After the entire nation was pelted by rain a day earlier, Parks felt it made sense to put the opposition into bat at the toss, with the pitch looking rather low and slow and generally precarious.

Opening bowlers Giordy Diangienda and Itesham Aslam started magnificently, hitting excellent lines. The former, for a second weekend in a row, dislodged the potentially-destructive opener in his first over, while Aslam beat the bat on countless occasions, unlucky to not get a wicket. Standing at slip next to Parks, I found myself making a lot of noises, watching the ball seam away, most of them not PG.

With only one wicket lost in the first 11 overs, Morden must have felt they’d negotiated the nastiest bowling Plough had to offer. What they didn’t know was that Rohan Paul, or Puff Junior (Mini Puff, Puff 2.0, Puff the Second, Puff Part 2, etc.) had been waiting in the wings, quietly prowling the boundary, waiting for his turn at first change.

And, my god, the fucking wheels on this 15-year-old. The ball positively fizzes from his hand, making a distinctly vicious noise when it hits the glove. The fastest bowler at the Plough, and he’s just a damn kid — albeit with the privilege of living under the same roof as one of the club’s all-time greats.

Some bowlers, like Oli Lonsdale and John Walton, explode through the crease; others, like Damon Greeney, seem to glide. Rohan is something else: he’s so tall and straight and correct and languid in his movements that he seems somehow molten. He pours through the crease. And the ball, not unlike when Azharul Haque bowls it, seems to come from nowhere, somehow surprising the batter with how quickly it gets over and down.

He was, without doubt, the pick of the bowlers, earning a three-wicket haul, helped by some excellent catching from Parks behind the stumps (*INSERT BLAND BAIRSTOW/FOAKES JOKE HERE*), with Puff Senior watching proudly under the shade of some trees.

Also, just as a side note, but when was the last time your dad watched you play? Has he ever watched you play? It’s sad, thinking about that, isn’t it. Then again, if Dad watched me play, I’d average about 2.7, and he’d probably storm off after seeing all my obscene and unnecessary trigger movements anyway.

From the other end, the batters had to deal with Tom Glynne Jones — an altogether different proposition. He bowled eight overs straight through with magnificent control and flight, finishing on 1-27 off 8 overs — extremely good going against set middle order batters.

Justin Cash, in similar fashion, flung out some lovely deliveries, but my award to ‘best of the rest’ — or best adult Plough bowler of the day — goes to Hari Vignesh. His finest Plough performance to date. He moaned, after play, that he’d bowled nearly 70 overs for the club and taken no maidens, which is an unfair mindset, and also a reminder why I gave up bowling (and cricket in general) at age 14.

Vikky took 2-37, taking important lower-order wickets. He was unlucky to go for that many, because the boy hit lovely areas, relentlessly. Another example of how so many Plough are developing with each game.

Overall, the fielding performance was substandard. Five catches went down; overs 25 to 37 were sloppy, to say the least. Morden should have been kept considerably below 200, yet ended up 214-8 after their 40 overs.

A doable chase, however. All Plough needed was a platform. Sadly Nieboer, not for the first time this season, nervously prodded at a wide one he normally would leave well alone, giving the most gentle bit of catching practice to slip in the third over, throwing his wicket away like a proper f&%*wit (can you tell I’m super over it now).

Curtis also fell cheaply, and while Parks and Max Gumpert enjoyed a brief resurgence, Plough soon found themselves 92-6, staring firmly down the barrel. Simon Crane had been super unlucky to be run out after his bat lodged in the ground, and suddenly it was all on Mini Puff, the prodigy, to dig Plough out of a massive hole.

It’s always sad, standing as umpire after getting out cheaply. It’s even sadder to watch teenagers bat better than you ever will, with a technique Damien Martyn would have been proud of. Rohan demonstrates wonderful balance: able to go forward and back, with a subtle trigger that ensures he’s tight, right over the ball. He navigated some tricky stump-to-stump low shit, eventually accelerating, hitting some gorgeous drives down the ground and clever flicks round the corner.

Sadly, the boy fell just short of a maiden 50 for the Plough, holing out for 47. With No.11 Cash at the other end, I suspect he felt he should move things along. He should have had more faith in the JC, to be honest, because the man looked excellent, effortlessly guiding his ball for four through square leg, after which he concluded: “I do really like batting.”

Yeah, me too, Cashy. Sometimes. I also side with the sentiment of Giordy, out for a second-ball duck, who said as he walked off: “Batting is fucking shit, man” — among many other obscenities.

Anyway, the Plough ended up falling well short, all out for 158. Only Parks, Gumpert and Rohan made double figures. We batted poorly. Nieboer’s shit unnecessary shot early on set the tone; things never really improved from there.

Nonetheless it was a lovely day at a gorgeous ground. Puff bought his son’s jug avoidance jug, and we spent some time on the grass, low-hanging sun shimmering over Morden, laughing and nattering away.

Justin mentioned how his friends had only spent £2.3k of a 3k bar tab at his wedding, which infuriated myself and Giordy, because we hadn’t been invited, and would have comfortably made up that difference, prior to being ejected from the venue. We discussed the Oval Long Room dinner, which is already oversubscribed and destined to be a decadent evening of ungodly dimensions. Max gave me five cigarettes to take home, which was lovely of him, And I had some throwdowns from Leon’s young daughter, fighting a powerful urge to hit one over her head in anger and mutter, out the side of my mouth: “Don’t f@&*ing bowl there, champ.”

(Yeah, I know, I’m biomechanically incapable of going over the top, on account of my shit technique — even against 6 year olds).

Eventually it was time to go home and face the upcoming week. Deal with the monster. We Plough on next weekend — hopefully with better weather and overall shot selection.

Match report produced by Leo Nieboer