Report by Hatton Major

It was ever thus that Logica FC have performed well in the shadow of the M4, most notably dumping Premier League opposition out of the Cup. Less auspiciously, the more venerable members of the squad will remember Johninho receiving his marching orders within 60 seconds for executing his special move - namely felling an opposition forward directly from the kick-off before bringing the referee’s obvious personality disorder to his attention. On this occasion, Logica once again acquitted themselves well, and earned a creditable draw against a good South West United side sitting one place above them in third.

Three weeks earlier, regular readers will know that United deservedly took all three points from the away fixture, as the men in yellow struggled to shake off the torpor induced by several idle months during the ShabbyGate scandal. Their commitment to repeating this feat was evident as LFC emerged bleary-eyed from the palatial, faux-Alcatraz changing rooms, to witness the United players engaged in some form of choreographed warm-up ritual. Brown responded to this blatant psychological warfare with some of his own, and promptly lit up a fag before rifling the ball into the net from 4 yards.

Shortly after, battle was joined and, inspired by Brown’s belligerence [Warning to children: Smoking is not big and its not clever. Ed], Logica started at a rattling pace, taking the game to the visitors in an opening fifteen minute spell which was almost exclusively played in the United half. Rare forays into the Logica half were consummately repelled with the help of twelfth man, Super Noobles. Keen of eye and fleet of flag, the new Mr. Brylcreem (to be confirmed) was stalking the touchline with the same feral intensity that has terrorised overweight goalkeepers the length and breadth of the league.

In the middle of the park Gautam and Buck were winning everything and Reevaldo and Clarke were orchestrating things on the flanks, but for all their dominance Logica were finding it difficult to carve out clear-cut openings. Mid-way through the half, the South West Utd midfield began to get involved, fashioning a number of breakaways for their strike pair by punting the ball long over the Logica back four. Booth easily gathered a tame shot delivered under the close attentions of Trovato, and a well-struck drive after a strong angled run sailed just over the Big Man’s crossbar from 20 yards out.

With the play becoming more stretched, Logica at least starting to fashion some meaningful attempts on goal. A quick throw by Clarke found Gautam in space but the mercurial midfielder shot high and wide from range. Then it was the turn of Abbott, whose guile continues to confound younger, fitter, stronger opponents. In a move uncannily reminiscent of that executed by Danny Murphy in the Worthless Cup Final, Abbott nimbly picked his way through the SW defence and reached the bye-line. This time, however, Vladimir Smicer was not on hand to fluff from one yard out, and neither was anyone else, as Abbott’s adroit pullback neatly bisected forwards and defenders alike, rolling harmlessly across the box.

At the other end, a quick break saw United spring the Logica offside trap for once, and, as so many times before this season, it was down to Booth to spare the yellows’ collective blushes, pulling off an excellent double save to snuff out the danger.

And so the pattern was repeated until half-time, with Logica keeping their opponents penned in their own half for the most part, but unable to find the net, and the back four nullifying counter-attacks. Brown and Trovato looked imperious at centre-half, Hatton Minor was characteristically strong in the challenge and accurate of hoof, and Mainwaring was tirelessly providing Logica’s outlet on the left of defence.

The United players came out fighting for the second half and the opening exchanges were nip-and-tuck. Both sides attempted to seize the game by the scruff of the neck. Reevaldo had a shot cleared off the line and Booth was again forced into action, making an acrobatic save from close range.

The tension was mounting and it was obviously all too much for Supremo Groom who was forced to make an early exit from the Stade de Boston Manor. Groom had somehow dragged himself to the ground in direct opposition to established medical science, which states that a man cannot consume more than his own bodyweight in alcohol without succumbing to complete cellular breakdown. Consequently, even watching the game from the sidelines proved too taxing and the Gaffer took flight early in the second half. As he shambled away he handed the sheepskin jacket to Hatton Major, the veteran centre-half who had been reduced to abusing all and sundry from the touchline after sitting up too sharply in bed the previous morning.

Almost instantly, Hatton Major’s encouraging words brought about the breakthrough Logica had been seeking. A neat interchange down the left flank between Mainwaring and Reevaldo culminated in a beautifully weighted diagonal ball into the path of James Buck. Buck had timed his run across the keeper to perfection and lifted the ball over him and into the net [1-0].

As so often happens, having gone behind, Logica’s opponents found another gear and were unlucky not to equalise within minutes. The first period of prolonged South West pressure resulted in a series of corners, and in the ensuing melee, Booth once again pulled off an athletic double save to maintain the Logica advantage. Sadly, just when it seemed Logica had weathered the storm, they fell foul of a quick counter-attack. United’s ginger frontman raced onto a long through ball and, despite not making the contact he would have wanted, managed to steer the ball across the advancing Booth and into the far corner of the Logica net. [1-1].

To their credit, the Logica XI refused to be deflated by this setback. The following exchanges were evenly matched and fresh legs were introduced in the shape of Dominic Donald, who continued to show the sort of endeavour that has seen him break into the first team this season.

With full-time approaching and the game hanging in the balance, the stand-in Supremo elected to play his trump card and unleash the tiger. It was time for six-yard specialist Banoub to enter the fray. Almost immediately he was in the thick of the action. Galloping into space on the right flank, Banoub picked up the ball and raced to the byeline. Looking up he saw that Abbott had peeled away to the back stick and was waiting to nod the ball into the gaping net and duly collect all three points. The crowd collectively held their breath as Banoub swung the ball in, but sadly the cross was too deep for even the most spring-heeled of strikers and the moment had passed.