonor they conjure up a perfect summer’s day amongst a farmer’s panorama of fields and barns. Or the team’s signature club colours matched by the parched, yellow outfield and the cloudless, blue sky. And now to add the growing tradition of our opening ‘bookends’ umpires: the ‘stick-signalling’ Bird and the ‘changed-by-teatime’ Jonkers! Yet unfamiliar for them (and us all) to witness the play on a green square within a sandy circle: the reverse surely of the norm!
And jogging out from the visitors’ changing room in strode our openers Tom and Chris. Oh dear! For in no time 3 of our top 4 (Tom, Nick and James Whiting: the last on loan from Acme for the day) were cheaply dismissed. It needed opener CMT to get stuck in and deep he dug to build his innings and, with regular despatches of the ball to both sides of the mid-wicket boundary, he commandingly amassed a match-winning 66. He was ably assisted by useful contributions from James Waddington (22) and Jasper (24*): the former judiciously, as you might expect, popping the ball onto the very top of the rope for a six and the latter sporting black pads to please the purists.
An interesting incident arrived with a bowler who chucked, and the very reasonable response of the ‘bookends’ who let it go. “It is just village cricket so what the hell” they conceded after the bowler had chucked three balls down. The next ball, of course, he got a wicket. Cricket is nothing if not a cruel mistress. Our total of 155 (for 5) felt under par: the result mainly both of this year’s pitches and their bowling (in particular by Swinburne and Taylor).
Would there be a comeuppance to come for our possible shortcoming? In-swinging Christiaan and metronomic Ilija opened up against the predominantly youthful village. At least four of them accumulated and threatened each to take home the match for the home team. They started at a canter and the game was running away from us. Chris then entered the fray and, bustling in with his in-duckers, slowly helped pull back the initiative: in one over beating the bat four times.
The game was soon precariously in the balance. Bring them into this article and more vitally into the match! ‘Them’ being Nick and Christy no less. Cricket commentators talk of ‘jugular’ bowling though that was more at the disposal of Clive Lloyd’s armoury. This however was pure strangulation. Any sense of ‘jaws of defeat’ had diminished. Nick (with 3 for 27 from his 7 overs) and Christy (2 for 23) knocked them over with pinpoint accuracy and ground them down by their taking the pace off. Gradually the run rate became our more likely route to victory.
“C’mon V’n’A!” exhorted the skipper. Stolen singles brought on despair. We fielded like Imran Khan’s tigers greedily and with eyes glued to the approaching ball! Even I managed to turn 2s into 2s. All of us were soon saving boundaries by the benches and the beeches, by the edges of the hedges.
Their umpiring skipper then confided to having little batting to come. How special is that pivotal moment when the likely outcome turns from defeat to victory. The stage was set. Act Five, Scene Three. Who better than for Enzo to come centre stage and rise magnificently to the challenge. He drew from all his experience of a career with the National Theatre of over 300 wickets. He stared and glared with delicious menace at the incoming batter and soaked up the pressure at its maximum. And then who better to pull the plug and call it a day than CMT to bowl the 35th over and leave them ten runs adrift with two wickets still intact?
Happy handshakes (not handcuffs from fisticuffs!) to finish. A day of disport. 3 ‘away’ points. A skipper relieved. A war-historian president delighted to learn from his armchair at Boodles of a hard-fought battle won on the playing field of Stonor.
