At 11.16, Prithu noted that Aman was already late and we all agreed that this did not bode well. After a brief discussion on whether we should mutiny, and who the appropriate replacement would be (Prithu quietly tried to convince us that it's him), Aman arrives and puts all notions of a coup to bed as we head off to London Fields.

On the way, Aman informs us that he’s also forgotten to bring a coin for the toss. There is a worried exchange of glances between myself, Prithu, and Ajay, as we wonder whether we called off the potential coup too early. However, the conversation quickly moves on to my cricketing amnesia. When discussing match reports and why I’ve never written one (largely in part due to the crushing weight of expectation), I let slip that I tend to blank most of what happens in a game of cricket, which may not come as a surprise to many. This cricketing amnesia severely complicates one's ability to write a match report, hence I’d avoided writing them for fear that I would just have three lines, “we batted, we bowled, we may have lost”.

I was summarily given the dubious honour of writing my first match report - aren’t you lucky?!

As we left London Fields station, Aman marches out the station, only remembering to tap out at the very last minute. Once again, worried glances are exchanged; we can just about accept a captain that is late, and we can stomach a complete lack of organisation in not having a coin, but illegal fare dodging is simply beyond the pale. Not one to be perturbed, Aman carries on, winning the toss and sending us in to bat, dispelling any notions or concerns over his leadership.

Having been caught unaware by Tower Bridge actually lifting up for shipping, Tom Merilaht became Tom Merilate, sending Ean Smith and Oli Lonsdale in to open the batting, and here we turn to my co-commentator and on the ground correspondent, Prithu ‘Pretty Boy’ Banerjee:

The beginning is, much like the weather, stifling. Ean Smith, having seen England’s team crumble under the continued belief in Bazball, has decided to take a principled stand of his own. He is obdurate in his defence, a middle finger to the utter woke Brendan McCullum nonsense of ‘scoring runs.’ Ollie Lonsdale at the other end looks every part the opener; with his languid bat flow and ridiculous reach, there are shades of Zac Crawley about him. Having played out quite a few dot balls in the partnership, Ollie decides that he has picked a gap, chooses to run the first quickly, and then having done so, run the second. As he taps down for the first run and turns, he barks “two”. He is five yards down the pitch when he shouts it. He is ten yards down the pitch when he screams it. He is fifteen yards down the pitch when he belts it so loudly that three separate council members in Haringey, close to 6 miles away, choose to lodge a formal noise complaint. Ean Smith at the other end, for the entirety of the second run has not moved a muscle. This is not, as the reader might think, a turn of phrase. It is a statement of literal fact. The man is completely and utterly still, a mirage of calm in the haziness of the sun. One hand is on his hip. His head stares straight ahead. Maybe Concerning Hobbits from the Lord Of The Rings soundtrack plays in his head. What music Ollie listens to when he goes off for a thirty minute cooldown walk is left unasked.

Thank you Prithu, not exactly the start we would have wanted. It therefore perhaps goes without saying that it was a slow start, with London Fields opening with two strong bowlers, with one looking curiously like a CRS regen, in every possible respect. After going at 2 an over till the 12th over, including 4 overs for just one run, Cozzy hits a lovely pair of back-to-back 4s to get things moving. Prithu and George Boughton are in next and begin hitting the accelerator with some well picked fours and hard running, before Prithu skies one to point, bringing Aman to the crease.

Aman, in true captain's form, grabs the game by the scruff of the neck and drags it along with him, hitting a delightful 54 off 37, including a number of shots which posed a significant danger to the various groups of Sunday revellers dotting the boundary. Despite being eventually caught, he kept us in the game and gave us something to defend, which at earlier points, seemed unlikely.

Chef came in at 9, doing what he does best - explosive rearguard action and hitting 31 off 17, leaving us on 178, which felt vaguely reasonable after being 24-1 after 12 overs.

After a brief and tealess tea, we head straight into the field, intent on giving London Fields a game and salvaging some of our questionable reputation. Having somehow transitioned from a debatable bowler, to a debatable opening bowler, I took the first over, and here we hand back over to my co-commentator, Mr Pretty Boy:

Arguably the greatest moment in Chad’s history would be the decisive win in the Toyota War of 1987, where a vastly outnumbered army completely outmanoeuvred superior Libyan forces using the mobility and lateral speed of Toyota Land Cruisers and Toyota Hiluxes, finally securing the northern Chadian border.

The greatest moment in Chad’s history until yesterday.

The first ball has all the mobility and lateral speed of the greatest Toyota Land Cruiser, as it curves through the air and bowls the opener. There are scenes of unfettered jubilation, people can’t believe what’s going on, it’s utter carnage. It takes a while for the lads to get back to their positions, but it takes just the third ball to stop that. It hits the front pad, and there are appeals, there are shouts from the deep square leg boundary, there is a man singing Three Lions on the boundary, there are people who think there’s been an inside edge, so it can’t be LBW. It’s just George Boughton who is pointing to the ground, where a solitary bail lies. The batsman has been bowled. The three balls that follow this are perfect. The batsmen are scared. There is nothing to give.

Chad Mace, a debatable opening bowler, has just bowled a double wicket maiden.

Cheers Prithu, always good to get some niche military history in there for those who enjoy a bit of red meat. Ajay and Aman pick up from Oli and I and bring some much needed miserly bowling to put some pressure on the London Fields batters. Both bowl brilliantly, slowing down the run rate, with Ajay taking two wickets, including a tasty bowled, and Aman bowling two maidens and a wicket maiden in his last over.

Dave Yates and Prithu also get involved, and unexpectedly combine to take a blinder of a wicket. Batsman number 7 wraps his bat around one off Prithu’s balls, sending it sailing over towards midwicket. It’s high and travelling, and it's one of those that you watch and think, “No one’s getting that”, unless your name is Dave Yates of course. Spinning on a dime and sprinting under the ball, he reaches up with one hand and snatches it out the sky. He can’t believe it, we can’t believe it, London Fields can’t believe it, but by god he did it and it was glorious and possibly the high point of the day. Both bowled solidly, with Prithu taking two, and they backed this up with their fielding too, throwing themselves after everything.

A special mention should also go to George Boughton, who patrolled the boundary for most of the game, admirably seizing upon anything that came towards him, and developing his own supporters club in the process.

Unfortunately, London Fields keep chipping away and eventually reach the target in the first ball of the 29th over. We always knew we probably needed another 20-30 runs on the board to make a proper game out of it, and it was thanks to a proper captain’s performance from Aman, and the brilliant work of Ajay, that we gave them as good of a game as we did.

A few light refreshments followed, while we lamented on whether Stokes really is a knob and whether England Cricket is actually a comedy or not. On the way home, Prithu and I introduced Aman to the concept of “yips” which he confirmed he’d never ever experienced, to the surprise of absolutely no one I’m sure. On arriving in Brixton, Prithu graciously invited us into his home, where he plied us with drinks and what was a rather spicy lamb and rice for a white boy while we watched South Africa v. Canada. I left, feeling full, and all too aware that I would need to place the loo roll in the freezer before I went to bed, happy to have played another wholesome and enjoyable Sunday, even if it wasn’t the result we’d wanted.

Match report from (The Nation of) Chad Mace and Prithu "Pretty Boy" Banerjee