The Bacchus XI vs Wytham CC
When big brother asks, you ignore. When big brother pesters, you ignore. When big brother threatens to withdraw the offer of free accommodation and food in West London, you oblige.
Give orange me give eat orange me eat orange give me eat orange give me
-- NIM CHIMPSKY, the longest recorded sentence signed by a chimpanzee
MATCH REPORT – The Bacchus XI vs Wytham CC – Brasenose College Sports Ground
28 July 2024
As the centre of Bacchant gravity seemingly drifts ever closer to the Big Smoke with lurches to foreign fields in the works, the Brasenose College Sports Ground on Abingdon Road remains our Goodison Park to the shiny Hill Dickinson Stadium of Hampstead Heath or Chiswick. And who else would this erstwhile cricket team wish to play at such a ground other than Wytham CC, a team embodying the most charming aspects of the L4 spirit.
Good omens abounded for the XI: the weather was bright, the outfield fast, the pitch real, and a thumping 168-run victory over the opposition in the fixture earlier in the season. Only thirteen teams in English footballing history have ever completed the domestic double, none have achieved the Wytham double. For Bacchus, the opportunity for a dance and date with destiny. For Larken, probably just a dance.
But it can never be easy and there were several fatal flaws. They had brought the required number for a cricket team (I’m not sure what it is either) and P Hudson would not be playing for the opposition this time. As it happened, he wouldn’t be playing at all.
In a fix that would make Mohammed Amir blush, it was decided that Wytham would bat first while Freddie and Riley arrived having suitably breakfasted for the occasion. In marched Messrs Spaghetti (?) and Glennie clad in suitable armour to face the Jeffers, who would be opening the bowling alongside me with his usual right-arm Pick ‘n’ Mix. Alas, on this occasion there were to be no red cherries, only the rather disappointing Haribo milk bottles as I continued to bowl to the left-handed Glennie what would have been jaffers to a right-hander. What he didn’t hit merely tickled his posterior. Drinks came around at the usual time with Wytham limited in runs but unlimited in wickets – the V&A could never.
Those more familiar with cricket than I may, at this point, have recognised that the batsmen were “building an innings”, something naturally alien to the Bacchant nimbyism. Such construction could, after all, destroy the supply of picturesque cricket grounds on which we can be ritually humiliated. Anyhow, build they did and the runs began to flow more plentifully than the morning after a dodgy kebab. Luckily, Riley had finally reached the natural digestive end of both his breakfast and his run-up, promptly snicking off Spaghetti to a sharp catch by Simpkins behind the stumps.
It was roughly around this point (recollections may vary), that the latest Bacchus import from Spain made a debut. Upon hearing this, the spectators eagerly pulled out a corkscrew, yearning to comment on tannins and aromas and other wine things (I was never clever enough to make it to the University and the Society). But this was no ordinary Spanish red, rather it was Dominic’s mate Lucas who had no ABV to speak of but did have a lethal bowling action. He struck with just his second ball and then again with his eleventh and then again later, bidding a fond farewell to the famous Scottish folk trio of Glennie, Mackie, and Schneider, all of whom looked legitimately dangerous.
In the midst of all this excitement, D Hudson had decided that we needed variation that wasn’t just his non-spinning off-spin. On came Larken for three overs. After some filthy bowling and even filthier fielding, off went Larken. At some point Thykkatu entered the arena, looking to send the most-greying of the Hudson brothers to the cleaners for a much-needed wash and maybe even a bit of hair-dye. One big swing and a miss followed another, enabling D Hudson to squeeze one through the gate and take the bails off.
The rest of the Wytham innings was not the finest display of Bacchant cricketing ability and balls ran or flew to the boundary aplenty until a couple of run outs and another snick from Lucas’s bowling stemmed the flow. 198 runs were required from 35 overs. Eminently doable.
Across 30,000 pubs in the UK, 1.9 million pints of the most unpleasant lager is sold every day. In this Wytham team, there is only one Foster, but he opens the bowling, and it is more than enough to make a nice day out distasteful. Larken and I marched out to the middle with the vigour of a forlorn hope, prepared to throw ourselves at the Wytham bowlers and set the platform for an eventual victory. Can you guess what happened next?
