ODDS AND GODS
The world and his dog were strongly tipping The Lags to improve on last year's third place. Being seeded, they would avoid the three other strongest sides in the group stages. Consequently, the World Cup draw was relatively kind, pitting them against Edinburgh, Cork and the Czech Republic in Group C. Taking no chances, some efforts had even been made to appease the alleged Football Gods. And, what with an even stronger squad than they took to Manchester, the old men of Logica were surely a good outside bet for World Cup glory?

Sadly, it transpired that most of the wagering was done by the Lags, rather than on them. An epidemic of morale sapping betting scandals would rip the team apart, generating an environment of internecine distrust in which every team member would doubt the ultimate goal of his colleagues: they were all playing for silver, but who was after the silverware and who was dealing in thirty pieces?

SPREAD AND BUTTER
It all began on the Friday before the tournament, when a curious and vaguely familiar figure appeared in Dam Square, which happened to be the location the Lags had selected for a light pre-tournament "training" session. It was not long before this character, who had introduced himself only as 'Mr. Spread, a retired gentleman', was mingling amongst the assorted Legends and Lags in purposeful, if somewhat passé, fashion. The sun scorched down from a cloudless sky, and Mr. Spread's facial features were shadowed by a back-to-front baseball cap as well as a 'Little Black Book', which he used to shield his eyes from the solar glare.

For the remainder of the weekend, Spread was a permanent fixture at the back of the Lag entourage. From time to time, he would manoeuvre a defenceless Lag way from the main pack, butter up his intended victim, and make his move. Intense negotiation would follow, after which Mr. Spread would scribble something in his book with an unfeasibly small pencil stub. His prey would then be allowed to rejoin the herd, a slightly worried look contorting the Lag's wrinkled brow. Occasionally, a smile would play across Spread's lips, particularly as he made notes after conducting business with the lad Zurawski.

STEAKS AND STAKES
The bars and squares of Amsterdam were packed full of beer-laden football supporters, but none were aware of what was afoot. Even to those in the immediate vicinity of the Lag aura, phrases such as the "Abbott / Reeves Strike Index" (ARSI), the " Spence Spread" (SS), the "Legendary Accumulator (Goals)" (LAG), the "Lag Onion Bag Spread" (LOBS), and the "First XI Teamsheet Predictor" (FIXIT) would mean little. As the midnight chimes struck, and the majority of Lags left the schizophrenic Argentinian Steak & Pizza restaurant and headed for a night-cap en route to their aptly named Hotel Museum, Mr. Spread loitered and could be seen deep in discussion with newly announced Lag skipper, Mitchell Grassie.

Every year there was always the feeling with the Lags that this could be their last tournament, and thus their last pop at ultimate glory. Nerves were beginning to jangle. This was the finest squad of Lags ever assembled. The stakes were high, very high.

But it was only later that everyone realised just how high the stakes really were. Mr. Spread was renowned for getting ARSI about right, but this time he seemed a little hesitant in setting an index of 2.5 to 3. Abbott and Reeves immediately bought big, although nobody else did. Mr. Spread had the SS at a rather conservative 2.0 to 2.5, but only Spence backed himself to do better. LOBS was set at 10 to 11, and a queue quickly formed around the block to sell, although Zurawski found himself all alone in the buyers queue. The LAG spread was larger than in some previous years, but nobody bit. That is apart from Zurawski, who once more bought big-time.

And so the preparation for this most prestigious of international football tournaments was complete, and every Lag knew what they had to do. But before they began, there was a small change of plan. Aberdeen had been drawn in the same group as Italy, but refused to play against them after the bad-feeling engendered by the two teams previous meetings. The Cup Organising Committee Umpires Panel (COCUP) relented, and a last minute change of draw saw Edinburgh and Aberdeen swap places. The Lags would now face a sterner test from the Granite City, but confidence was still high.

