The Inflation of the Bar Tab

We parked our carcasses at the Wimbledon CC ground, where Duray gallantly opened the Beer innings with 11 assorted bottles. As we soaked them up, the conversation drifted into a high-stakes assessment of old Plough members- because nothing screams 'team bonding' like dissecting the character of people who aren't there to defend themselves.

Nicko kept the momentum going with another 11 bottles. Eventually, John Walton materialised from a mysterious vortex, holding a pint. It was at this we discovered that a small bottle and a full pint cost the exact same price. Faced with this systemic economic injustice, the only logical, self-respecting response was to panic-but a round of pints.

The Bengal Bathing Experience

Desperate to wash up the grime of the pitch, a few Plough ventured into the changing rooms, only to discover the showers were completely ornamental.

In lieu of actual plumbing, Wimbledon had provided a single red bucket that looked like it had survived a gas explosion on a nearby construction site.To bathe, we have to fill this bucket from a freezing cold tab and scoop out shower gel that had been elegantly portion into a ceramic tea cup. Honestly? It was a beautiful, nostalgic trip straight back to my school boy holiday in Bengal. The only thing missing was a tropical monsoon.

Philosophers at the Urinals

Naturally, the beer required an exit strategy. During a tactical trip to the facilities, I bumped into Dom Scott. There in the cared acoustic of the urinal, we shared a profound 40- seconds seminar on the gentleman's game. Dom leaned in, look deep into the porcelain, and uttered ''Puff, Cricket is a game of 'what ifs'". Profound statement No 1 for the day for me.

Later, when the team was plotting the next move, Dom half-heartedly he has to leave for an engagement party. Naturally, we deployed weaponised peer pressure. We convinced him to stay, mostly because he secretly wanted us to, and marched onward to the Raynes Tavern.

Chicken Wings and Musical Fury

At the Tavern, things escalated into more beers, dinner plates, and a mountainous pile of 48 chicken wings that had drowned in Korean BBQ and Hot Honey.

Suddenly, John Walton re-appeared after another multi-hour vanishing act. John had been vibrating with pure rage on the cricket pitch on the cricket pitch all day, but now his fury had pivoted to a new target: the pub's live band. Specifically, he was ready to go on stage because the guitarist was taking far too long on the intro to Chris Stapleton's 'Tennessee Whiskey'. I could see John was about to storm the stage and seize the microphone, so like a good teammate, i boarded his angry train. Just as we (Mostly John) were about to tackle the lead singer, the vocals finally started. Thank goodness. Crisis averted.

The Tactical Retreat

We finally poured ourselves out of the pub and said goodbye to the everyone and Spence, who had spent the entire day watching the Plough. He was collected by Jess, who had temporally abandoned him for the day to go stare at Harry Styles. Fair play.

Duray then used my own Dom-Scott-peer-pressure tactics against me, convincing himself and me to stay up for a bit longer. One quick dash to the off-license later, and we were in an Uber bound for West London.

I was completely text-booked out on Cricket talk, but Duray was just waring up. Fortunately, our Uber driver, Tom, was an absolute oracle. Tom immediately began lecturing Duray on the importance of "team spirt." Duray, completely unfazed, dropped the second philosophical truth bomb of the day: "Cricket is an individual sport masqueraded as a team sport". Profound statement No 2.

The driver then shifted to storytelling mode. He was telling us about his mate Desmond, a total drama queen who runs through the wicket like he's auditioning for a soap opera. he then looked at Ash and explained why he bats at No 11: " you have to drive around town oozing perfection, feeling solid about your self, and then you'll get better." Absolute life coaching from the front seat. Profound statement No 3.

Tom and Duray were now giggling like two schoolboys on a footie Astro. Tom regaled us with tales of his glory days of cab driving for the Rolling stones and Pink Floyd amongst others. Duray spent 10 minutes hyping up how excited he was to cross Kew Bridge, claiming it was his favourite bridge in the world.

