Jim would have liked nothing more than to spend the next forever forgetting the existence of Roy Anderson and basking in his delight in Roy’s fiancée’s company. He was not to get his wish. This was most likely inevitable, but came about in particular through the intervention of Colonel Scott, who found himself bored—a most dangerous position for the Colonel, as both Pam and anyone even mildly conversant with his personal habits might have been able to inform Jim, and as he quickly discovered for himself. Worse, for Jim, he had rapidly slipped into the position—in the Colonel’s opinion, at least—as the Colonel’s right hand man for those activities to which a military adjutant or a social secretary not ideally suited. This position would have delighted him but two weeks prior, when his greatest concern had been a lack of social connection and visibility. Now that he understood the Colonel’s methods better, however, he recognized the danger of becoming the first in line for any of the Colonel’s more mischievious humours—a role he now filled in full. This meant that when the Colonel became bored, it became Jim’s problem, and when the Colonel became bored and neither Jim nor Pam was there to head off his more ridiculous conceptions, it became Jim’s problem in a more permanent way. Although these ideas were never quite so terrible as to make Jim regret the Colonel’s acquaintance and friendship (and despite it all he did truly consider him a friend), they could become particularly ticklish from time to time, as he rapidly learned. The present predicament was one of these.

One Thursday evening it occurred to the Colonel that he was bored, and that he looked out only on the prospect of continuing in boredom for the entirety of Friday, as those engagements he had scheduled had, by a rotten stroke of bad chance, all been cancelled. As such, he foresaw nothing but a gaping maw of time stretching out before him, and experienced a sudden and intense desire to fill it. Thus he sent out a series of messengers to arrange him an all-day entertainment for Friday; being a middle-aged Englishman with pretensions to a certain kind of social stature and a somewhat inexhaustible supply of money, this took the form of renting out the cricket grounds at Lords for a private event the next day, and pledging himself and two teams of as-yet-unwitting acquaintances to spend the day at bat and ball. This Jim learned of by a still later messenger, who informed him that the Colonel looked forward to (and insisted upon) his attendance at the said event the next morning, and would brook no argument.

Now, this news was not as unpleasant to Jim Halpert as one might imagine upon first hearing it. Jim had bowled for Balliol, and he was a noted spinner, able with a casual flick of the wrist to make a ball that appeared to be destined to make contact with an opponent’s head whirl itself aside at the last moment to spend its furor upon the wicket with a cry of “out.” He was a noted bat as well, having stood a century in more than one match in the heated intramurals of Oxford, and having been strongly considered for the Oxford team for an exhibition against Cambridge immediately after his attaining his baccalaureate—in fact, he would have joined that team had he not been called away to the Continent in His Majesty’s service at a most inopportune juncture. He had not had much opportunity since to practice his arts, as the European citizenry had not taken to the sport with the enthusiasm of the English, with even the ardor of gratitude for their liberation from Napoleon’s yoke being insufficient to induce them to participate. As such he was raring to take ball and bat in hand again and shake off the rust.

However, on the morning at Lords, he found to his discomfort that while he himself was placed with Michael Scott, Dwight Schrute, and the military set, Michael’s need for an opposing force had led him to name Roy Anderson captain of the other team, which he had filled with his own friends and acquaintances. Jim recognized Darryl and a few others, but there could be no doubt that he would need to interact and exchange pleasantries primarily with Roy, who alone could (and did) introduce Jim to his remaining teammates. Jim managed these introductions with his innate courtliness, but the sight of Pamela Beesly in the nearly empty stands caused his heart to shrink. There could be no doubt which team Pam would of necessity and affection root for, nor whose innings she would look to see crowned with success. The thought thrummed through his heart that in seeing him put Roy’s team to shame he might have a rare opportunity to demonstrate his superiority to her, but he quickly put it aside as unworthy—and perhaps more importantly, as unlikely to assist him in defeating his foe. He had no difficulty in inducing Michael to place him first amongst the bowlers, but he was disappointed to see that the common assumption that bowlers had no bats had led his friend to place him last among the batsmen, behind even Dwight, who confided that he had grown up playing an obscure Germanic game rather than cricket, which Jim could not deny was a legitimate excuse given his understanding of the Lieutenant’s personality but which nevertheless filled him with dismay.

