Another Saturday, another three points, another match report. Written by someone who didn't actually play, didn't watch the second half, and spent most of the first half wondering who had stolen the KAP advertising banner from ATP1.

Ashford arrived at Three Hills having scored twice and conceded 29 in five games. Folkestone, meanwhile, were unbeaten, with 22 goals to their name.

What could possibly go wrong?

This was always going to be one of those games. Play well, score 10+. Play badly, only score eight.

The latter proved true.

With PK called up to the 2s for a one-off trip to Eastbourne, Rumsey unavailable and Alex Cross in, the Threes fielded two Hopkins and two Stones. Both sets of brothers. A lovely family occasion.

Fortunately, we have detailed match statistics this week, courtesy of Lard's fancy new app. Every shot, circle entry and substitution meticulously recorded. Particularly useful when your match reporter has barely watched the game.

The numbers are magnificent. 37 circle entries. 33 shots. 23 on target. Eight penalty corners. Eight goals.

Ashford managed five circle entries and four shots. Three of which went in.

More on that later.

Nick Hopkin opened the scoring after three minutes and added another four minutes later. Ashford pulled one back, before Spaf converted a penalty corner and Hoppers completed his first-half hat-trick.

4–1 at half-time. Noice.

There were, however, some extraordinary individual performances unfolding.

Take Alex Cross, for example.

Alex was agonisingly close to producing the perfect game. Pace, energy, determination, and the ability to run past defenders like they weren't there.

Unfortunately, two minor technical issues.

Stopping the ball and hitting it.

At one point, Alex picked up possession on our own 25 and carried the ball practically the entire length of the pitch. Ashford defenders scattered. A magnificent solo goal was surely coming.

Air shot.

Swing and a miss.

Absolutely nothing.

Poof.

Silence.

Genuinely one of the finest pieces of comedy hockey I've ever witnessed. Had he scored, we'd probably have forgotten about it by Sunday. Instead, it'll be discussed for years.

The second half began with Lorcan Doyle scoring an absolute joke of a goal within three minutes of the restart. I can't provide much further detail because, as previously established, I wasn't watching. But I'm reliably informed it was ridiculous.

5–1.

Then, remarkably, Alex Cross scored from a penalty corner.

Hold on a second. Alex scored! After everything I've just written. A remarkable morning. A coast-to-coast solo run ending in an air shot, followed by an actual goal. Very niiiice.

6–1.

Hoppers then added his fourth, before Ashford converted a penalty corner to make it 7–2.

Five goals for the Broker Investment Group mogul eventually followed. Five.

One of his first-half goals was particularly cruel. Driving down the baseline, Nick shaped to pass, gave the keeper a little feint, then casually flicked his wrists and pushed the ball underneath him. Megnuts. That was mean, goalkeepers have feelings too Nick.

His fifth came courtesy of Jack Timmins, who spent much of the afternoon playing one-twos with the goalposts. Another Jimmins effort rattled the woodwork, and there was Hopkin (N not M), lurking at the back post like a man who'd realised that if he waited there long enough, eventually a ball would appear on the end of his stick.

Tap in. Thank you very much.

Nick also missed two open goals. Screaming them wide as his eyes lit up with excitement – or perhaps relief at having found the Men's 1st XI shirts he'd lost.

Speaking of Jimmins, what on earth had he been drinking this week? It's like he'd been on a Gatorade IV. The man is unplayable when he's juiced. Absolutely relentless, and thoroughly deserving of his Man of the Match award.

Back to Lard's statistics, which provide some frankly ridiculous insights.

Folkestone averaged a circle entry every 1 minute 51 seconds. Ashford, meanwhile, managed four shots and scored three. A 75% conversion rate. They've scored five goals all season. Three of them against us.

We have single-handedly increased Ashford's season goals tally by 150%. Optimist philanthropy at its best. Care in the community.

Their final goal arrived from another penalty corner with a couple of minutes remaining.

8–3. Full time.

Eight goals, 33 shots, complete territorial dominance. Yet somehow three conceded against a side who'd previously managed just two goals in five games.

Concentration wanders, standards slip, and suddenly you're making a struggling opposition attack look like Will Mead & Tom Bean.

Credit to Ashford, though, for continuing to honour their 3rd XI fixtures. It can't be much fun at the moment, and they've now conceded 37 goals in six matches. A long season ahead, unfortunately.

Elsewhere, the Men's 1st XI absolutely battered Tunbridge Wells 5–0. Oooof. A much-needed win for the boys. I'm calling it now – 4th place finish.

Then it was on to DT's 30th birthday celebrations. Happy birthday, Danny! A fantastic evening, aided and abetted by wingman and smiling assassin Wayne Rockall. Wayne has that wonderful ability to look like the most sensible man in the room while quietly ensuring you make increasingly terrible decisions. Vodka Fanta Lemons. Sandwich bags. No idea.

I also arrived in full Halloween fancy dress, only to discover that absolutely nobody else had bothered. Which means, technically, I won the fancy dress competition.

First place. Out of one. An unbeaten record. Much like the Threes.

I'm writing this with a steaming hangover, again, having played precisely zero minutes of yesterday's game and watched approximately half of it. Thankfully, Lard's app has provided enough statistical evidence to construct a vaguely credible account of proceedings.

Eight goals. Three points. Five for Hoppers. Man of the Match for Jimmins. A 150% improvement in Ashford's attacking output.

And a Halloween fancy dress champion.

What a weekend, and it's only game week 6.

Top bombing chaps.