It was the game everyone had been anticipating since the draw was made in December. The quarter-final of the Ron Le Beau Challenge Trophy. Logica, humble minnows, part-timers who included a journalist, an accountant, and twelve IT consultants in their ranks, hanging onto a respectable mid-table place in lowly Division Two, facing the mighty South Wimbledon, currently riding high atop the First Division. Both sides just one hundred and eighty minutes away from a prestigious Final at the famous old Hurlingham Stadium, and if Logica were to be the team to progress to a money-spinning semi-final, they'd need to pull another of their legendary giant-killings out of the bag.

They'd also require, as the Supremo had observed in his Programme Notes, a "Man of the Match" worthy display from every player in the squad. As it transpired, this was pretty much what Groomo got, but despite turning in a brilliant team performance which had the Dons severely worried for much of the match, Logica's dreams of Cup glory were dashed by the thinnest of margins.

As ever, the Supremo led by example, gamely turning out to play despite not feeling exactly tip-top, and still able to produce a stirring forty five minutes of passion, determination and a decent throw-in. The gaffer had been forced to undertake some duties pertaining to a School Disco, and left-back Lurch had unselfishly volunteered to sacrifice a quiet night in to support Groom in this undertaking (although it is not clear whether the entertainment on show took the form of a masque). It goes without saying that this was far from ideal preparation on the eve of Logica's biggest game of the season, but perhaps Groom 's strategy was for his players to exorcise all their schoolboy errors prior to the match.

Both teams seemed intent on grabbing the initiative by the pig-tails early doors. South Wimbledon had clearly planned a whirlwind start, but the Supremo had done his homework, and devised a strategy to close down their opponents and not let them play. The result was a frenetic 110mph opening, in which a team with less steel than Logica could easily have buckled. Instead the home defence passed a severe examination with flying colours, and the First Division side knew they were going to have their work cut out.

Having won the initial battle in this psychological war, Logica moved onto the offensive. McWilliam was at the hub of much of the early threat, and fired the first salvos with two long-range efforts that set the sights. It was also the Logica wide-man who created the underdogs best early chance, rising salmonically to win a header on the edge of the box. The ball zipped in Abbott's direction, but the old man couldn't quite swivel in time to get a volley in, and the ball trundled harmlessly through to the keeper. The same combination came closer minutes later. Again McWilliam won the aerial duel, flicking on a long ball. This time Abbott killed the ball deftly as he turned, and fired in a fizzing shot which unfortunately flew just wide.

Wimbledon seemed somewhat taken aback by the quality of their lower league opponents. Even when they tried to raise the tempo further, Hatton and Trovato stood firm at the back, superbly intervening whenever the First Division side threatened, and they were ably supported by a rejuvenated Groom and the excellent Mainwaring. The midfield followed suit, with Wood, Reevaldo, Brown and McWilliam showing great tenacity in closing their men down, as well as combining to provide a regular and serious counter-threat via some neat and incisive passing.

Logica now moved up a gear, and could have had a number of goals before the interval. They took the lead with a move of lethal efficiency. Brown again created space down the right flank, and after advancing purposefully, he picked out Taylor with a low cross. The Leeds man showed a brilliant forward's touch, as he cushioned a perfect first-time layoff to Wood, who was loitering on the edge of the box. The midfielder still had much to do, but he hit the sweetest of low drives diagonally across the keeper and in off the far post [1-0].

Buoyed by this fine goal, the home side went in search of more, and were desperately unlucky not to add a second from the move of the season so far. Mainwaring intercepted a South corner and calmly fed Abbott on half way, who in turn squared to his strike partner with a first time pass. Taylor took full advantage of the space, speeding deep into the Wimbledon half. Somehow, Mainwaring, from left-back had kept on motoring forward, and now popped up on the right-wing, taking Taylor's pass in his stride before returning a perfect slide-rule pass past two defenders. Taylor was onto it in a flash, and hooked a sliding shot beyond the despairing dive of the keeper from fifteen yards. Tragically for Logica, the shot also rolled a couple of yards wide of the goal, and was also too far in front of Abbott loping in at the back stick.

And there was more. From a throw, Abbott flicked the ball to Reevaldo, who, taking it on his knee, burst clear. Darting into the box, the Walsall wizard unselfishly opted to pull the ball back to Taylor eight yards out, but sadly the striker couldn't quite get to the pass in time, and a lunging shot went out for a throw. A number of other promising moves down either flank failed to produce a goal when cut-backs found defenders rather than forwards.

