Oxford Blues

Saturday 1st June, St John's - St Anne's Sportsground, Oxford. St John's College (255-6) beat St Anne's Allstars (128) by 127 runs.

Scorecard

In Evelyn Waugh's novel about journalism, Scoop, there is a scene in which a famous war correspondent is revealed to be filing his copy from an expensive hotel at an exclusive seaside resort several hundred miles from the scene of the battle, about which he is wholly ignorant. His lavish descriptions of hand-to-hand combat and terrifying bombardments - all of which enthral his slavish fans back in Blighty - have in fact been dreamt up as he lies on a sun lounger, gin and tonic in hand, gazing across the placid waters of the Mediterranean.

I recount this anecdote because I am painfully aware that the report which follows will to some appear to have been invented by somebody sitting in a pleasant Dublin pub or killing the time between races at Wimbledon Dog Track. I assure you that I really was present at the Allstars' unfortunate drubbing on June 1st: any lack of resemblance to real events or persons is purely coincidental, and the consequence of writing my account of those events almost three months after their occurrence. WIth this disclaimer - and my apology for it - ringing in your ears, I shall get the hell on with it and tell you (albeit approximately) what happened.

They batted first and made lots of runs then bowled us out for not many runs, thus winning the match.

Since this precis of events - while strictly accurate and thus journalistically unimpeachable - is unlikely to impress many, I shall embroider tastefully and hope at least in the style of my prose, if not the veracity of its contents, to catch something of the flavour of that afternoon.

On a promising late spring day the Allstars, minus their inspirational founder, fixtures secretary and captain (unavoidably detained elsewhere looking after the needs of Yorkshire's Greatest Batsman) made their way to the delightful ground of St John's College, Oxford. Some of us, including this writer, had previously expressed reservations about the fixture. St John's College has a formidable reputation in Oxford for the standard of its sports teams, and its cricket eleven in particular. Year after year the college has supplied large numbers of cricketers to the University team, and many of them have gone on to be successful professionals.

So I was nervous about our prospects, even though Maxie had assured us we would be taking on "only" the second eleven. My fears were not allayed by their captain telling me cheerily that even though a few of their better players were away because of exams, he was confident of giving us "a reasonable game". Closer questioning made it clear that the "second eleven" we were about to take on included four First Eleven members. So, quaking in my boots, I strode to the square, where I was fortunate enough to lose the toss, thus being saved the agonies of having to put a better side in to bat on a flat track in perfect batting conditions. Their skipper, predictably, did that for us.

So it was that the Allstars - with a threesome from the Gentlemen of West London generously making up the numbers - made their way on to the field already fearing a mammoth score. The conditions were really ideal for batting: hot, airless, with barely a cloud in the sky and little prospect of swing or assistance from the pitch. The omens were not promising.

In the circumstances, I must say I think we did rather well. It was impressive that during an innings spanning 38 overs and 255 runs, we remained positive and aggressive in the field. There were many notable stops saving fours in the covers, and nobody gave up chasing the balls to the long boundaries, however hopeless the situation seemed. Tristan's figures of 1/42 from ten overs represent a really excellent performance, and given the amount of stick the stand-in skipper's bowling took (60 runs from just 8 overs) his comparative economy was a godsend.

The St Johns' openers exuded class, both driving authoritatively from the off. Clements was occasionally wayward in his opening spell and found his errors promptly punished. Tristan was less expensive but also found edges hard to come by. Though the Allstars competed gamely and did their best to talk if not bowl the opening pair out, a fine partnership of 125 ensued. In the end it was an inspired (or desperate, depending on your point of view) bowling change that broke the partnership, Tony Buck of the Gentlemen agreeing reluctantly to turn his arm over for a few overs "to see what happens". To his great surprise he was by some distance our most successful bowler, taking a splendid 3/25 and removing the heart of the St John's upper order.

Tony also took a tricky catch off the skipper's bowling to dismiss the second opener. A heartening, if late, flurry of wickets followed; and when St John's finally declared on 255 for 6, the classy no 4 remained unbeaten on 52. But the Allstars went into the pavilion with an unexpected swagger in their step, happy at having lived with, if not exactly troubled, a strong team.

So it was all the more disappointing that our innings - with two notable exceptions - contained slightly less backbone than a mental hospital for cowardly jellyfish. Our invertebrate batting performance was unnecessarily intimidated by a bowling attack which while persistent was anything but unplayable. Their opening bowler, the improbably named Brhanavan - either that or Tom needs further help with his handwriting - took a flattering 5/58; his partner Turner - in fact christened Tvxkksyqqksllski by his Polish parents, but again I can't read Tom's scrawl - a magnificent and rather more deserved 5/13.

Our opening pair were both bowled unceremoniously, the skipper essaying an unwise heave to the on side, Tristan receiving a peach which made a mess of what were previously neatly arranged stumps and bails. Brhanavan, incensed at the mauling his surname had received from Mr Everest's errant pen, tore into our upper order as if the missing vowels would be miraculously restored the second the game ended.

The only notable resistance was put up by Josh Milligan and Andrew McKenna, whose lusty blows caused the single diversion of the innings except the novelty of a bowler whose Christian name began with Q. And by the time a bloke with a name beginning with Q is on his ninth over, the amusement factor has diminished somewhat. When Roger Pordes was dismissed LBW by the less amusingly-monikered S Turner, we had lapsed to 128 all out - for the last half-hour or so the frustration of the fielding side even gave us a glimmer of hope of a draw. At 43/7 things had looked much worse; it was a relief in the circumstances to lose by just 123 runs (you hear Nasser Hussain say that all the time).

Proceedings were adjourned to a succession of local hostelries. All in all it was a heartening performance. We lived with - and for brief periods competed with - a strong side; we sledged with more vigour than the opposition; and we downed an absurd number of increasingly filthy alcoholic beverages. All are positive signs for the club's future. Alas, a late pall was cast over the day by the disgraceful antics of our opening bowler Adam Clements, whose involuntary internal redecoration of an innocent London black cab has prompted a police investigation. A high-profile trial is feared by many in the sport, though allegations by the cab driver that his eye "exploded with pain" after an attack by the beer-bottle-wielding Clements have been vigorously denied by the player.