Downton Football | The New Yorker

ANNOUNCER: If you’re just joining us, it’s one-nil in favor of Upstairs, and watch out, fans—spoilers ahead. And here’s Lord Grantham, still sharp in tails even at the fifty-seven-minute mark of regulation. A throw-in to Lady Mary, quickly down the middle. Tony Gillingham is available to her left but she’s having none of it. Here’s Mary Crawley—the Lady Mary!—deftly around a sluggish Mr. Molesley and up the sideline, losing her ermine stole but paying it no mind. Now past Bates—he’s game, but not much help with that limp—and there’s Mrs. Hughes, who won’t challenge Her Ladyship on principle. It’s still Lady Mary, leaving a wake of defenders more numerous than her former lovers. She finds the effervescent Lady Rose right side, and a clean ball over to Branson. Tom Branson, forward-thinking in shirtsleeves, masterfully now past Anna—out of prison, we hope for good—and he’s through with a shot! And Mrs. Patmore tips it over the crossbar. Corner kick.

COLOR: Mrs. P., always a sturdy surprise in goal for Downstairs, her eyesight as keen as ever after that scare a few seasons back.

ANNOUNCER: Thank heavens. And here’s Upstairs with a substitution, pulling the jilted Tony Gillingham for the dashing Henry Talbot, Mary Crawley’s new wingman.

COLOR: Some much needed new blood. Lord Grantham is losing one of his best players in Branson, who is off to America at game’s end. And this follows the tragic departure of beloved Lady Sybil, a solid midfielder, and the shocking demise of the superb left-footed striker Matthew Crawley.

ANNOUNCER: Indeed, those were dark days. Here’s the widower Tom Branson with the corner, no doubt aiming for the pate of an angry Lord Sinderby—but hang on! He’s given it straight to Daisy on the opposing team, drawing quite a glare from his captain, Lord Grantham.

COLOR: I think Tom forgot his standing for a moment there, having played for Downstairs a number of seasons.

ANNOUNCER: Now it’s Mrs. Patmore with a booming kick to midfield, and Mr. Barrow makes a cunning play for it, completely blindsiding Lady Edith, who crumples to the turf.

COLOR: Lady Edith couldn’t take her eyes off her illegitimate child, Marigold, on the sidelines and never saw it coming.

ANNOUNCER: Edith is still down and here’s the referee with a red card . . . to Mr. Bates! Though he was completely innocent in this instance. And now his sweet wife, Anna, plucky through so much, is giving the referee an earful. And look out! She’s red-carded as well, and they’re both out of the game for an infraction they had nothing to do with.

COLOR: These two seem to have none of the luck. As the team owner Julian Fellowes once said, for them, “the bread always falls butter-side down.”

ANNOUNCER: Now the Upstairs goalkeeper, Isobel Crawley, who gamely took on the job when the rest of the team deemed goalkeeping beneath them, punts to the bridegroom Atticus Aldridge, the first Jew on the squad, with a chip ahead to his radiant new wife, Rose, who’s doffed her jumper and is cartwheeling down the field.

COLOR: Such a joy!

ANNOUNCER: It rolls on to Carson. The Downstairs captain grudgingly moves it ahead—

COLOR: He muttered something about “I’m not a footman.”

ANNOUNCER: Past the Dowager Grantham—not much challenge there, as she’s seated midfield at a café table. And now a give-and-go with his bride-to-be, Mrs. Hughes.

COLOR: Not ashamed to say that I welled up at old Carson’s proposal.

ANNOUNCER: Didn’t we all. Now to Daisy, who is surprisingly far downfield for a fullback.

COLOR: She’s ambitious.

ANNOUNCER: Beats Shrimpie Flintshire, caught flat-footed as he was fixing his tie. Over to the dark horse Mrs. Baxter. A heel kick to Mr. Molesley—it can’t be long before those two newly minted heroes are an item. Now over to Barrow! It might’ve been a hand ball, but he’s gotten away with it. Always slippery, on the field and off, Thomas gets past Cora—the Lady Grantham was pouting in a sundress—and it’s Barrow looking for help, but Denker and Spratt are no use! Always a bicker there. Still Barrow, cigarette in pursed lips, easily past Lady Rose, now in just a lace bra and tap pants, frolicking among some wildflowers. Barrow looking for a partner to ply his dark arts.

COLOR: Where’s O’Brien with a bar of soap when you need her?

ANNOUNCER: It’s all Barrow, with a strike and GOOOOOAL! With nearly nothing left on the clock, it’s Thomas Barrow for the equalizer!

COLOR: Well, Barrow always finds a way, doesn’t he?

ANNOUNCER: And that’s the whistle! We’ll leave it there, all even. Congratulations all around, as Bates immediately tends to Lord Grantham with a brush-down, whilst Lady Mary and Henry Talbot steal away to his convertible sports car.

COLOR: Lady Edith is still aground midfield but no one seems to notice as the staff begins setting the outdoor china for a post-game supper of Mrs. Patmore’s famous oxtail stew.

ANNOUNCER: Until next season, for my colleague Carl Stovington Truss, I’m Pinney Westcott, and that’s Downton Football!