CORK HOPES POPPED
GROUP C: ENGLAND LAGS 2-0 CORK
(Richmond, Abbott)
Initially, at least all seemed to be going pretty much as usual. The Lags began slowly as is their wont, and some frustration was evident in the first half. The passing was nice as usual, but against a competitive and technically able Irish side, they struggled to create clear-cut chances. Malcolm Dick had been handed the gloves, and although one suspected he was not overly enamoured at this appointment, he made some important stops and his cultured passing at least ensured that the Lags were not afraid to use their keeper as an extra sweeper.

Just before the interval, however, The Lags were the beneficiaries of a huge slice of luck. Spence had wove some delicate magic down the left flank, but his toe-poked left foot cross was straight at the goalie. Most of the Lags had turned to jog back to position, and so missed the Cork keeper bottling it. A flurry of arms addressed what was really a simple catch, with the result that the ball slipped through his grasp and ran along the goal-line. Luckily for the Lags, midfielder Dave Richmond was alert to the situation, and reacted quickly to poke the ball home (1-0).

This unexpected gift boosted the Lags confidence and they began to play with more panache after the break. Grassie was everywhere in midfield, Ryder was a man-mountain at the back, and Reevaldo opened the lid on his box of tricks, with one dummy and swivel being particularly unnecessary and worthy of note. But the pick of the players was Lag debutante James McCabe, whose thoughtful prompting from left-back was often the trigger for an attack. Indeed, it was a finely threaded McCabe pass that set Spence away in the build-up to the Lags second goal. The Aberdonian cut inside and out, before unleashing a powerful shot from fifteen yards that the keeper could only parry. This time it was Mark Abbott who was on hand to latch onto the rebound and smash it into the top corner (2-0).

A comfortable and satisfying start for The Lags then, and they were able to face the post-match TV interviews with a smile, a blather of well-honed clichés, and a dollop of cautious optimism. A slightly wider smile from Malcolm, however, as he had cleaned up on the FIXIT prediction bet. In fact, the only inaccuracy in his predicted starting line-up was that he had not foreseen himself playing in goal.

State of Play: Lags: 1 win, 3 pts; ARSI:1 (spread set at 2.5-3.0); SS:0 (2.0-2.5); LAG:0 (immaterial); LOBS:2 (10.0-11.0).

BETTER THE DEVILS YOU KNOW
GROUP C: ENGLAND LAGS 3-0 CZECH DEVILS
(Abbott (pen), Lambert, Reeves)
The Lags had been drawn against the Czech Republic in last year's group stage, and a 3-0 victory in Manchester gave confidence in a further three points. Although the same margin of victory was achieved this time out, the progress of the good ship England was not all plain sailing, and the first signs of mutiny in the ranks were beginning to appear.

The Czechs may have dispensed with the mullets, but the physical and competitive nature of their game had increased since the previous encounter. The Lags struggled to find any rhythm as their opponents made use of some of the more 'professional' aspects of footballing strategy. At a corner, Spence found himself embraced by a stout Czech defender even before the kick was ready to be taken. Unable to extricate himself, the Lag politely drew the referee's attention to this infringement. As the kick was taken, and Spence tried to make his run, the Czech defender repeated the check, and had no defence when the man in black duly pointed to the spot. Abbott dispatched the penalty kick, and The Lags had their noses in front (1-0).

The half continued in the same vein, and McHattie picked up a bad knock in a crunching tackle that would keep him out of the remainder of the competition. Sidaway was felled in cynical fashion close to the bye-line, and reacted in traditional fashion with a few well chosen words. When the spat continued, Sidaway was mysteriously substituted, apparently at the behest of Abbott. Some puzzled spectators idly wondered whether the Lag Dictator might have sold on the LAG index?

England reached the comfort zone when Stevie Lambert's pace enabled him to reach a long ball over the top a split second before the Czech keeper, and the most delicate of flicks ensured a 2-0 half-time lead. More of the same followed in the second half, although a further goal was only added at the death. Sidaway had finally been reintroduced, and after a thrusting run down the right, his long cross was met on the volley by Reevaldo, loitering at the back stick. The Hackney Hole Merchant's shot 'bumped' into the ground, before elaborately bouncing up and looping over a flummoxed keeper (3-0).

State of Play: Lags: 2 wins, 6 pts; ARSI:3 (spread set at 2.5-3.0); SS:0 (2.0-2.5); LAG:0 (immaterial); LOBS:5 (10.0-11.0).

