BEFC 0 - 1 Lions Masters

In which we lost two kilos each and the match 1-0... The omens had been fair-to-good. Those who attended Bridge's farewell party were to be commended by not emulating the Bridge & other non-sportsmen who saw in the dawn. And what a fine dawn it turned out to be. Sunny & dry. Warm... No, hot ... No, change that: bloody boiling! By 10.30am we had nine players, it was 37 degrees and the nearest cloud was in Nagoya. We were, ahem, raring to go but the ref was insisting on marking out the pitch with a fresh set of white lines. His unfeasibly long tape measure, two able assistants and a geometry set for the circle were impressive credentials but after 20 minutes the pitch still only had two (admittedly fabulous) lines. So under pressure of time he simply guessed the rest and rubbed out the bits which went wrong. In the meantime we scavenged for two other players and got 'Rocky' (a Latin type who had impressed us with his warm-up exercises despite not having any shoes) and 'Kevin' (a Scouser who turned out to be pretty good up front).

The actual game was a bit of a non-event with both teams a little short of zest and zeal. It was too hot to run any more than 10 yards. It took a while for Elliott to realise this as he helpfully pumped balls over the top for our hapless striker(s) to bust a gut chasing. Yes, short passes should have been the order of the day, and in the end we managed a few between us. In fact, we had the better of the first half, with several corners, but Keith The Cat, on loan to the foe, played a blinder, intercepting everything. As the whistle heralded the end of a goalless first half, we staggered back to the 'pavilion' and stuck our heads under the outside taps.

The second half was more of the same. Except that we got more knackered. Rocky got a lot of the ball in midfield, but lost a lot of it too. Biffer was 'purposeful' to his left. Jules was 'threatening'. Rob was doing his usual Franz Beckenbauer marshalling. But for all this, we barely had a shot on goal. But nor did they... until about five minutes from the end when, in the best move of the game (which was by and large devoid of such moments), they glided through our defence with a series of incisive passes, ending with the simplest of tap-ins from six yards. It signalled a vaguely spirited but ultimately futile finale from the Embassy before the immaculately clad ref blew for time. The result: another defeat, albeit a friendly one.

And with that we stuck our collective heads under the taps again.