It was billed as a friendly, but those of us who turned out for Birr Castle against Stradbally Hall in the annual Georgian cricket match on Saturday had other ideas.
After a polite, non-violent start, the home team threw down the gauntlet when opening batsman Piers O'Connor Nash thrashed a ball high over the boundary opposite the castle's famous telescope. By the mercy of God, it also passed over the heads of the small knot of spectators - including Piers' teammates who had had been chatting or sipping elderberry wine on the sidelines, oblivious to the onfield action.
The "Slasher Nash", as he was apparently known when he played for Clongowes, was holding back, experts assured us. None of us wanted to be there if he let himself go. But after that the spectators decided for safety reasons that it might be as well to watch the match.
In fact, the game was held up for several minutes while the ball was retrieved from the plantation into which the "Slasher" had dispatched it. It was the only ball we had, it appeared, and since there was nothing in the 1744 rules about what happened when ye ball was lost in ye bushes, there was no alternative but to find it.
As several players disappeared into the undergrowth in their knee britches and waistcoats, the Earl of Rosse was given the opportunity to point with pride at the all-native species, including extra-prickly Irish holly, in which they were searching.
Then, just when all seemed to be lost - including some of those in the bushes - there was a breakthrough. Lady Rosse, peering in after the search party, found the ball at her feet, and the game resumed.
Cricket has pastoral origins, as John Holohan of the Irish Georgian Society later explained: first played by shepherds, using their crooks - or cricks - as bats and pine cones as balls, and guarding their pens instead of wickets.
The 1744 rules have one thing in common with those of the modern game: not many people understand them. But the few obvious differences are that there are only four balls to an over and only two stumps in the wicket.
In every other respect the old game demands the same high levels of skill, courage and hand-eye co-ordination that its modern counterpart does. Which is why the Irish Times reporter, who had never stood on a cricket pitch before Saturday and had the hand-eye co-ordination of a walrus, was a late selection for the Birr team.
Lacking even knee-britches or a waistcoat, I was sent in at No 6 after a thorough, five-minute course in how to play. Luckily, the Stradbally team included members of all the major genders; so when the bowler facing me turned out to be a middle-aged Canadian lady on a visit to the Laois area, there were grounds for hope.
And although her first ball took a wicked bounce (and then two more) as it bore down on me, I swung the bat bravely and heard the pleasing "thwack" of willow on ball. But only in my head.
Because, as it turned out, I had missed by a mile.
After that it got better, however; and by the time I was cruelly run out on a score of one, I was well pleased with my debut. Incredibly, though, my key contribution to the game was yet to come.
Set a target of 81 from 25 overs, Stradbally were making steady progress when another of their female players, Rose Andersson, played a defensive stroke to my part of the field. She didn't run; so I picked up the ball and, with affected nonchalance, lofted it high over Rose to the wicket-keeper.
At least that's what I meant to do. But the ball fell short and, like a heat-seeking missile, landed on top of Rose's head.
She was wearing a hat, fortunately, and will probably make a full recovery over time. But Stradbally never recovered from the incident, and it was only left for our dead-eyed bowler and team captain Charles Lysaght to wrap up the innings and a 30-run win.
The annual Georgian match is now a fixture of Birr Vintage Week, which continues until next Sunday, with concerts, art exhibitions, a golf classic and many other events: none of them as dangerous as cricket.