TAKING A DIVE IN THE THIRD
GROUP C: ENGLAND LAGS 0-1 ABERDEEN
At face value, this was one of those meaningless games that the group stages of major international tournaments sometimes throw up. Both teams had already qualified courtesy of two victories, and it might have seemed that the most interesting thing about this match would be what happened if it ended in a draw. Both teams had identical records, having won their games 2-0 and 3-0, so how would it be decided who finished first, and who second, if this 'decider' was drawn? Penalties? Toss of a coin? Alphabetical order? Luckily, for COCUP, Happy Pete would come to their rescue in the nick of time.

There was slightly more at stake than the bald statistics suggested. Firstly the losers would face France in the quarter-finals, which was a far more daunting obstacle than either Holland 'B' or the Manchester Cloggers, who were currently slugging it out for runners-up spot in Group D. But of far more significance here was the current state of Mr. Spread's indices, which were hotting up nicely. Take ARSI, for example, which having been set at 2.5-3.0, currently stood at 3 after just two matches. Any more goals from the in-form pairing of Abbott and Reeves, and Spread would be forced to flash his wad large-style. Ditto LOBS, where five goals had already been racked up in just two games, and although many punters had sold small, Zurawski's big buying would cost the man with the book far more.

Spread must have been down on his knees at this point, praying to the Football Gods for a quick and dramatic drying up of Lag goals, especially from A&R. If so, then perhaps we can take this as a sign (of something at least), for, no sooner had most Lags got their brains around this tricky statistical situation, than skipper Grassie shocked the waiting press corps by announcing a team that contained neither Abbott nor Reevaldo. The captain bumbled something about the importance of rest at this, the highest, level, the trendiness of a rotation system, and the need to play a 4-5-1 against more physical British opponents. But by now cynicism was rampant. Grassie must surely have been nobbled, and for once not in the physical-injury sense.

The game did little to dampen speculation, even when, after a poor first half, the formation was realigned to 4-4-2. The A&R men did not get to demo their talents, merely getting on stage in time for the closing number. Even then Abbott had a chance to take ARSI into the red, but what would have been a bread-and-butter thirty yard lob in normal circumstances, flew five yards wide because, er, the executor was still agonising over the disappointment of being dropped. Straight up.

With the referee fumbling in his pocket for his whistle, and COCUP scratching its collective head furiously, Venis decided to intervene. As an Aberdeen cross came into the box, Skippy seemed to have it covered and began leaping in his usual Salmonesque fashion to head clear. In mid-air he was suddenly intercepted by his centre-back partner, who launched himself in kamikaze fashion. As Richmond tumbled to the ground, Venis even fell on top of him so that there was no chance of a recovery. The ball fell to the feet of a Scottish striker, who accepted this gift without a second thought. Happy Pete later claimed that a quarter-final against France was a better route to glory than a semi against Italy, but those of a sceptical disposition were desperately trying to work out which of Spread's indices Venis was trying to tamper with.

State of Play: Lags: 2 wins, 1 defeat, 6 pts, qualified for quarter-finals; ARSI:3 (spread set at 2.5-3.0); SS:0 (2.0-2.5); LAG:0 (immaterial); LOBS:5 (10.0-11.0).

PAYING THE PENALTY ONCE AGAIN
QUARTER-FINAL: ENGLAND LAGS 0-0 FRANCE
(France win 5-3 on penalties)
This was the big one, and we knew what we'd be up against. The Lags had beaten France the previous year in the 3rd/4th play-off match, but that was England's only victory in five World Cup meetings. Unlike in Manchester on Saturday night, when there was a palpably expectant anticipation and a firm belief that we could win the tournament, the atmosphere in Amsterdam was relatively downbeat. In fact, there was a noticeable schism when Happy Pete led a small party of Lags to eat at a different restaurant to the main caucus.

