The coverage begins long before kick-off. No sooner has the Pathe News cockerel stopped crowing, than some flickering sepia-tinged film-clip begins to roll. Amidst the constant on-screen flecks, one can just make out the unmistakeable gait of a . He is wearing what looks like a grey shirt in this black and white footage, and bangs the ball clinically into a billowing net under the bright East London floodlights before jogging undemonstratively back to the halfway line. "You have to say that's magnificent," opines the commentator. A title card explains: "1986: Spence scores his sixth goal as Logica thrash NCR to win the Summer League title."

Some coarse editing quickly cuts to a bigger stadium a year later. The Hurlingham stands are packed and a man in the same all grey kit is about to take a penalty kick. Title card: "After that tremendous save from Sibley, Mr. Ryder can win the Cup for Logica with this final penalty kick." The camera zooms in disjointedly, and appears to show the Logica man pulling down his shorts. "Look at his arse, just look at his arse!" shrieks the commentator, before the action resumes. The kick is scored and is mobbed by enthusiastic team-mates, before the footage cuts sharply to show an elegantly coiffeured raising a huge old-fashioned silver trophy.

The continuity improves slightly, and the players zipping across the flickering screen are now wearing distinctive black and white shirts. Title card: "February 1989. Half Time. Logica are 4-2 down against Old Coffee House. The title is slipping away." The shot cuts somewhat theatrically to a close-up of a referee pointing to the spot. Then we see running up in classic Pathe slow-motion and smashing the ball into the net off the underside of the bar. "Goals pay the rent, and does his share," dead-pans the commentator in an unlikely falsetto.

Similar black and white footage now shows the slim silhouette of embarking on a mazy dribble past helpless defenders. We are back at Hurlingham again, so it must be another Cup Final. A title card again interjects: "At the Double: Logica take old foes Sarkpoint into extra time..." One, two, three defenders are left for dead before the Logica man unleashes an unstoppable low drive just inside the far post from the edge of the box. "That goal was good enough to win the league, the cup, the Charity Shield, the World Cup, and even the Grand National," whispers the commentator in sheer admiration.

We enter the era of colour, but there appears to be technical problems with the next clip, for the Logica players appear to be dressed in some unspeakably hideous jade green coloured kit, and the grass appears to be made of plastic. "Stylish Logica Show Up Gucci" explains the title card. The electric pace is unrecognisable, but the 25 yard lob that finishes this solo break is thoroughly familiar. "OH, WHAT A GOAL!!! What a goal! the scorer! No goalkeeper in the world would have stopped that!" explodes the commentator, as Logica go on to bag their second consecutive title in 1990 without losing a game.

Six years later and now the technical quality is vastly superior, of the footage if not the football. "Ten minutes to go and Logica trail 3-0 to a bunch of Gardeners!" the title card smirks. The camera pans across the wet and windy Earlsfield scrubland. A more rounded drills a corner into a packed box, and it is with no thought for his own safety who hurls himself full-length at the ball and heads it into the top corner. A final whistle blows immediately, and the red and black shirts appear to be celebrating. That can't be right?! "What an unbelievable day this is, the stuff of schoolboy comics!" marvels the commentator as it transpires that Logica have somehow turned it around to win 4-3.

The final clip looks thoroughly modern. "Christmas: Nil points..." mourns the title card. The footage cuts to familiarly bleak surroundings with a Thames-side rowing hut just visible in the far distance. The cinematic contradiction that is glides elegantly past three defenders whilst simultaneously managing to exude an air of shabbiness. He slips a text-book slide-rule pass between a straight line of flummoxed Galacian defenders. The camera zooms in, and at first all we can see is a big number nine. But soon the player swivels into view in one balletic spin. It is , and he crashes home a powerful shot off a post from an impossible angle as the familiar tune of The Great Escape begins to play quietly in the background.

This selection of just a handful of the glorious moments from the history of Logica Football Club ends and screen goes blank. Title card: "The Final Match?" We hear talking, laughing, and shouting. As the pictures return, we find ourselves in a cramped dressing room. The camera pans around. The legendary faces are familiar from the earlier footage, but time has not been kind. It's a bit like that advert except with less hair and more stomach.

One man addresses the rest of the team with some predictable clichés. There is however one last bucking of trends. The youngest man in the dressing room, at a youthful 32, is deservedly made captain for the day. For all his legendary supreming, it seems the young man has never actually captained the side. Some work experience as a SAGA holiday rep would come in handy over the next ninety minutes...

It transpires that the club's health has been diagnosed as almost certainly terminal. With just one point earned on the field of play all season (which may anyway be deducted as punishment for the recent Handbaggate abandonment), and three more from a match award, relegation is all but assured. But with only a handful of players making themselves available each Sunday, the club is also hurtling towards oblivion. This, it seems, may well be Logica Football Club's very last match, and some legends have been rounded up to mark this sad occasion, as well as providing a poignant reminder of past glories.

