After an inspiring and comprehensible pre-match team-talk by match-day captain Abbott the 13 fit and able men of Logica Football Club were fired up to the point of bursting. They erupted from the dressing room as if bullets from a gun. A number of complex technical warm-up routines were executed with such precision and athleticism that the opposition, watching in awe and wonderment, were virtually beaten before a ball had been kicked, such was the subsequent state of their moral.

The referee's whistle must have sounded like a sliding guillotine in the trembling ears of the Varsovia FC players, as Logica started at an incredible pace. Straight from the kick-off they scored in just 8 seconds. The ball was laid back to Wildsmith who played a perfect first-time forty yard raking pass to Read on the right-wing. The promising youngster did not mess around, hitting the received pass first time on the volley with his left foot to play a pin-point defence splitting diagonal pass. Sidaway had timed his run to perfection, beating the offside-trap, and latched on to this temptress of a pass. Without a hint of indecision, the lithe forward delicately clipped the underside of the ball with his left foot with the result that the ball floated in a perfect arc over the Varsovia keeper (who can only have been two yards off his line), and into the home side's goal. This example of perfect harmony between man and ball, sport and art, brought an incredible roar of disbelieving glee from the massed bank of twenty thousand Logica fans behind this very goal.

The rest of the half continued in similar vein. A series of twelve consecutive corners which had Varsovia pinned on their own goal line finally produced a second goal as a typically salmonic leap from Clarke sent a bullet header into the top-right hand corner at such pace that the keeper could not move even a single muscle in an attempt to save. Clarke added a second minutes later as a weaving run saw him collect the ball in his own half, beat three Varsovia players with a dazzling display of close control and shimmying. A rapid-fire wall pass with Woolhouse saw the ball return to Clarke as the keeper dived towards his feet. The Captain then deftly dummied by darting forward and allowing the ball to run between his legs, Clarke rounding the keeper one side, the ball the other, before the two conducted an emotional reunion in front of an open goal. Before the half was complete a fourth goal arrived from a free-kick. Abbott lined-up the direct shot, and hurtled a curving exocet around a quivering wall and arrowing between flailing keeper and upright. The only tentative foray by Varsovia into the visitors half was a long ball played over the last line of Logica's defence in the direction of their pacey midfielder who had made a good run. However the attack was quickly snuffed out as Woolhouse's sharp footballing brain had foreseen the danger, and caused him to race back in anticipation and execute a crushing tackle to retrieve possession.

Half-time found a few well-chosen 'bon-mots' from the man-of- few-words, Skippy, that kept the adrenaline flowing into the second forty-five minutes. It was basically much of the same. Clarke hit a forty-yard scorcher which burst the net and completed his hat-trick. Hamid scored a remarkable sixth when, from in his own half, he spotted the keeper dallying on the edge of his box, and instantly hit an unerringly accurate and powerful shot some seventy yards into the unguarded net. Five more goals came and many more chances were spurned. Toman hit an overhead kick rifling into top corner after a 'head tennis' exchange with Moore. Read, on a rare excursion up field, hit a Spence cross first time into the far corner. Sidaway again beat the offside trap to clinically add a ninth, and then completed his own hat-trick by converting the kind of simple chance that you'd wager your mortgage on him scoring. The rout was rounded off as Millar showed excellent vision to pick out Lambert, who despite his lack of pace, moved forward to score with a low shot.

It had been a severe lesson for a normally competent Varsovia outfit, but there was maybe something for them to learn from Logica's attitude after the game. Rather than head to the pub for some mindless alcohol-inspired celebrations, the entire team headed off to the training ground to get in some fitness training as well as practice some of those moves that had been less than perfect during the morning's contest.

Actually this is all a load of complete bollocks. Only eleven turned up. Abbott was some thirty minutes late so the team started with only ten. Sidaway played as sweeper, Spence the lone forward. The whole defensive aspect of Logica's game was a shambles, and it was clear they missed the organisational skills of Cultured-Libero-Dick. Four-Nil down at half time developed into a rout as injuries to Read and Richmond effectively reduced Logica to nine men. If it had not been for the ever-dependable Wildsmith and some woeful finishing from the Premier League side it would surely have been more than the final eleven-nil margin. In short, the worst ever defeat for Logica Football Club and certainly the biggest humiliation in their history (apart from maybe when Sidaway stood on a bar-stool in a crowded Parisian bar and announced to all-and-sundry that we were the "proud ambassadors of the British Software Industry"). And we did go to the pub afterwards as well.