Having gamely made his way to 10 through an array on 1s and 2s, the servant executive swiftly exited the stage with a gently looping ball straight to the fielder in the ring. In theory, not a problem. A good few overs had been seen out, we had some good batting still to come, and the scoreboard was at least moving in the right direction. With all these thoughts gathering in my simple mind, you will be unsurprised to learn that I seized upon a loopy short ball from their spinner and, in my mind, sent it well beyond the pavilion onto Abingdon Road. My middle stump, having been gently disturbed by a ball of cork in a red leather case, disagreed.
And so, it was left to the Freddie and Simpkins to shore up our middle order. The former adopted a conservative approach, as one does when one drives a Defender, shutting the door firmly and gathering a single here and there until the Gate was so firmly shut that he was given LBW (probably by Larken, sporting bastard). The latter of the pair has often shown claimed to have played proper cricket for proper teams, leaving suggestions that he like Pope – Ollie or Leo XIV, you decide – could be the next Big Thing for the Bacchus. He arrived at the game sitting on two ducks from his previous innings, while still claiming superior cricketing ability. It was only the heroic poor sportsmanship D Hudson’s umpiring in not two of ripest LBWs ever seen. Here was his chance to get the big score – he holed out on 9.
At this point, I was going to compare the XI to a dog with a lengthy and wagging tail, however after coming across one that can retrieve the balls from the boundaries we concede, I fear that I would do a disservice to the cricketing abilities of canines. Therefore, I present the Bacchus crocodile tail: long, slithering, and so strong they can propel the team to an, acceptable, if not winning, score.
Brassington polished up a neat 13 to steady the ship whilst Riley artfully scurried to 15. Was the double on? Could this be the set-up for the big push? Perhaps if you are General Melchett of Blackadder fame, then yes absolutely this was the biggest push of big pushes. The tail whipped into action, only to be ruthlessly castled by Wytham’s Crocodile Dundee bowlers – I always preferred Skippy the Bush Kangaroo myself.
Next brought the University of Bath’s finest money minds to the crease. After quizzing the opposition on their personal pensions, ISAs, credit scores, investment potential, and GDP, the two set about the pernicious business of scoring runs. The score steadily ticked on to the known respectable marker of 100, sending the crowd wild with excitement and heralding cries of “YOU’RE NOT SINGING ANYMORE” and “THE REFEREE’S A WANKER” (Larken was still umpiring) from the Bacchus Ultras. Wytham’s away end stood as aghast as it was non-existent. Like all good things, it couldn’t last forever, and Lucas soon fell on debut for an important 15.
Although hopes of victory looked wafer-thin, the XI’s International Man of Mystery strode onto the stage urged on by one F Hudson who really did not want to bat. With this and the distant target in mind, Jeffers and Dom decided the least they could do would be to get their money’s worth out of Brasenose and bat for the draw in a limited overs game. The Bacchant mind knows no bounds and certainly knows no MCC laws.
There was to be no double then, no final hurrah in our Goodison Park, no tearful Z Cars or N17. Even as the sun set gloriously over Oxford, there remained a great cloud burdening the Bacchus – we would have to play them again next year. Nil satis.
Scorecard
Wytham CC
Spaghetti c Simpkins b Riley 28
A Glennie c Hudson b Lucas 39
Schneider b Lucas 11
Mackie b Lucas 26
Thykkatu b D Hudson 0
T Valance run out (H Hudson) 42
Sobie c Simpkins b Lucas 16
Irvine run out (H Hudson) 2
P Knowers 0 not out
Extras w13 nb5 b5 lb1 24
Total (35 overs) 197
Bacchus XI
E S T Larken c? b Mallon 10
H E C Hudson b Wheelon 12
F Gate lbw Sobie 3
E Simpkins c? b? 9
J Brassington b Sobie 13
S Riley b Thykkatu 15
Lucas c? b? 15
D A Hudson 20 not out
W Jeffries 3 not out
Extras w10 nb9 b2 lb3
Total (35 overs) 135