As the Doctor descended a path down towards the town, he was gratified to notice a young man dressed for cricket walking in the same direction as he was going, with a leisurely pace that evidently signified plenty of time still left before play commenced. It was unimaginable to the Doctor's single-tracked mind that such a slow pace could mean unwillingness to play cricket, or that such a thing could even exist. There even seemed something familiar about the other, but five centuries of time and space made it difficult to place every familiar face. He hurried to meet the other where their paths crossed, then eagerly enquired;
"Excuse me, old chap, you wouldn't happen to know where I could find a game of cricket, would you…?" He tailed off, suddenly realising why the young man in front of him was so familiar. And he had promised Tegan and Turlough that there would be no alien activity. He dropped his head into his hands, groaned, then looked up at the other "I haven't bumped into myself so often since I was that little, dark-haired chap. So what's the excuse this time for being in my time-stream?…but…wait a minute…you're not me! You're not even a Time Lord! Who are you?"
"Ah…Um…" the other simply looked confused.
"Ah-ha! Identity confusion!" The Doctor brightened up. "I evidently didn't manage the chameleon effect properly. Tell me, old chap, do you have a pocket watch?"
"As a matter of fact, the time's just coming up to two o'clock, but-"
"No, I didn't want the time from your wrist watch, I just want to know whether you own a pocket watch."
"Um, no, I don't, but I don't see what that... Look, you said something about a game of cricket…"
"Let's concentrate on the watch for now, shall we? You're absolutely sure you don't own one? Only it's very important that you're sure about this."
"Yes, I'm positive. My older brother inherited the pocket watch from our father, as I'm sure he'll be only too glad to confirm. But, look, whoever you are, you might at least tell me why you're so interested in personal methods of time-keeping"
"An older brother, well that settles it then. You are human, after all. I'm terribly sorry for putting you through all those questions, and it's a bit too complicated to explain, but, you see, I had to be sure that you weren't me. You must admit the resemblance is quite striking." The young man opened and closed his mouth a few times, as if trying to come up with a suitable question to elicit an explanation of what had just happened. He didn't seem to be having much luck, so the Doctor decided to put him out of his misery. "I'm the Doctor, by the way," he added. His companion appeared relieved at having the conversation finally move in a direction which he could understand.
"The Doctor? That's a coincidence; I'm the vet. Well, one of them. And I'm not actually qualified yet, so I don't suppose I'm really a vet, either. The name's Tristan Farnon, anyway. And didn't you ask me something about a cricket match?"
Someone so desperate to talk about cricket was evidently a kindred spirit. The Doctor smiled. "I wouldn't want to put you to any trouble, old man, but I just happened to be passing through the town and I wondered if there were any chance of getting a game."
"You know, that's a coincidence…"
"You're absolutely sure?" The Doctor, lying concealed in the hay meadow above the pitch, was as keen as ever to get the bat in his hands, but the idea of trickery concerned him deeply. "You're convinced your own brother wouldn't be able to tell the difference between us?"
"Not even you could tell the difference between us, remember? Look, it's perfect. You want to play, I don't, and nobody can tell us apart. We're on to bat first, so all you have to do is go along and bat, then pop back up here as soon as your wicket's over. I'll even field if it offends your sense of honour that deeply."
The Doctor had to admit that he was itching to play, and why look a gift horse in the mouth? "Alright, if you're sure. But you'd better point this brother of yours out to me in case he speaks to me or something."
"See that red-faced chap in the tweedy jacket over his whites? Looks at bit like a shorter, older me- us. That's Siegfried. Just be as infuriating as you possibly can around him; that's what I do. Of the other two in whites, the dark-haired chap is Siegfried's assistant, James Herriot, and the pretty girl with him is his wife, Helen. The lighter-haired one is the vicar, who runs the team. He's a good friend of mine, but tends to get rather enthusiastic when there's cricket in the offing. I'm sure you know the sort."
"And who's the rather speedy bowler practising run-ups by the pavilion?"
"Him? That's Tagger Herd, the other side's fast bowler. Bit of a demon, actually. Didn't I mention him? Ah, well, too late to back out now, I'm sure you'll agree. You'd better be getting down there now; I can see Siegfried's got his 'shouting at little brothers' face on, and it's best not to keep him waiting in that mood. I'll be up here if you need me."
"Hold my coat then, will you? Oh, and I should mention that my companions may be wandering around somewhere. Dark-haired, Australian girl called Tegan and a young lad in a school uniform called Turlough. Tell them where I am would you, old man?" He strode off down to the assembling cricketers with a confidence that made Tristan feel slightly guilty. True, he had given this eccentric doppelganger of his enough information to escape if he had wanted, but that didn't alter the fact that the chap evidently wasn't in his right mind. In fact, when asked to explain all the babbling about pocket watches and time-streams, he had informed Tristan with a completely straight face that he was a time-traveller from another planet. There was an odd smell coming from the folded coat on the grass next to him and, unfolding it, he saw a stick of celery, of all things, pinned to the lapel. Should he rescue this loony before he got himself into some kind of trouble? His eye was caught by Tagger Herd on the field below hitting a young farm lad's bat so hard that the lad, untrained and unprepared, staggered backwards and almost dropped the bat. Well, the Doctor, as he called himself, must be able to tell what he was getting himself into and anyway, there was nothing to be done now and he had been really desperate to play cricket, so Tristan was really doing him a favour. Above all, long experience had shown that the fates really seemed to enjoy going out of their way to make life go smoothly for Tristan Farnon, and who was he to argue with that? It would be ungrateful, for one thing. With a contented sigh, he lit a cigarette and lay back in the long meadow grass.