Little Aston & Wigorns at Blackwell

We left Oxford late in the afternoon, awaiting what would no doubt be a great dinner courtesy of the Fitzpatricks. The drive provided me with the perfect opportunity to introduce Ben to my favourite music genre: cloud rap. After threatening my way to the AUX (which in this case actually was a Bluetooth connection) we all enjoyed the very best of Yung Lean and the Sad Boys, as well as Uzi Vert and $uicideboys. Ben was not impressed – much like myself when Ben knifed his third pitch shot in a row Sunday morning.

But I’m getting ahead of myself, let’s return to Friday evening. The lasagne we had for dinner was an absolute delight, and I ate so much that I could hardly move. Remembering the Saturday morning from last year, the wine remained largely untouched and the Fitzpatricks’ wine cellar was safe for now.

In what must be seen as a statement of intent, a bus had kindly been arranged by the Fitzpatricks to take us to Little Aston on Saturday morning. The members at Little Aston were much impressed by this, and Fitzpatrick Jr was looking forward to get stuck in at lunch. This would prove to be fatal.

My morning match was lost on the first hole when our opposition turned their putter around and canned a 20-footer for birdie by using the putter’s nose. Me and James being shocked by what we had witnessed went on to lose 4/3. But the bad news for Oxford did not stop there, and we were a few points back heading in for lunch.

The lunch went exactly as one might have expected. The food was delicious, Guinness and kummel was consumed, and the lunch time speeches from myself and Cumberland received good reviews. Here is a selection of the comments received:

“Well done”

“That was funny”

“I enjoyed that”

Feeling good about myself and the team, I was looking forward to a strong comeback in the afternoon singles. Little did I expect what was fast approaching.

The Oxford team struggled in the afternoon. Indeed, the struggle for Fitzpatrick Jr was of gargantuan proportions. Being a loyal weekend driver, Harry could not cope with his newfound freedom and lost 10/8 to an apologetic opponent. After some Behmeresque promises of staying of the sauce, Harry took his loss with grace and dealt with the takeaway curry order in a very efficient manner. In total, the match was lost 12-6 against a strong and hospitable Little Aston team.

The curry takeaway was despite our loss consumed in good spirits. The Fitzpatrick family was now reinforced with Harry’s sister Alexandra. In anticipation of an upcoming test on deductive reasoning, she asked the team – allegedly some of the best minds in the country – if we had any tips for her. Barker, somewhat cryptically, advised her to check the corners. I on the other hand offered a helpful exposition of the epistemological concerns and philosophical debates surrounding the question of whether deductive reasoning can ever lead to true knowledge. Karan and Jenks proceeded to quote some of Plato’s earlier dialogues. Alexandra had left the room at this point.

The Sunday saw us playing The Wigorns at Blackwell. Upon arrival, we were quickly offered a traditional Blackwell breakfast. That is, a double port and brandy alongside a bacon roll. It seemed like that was exactly what was needed. Oxford had a strong morning and won the morning matches 4-2. Harry impressively bounced back with a win, and was praised for his ability to bounce back after being humiliated in the lunch time speech. Monty also seemed to be enjoying himself, looking nostalgic. Most likely he was reminiscing about what type of man he was during this fixture last year, and compared to that to how far he has now come.

The lunch was just as good as one have learnt to expect. Due to it being so enjoyable and the fact that the clocks had gone back, we struggled to play a full 18 in the afternoon. The matches were hard-fought, and we just about managed to hold on to halve the afternoon matches, thereby winning the fixture 7-5.

Many thanks to Little Aston, The Wigorns, and the Fitzpatrick family in particular.

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