Black September was now behind us. A scapegoat had been found in the form of Abbott, stripped of the on-field captaincy, and replaced by FA Coach Sidaway. Now we could look forward to a fresh start and a change in fortune.

The new regime adopted two instant changes: playing a traditional 4-4-2 by choice, and introducing the squad system. This latter innovation entailed a squad of fifteen being named for the game, with a starting eleven and three substitutes to be selected an hour before kick-off. This is a tried and tested Logica approach : if things are going badly, throw some more people at it. It was Captain Clarke who was the unlucky one in the fifteen, left out due to further hamstring problems.

Into this cauldron of new-found optimism stepped young Duff. For years he had watched his idols from the Links Avenue terraces, and as ever he was here to support the mighty Logica in this difficult away fixture. As always he carried his boots in a brown paper-bag, eternally dreaming of some Roy of the Rovers style 'young - boy - plucked - from - terrace - obscurity - at - eleventh - hour - to - score - cup - final - winner' fairy tale. After many years, this was to be his day, and Duff's loyalty was rewarded with a place on the bench next to established stars Gildea and Moore.

A well-thought out pre-match team talk paid immediate dividends on the field. In a complete contrast to the Golborn debacle, Logica controlled the first half through good quality possession. Quite a few chances resulted from this revolutionary approach. Abbott volleyed just wide, and Toman was cynically felled just outside the penalty area as he was clean through. It was Jobling's pace and Lambert's bursts from midfield that unsettled a Town side who had cantered to victory against a dishevelled Logica side only a fortnight earlier. Equally crucial was the attacking support provided by full-backs Hatton and Toman, both players having outstanding games.

Logica finally took the lead in a game for the first time this season five minutes before the break. In the time-honoured fashion that is the real Logica Way, we soaked up some concerted pressure, and then hit the opposition with lightning-fast precision on the break. No, it's true. From a Brentford corner the ball was cleared. Abbott, the lone striker, held the ball up and turned to see Lambert hurtling from one penalty area to the other. A long pass sent him clear and, as Town struggled to get players back, Jobling raced forward gazelle-like in support. Lambert drew the keeper before unselfishly squaring to Jobling, the striker just managing to stab the ball home despite the close attentions of the lone Brentford defender.

Logica now appeared unsure what to do with a lead, and are unlikely to be much the wiser having only held it for thirty seconds. One thing probably not worth trying again, is getting your centre-half to catch the ball in his own six yard box. The referee had little choice but to award a penalty and Town duly equalised. To be fair to the lad Millar, the ball did hit a divot and bounce up in a rather peculiar fashion.

The second half continued much as the first with Logica asking most of the questions. One was why Abbott couldn't hit a barn door from six yards, which came to mind as last year's leading scorer put a couple of presentable chances wide. Another was how could the linesman cheat so blatantly? This brain-teaser was posed after Logica had scored a perfectly good goal only to see said lino flapping his red flag eagerly. After some intricate faffing about by Abbott and Jobling near the corner flag, the newly deposed captain turned inside and arced in a low, accurate cross behind a morass of defenders. Lambert, as ever arriving from deep, reached the ball first and volleyed home from close range. There could be no way that Lambert was offside when the ball had been played, so why was the flag being raised? The referee was clearly sceptical as well, since rather than accept the lino's decision, he went over to the touch-line to find out. Clarke, showing greater anticipation than usual, was in ear-shot like a flash, and heard the ensuing Ortonesque dialogue:

Disbelieving Referee: "Why have you raised your flag, linesman?"
Clown On The Line: "The goal was offside, ref!"
DR: "How was it offside, linesman?"
CL: "Eh?"
DR: "Explain how the goal was offside, linesman."
CL: "Ummm... the goal was offside, ref!"
DR: {Clearly exasperated} "In order to be offside, the goalscorer would have to have been nearer to the goal-line than all the other defenders, except the goalkeeper, when the ball left the crosser's foot. Is this what happened, linesman?"
CL: "Yes, yes. That's it, ref!"
DR: "Are you sure, linesman?"
CL: "Oh yeah, definitely!"
DR: {Turns to the 22 players already positioned to resume play with a centre, blows his whistle, and points to the spot where Lambert had envisaged glory only seconds earlier} "Free- kick for offside. No goal."

And so the farce continued. Act two saw Brentford take the lead shortly afterwards. From a corner, their centre-half obtained significant elevation by leaning on a Logica defender's shoulders as he leapt. The resultant header beat three defenders on the line. The referee displayed no interest in the half-hearted appeals emanating from players who now had a fairly good insight into Fate's planned route for the day.

To Logica's credit they confronted Fate at every set of traffic lights, by creating a number of good chances to tempt him into a U-turn. Fate declined and sped onwards. Lambert hit a post with a rasping drive. Substitute Duff nearly fulfilled the dream of every schoolboy but his shot was inches wide. Finally Abbott was set free and executed a curling lob which was heading for the top corner until the finger-tips of a Town goalkeeper deflected it for a corner.

In the meantime, Brentford contrived to score three late, soft goals up the other end, to give the final score a misleading demeanour. Heated debate after the game centred on the disallowed goal. Surely going 2-1 up at that stage would have ensured a different outcome for Logica? Well, it's probably unwise to make such a bold claim, especially given the manner in which the final three goals were conceded. What it is safe to say, is that Sidaway is a Messiah in the making. A change in on-field General resulted in an attitude from the Logica players which was unrecognisable from the previous week, as indeed was their football. The passing was of a higher quality and more assured, and this enabled them to maintain possession for longer periods. The full-backs Hatton and Toman added greater weight to the attacks, and this greater attacking potential resulted in less pressure on the Logica defence. That we lost 5-1 was undoubtedly a travesty, but at least the players could look forward to next weeks game with genuine enthusiasm.

1. The new AC Milan red kit is bringing us bad luck and we have never once won wearing it. Bring back the old 'lucky' white kit, Clarkey, because we won loads of games in that.
2. Clarkey has stopped wearing his 'lucky' odd socks, which, last season, took Fulham to mid-table mediocrity in the third division, and single-handedly, or double- footedly, saved Logica from the humiliation of relegation.
3. Toman finally succumbed and shaved off that 'lucky' hair.
4. With parental responsibility on the horizon, Sidaway has discontinued his Saturday night habit of consuming that 'lucky' thirteenth pint, which for many years had ensured the man himself a good game, and nearly always a victory for the mighty Logica.
5. Mercury was in the ascendancy over Venus during the whole of September, which meant that Abbott was never going to score in a month of Sundays.
6. Millar has lost his 'lucky' rabbit's foot, which he had worn religiously in the front of his jock-strap for the previous four seasons.
7. The freak spell of warm, dry weather this Autumn has left the pitches unusually bobbley, which does not favour Logica's brand of flowing one-touch football. Abbott would appear to have been especially cursed by this once-in-a-lifetime heat-wave, as one of these unfeasibly large bobbles appears every time he goes to shoot.
8. For some reason, the Brazilian wunder-kind Juninho chose some namby-pamby mediocre Premier League outfit and buckets full of money, rather than the fantastic career opportunities, excellent fringe benefits, second-to-none Sports and Social Club and free coffee that Clarkey put on offer to him as part of the Logica Graduate Recruitment Package (he probably can't programme in C++, the puff!).
9. Graham Read retired too early.
10. The team has played appallingly, lacked anything approaching spirit or cohesion, has been unable to string two passes together to save it's life, nor defend with any degree of competence, with the result that we have been thoroughly out-played by every team we've come up against.