[Double header match: see report of the second match.]

After Operation Lie-In had left us with a leisurely few months before Christmas, the Football Gods now seem to be exacting full revenge for our perceived sloth with a plethora of double-headers and rearranged matches. Arch whiners Fergie and Wengie regularly mither about having to play two games in a week, so who knows how they'd react to being forced into regularly playing two games in a day.

This heavy schedule has taken its toll, with the treatment room down at the Logica training complex full to the rafters with hobbling athletes, and quite a few Logica players too. (broken arm), (legless), (thigh, calf, hamstrings), (pulled tongue muscle), (hamstring), (legless) and (knee ligaments) have all been out for a few weeks or more, and the squad announcement which was delayed until Friday still only comprised nine names.

Luckily, some last minute rearrangements allowed to ride to the rescue, whilst two more debutantes in the persons of the elusive plus took us beyond a bare XI. Belying the experience of his many years, also pitched up offering to try out his latest injury and see if it had healed.

A week of snow and heavy rain had left many games in doubt, but there is little left to doubt about fixtures at the Riverside Lands Stadium. Such is the quality of the less-than-manicured sods down by the Thames that a match scheduled during a full-on Tsunami between a herd of wildebeest and a Ploughmen's XI would not threaten to damage the playing surface. The referee's insistence on a pre-match pitch inspection can thus only be presumed to be some kind of satirical jest.

Sands End welcomed us from the lofty heights of fourth place. Boasting the second best defensive record in the league but a moderate goals-for tally, the highly paid pre-match punditry surmised ruthless efficiency rather than attacking flair. Whilst we are certainly not in a position to cast the first stone, the first ten minutes of play revealed this to be a flattering appraisal: their attack was as expected, but our opponents looked vulnerable at the back and their big strength was definitely in the middle of the park.

The quagmiric conditions made free-flowing football difficult, and it would prove to be a morning of very few chances. But another contributor to this lack of entertainment was the makeshift Logica rearguard, who performed excellently from the start. was once again a colossus, whilst (selected in one of the few positions he has yet to try on for size) was the very embodiment of calm élan. was a terrier at full-back, whilst looked equally at home on the left as on his normal right side.

Possession was fairly evenly shared, but Logica struggled to deliver quality balls into the box. Their best effort came from a poor goal-kick that controlled in a trice, but his quick shot from distance was far too wayward. Somewhat predictably, the ageing striker pulled up shortly afterwards as he unwisely chased to close down an opponent. The sound of twanging thigh was clearly audible, but, with the interval so close, no change was made just yet.

Much worse followed just as the fourth official emerged to raise his board and announce two extra minutes. Logica failed to close down an opponent after he collected a headed clearance some 30 yards out, and the Sands man advanced at his leisure before firing a low shot towards the right hand post. seemed to be caught in two minds as to whether the shot was on target or not, but was cruelly punished when the ball bounced back off the upright only to hit his prostrate back and trickle over the muddy goal-line [0-1].

Remarkably, Logica nearly levelled straight from kick-off. A neat passing move looked like it would break down at the feet of the hobbling , but he somehow managed to scoop the ball over two defenders to play in . The angle was acute for the left winger, but a rasping low drive was blocked by a keeper who knew little about it, and the even wider rebound was fired into the side netting.

The second half produced even less goal-mouth action. redeemed himself by saving a point-blank, albeit weakly hit, volley after a Sands End man had forced his way into the box. fired in a dangerous dead-ball to the back stick that nobody got on the end of, after had been upended in the middle of some neat footwork. The persistent and creditable attempts of , and to pass the ball on such an unfriendly surface offered the best chance of an equaliser, but the closest Logica came to sustained pressure was two consecutive corners, and the final whistle would have put everyone out of there misery had their not been a second match to be played.