Sunday morning brought stiff limbs but an aching determination to win. The previous day had already claimed some victims, with Simon McHattie (injured leg) and Phran Ryder (what would later transpire to be a fractured knee) unavailable for selection. The first half was keenly fought and predictably tight, with no real chances for either side. Having said this, to keep it that way, Venis had had to execute a crude professional foul that somehow went unpunished when really it merited a penalty, a red card, and perhaps even a brief stretch in chokey. There was more bad news for the Lags just before the interval when Keith Sidaway lay in some pain after chasing (and winning) a lost cause. The Geordie Legend would take no further part in the tournament, and a torn ligament was suspected.

France should have opened the scoring when Malcolm Dick made his one mistake of the entire weekend (apart from his schoolboy error vis-à-vis Bobby Riggs, that is). Trying to catch a teasing cross, the ball slipped from his grasp, but thankfully the French opportunist on hand could only scoop the loose ball over the bar from six yards. England stepped up a gear, and Spence was desperately unlucky to see a beautifully curled shot from the twenty yards clip a post. There was little to choose between the teams, and the dreaded extra-time became a reality.

From somewhere, the old blokes found some extra resolve (that is, a display of determination, rather than the hangover cure), and conjured up two Golden Goal chances either of which should have seen them facing Holland in the semi-final. Firstly, a wizard run from Zurawski down the right culminated in a wickedly pinpoint cross to the far post which took out the keeper. Reeves and Abbott both found themselves converging on the ball. Perhaps there was too much desire to be the one to take their ARSI into profit, because Abbott called for the ball when not ideally placed, whilst Reevaldo ignored the call, stretched his neck-muscles, but could not quite get his head around the ball. The chance skimmed wide of the target.

With just seconds remaining, Abbott speared a perfectly weighted pass through the French defences, and Lambert used his pace to sprint clear. As the French keeper advanced nervously, the England man plumped for the lob but tragically for the Lags, the ball flew a foot over the bar, and penalties beckoned for the second year in a row.

The nightmare of Manchester flooded back, but unfortunately neither Sidaway (one leg) nor Woolhouse (still in Tokyo) were in a position to redeem themselves á la Pearce. But no worries, there would be few bets against a spot-kick quintet of Grassie, Abbott, McCabe, Reevaldo and Richmond. France won the toss and converted the first penno, and then the Captain strode up to set the England ball rolling. There were audible gasps when the French keeper pulled off a breath-taking full-length save to tip the ball over the bar - you'd have mortgaged your house on Grassie scoring. The remaining kicks were all converted, and so at 5-3 to France, Richmond was sadly not even required to take his penalty.

England had yet again exited a World Cup on penalties. Whilst they could hold their heads up high after a performance of great stamina and skill, it was desperately disappointing to go out in this manner once more. Perhaps it was time to ditch the Corinthian ethos, and lower themselves to practise penalties before next year's tournament? In any event, with the footballing sideshow out of the way, the Lags could now concentrate without further distraction on more important matters.

State of Play: Lags: 2 wins, 1 draw, 1 defeat, knocked out in Q/Fs; ARSI:3 (spread set at 2.5-3.0); SS:0 (2.0-2.5); LAG:0 (immaterial); LOBS:5 (10.0-11.0).

SHORT SHRIFT
PLAY OFF: ENGLAND LAGS 4-0 LEATHERHEAD
(Lambert(3), McHattie)
In a match, which lasted just ten minutes each way, the Lags made quick work of tempering their quarter-final disappointment with an emphatic victory over the Surrey debutantes. Steve Lambert gave the old hands a half-time lead. This was doubled after the interval when the hobbling McHattie rifled home his first ever goal in a Lag shirt, just reward for his industrious performances the previous day. Lambert helped himself to a splendid hat-trick courtesy of two further clinical strikes in the last five minutes.

Once more on-field achievement was over-shadowed by off-field controversy when both Abbott and Reeves were left to idle away this goal-fest on the bench, ensuring once again that ARSI remained static at 3. Whatever the reason for these hardly credulous omissions, Spread could be seen anxiously hopping from foot to foot on the touchline, and grimacing at the potential pain to his wallet as each Lag shot found the onion bag. LOBS now stood at 9, and if the Lags were to score more than two in their last game against a moderate Dublin side, Zurawski would be raking it in at Spread's expense.

