Several remarkable things happened this week to make match day 18 memorable, however neither the score line, run of play, or quality of football played are are items I will recount with great fondness.

After three weeks of “remise general” caused by sub-zero temperatures, the Best Day of The Week was back with a vengeance of blazing sun and temperatures clement enough to perform in even without an undershirt.

From a fixtures perspective, on this first day back since 3 weeks of Saturdays spent in shopping centres with our WAGS, we were blessed to be playing a team fighting for relegation whilst our silverware sniffing rivals faced the formidable Portugal; one of the only two other teams still contending for the league title. Muck like the remaining 8 fixtures, day 18 was critical in allowing us the possibility to trash our own aspirations for 1st division glory whilst putting the pressure on our rivals to do the same … The time was 14H00 (GMT+1), we’re still real league champion contenders, and the last 9 games of ABSSA Div.1 - 2011-12 are kicking off.

The game got off to a relatively good start despite early warning signs that the refereeing was going to be abysmal, biased and general void of its key function, which in my humble opinion is; the protection of players from thuggish relegation-zone menaces.

Unphased by repeatedly inaccurate off-side decisions or casually overlooked yellow-card offences stifling the run of play, the British continued their assault on the perennially back footed St George for the majority of the first half. Critically however, both the service being delivered to the forwards and the quality of the finishing justified the insipid 0-0 half time score. Short as my description of the first 35mins may be, one of our lovingly devoted coaches, (the sweet, esteemed, Southernly spoken, pulchritudinous Jimmy Donnelly being the other) kindly regurgitated the events in a vitriolic half time monologue….

Noted for being a severe and largely unprecedented, the fleeting half time soundtrack of John Mc Grath’s bollocking resembled the following: “you’re second to every ball, you have no fight in you and you’ve forgotten everything we have practiced in training since August. In fact, you have not once changed flanks effectively and you swarm the ball like (here it comes, I’ve omitted it until now for you know it was far more colourful) f*%¨£g five year olds!” Needless to say, we were playing like a pseudo-title challenging team and needed to be told, bluntly, colourfully … urgently.

Thank the heavens for manly communication, because it turns out that somewhere in our atrophied football minds we still did have some fight in us and the first 10 minutes of the second half resulted in an spray of energetic performances notably starting from the defensive mid field position (courtesy of joint MOM winner: R.McGeehan) and spreading out evenly down the wings. A remarkably sustained period of British ball possession saw the birth of the first goal around the 45th minute. Starting in our half, then visiting the oppositions central three quarter mark, eventually ending up on the flank where a notable McGrath / Lebbink combo delivered a looping centre spot ball which connected to Schick’s head, finally gave us the deliverance we bitterly needed. Without wishing to remove any of the credit due to the goal scorer, as much surprise lay in the goal being converted as it did in the phase not being called offside – by this point it, given the tally of dubious scalps the referee had already accumulated, it would have surprised no one.

The remainder of the game is as noteworthy for its missed goal scoring opportunities as it is the general unruliness that can still permeate even top flight ABSSA football. Indeed, I have been asked to immortalise my much awaited iconic temper tantrum of 2011-12 which was ignited by sustaining a possible 7th yellow card worthy challenge that was also complimented by promises of GBH inducing retribution. If anything, the frustration was more keenly felt within the RBBFC IX than with the referee or the opposing players; quality manly communication ensued between some clearly yet to be fully grown men. Needless to say, a more clinical performance from all of us (me included, of course), starting as soon as the whistle blows, is needed to secure victory earlier on in the game and avoid us even giving weak sides a glimmer of hope or inflicting on us the need to blame external consequences for shortcomings.

Despite an inglorious performance, fate favoured the brave and we rejoiced in a joint MOM vote that resulted in a double round of free beer to ease our troubled souls … 8 gauntlet games left to go and we’re already feeling the burden of pressure and responsibility you lot emanate from all over the globe.

By the time we were sinking our 5th ‘pintje’ and talking about signing off as you will now, the Best Day of The Week delivered the one last trick it had up its sleeve… As if the day had not been sunny or victorious enough, as if the league was not tight enough and as if we were in any state of sobriety to reasonably process such information - we were stunned into disbelief upon learning a 4-0 creaming of our direct rivals, the venerable and gentlemanly La Lorraine, had elevated us to a league position we’d not occupied in many years.

We are top of the league, I said we are top of the league.

Reporter: Al Lamarra MOMs: Al Lamarra, Rich McGeehan