Glory, such as it is, is fleeting. It is the memory of the glory that sustains; that lifts; that drives.

A
season is a series of tests; some shall be passed, but the truest test is if those that are failed
become lessons for the future, for it is in adversity that the character of a team is revealed. On
Saturday we showed that we learned our lesson last year.

Ben Gunn in goal marshalled the defence like Mashall Zhukov at Stalingrad. Scott Meyern’s shirt
has taken three washes to get even vaguely clean, so bombastic was he in his sliding. Chris Little
and Pat King both put their bodies and wallets on the line, sliding into challenges with vim and
vigour and man and ball and blood and guts and thunder. Gav Redknap brilliantly continued his
conversion, like Saul on the road to Damascus, into a left back (Saul didn’t become a left back,
but his is the most famous conversion, other than Gavin Hastings in 1991, but that was really a
penalty, not a conversion)

In midfield, Dan Higham selfless went out on the right to add pace to the flanks, and doggedly
chased the ball as Ahab the Whale. Mike Gowland played just in front of the back four and turned
the centre of midfield into a blockade, refusing the opposition any chance to play the ball through
the middle. Mike was the anchor that gave James Perkins’ spirit the freedom to roam, and roam
he did, covering every blade of grass. Rob Cumber on the left showed industry and purpose in
getting forward and coming infield, searching for the ball like a pig hunts for truffles.

Garry Cumber, fresh from his goal from the bench last week (not actually from the bench, if you
like that kind of thing, check out Dragan Stojkovic’s [Youtube, so not at work] effort for that) got
himself a start and helped to peg the opposition back, closing down defenders with purpose and
intent.

The team talk was the same as usual; the pre-match exhortations with which we are so familiar
getting the team in the correct frame of mind and we charged into the opposition from the off.
There was a flurry of fouls, free kicks given for the merest shove, and the game was disjointed.
As we settled into our rhythm, we got the ball on the ground and passed it around, offering
support and angles to the man in possession. I stole in to claim a bouncing ball in the gap
between defence and midfield, and dribbled to the right. I looked up but didn’t register anything
and was about to play a pass to probably nowhere in particular when one of their defenders very
kindly fouled me to stop any further confusion on my part. Scott Meyern stepped up and drifted in
the cross and James Perkins thumped a header through the keeper to open the scoring. It was
no more than we deserved.

Despite being in the lead, we weren’t content. Any vague scares at the back were met with
acerbic volleys and coarse invective, but the team was fighting for each other as well as with
each other, which is a good thing. (If we could cut out the with each other section we’d be quite
the team) Dan Higham was set free down the right after good work from Scott, Mike, Pat and
James and he floated over a cross that deserved better, as my header back across the keeper
cleared the bar. Some people thought it was in, but it was not to be.

Peripeteia often happens all too soon, and it was the case again as a massive hoicked long ball
down the middle was pounced upon by their striker, who took the ball wide and crossed it in,
where Ben, exposed and alone, could to nothing to prevent the ball being bundled in. The
equaliser rattled us, there’s no denying. Chris Little was booked for a crunching tackle which left
the striker wailing on the floor, until the yellow card was displayed. Rob Cumber escaped with a
talking to after a similar tackle to that which earned him a yellow a fortnight ago. However, the
team soon accepted a collective sense of responsibility and we all upped our game by 10 further
percent. I was fouled out wide by the half way line as a defender wanted a piggy-back and Chris
Little prepared to take the free kick.

What followed was poetic. The first ball was only glanced by the defender, and James was left
with a bouncing ball and his back to goal, somewhat like Thierry Henry once found himself. He
twisted himself into position and let fly a crashing volley that dipped over the keeper into the top
corner and ran off more in jubilation than surprise, assured in the knowledge that he had scored
the goal of the season.

At the half we were encouraged and watered. Rob was withdrawn for Amish, and settled down
with a hard-earned cigarette. In the previous games we started the second half slowly, and, true
to form, we nearly conceded straight from the kick off. The ball was played fast down their left,
and the ball broke to a man on the edge of the box. His drive was heading for the top corner
when Ben threw himself full stretch and stuck out a mighty glove to tip the ball over the bar. Their
keeper was speechless with awe, and their defenders we swearing like sailors after their cheers
had been killed in their throats by Ben’s brilliance.

Brilliance was indeed the order of the day. It was sad for James that his goal of the season was
only to be goal of the season for twenty minutes. Another free kick from the right was only half
cleared, and Mike Gowland, who had hitherto not dared to venture out of the centre-circle, so
determined was he to act as shield to the defence, decided to emulate his coiffing hero, David
Ginola (because he’s worth it) and chested the dropping ball as it dropped from on high before
smashing the ball into the top corner. We won’t see something like that from him again. Nor will
we see him break into a sprint as fast as his celebration run back to the centre-circle, definitely
more in shock than jubilation.

The goal calmed us and we began to move the ball around. Scott and Dan, brilliant as ever, took
complete control of the right hand side, keeping possession for extended periods and drawing the
sting from the game. Amish provided width, hugging the touchline like reunited lovers, stretching
the midfield and causing the opposition problems with his pace. Mike was revelling in his Jan
Molby role, and he popped up in the action seconds later with a left footed through ball which I
ran onto and chipped past the keeper to make it 4-1.

At 4-1, the merest hint of complacency crept in. Garry Cumber was given a rest as Luke ‘Magic’
Mason came on, but SCB couldn’t keep the ball and we were under the cosh. Eventually, the
pressure told as a shot was hacked home, and they were in danger of making a game of it at 4-2.
Pat got booked for stopping a counter attack and we were looking a little bit shaky and Chris and
Pat were called into action far more than we would have liked, especially as they were both
booked. However, they were more than equal to the challenge and we withstood the onslaught.
We broke their spirits when Amish, who had very quietly been having a very good second half,
won a corner which Dan swung in from the right to find Pat (sent forward by Gav- there’s a career
in management beckoning) was unmarked and 10 yards out to make it 5-2. James nominated
himself for the ‘stupid and unwarranted trick award’ with a blind backheel, when passing the ball
on would have put either Amish or Magic through. I then played in James for his hatrick, but he
couldn’t make the best of the chance.

After that the game petered out somewhat. We were happy enough to play the ball around and
could even survive having me hobble for the last 10 minutes after my ankle was taken from under
me. Apologies to Gav for swearing at him so profusely when he threw the ball at my prone form.

Our cup runs have meant that we won’t be having a league game for quite some time, so we’ll
need to be focused in every minute of every game to keep this run going.