State of Play: ARSI:3 (spread set at 2.5-3.0); SS:0 (2.0-2.5); LAG:0 (immaterial); LOBS:9 (10.0-11.0).

DUBLIN ONES MONEY
5^th/6^th PLACE PLAY OFF: ENGLAND LAGS 1-1 DUBLIN
(Spence)
(England win 2-1 on penalties)
Once more Grassie confounded the assembled hack-pack at the pre-match press conference by announcing another imaginative line-up. The captain himself would don the gloves; Dick would finally get a chance to expound the arts of the cultured libero in tandem with Spence; Venis would be allowed to express his left-wing tendencies; and Zurawski, placed in an attacking right-sided role, would be in poll position to ensure his LOBS bet came romping home. The absence of the A&R men by now hardly raised an eyebrow.

Although Dublin had steam-rollered the Pups the previous day, one way traffic for the next twenty minutes resulted in a permanently congested Irish penalty area. And it was Zurawski who showed great attacking awareness, as time and again he manoeuvred himself into superb positions to get on the end of sweeping Lag moves. More surprisingly in the circumstances, Spread remained remarkably calm as each chance came and went, almost as if he had some private hotline to the Footballing Gods.

Within minutes, the Pole found himself free in the box, but a stabbed shot was too close to the keeper. After a more difficult chance had similarly gone begging, Zurawski was spectacularly launching himself at the far post, but his diving header was just wide. Finally, as the first half came to a close, substitute Abbott played Zurawski clear in the penalty box, but his low right foot shot somehow bobbled inches the wrong side of the post. As the other Lags stared in disbelief at Zurawski's bad luck, Spread displayed a knowing smile.

With Reevaldo entering the fray at the interval, attention switched to a different index. Having gone close himself a few times, the would-be hole merchant then left the Dublin right-back spinning like a top as he beat him for a third time on one dazzling run. Breaking the habit of a life-time, Reevaldo looked up and cut the ball back to his better placed betting partner. But Abbott, clearly taken by surprise, could only stab a shot weakly wide from six yards. This would be their last chance to take the ARSI up into the profit zone, and the bald facts suggested that Spread knew his market (or his captain) all along.

As chance after chance went begging, Spence decided enough was enough and dispatched a clinical header with the minimum of fuss after making a run from the back. This should have been the end of it. Dublin seemed to have accepted the inevitable, and threw on one of their 'part-time' players, who (one suspected from the ribald hilarity of the Irish supporters that greeted his entrance) had spent more time in the bar than on the pitch. Incredibly, as a long cross was delivered hopefully from the left, the substitute launched himself and made perfect contact with his head. Goalkeeper Grassie arched backwards, but despite getting a hand to the ball could only watch in despair as it lolloped over the line.

So to possibly the worst penalty competition ever witnessed in the long history of Association Football. After the morning's events, the Lags named a completely different set of penalty-takers, but at least managed to score twice. Grassie managed to save the first three Irish penalties without even diving, although to be fair, he did have to bend down to pick one up. After the final Dublin player managed to find the target, it was left to Phran Ryder to re-enact his legendary Cup Final penalty, stroking the ball home with his left foot (fractured knee and all), shrewdly scuffing it through the keeper's legs.

So the Lags had secured fifth spot, but none of the players were happy with this achievement. With the body clocks ticking, they may need to drastically rethink their strategy before next year's tournament in Prague. But with a bit of luck, a few less injuries, and if they ever manage to string five half-decent penalties together, few would bet against them. Apart from Mr. Spread that is, but even he is not infallible. As the book-maker sat at the dinner table, counting Zurawski's money and dishing out his bungs, a certain Legend detected a rare moment off guard. Would the bookie wager a three figure sum on the fact that Bobby Riggs had never won any of the tennis majors? Bobby Riggs? Wasn't it he who had lost to a girl? Spread was on a roll, the Gods were on his side, Uranus was on the cusp, surely he couldn't lose.....

Final Scores: ARSI:3 (2.5-3.0); SS:1 (2.0-2.5); LAG:0 (immaterial); LOBS:10 (10.0-11.0).