He was not given a long time to consider this, however, as Roy’s team had first innings and he was called into the crease. He was faced with a waggly, lanky batsman who seemed constantly dissatisfied with the balls served to him and fouled ball after ball without moving towards the opposing stick. On the sixth delivery, however, Jim uncorked a lazy spinning ball that bounded opposite from the batter’s expectation and struck the wicket soundly. The first man was out and Jim could not help but sneak a look up into the stands. The smile on Pam’s face was pronounced, and if he had not known better he would have thought she was sitting on her hands to stop herself from clapping. He grinned. This was going to be fun.

Not all the overs were as easy as the first; Roy’s team did score, particularly after Jim rotated out of the bowling, and Roy himself batted a respectable 67. The break for dinner came swiftly, and Jim found himself eating alone (Michael, Dwight, and his other acquaintances on the team having ventured out in search of some kind of food Jim was not quite certain of but did not entirely trust as the suggestion came from a Schrutish direction) and unable to keep his eyes off of Roy and Pam sitting and giggling on the grass, where Pam had drawn out a picnic for them. He wished himself in Roy’s place and Roy to the devil; he wished himself anywhere but there no matter where they were; he wished himself capable of looking anywhere but at them. None of these wishes having any effect, he found himself gladder than he had expected of his teammates’ return.

But the ensuing innings were anything but pleasant. Roy’s team found their rhythm and (in deference to the one-day nature of the match) turned over the game at 284 not out—a respectable score, but no world-beater. They started well, but Jim’s hopes faded, however, as Lord Oscar contrived to stick his leg out in front of the wicket (ably kept by Roy Anderson) and found himself called out for LBW, which no amount of Michael’s histrionic arguments with the umpire would rectify. This left Dwight was standing at the stumps paired with Michael, who (despite batting early in the innings) had managed to foul enough balls and slip in enough singles to remain at bat despite an underwhelming 32—and the team needed 120. After a mere four, Dwight swung mightily at the next pitch, which passed directly by him, struck the wicket, and set him down. This left Jim at the stumps with 116 to go—and he could not help glancing back at Roy Anderson as he took up position by the wicket. The look of pleasure on the latter’s face was infuriating, and Jim set his jaw. It was time to go to work.

He was fortunate in the bowler he faced, a whey-faced friend of Roy’s who had clearly been tiring as the innings went on. His delivery was straight, relying on pace to bypass lesser batsmen like Dwight—but Jim was no such man. He thumped boundary after boundary, mixing fours and sixes like he was five years younger. He showed a keen eye to avoid those balls that would have given him trouble, and the few times he ran and the ball failed to make the boundary he was fortunate enough to have hit it hard and far enough to make a double and remain batting. When the bowlers switched ends he hit singles and triples, shielding Michael from the requirement of doing anything but switching positions with him. He cast the occasional glance upwards and saw the gratifying sight of Pamela Beesly openly, if quietly, cheering him on. At long last the score stood at 283 and Jim felt destiny calling him. The ball arrived straight and true, but his foot twisted slightly as he swung and he merely nudged the ball—but in the direction where no fielder stood. He felt rather than saw Michael Scott swing into motion and he knew it was his duty to match his partner’s run with one of his own, certain as he felt that this ball was not hit hard enough to make it worthwhile. Upon reaching the first wicket he saw the fielders still in chase just reaching the ball and—to his horror—Michael turning and running towards him again. He turned towards the wicket from which he had begun and felt a shoulder nudge his, throwing him off balance and causing him to stumble. He had no time to think or react save to throw his stumble into an off-kilter run and dive with bat extended as he saw the ball fly in towards the stumps.

A mighty roar went up from the few people in the stands and Jim dared to look up at the umpire, who was gesturing “not out.” He had made it—and Colonel Scott’s team stood at 285, victorious. He glanced back to see an angry Michael Scott remonstrating with Roy Anderson, who the quick glance revealed was the only candidate for the man who had so unsportingly collided with him. He dusted himself off, drew Michael aside, and nodded to Roy. It was not cricket, but as the winner he could well afford to be gracious.

He deliberately did not look at Pamela Beesly, but she looked at him, and as he strode off with Michael to the changing room even she could have told you there was nothing but admiration in her eyes.