As one well respected pundit observed when the Logica team sheet arrived in the press box twenty minutes before kick-off, this was possibly the finest collection of Logica footballers packed into a single squad that he could remember. Admittedly the pundit’s relative youth did not permit him first hand knowledge of the glorious Lag era of the late eighties, when the team sheet was regularly stuffed full of the likes of Sidaway, Spence, Dick, Grassie, Woolhouse, Richmond and Read, and plenty more besides, but the essential point was well made. In modern times, it could least be said, that this resembled something akin to the Supremo’s ‘Dream Team’. On paper, at least.

As is often the case, grass proved to be a more problematic surface. With Sandric Loriot’s weekend visit to Blighty giving the midfield a formidable air, even in the absence of McWilliam, Groom was able to boast a bench jam-packed with internationals who would walk straight into the first XI of most ordinary teams. But perhaps the players were a little too ready to believe the pre-match hype. In the first half they played more like a dreaming team than a Dream Team, seemingly expecting their obvious aura of talent to simply overwhelm their opponents into submission, without any need for hard graft.

Kensington dominated territorially early doors without ever really troubling Booth in the Logica goal. A few long range efforts required some safe handling; a few others flew comfortably wide. Stanley had time in midfield, and their number twelve was proving quite elusive. By contrast, Logica failed even to pose that level of threat, and the Rossoneri were ponderous in possession, with few options available to the man on the ball.

From nowhere, though, Logica snatched the lead with a moment of individual brilliance from Loriot. Trovato won the ball in the centre circle, and with play compressed, he advanced briefly before sliding a ball through Stanley’s square back four. The Frenchman was onto the pass, and slowly got into his stride as a combination of the wind, the bobbly pitch and a reputed hangover appeared to slow the great man down. But a quick gear change saw him burst away from a desperate lunge, round the goalkeeper nonchalantly, and side-foot casually home from an acute angle [1-0].

The goal at least matched Logica’s pre-match billing, but they collectively struggled to match Loriot’s example for the remainder of the half. Their only other moment of danger came when Hoyzone slipped Reevaldo away down the left. The Marathon Man was away, but as he danced away from the trailing defender, he was clumsily felled just outside the box. Reevaldo himself arrowed in a precise free kick and Loriot timed his run perfectly, but the header from eight yards was just too high.

Logica were made to pay for their lethargy when the home side equalised minutes before half time. A long ball appeared to catch the Stanley striker yards offside, but the linesman was not paying attention. Booth made a valiant attempt to stop a goal, pushing the forward wide, but from an acute angle the Stanley man did well to bobble a shot past the Logica keeper and slowly enough over the line to tease Trovato into a desperate goal-line slide [1-1].

The interval saw a minor yet perceptive tactical adjustment. Gautam unselfishly volunteered to provide defensive cover in front of the back four, in particular picking up Stanley’s marauding number twelve, and leave his three midfield colleagues the freedom to exploit their attacking inclinations. The difference was noticeable immediately, and Logica soon began to justify their Dream Team tag as the second half was played largely in their opponents half.

The visitors applied plenty of pressure, but Kensington’s tall Italian keeper was proving a difficult obstacle to pass. Inadvertently, Logica soon dealt with this problem. A long pass found its way through to Abbott, who laid a first time ball into the path of fellow forward Hoyzone. The pass was fractionally over-hit and although the Sheffielder got to the ball first, his shot was blocked by the advancing goalie. As the ball deflected away the two players collided, and it was the Kensington keeper’s knee which came off worse.

After treatment, he was able to continue, but clearly with some pain in his kicking foot. Shortly, he came out to collect an over-hit Logica through-ball. Unable to kick, he frantically looked around for a colleague to throw to, but they were all jogging upfield, unaware or unsympathetic to his plight. “You bastards, you bastards,” he yelped in anger, “don’t all run away!”

It took a while, but finally Logica’s ascendancy was converted into a second goal. Loriot was the architect again, threading a fine pass between two defenders for Taylor to latch onto. The Leeds man was onto it in a flash and clinically fired a low left foot shot into the far corner [2-1].

Chances came and went with increasing regularity. Taylor did brilliantly to intercept a pass on the touchline, but, having raced in field, he then attempted an ambitious shot from an acute angle with both Abbott and substitute Banoub screaming unmarked in the middle. The same player created another opening for himself minutes later. He burst through an opening in the middle of the Kensington rearguard, but the keeper heroically blocked his shot before scrambling back to his line as the ball looped straight up in the air. Banoub was in the right place at the right time, but as the ball dropped he could only direct his header straight at the keeper when a goal seemed certain.

Abbott’s headed pass set Banoub on his way, but as two defenders converged on him, the substitute could not quite find a return pass to his unmarked strike partner. Loriot was soon attempting an acrobatic scissors volley from a right wing cross. His twenty yard effort was too high, but he did at least earn a pat on the back from the admiring King of Elaboration himself, Reevaldo.

There was always the fear that Logica’s profligacy would be punished by the occasional breakaway from Kensington. The back four and Gautam’s effectiveness meant that Booth was again rarely called into action, but when he was, he proved more than equal to the task. His ability to come and claim crosses is something of a novelty, and he did particularly well to hang on to a long throw above the heads of a number of players just past the hour. Only in being nudged as he returned to earth did the ball slip from his grasp, and he was justly awarded a free kick well before the loose ball was prodded into the net. It was only after the match that the brave Booth found out that he had broken a rib, an injury that unfortunately is likely to keep him out for the rest of the season.

With five minutes remaining one error of judgement nearly cost Logica the match. Last man Trovato comfortably collected a long aimless pass, but then tried to dribble around a forward. The ball was nicked off his toe, and the Stanley man was away. Luckily for Logica, he elected to shoot from fifteen yards rather than pass to a better placed team-mate, and Booth comfortably gathered the effort.

Having survived this scare, Logica quickly sealed their win with a goal in the Lag style. A free kick was glanced on by Loriot, and Abbott hooked a pass on to Reevaldo in the inside left channel. The Hackney Holester executed a flamboyant dummy to cut inside the last defender before producing an elaborate dribble across the edge of the six yard box as he wafted past goalkeeper and another defender for good measure. Just as his colleagues started to wonder if he was embarking on another 32,000 man marathon, Reevaldo pulled the trigger with a deft side-foot which was net-bound until the defender on the line instinctively lunged to palm the ball away.

The referee had no alternative but to point to the spot and brandish the red card. In a throw back to the times of yore when gentlemen duelled at dawn, ate cucumber sandwiches at four, and generally valued the Corinthian ethic, Mr.Abbott offered the ball to Mr.Reeves in a gesture that recognised the shabby one’s dazzling dribble. Mr.Reeves, however, is also a dedicated Corinthian, and duly declined. His near-perfect expression of the beautiful game had been soiled by an outstretched hand, and he did not wish to demean himself with something as base as a penalty kick. So Mr.Abbott resigned himself to his obligation, and duly fired the ball from twelve yards so precisely into the top right hand corner that a goalkeeper with five legs, let alone one, would have had no chance of saving it [3-1].

The game was up shortly afterwards, and Logica had secured a victory at the expense of their rivals who had been just one point behind them at the start of play. It had taken them forty five minutes to wake up, but the Dream Team had eventually roused themselves from their slumber to turn three valuable points into reality, and set the Supremo up nicely for an afternoon in pursuit of a play-off place. Norwich in the Premiership? Now that surely is a dream!