Oh, the excitement of the first day of a new season! Glorious sunshine, pitches that resemble bowling greens and hopes that have yet to be dashed. Well, one out of three, since it was pissing down and the pitch somehow remained hard and bobbley throughout (get those excuses in, early doors).

As ever at this stage of the season, old faces fade away and new faces appear. Worryingly for Logica, two of their best players were to be found in the first category. Oliver Masting would be missing for some time due to nuptial responsibilities, whilst Kevin Spence was enjoying a life of leisure with a four month vacation in the good ol' US of A. It is hoped that both will be back ASAP.

On the plus side was debutante Steve Mitchell, who shows every chance of becoming an all-time Logica great. This impression had been established the previous week, when Steve successfully negotiated the traditional initiation test employed by captains down the ages; that of turning up for a game that had been cancelled, but your captain had been 'unable to get hold of you'. Clarke had also turned up just to ratify that the new-comer did indeed have the pre-requisite level of stupidity, and thus it was that Mitchell ensured his place for the first real game of the season. Not only did Mitchell pass this suitability test, but as this game immediately showed, he also turned out to have a bit of footballing talent as well.

Compared to last seasons two games which both produced five goal thrillers, this match was a soggy squib. Logica demonstrated a predictable rustiness early on, and countered this with a strategy of containment. Contrary to popular myth, the three 'S's in midfield (Steve, Sumo and Sid) made a sizeable contribution to our defensive stability in tirelessly shadowing their opposite numbers.

Logica fashioned two opportunities to take the lead, but both were squandered. A free-kick on the left was curled into the danger zone by Hatton in such a way that the flight deceived both defenders and keeper alike. The ball flashed across goal as Sidaway prepared to pounce. In the good old days the portly striker would merely have breathed out and let his belly do the rest. Sadly, the new-look slim-line model could not reach the ball legally, and a less-than-unobtrusive hand had to be employed to deposit the ball in the net. Initially, the referee appeared to have given the goal, but as Logica's players sloped embarrassedly back to half-way, a free-kick was justly awarded to the home side.

The second opportunity was a direct result of a familiarly bullish run down the left by Toman. Having beaten one man and reached the bye-line, he cut the ball back to Abbott, who in turn fed Jobling. The novelty striker took the ball in his stride and unselfishly laid it back to Woolhouse, whose vicious shot was sadly a fraction too high.

Shortly after this, St Anselms took the lead. A split-second loss of concentration left a Saints midfielder unmarked from a throw- in, and he walloped the ball goalwards from fully thirty yards. Incredibly, Wildsmith only a few yards off his line found a shot of perfect precision sailing over him and in, just under the bar.

The second half was a big disappointment. Logica continued to defend well, but disappointingly excerpted little pressure, showed little creativity (Woolhouse excepted) and never looked like getting on the score-sheet, except on one occasion. Again Woolhouse was the creator, feeding Abbott who dummied (this years in-thing as the lob goes sadly out of fashion) to let in the galloping Hatton on the blind side. A pile-driver of a shot from the wing-back left the right-hand post shuddering. Mitchell was quickest to react, but his shot from rebound was inches over the bar.

As is traditional at this time of year, the proximity of the seventy minute mark signalled the limits of the boys' minimal match- fitness, and it was not long before Saints added to their lead. Equally traditional was the fact that both goals came from corners in a five minute period. The first was bundled in after a chaotic melee, despite the efforts of Millar's bollocks. The second came from a free header which sneaked under Wildsmith's dive, the dive blocking the view of the defender on the line.

The last twenty minutes promised to be fairly dull, with Logica unable to pose much threat, and St Anselms seemingly not bothered about converting any of the chances they now began to create with increasing regularity. Thus it was perhaps a diverting relief to see substitute Borrett attempt to liven up proceedings. Having colourfully lambasted Abbott from the side-lines as to why he was yet to enter the fray, the disgruntled reserve flounced off down the touch-line in Sumoesque fashion. Shortly afterwards, Abbott signalled to Borrett to warm up, which Borrett must have mistaken as his long-awaited call to action, for he immediately charged on to the pitch, discarding his training top as he went. The referee unsurprisingly took exception to this spontaneous substitution and ordered Borrett from the pitch until such time as a suitable break in play occurred, as the laws of the game prescribe. This was too much for the frustrated twelfth man, and the farrago concluded with a close-lying orange being kicked with some ferocity, amid the sound of muttered blasphemies. When Borrett did finally appear on the field of play, he was equally unlucky. His first touch began a promising run which was abruptly ended by a painful scythe from behind. Not long after he followed Millar's example of using any part of the anatomy to stop a goalbound shot, which whilst painful, did at least provide the satisfaction of saving a certain goal. It is safe to say that this was not the happiest day in Mr Borrett's footballing career.