Of the thirteen honoured to "Be Selected..." on this fine autumn morning, two failed to appear (Millar richmonding that he was suffering from a malone, caused by some party the night before that he couldn't even remember the start of, and new-boy Tim Matthews failing to appear for his first game, possibly petrified by the prospect of playing in goal behind a defence that had conceded thirteen goals in the last two games) whilst Sidaway called to say that his engine wouldn't start (the one in his car, that is) and he would be arriving late with other debutante Benson.

Captain Clarke, now an old hand at crisis management, had a backup plan ready to put into action, and his brother Colin was dragged from his bed, unlucky to be staying at the Clarkes' family residence which happened to overlook the venue for that morning's game (So what were the primary considerations in moving to this new League, then? Ed). Another unfortunate was Spence, who thought he was injured and unable to play, but came down to watch anyway. On entering the dressing-room to wish his colleagues good luck before taking his place in an executive box, he was well and truly sidawayed. Enveloped in a green jersey, the confused Spence was roundly slapped on the back for being a "good bloke" and coming to our rescue in a moment of crisis.

Unusually, and even more so after such a juggling of personnel and positions, Logica started strongly and created a number of half chances in the first ten minutes. Benson in his first game was particularly impressive and his pace certainly worried the Oakway last-line as a series of quality balls were played over the top for him to run onto. The new midfield tactics, masterminded in the boot-room over a cup of tea the previous week, had Masting lying deep with Lambert given a free role to exploit his attacking abilities. This strategy looked promising, as the remaining member of the formidable midfield trio, Woolhouse, conducted all the play early on. An Abbott-Woolhouse interchange saw the former loop in a wicked cross which was unfortunately headed over, before the early pressure finally resulted in a goal. Abbott received the ball on the edge of the box and turned. As he did so, Lambert, in his free-ranging role (he lays politically correct eggs? Ed.), made a darting diagonal run into the box which no one picked up. Abbott scooped an exquisitely deft flick (nothing like Cantona at all) over the last defender and into the marauding Lambert's path. A rifled half-volley from the Logica scoring-ace was all that was required to give Logica the advantage.

However, Oakway were made of the sterner stuff that most of the teams in this league seem to be constructed from, and immediately bounced back. A break down the Logica right found Hatton with no help, and unable to stop two attackers combining to put in a wicked curling cross which was bulletted home from point-blank range as five Logica defenders stood admiringly in statuesque fashion. More calamity followed as the usually assured cultured-libero Dick slipped on the greazy surface leaving an Oakway attacker with a clear run at goal. Spurning the opportunity of running all the way to the goal, the rather stout Oakway player chose instead to attempt an abbott. As an abbott, the attempt failed, and instead the magnificent shot arrowed over the advancing (and somewhat startled) Spence and into the back of the Logica onion bag. Two-one down.

Now it was the mighty Logica's turn to respond. A sharp attack found Woolhouse releasing a splendid ball as Abbott peeled away from his marker. Taking the ball in his stride, Abbott characteristically cut back inside the defender and an unleashed a curling shot which was heading just inside the far post until the Oakway keeper intervened with a stunning save. As half-time approached, the game swayed one way and then the other : Oakway created a number of good chances which Logica were lucky to survive, whilst at the other end the white-and-blues began to get a grip of midfield, although without creating too many guilt-edged chances, Brian. The half was brought to a close as Masting was kicked blatantly from behind by an opponent clearly inced at being dispossessed. A little contretemps ensued, but the referee, who had taken an excessively hard- line up to this point, chose not to waggle the yellow card.

The good intentions derived from a constructive half-time team-talk were blown to smithereens within two minutes of the restart when an incisive counter-attack by Oakway opened up the Logica defence with some ease and resulted in a 3-1 scoreline in favour of the home-side. If the quite incredibly sad Nick Collins had been loitering on the touch-line and found someone's face to stick a microphone into, the response must surely have come that "the lads have a real mountain to climb now...". Things did not look good as Oakway mounted further pressure. It was only miraculous defending which avoided an increase in said mountain's size. Jobbling, playing in the unaccustomed role of centre-half made two or three quite brilliant last-ditch tackles, whilst Clarke put a mixed first-half behind him with some well-timed interventions. When the defences were breached, Spence was there. Two saves which spring to mind were an athletic tip over the bar of a well-placed header, and a full length palm-away of a blistering shot. Luck also played it's part as a twenty-five yard shot cannoned of the bar.

Logica soaked up this pressure and fought back. A Woolhouse corner could only be partially cleared, and Lambert was on hand to smash the ball back through a crowd of players to make the score 3-2. With twenty minutes left, this was the lift needed, and everything was thrown into an attempt at an equaliser. A further set-back was inflicted as yet another brave challenge by Clarke resulted in a horrendous staunton on his right knee. The Captain could not continue, and was replaced by brother Colin (not the one who used to play for Bournemouth and Southampton). Logica reorganised and continued attacking. A break down the left saw Benson send in a brilliant low cross which evaded all defenders. Abbott lunged at the far post, made contact, but was denied by a good save. Another fine through ball found Woolhouse a fraction sidaway, but the referee's feeble peep was not heard by attacker or defenders. Woolhouse continued and shot, and the pedantic referee decided this threat to his authority merited a booking, despite the protestations of the Oakway defenders.

More pressure. This time a good move on the right flank saw Lambert cut inside a defender and unselfishly square a pass to Woolhouse, who was bearing in on goal with only the keeper to beat. Unbelievably, the portly midfield maestro franzcarred the chance as his first time shot screwed wide. Next Masting played a perfect pass to set the impressive Boyle away on the right. A beautiful cross eluded the keeper and found Hatton at the 'back stick'. A firm header seemed destined to be the equaliser until the post dramatically intervened. How much more of this could Logica take? Finally, the incredible pressure told, and the goal owed everything to Logica's refusal to panic in the desperate search for an equaliser. A patient build up saw Dick bring the ball calmly out of defence. He slipped a pass to Masting, who in turn showed good awareness to pick out Abbott. The deep-lying forward turned, advanced, and then saw Lambert making a superb blind-side run. A perfect through pass still left Lambert plenty to do. It's becoming a bit of a cliché, but once more Lambert's pace and strength took him clear and was followed by a shot of such power that although the excellent Oakway keeper got a hand to the ball, he could not stop it going in.

So a brave fight-back had earned Logica an unlikely point. The midfield trio again was outstanding. After Lambert's spectacular display on the field it was with some confidence he returned to the changing room and attempted to untie his boot-laces. Unfortunately this task proved rather more tricky, and the ensuing serious neck injury will keep the midfield- ace out for three weeks. Possibly the most ludicrous sporting injury since the legendary Derek Pringle ripped a back-muscle whilst writing a letter, and missed an imminent test match.