It seemed harsh to punish such profligacy when Logica were producing one of their best performances of the season, but the Football Gods are not in the habit of showing much mercy. The home side had received a warning minutes earlier, when Wimbledon had found the net only for a combination of a foul on keeper Fleming and a hand-ball to make the decision to disallow the goal fairly straight-forward. But as Logica looked to break once again from their own half, a sloppy pass allowed Wimbledon's last defender to intercept with a long hoof forward. The ball looped over Logica's back line and a South forward beat Fleming in the race to the bouncing ball by a split second, his header rolling into the empty net [1-1]. This was a painful blow both to Logica, who had conceded an equaliser just minutes before the interval, and to Fleming, who required lengthy 'treatment' after clashing heads with the striker in his brave attempt to stop a goal.

More of the same was all that could be asked of the players in the second half, and they duly delivered. Reevaldo was hard-done-by to be flagged offside as he latched onto a Brown pass in the penalty area, but responded in the best way possible by nearly setting up a goal for McWilliam. A well-rehearsed short corner combination with Abbott, enabled Reevaldo to flight a dangerous cross into the six yard box just a fraction too far in front of McWilliam, whose glancing header went wide. A variation on the corner routine saw Abbott flicking on a header at the near post, which the panic-ridden Wimbledon defence somehow managed to scramble clear for another corner.

But once again Logica's ascendancy was terminated by a goal for Wimbledon. The home side took their foot off the pedal briefly, and allowed their opponents another look-in. A raid down the right produced a good cross into the danger area, and with Fleming exposed, the Wimbledon striker was able to head the ball down and just inside the near post [1-2].

This sucker punch found Logica losing their way for a period, and Wimbledon took full advantage to add a third goal against the run of play. Trovato embarked on a marauding run forwards and bravely dived to win a 50-50. He got there first, but the ball boomeranged off his opponent's foot and pinged some forty yards back the way he had come. Hatton was caught by surprise, and a South forward found himself in the clear and didn't hesitate to take full advantage as he rifled home a clinical finish past a helpless Fleming [1-3].

Even now, the underdogs still had the scent of victory in their nostrils and truly believed they could pull the deficit back. It was full credit to Logica that their opponents started to look tired, and they threw everything forward in a vain attempt to keep their Cup dream alive. Brown found himself with the ball at his feet after a sharp right-wing interchange had opened up the South rearguard. Keeping his composure, he unleashed a firm right foot shot from six yards but somehow the keeper managed to spread himself and block the effort.

Mainwaring continued to provide intelligent support to the attack, and his left wing crosses were causing all kinds of mayhem. One such found defender and goalkeeper at sixes and sevens, but as McWilliam and Hoyland closed in, the ball was somehow deflected up and over the bar onto the roof of the net.

Next it was Reevaldo's turn to find himself in a state of utter disbelief. Brown played him in and a clever run saw him burst past the last defender, who cynically and blatantly clipped his heels to curtail a clear run on goal. The home players' frustration at being denied a great scoring opportunity turned to incredulity when the referee waved play on. "I can't be expected to keep my eyes on two things at once," protested the poor man in black, implying that he had not seen the incident. Whether the red card that must surely have followed the award of a free kick blinded his vision is not clear, but if anyone can think of something more important to be watching than the players and the ball, please send your answers on a postcard to the usual address.

Reevaldo's verbal debating of the decision nearly earned him a yellow card, and his frustration was clear for all to see when a few minutes later the hackneyed Hackney hack viciously hacked down a Wimbledon player over by the side-line. Perhaps the referee's conscience dictated that there should be no punishment.

Logica put everything into a final assault, and scored a second goal which was the least their display merited. Some intricate midfield build-up led to Hoyland receiving the ball thirty yards out. He managed to weave his way past two defenders before laying the ball off to his left. Taylor only needed one touch before striking a precise shot past the flailing keeper's arm and into the far corner of the net [2-3].

Just a few minutes remained, and the men in red and black were unable to create any further chances. The final whistle signalled the end of Logica's heroic cup run, and their distraught players sank to the ground in frustrated despair. Most teams might have been content to run the First Division leaders so close in a Cup quarter-final, but Groom 's charges were all pondering in gutted silence what might have been, or perhaps what should have been.

Once again they had saved one of their best performances for the Cup. A display of no little skill and non-stop determination had come close to claiming another giant's scalp. Logica had created the majority of goalscoring chances, and had posed far more problems for the First Division defence than had been posed to Hatton and co. In the end, the difference was that South Wimbledon had taken their chances when they came along.

It will go down on the history sites as one of Logica's most memorable Cup runs, but perhaps now Logica can get back to concentrating on the league. Two disappointing defeats in the league since Christmas have hinted at half a mind on this quarter-final. Now they return to the bread and butter of league football with a visit to bottom club Townmead. Three points are essential if the remainder of the season is not to resemble something after the Lord Mayor's Show. If only the team could transfer their Cup form to the league, they'd still be in with a chance of promotion...