The whole affair started strangely. With 15 minutes to go until play, only three members of the opposition were present. We stood there in the rain, waiting anxiously, pondering our life choices, while captain Matt Spencer became embroiled in a conflict with a group of guys playing football on the pitch, who couldn’t seem to understand why any of us were here or why they had to stop their game.

Thankfully, following some shrewd diplomacy, the footballers dispersed, and more opposition players trickled into the ground — although not quick enough to avoid forfeiting the toss. Spence — blessed with a side so steeped in batting that our very own Nets Daddy, Benny Cobbett, was down to bat at nine — duly sent the oppo into the field.

Out came openers Alex Jullienne and Leo Nieboer, the pair playing their usual game: Cake finding the boundary, Nieboer nudging to backward point. After 12 overs the pair had reached 57-0, with most runs, of course, going to Mr. Two Eyes, who once again demonstrated his dazzling class on route to 72 (73) — his fourth 50 of the season. He hit one cover drive that looked like something out of Brian Lara Cricket — so biomechanically perfect it didn’t seem real — but somehow only went for two. Nieboer twitched and scurried and blocked and nicked off after doing all the hard work, departing for 14 (36).

In came Umar Iqbal — a man visibly weighed down by the inner conflict of loving and hating cricket all at once and haunted by misplaced delusions of ‘being in bad form’, all while hitting more runs than most of us will ever dream of. He went on to score a valuable 40 (69), accelerating nicely through his innings alongside Cake and dealing with bad balls ruthlessly. You could see him relaxing as his innings progressed, and was only dismissed when he very politely decided to walk following a fine nick off a 16-year-old girl who plays for Surrey.

The very next ball, Freddie Mills smashed the young lady back over her head for six. Two types of feminism, I guess. Simone De Beauvoir didn’t die for this shit. Or maybe she did? I don’t know. I only pretend to have read ‘The Second Sex’ to impress girls, and it doesn’t even work. Anyway, he went on to plunder four sixes and three fours on his way to 50 (30), an innings one could describe as relentlessly violent. It reminded me of that Simpsons meme where the tearful kid goes: “STOP, STOP, HE’S ALREADY DEAD!”

At the other end, however, was the real star of the show, the star of the day, the star in our night sky: Greg Willis. Coming in with 128 on the board, he guided his team to 269-4, notching up a classy 62* (35) that had everything you could possibly want in an innings: timing, aggression, smart shot selection, hard running, leg side swipes, good looks, a smattering of anxiety followed by bullish confidence — all wrapped up with probably the worst ramp shot I’ve ever seen.
Plough had the perfect platform. Going into the field, Spencer demanded early wickets. Turned out he was simply talking to himself through the medium of a team talk: the man scalped two in the next 10 minutes, reducing the opposition to 6-2, including one beautiful delivery that smashed the top of off. The other dismissal came largely as a result of Umar: he said something rather inappropriate — disgusting, even for my low standards — and it made the batter sad. He then smashed his next ball down Nieboer’s throat for a duck.

At the other end, Damon Greeney bowled beautifully. Such elegance and control. So smooth! You could almost see the imaginary handkerchief he was aiming for. The fact that he didn’t get a wicket was such an injustice I’m tempted to raise it at The Hague. He forced one inside edge that was brilliantly caught by Mills, only for the umpire to pretend he didn’t hear what everyone else did. Another delivery was popped to Umar at short extra — one of the easiest chances I’ve ever seen, just a gentle floater, like when your mate chucks you a pair of keys, somehow sailing right through his hands, rounding off what I would call a “mixed” performance from our dear friend.

SinjunGrammarians enjoyed a brief recovery, only to find themselves eventually bogged down in a quagmire of Benny Cobbett darters. This was one of the man’s finer spells: he was actually grinning for most of it, such was the control he had over the batters, pulling them one way and then the other. He finished with 2-29 off 8 overs. Gorgeous. Hopefully you’ll also get a bat next weekend, champion.

An ice cream van pulled up and then fucked off just before drinks, which felt a bit cruel, its awful tinny music taunting me at deep square leg. Cake and I sulked over being denied a Mr. Whippy after the game. I’m still wondering whether Cakey Two Eyes would get Two Flakes or not. Or maybe two cones? Would Cakey Two Eyes be Cakey Two Cones?

At this stage, the oppo were still within a shout — until, of course, Mr. Greg Willis decided to get involved again. Along with castling the opener, who scored 55, he bagged a sumptuous five-wicket haul, smashing the stumps three times, reducing the opposition to a defeated mess in a whirlwind spell that got me so excited I almost got on all fours and started barking. Taking the catch to wrap up his five-for will live long in the memory — one of my favourite moments on a cricket field, shared with one of the nicest blokes you could ever hope to meet.

And that was that. Plough won by 115 of your cricketing runs. Comprehensive. Ruthless. Special shout out should go to Rohan Paul, making his twos debut, claiming a red-inker with the bat and bowling two overs that were quite frankly not safe for public consumption due to their sheer needless velocity at such an advanced stage of the game.

The twos can still smell promotion. The twos believe. They are getting stronger and perhaps a little kinkier, too. And as Kevin Keegan once famously said: PARK HILL HAVE GOTTA GO TO LONDON WELSH NEXT WEEK AND GET SOMETHING. AND I’LL TELL YOU, HONESTLY, I WILL LOVE IT IF WE BEAT THEM. LOVE IT!

Match Report produced by Leo Nieboer