We finally drove onto Kew Bridge. Duray looked out the window, blinked, and said. " Ah. wait. My mistake. I think it's Knightsbridge that is my favourite.

Profound Statement No 4.

On my way home at the morning hours, unbeknown to me, I stumbled on an article saying June is "Men Mental health Awareness" month. I was reminded of a placard at a Heart Operating Theatre in India, it says " If you opened your heart to a friend, we wouldn't have needed to open yours here". Never a bad idea to care take care of yourself, I guess. Should you need that one beer/dinner/chat, I am sure there will always be someone at the club.

The Cricket:

The day began with a crushing blow to our collective self-esteem. The Plough parked at the lesser of the two pitches, immediately establishing our place in the local cricketing hierarchy. However, in a stunning turn of events, we were informed we'd been bumped up to the better pitch. It felt like a free business-class upgrade-we took the ego boost.

Stand-in skipper Dom Scott marched out for the toss with the confidence of man with a plan. Wimbledon won it and promptly told us to bat first. Our all-time leading run scorer Britto and Leo Towers, padded up to open. If briefly nipped off to fetch the team some coffees, only to hear two massive, consecutive roars from the boundary. the first cheer was for a glorious boundary by Britto. The second, mere seconds later, was for his wicket.

Towers and Dom the dug in, looking solid against a ferocious Wimbledon attack led by Matt Henry (who finished with a nasty 4/19) and Josie Penford (1/33). Watching Josie bowl was pure poetry - She had a long, rhythmic stride reminiscent of the old-school West Indian quicks.

Just as we started to feel conformable, the classic Plough First XI script kicked in. Dom fell to Henry, triggering a middle-order collapse of spectacular proportions. We went from as respectable 50/2 to 52/3, then panicked our way to 80/5 and hit rock bottom at 81/6. Amidst the carnage, Bobby Woodcock stood tall. Piecing the off-side with ones and twos, boundaries, he look like a right handed Ganguly, just with fewer test centuries and less grey hair. Elmo offered stellar support until he fell for a gritty 14.

At this point, we entered a very familiar psychological territory: "for the love of God, let's just try to bat the overs." Aman Jain answered the call at No9, anchoring the tail with a beautiful and stable 28. Thanks to some tail-end resistance, we scraped together 163 before being bowled out in 43.5 overs. Towers at the top got a handy 22, Dom 27 and Woodcock a well made 40 runs.

During the tea break, whispers circuited regarding a tactical bowling shift. The conditionals were analysed with a good level of precision and some senior Plough consultation. We were going with Spin and Seam from opposite ends. For reason known only to science, Ash decided to bowl uphill on a slope that looked suspiciously like the first there staircases of the Shard. Bobby opened from the luxurious top end, and together they kept it in the channel and bowled very well - If you ignore the one over from Ash generously gifted them 16 runs.

Dom's captaincy was turning out to be a masterclass. We choked their run rate and chipped away with wickets. Defencing 163 was always going to be a tight squeeze, but we maintained our legendary positivity. With some athletic manoeuvring from Ainslee who took two mazing catches, suddenly, Wimbledon was sweating at 80/5, then 92/6 then 102/7. It was anybody's game at this point.

Unfortunately, their eight-wicket partnership possessed an annoying amount of competence. They held on, and despite the Plough dragging the fight all the way to the 41st over, a few wild swing and a hefty hit from Henley saw Wimbledon across the line.

Dom's spin-heavy strategy almost pulled off the miracle. Our spins trio (Bobby, Dom and Duray) bowled a combine 20 overs, conceding just 56 runs and taking 3 wickets. the seamers cranked out 21overs for 96 runs and 4 wickets.

All in all, on a weekend when the Club Tour was looming large, the Plough put up a hell of a fight to drag oursleves from 81/6 to a respectable 163, pushing the game to the death. We triggered three of our own batmen two caught and an LBW, you call it as you see it. The batters were furious, but frankly that level of ruthless honestly should guarantee us the league's Sportsmanship Award at the end of the season.

Take care of yourselves and PloughOn!

Fondly,
Ash