Skipper Matt Spencer, returning after the brief-but-memorable Greg Willis era, lost the toss and was told to have a bat on what seemed like a green spongy pitch. The Ploughmans agreed, staring down at the deck before play started, that she’d be a low and slow one.

“Get on that front dog,” as Duray Pretorious noted, on several occasions.

And the pitch was tricky, not easy at all, but imperious openers Logan Cassin and Michael Ainslie were up to it. In fact they dominated the thing. 187 runs they accumulated, just six shy of a record set by Steve Britto, who’ll never know just how close he came to having his house pillaged and deprived of all its expensive whisky.

Ainslie was the rock: a proper opener’s performance during which he didn’t play across the line once and absorbed good bowling with the full face of his bat, over and over again. He faced 100 balls for his 43. He was tight, obdurate… almost visibly calm. And happy to turn the strike over to Cassin, the undoubted star of the show.

What to say about this gorgeous man. In all aspects of his game — batting, bowling, fielding, showers — he radiates class. A sublime cricketer. While Ainslie had the body language of immovability, Cassin gave off the air of a man who was simply better. He was better than what London Welsh could throw down at him, and they knew it. At times it felt like Year 11 vs Year 10 football. He crunched cover drives and swatted bad balls and ran the fielders ragged. Damon Greeney summed it nicely:

“Sensational timing. So graceful, so efficient. So destructive.”

He finished on 122* (131) — a true pleasure watching from the sidelines, made even better by the fact that it meant Umar Iqbal had to spend 40 hours with his pads on.

Umar rather selflessly insisted during drinks, in light of the game situation, that Duray — the Vibes Captain, as he would be known on this day — should go in ahead of him, to move things forward a bit. Which turned out to be quite a funny suggestion for two reasons: firstly because Duray scratched to 13 off 13 balls, very nearly losing his spot in the infamous strike rate subgroup in the process — an innings Umar probably could have knocked out himself; and secondly because Umar decided to captain himself in this week’s fantasy, only to wind up not batting or bowling a ball, along with twinging his hamstring during the warmup. How good is cricket, eh, Umar?

Going into the field, Spencer’s message was clear: be clinical. Field better than them. Be tighter than they were. And stay loud.

The 2s did exactly that, and in no time London Welsh were 46-4, with their No.3 also off with a calf injury — a weird piece of Nathan Lyon cosplay that produced a hilarious moment in which another teammate also doubled over in cramp on the floor while trying to help his body. Strange chaotic scenes.

Greeney, as always, hit perfect areas. It all looks so effortless, doesn’t it? So smooth. Like some old school Swiss clock, or a wankel rotary engine. He claimed three wickets in his eight-over spell, laying the perfect platform for the first change bowlers.

It should also be noted that Spencer, at the other end, produced some excellent bowling, rattling the opener’s stumps with a beauty. For some reason he thought it was an LBW shout, somehow missing the noise and the clattered bails. Never have I seen anyone appeal so hard for a bowled wicket.

The skipper could have in fact had four: one nick dropped by the otherwise impeccable Ben Hamilton (just the cleanest fucking mitts), one tough chance dropped, and another nick that was so audible its soundwaves may well have reached The Wandle. Only the umpire appeared to not hear it.

First change bowlers Azharul Haque and Duray Pretorious came on and were excellent in their own ways: the former forcing endless plays and misses, the latter bringing control and pure fucking vibes. With four wickets down, London Welsh had mounted something of a recovery, moving to 90-4, but the pair kept their heads screwed on and soon had them 118-9. Azharul took two wickets, including a vicious bowled and also forcing an obvious edge that the umpire weirdly didn’t hear, while Duray scalped three, maintaining a remarkable level of intensity during his eight-over spell. He even kept demanding to know how many balls were left when Aza was bowling from the other end. Keen doesn’t even cut it.

Giordy Diangenda wrapped the game up with a beauty that smashed into the top of middle stump — his first league wicket for the Plough and a fitting conclusion to was indeed an emphatic win.

Spence asked for clinical. And best believe he got it. The boot was firmly on their necks, from ball one. As we all know, the twos are good looking bunch of boys, but they are also ruthless. They are winners. And with three wins in a row, a special kind of belief is building among these boys, as we nudge closer to the top of the table. Shout out to Spence also, for hosting us for some beers and a shower prior to heading to the Wandle.

Roll on Epic CC next Saturday, where hopefully I’ll actually get a bat this time.

Oh, and to Tom Ball, who didn’t bat, bowl, or take a catch — thanks for coming.

Match report produced by Leo Nieboer