Wisely the director cuts quickly from the dressing room rambling to the on-field rambling. The ironically named Invictus are the opposition on this most momentous of days, and they look young, nippy and mouthy. T'was ever thus. But as the game begins, experience is quickly bought to bear. Some early sorties by the home side are quickly snuffed out by the no-nonsense pairing of and at centre back. Both will go on to play blinders, with especially catching the eye with some beautifully anticipated covering tackles. and provide fine support either side, snapping at heels and allowing none to pass.

It is not long before Logica are giving as good as they get. is at his industrious best on the left, driving the whole team onwards with his example. The reunion of and in the midfield engine room is also a sight to behold. The pair are influential throughout, tracking down blue shirts remorselessly and prompting some legendary threat once the ball is won back.

The failure of , , , or to register at LegendsReunited allows to show off his new career as a burly gloveman. It seems he has been playing in goal all season for the Old Stationers, and he quickly proves himself as effective at keeping the ball out of the net as he once was at filling it. He is able to do the show-boating for the cameras (tipping a free-kick around the post almost at full stretch) and the less glamorous bread-and-butter stuff (bravely diving at the feet of an attacker to block after a corner fails to be cleared). Even when is beaten, is perfectly placed to clear off the line. In between times, the Scot amuses himself by knocking short goal-kicks to his uncomprehending and panic-stricken defenders.

As the first half progresses, Logica begin to dominate and excerpt some concerted pressure. (for it was he) rolls back the years as he rises salmonically to head a corner goalwards; if had gambled on this near certainty he could have found himself in a position to deflect the ball past the keeper. Worse befalls minutes later when a neat pass from strike partner springs the offside trap. With a substantial head-start, even 's snail like pace cannot stop him reaching the penalty area just in front of the chasing Invictus defender. But as he shapes to pull the trigger, a huge cloud of dust caught on camera evidences the unfortunate bobble that can be the only explanation for a left-foot shot blazed into orbit.

But it is who comes closest to breaking the deadlock. A corner is headed clear, and the captain is found loitering with menace ten yards outside the box. He catches the first shot well enough, but the ball cannons back off an Invictus leg. His second effort is even better, as he quickly adjusts to fizz a vicious volley inches wide of the left-hand upright. As the interval approaches, robs a dallying defender and his cunning chip just fails to achieve the elevation needed to loop over an Invictus keeper clutching at full stretch.

Half time allows Logica to catch their breath. has finally arrived, and unselfishly retires from the fray to pick up the managerial reins. But the resumption of play finds some legendary loss of momentum. The match is played largely in the Logica half for twenty minutes, and once again and excel: despite conceding the majority of possession, is rarely called upon.

Suspicions are just beginning to surface that the Football Gods have a glorious end scripted for the Logica story, when disaster strikes. The referee awards Invictus a free-kick some five yards outside the penalty area for the mildest of contact between defender and forward. The dead-ball is arrowed over the wall, but twists to save at full length. It is however the home team who are quickest to react, and any one of three blue shirts could have rammed home the loose ball [0-1].

is not slow to react on the sidelines. Logica need a goal in the remaining quarter of the match, and the impressive is sacrificed for another striker as enters the fray. Fresh legs are predictably at a minimum, and the venerable is tactically deployed at left-back to bolster Logica's late charge. But proves even more inventive, and wrings a legitimate fourth and ultimately decisive switch which relieves of the gloves with just ten minutes left. His replacement, , proves no slouch between the sticks and is almost immediately diving full-length to tip a goal-bound pile-driver around the post.

Logica pull some reserves of energy from somewhere and take the game to Invictus, who are forced to defend deeper and deeper. Logica win a string of corners, and are so close to an equaliser from one of them when a classic bullet header beats the keeper but is headed off the line.

But finally the moment the crowd have been waiting for arrives. wins a loose ball and advances down the right, before looking up and squaring a neat pass inside to the advancing . His attempt at a shot does not quite come off, but the ball bounces forwards. As the keeper comes out, the alertness of is too quick for him, and the Logica man gets to the ball first and rounds the flailing Invictus number one. The angle is acute, but is officially marooned on 99 career goals for Logica. What would you do? It is typical of the man that he opts to square unselfishly to the better placed , who keeps his nerve admirably on the bobbly surface to guide the ball home for the equaliser [1-1].

Remarkably, Logica are not satisfied with a point and press on for what would be a legendary winner. Aged limbs have never looked so fresh. loops a shot goalwards that forces the Invictus keeper to nervously tip over the bar. The aerially dominant again meets the ensuing corner, but his header is directed just wide of the far post.

The fourth official announces just one minute of injury time, and the camera pans back across the field of play. One last Logica corner is cleared and Invictus break away. The visitors are short on numbers, but surely it can't end in such cruel fashion? The ball is won but given away again. Invictus' dangerous substitute strides purposefully down the left flank. comes across and times his tackle to absolute perfection, winning the ball cleanly, staying on his feet, and clearing upfield as the referee's whistle signals the end of many eras.

The Logica players shake hands sportingly with the opposition in classic Pathe news-reel style, and the cameraman and substitutes advance on to the pitch to capture this historic moment. The title card records "A Legendary End" and the commentator's voice quietly but with just the faintest tremor of emotion observes: "Some people are on the pitch, they think it's all over ... it is now."

[ Watch the video highlights | Peruse the history of Logica Football Club ]