Not the greatest of strategic decisions to hold as important a fixture in the elite sporting calendar as this, the day after what would purport to be “best ever” Old Riponian Ball”. Words like jaded, ill-humoured and indisposed, transgressed to more apt adjectives, as wasted, hanging and past it, to describe the nefarious condition of the brave (or stupid) twenty odd “players” who took to the hallowed turf of Mallorie Park this weekend.

Billed as this year’s certainty to provide at least one deserving candidate for the next BBC Sports Personality of the Year, the outcome was however entirely underwhelming. The high point of the match was far from anything to do with the sporting prowess of the combatants, but the awe inspiring technology contained in the watch sported by Referee Andy “Wayne” Williamson. Not just a chronometer to merely record the passage of time elapsed and of course when to call a stop to the proceedings before people got tired, sick or hypothermic. This was a device designed by NASA, manufactured by Tesla and destined not only for the stars, but signals the death knell of pen and paper forever. If only the app extended to saying the three magic words at scrum time of: “Crouch, bind and set” in some weird, synthesised voice, it would enable the official to stick to his hand signals and not say a word all game.

To say the two sides were well-matched would imply that some thought had gone into their selection. In reality, despite best laid plans of match supremo Dom “Corleone” Butler, the red and blue jerseys were handed out in turn alternately to anyone walking and who looked faintly capable of lacing up a pair of Rugby boots. As time progressed to some thirty minutes after the scheduled kick off time had elapsed and players hadn’t yet reached double figures, Butler changed tack and nominated anyone standing, who couldn’t manage to utter the word “no” when pressed. And so, against all odds and into the murky atmosphere of Mallorie Park, a nine a side match was forged from a hotch-potch group of the unwilling, led by the incapable. Interestingly, once the match got underway, as if emerging after the all-clear was sounded following an air raid, the touchline and stand were miraculously filled with more Old Riponians than you could shake a stick at. Many of whom being players not only of considerable sporting ability, but also, in incredibly fine fettle and more than capable of taking to the field. Clearly some miss-communication was at play here, with missed WhatsApp messages, slept through alarms and ignored phone calls from the frantic Butler, eager to please the burgeoning crowd.

The principle of team selection was initially quite straight forward, with a dividing line set at the age of 21. Thus in theory, a team of overs would enter mortal combat against a team of youngers. Wise heads and experience versus youthful exuberance, or so it seemed. The reality was, whilst some players of considerable sporting ability, past and allegedly present, apart from the vague association with Ripon Grammar School for some, this was two teams of strangers, without even the benefit of a pre-match warm up. Not quite a line up as noteworthy as to be recognisable from “Debrett’s”, or “Who’s Who”, this was a selection of Ripon’s erm… finest, supposedly in their prime and keen to provide entertainment for their loving families, significant others and of course the obligatory pack of Labradors and Spaniels.

The first half got off to a flying start, with both sides fuelled by the copious amounts of pre-match mulled wine and mince pies, as well and the adrenaline surge for some, from pulling on their boots for the first time in a couple of years. With insufficient front row players capable of taking to the pitch, the game started with uncontested scrums, a godsend for the players as far as averted effort was concerned and the Referee not having to deal with any more nonsense than was evident already. Early agreement of twenty minutes each way was readily achieved and all were poised to survive as long as possible.

Scoring was opened by the Youngsters after a break by Caspian Cholmondeley-Warner, released Benedict “Spotty” De Vere, to open his legs and show his class. Kingsley Knatchbull added the extra points with the first of his three conversions. After a break from an Olders’ scrum, the boys in blue interplayed well to put Fabian Ponsonby clear with Rupert “Stiffy” Rothschild in close support. Tollemache Major added the conversion for the first of his four successful shots at goal.

Further tries came to the reds from Peregrine Tennyson and Ulysses Sackville, with Knatchbull’s two conversions taking their first half score to 21 points. The blues, not to be beaten, played some expansive Rugby to exploit the vast expanses of open space. Crossing the line for the Olders was then a formality for both Darcy Bampfylde and Tristan “Biffy” Baden-Powell, with Tollemache adding the extras to take the half time score to a 21 – 21 draw.

The second half got a bit messier for both sides as tired legs, bursting lungs and alcohol withdrawal kicked in. Further tries came to both teams, not from competitive or particularly creative play. More the inability of anyone to keep up with play unless they were actually holding the ball. Though that wasn’t necessarily true in all cases Crispin Fitzherbert crossed the line twice for the Youngers in rapid succession and the Olders responded game fully with two more tries from Giles Wodehouse the Third. Tollemache added the conversion to nudge the blues into the lead at 33 – 31. In a nail-biting finale in front of a dwindling crowd, beaten by the chilly weather and the ennui inducing play on the pitch; the Youngers mustered for one last effort. Grosvenor and De Montagu combined well in midfield to gift Bertie Bowes-Lyon with a twenty metre scamper home. Tollemache’s missed conversion didn’t matter as the shrill blast of the whistle signalled the end of the match with the Youngers pinching it 33 – 36.

Not quite baying for their money back, the remaining supporters politely clapped the warriors from the field and wondered was this actually worth getting out of bed for. The undeniable answer is yes – any sporting competition is worth the effort. More of a spectacle befitting the occasion if a tad more willing and able parties had come forward to put their bodies on the line in memory of the myriad Old Riponians before them.

Next year, the Old Riponians’ Association will be sending telegrams to all past pupils dating back to the inaugural year of 1555. Admittedly there may be a few no replies but there may be enough from the canvassing for two full teams and a little bit more and bound to be more life in the old dogs than was on display today. All support, dead or alive for this traditional demonstration of seasonal goodwill, will be very welcome.