....and what a day it was!

A blazing sun, an endless expanse of blue sky and lush green football pitches set the scene for an afternoon of thrills, spills and saved penalties! The Grove Hill Farm sports complex was excellent. Some of the best pitches I've seen outside of specific clubs. A beer tent stood, temptingly, to one end and a wiley hot dog seller set his pitch next to the exit.

Along side the Beer tent the organisers set up a help desk, with the schedule of games and results board for all those who were bothered with such trivia as that. Gangs of lads stood around knocking balls about, trying desperately to get a keepy-up count of more that three. Wolves seemed to have a squad of about 50, all squeezed into one penalty area practicing crosses. A fat goalie in a Spurs shirt was warming up in another goal, stopping as much as he could with his feet and letting the rest go in with a resigned shrug.

Every where you looked yellow, orange or green shirted keepers trotted fifty yards behind their goals to retrieve the last shot from their "star" strikers. It was wonderful.

Slowly the Boro lads got together, homing in on the Red Lion wherever it was seen on shirt fronts, backs, bags, socks and shorts. At first only four or five, then three more, a couple here, Dave Roberts turns up with a car full, a lad appears on his own, two more...suddenly a full squad of 17 willing victims gathered around Dave as the kit was handed out.

"OK, I'm having the No.7", said Dave fairly, "Who wants the No.8?". 17 lads stand looking at the ground, glancing out of the corner of their eyes and trying to be elsewhere. The shirt is held up."It's quite big isn't it?" someone asks. More embarrassed shuffling. In an unusual display of decision making Dave throws the shirt over his shoulder. "You have it" he says. The shirt billows out and lands squarely on Richard Bendelows head and a new Jamie is born. Richard seemed to fill out on the spot.

The team kitted out. Shirts, shorts and socks. They looked magnificent. Other teams looked on and jealously muttered to themselves. The lads strolled out gleaming in the sun, passing the scruffy Wolves mob, the untidy Leeds and the downright grubby looking Man Utd. Dave left to ref. a game and the lads, (in the way every gang of lads in the world with a ball and a goal will do), started to practice their crosses. One can only assume that we expected to have an attack involving one man out wide and sixteen in the box waiting for the cross. Our keeper (Martyn "Sit down, it hit yer" Wears) strolled over, ham salad sandwich clutched in his hand. "With you in a minute" he said, pulling another sandwich out of his bag as he stuffed the remains of the first into his mouth. Little did we, or he, know the fun that fate had allocated him.

Eventually our first game was due to start, 11 lucky(?) starters formed up against Notts County in their black and white stripes, incentive enough for the Boro Lions. It started messily, ball up and down, no-one really sure of their roles, no-one even knowing anyone elseís names, but then it happened. Boro broke down the left, a cross/shot from an acute angle hits the bar and bounces down wide of the post on the right and with an uncanny sense of positioning he showed all afternoon Richard Bendelow slid in to cut it back into the net from a very unfavorable angle. How we celebrated! 1-0, 5 mins gone and a team that then transformed itself. The defence suddenly formed into a solid unit. They moved up together, tracked back together and covered each other. From this base the midfield had more freedom, more time and this led to our second. A lofted through ball chased by that man Bendelow.

Some attackers dance around defenders. Some hang back turn to make room and have devastating shots. A few others score mostly with their heads. I honestly feel Rich has his own unique style. It reminds me of 10 pin bowling. Imagine 9 luckless defenders in a triangular formation and Rich bearing down on them, ball at his feet. Imagine 9 defenders clattered onto their backs, spinning slowly to a halt, one or two asking if anyone got the number of that bus, one or two more looking through dazed eyes as that man Benedelow skips past the keeper and rolls the ball in to an empty net. And now it's two-nil.

Half time. A couple of lads off, a couple on. We're here for a good time so lets enjoy ourselves. Boro continue to press. We squander chances but who cares we look good. Another attack, two onto one, a shot saved and another deflected into the path of Daryll Collins. He gives it a whack and the ball thumps into the post, into the back of the keeper who was arriving about 3 seconds too late and into the net. 3 - 0. Boro keep rolling forward , Richard picks it up outside the box and moves toward goal cutting in across the corner of the 18 yard area. A shot, zips past the keeper and its 4-0 with a hat-trick for that man Bendelow. I decide to give someone else a run out, but before I can ask Richard he trots straight past me and cracks open a can of Skol. It was a rout and Notts County didn't want to know. With a few minutes left to play, a trip in the box, Dave "Robbo" Roberts steps up and takes control, places the ball, steps back and kicks it into the corner, off the post. Easy. 5-0. The ref ended their misery and we gathered together to slap backs and listen as we talked excitedly about the game. Maybe, just maybe, we were pretty good. Martyn reached into his bag for a sandwich (Cheese and Onion).

10 mins later the game against Spurs kicked off. We were having a bit of trouble finishing, but overall played better against Spurs than we did against Notts County. Spurs had a really large goal keeper. He had some strengths in as much as he sort of didn't leave much to shoot at, but he also had weaknesses. For a start he couldn't bend over and had to dribble everything out of the box. For all our possession we couldn't score, then horror, a defensive mistake and a nippy white shirted Spurs forward stole in to shoot powerfully into the corner of the net. We were there to have fun so we won't be allocating any blame for the incident. We are not here to point fingers. (Dave R apologised after the game). The game wore on. We were missing chance after chance but still had all the possession. Spurs didn't get forward at all after their goal, pinned in their own half. Richard was through, then Daryll was through. Jez Thomas was all over their defence but we couldn't score. Eventually we won a corner on our left. Dave "Robbo" Roberts steps up and swings in a cross that maybe Juninho should watch videos of. In the centre of the box a blonde figure rises above the static defence and sends a bullet header into the top left corner of the net. It was the first real signal of just how important Rob Notman was to become to the team. 1-1 and half time. It was tight so we made few changes, Paul McGreavey cycled up in green shorts, ankle socks and tennis shoes. "Any chance of getting on?" he pleaded. We put him straight on. The second half continued in much the fashion of the 1st, we just couldn't get it in the net. The ball breaks to Jez he shoots, saved. The ball spins back to Jez. He wallops it again, and again it's saved. This time the ball rolls across the face of the goal. Cometh the hour, cometh the man, That Man Bendelow controls the ball five yards out. Things slow down. The sun glints off his perspiring brow, he looks up. A defender starts to lunge in, the keeper wallows helplessly on his back like a whale on Redcar beach. Richard's leg swings back. He picks his spot and belts the ball with as much power as he can. The defender decides not to even try to get in the way of it. 2-1. The Boro are back. Richard trots to the touch line. "Give someone else a game" he manages to gasp magnanimously as he cracks open a can of Skol. Spurs never get a look in. We miss a few more chances and the Semi's are in sight.

After the Spurs game there was a 3hr respite. Chance for the lads to do some stretching, loosen up and work on their moves. I suggested this as they wandered off to the beer tent, Martyn hoping to wash down his Tuna and Cucumber sandwich with something refreshing. Surprisingly it fell on deaf ears. At the tent the QPR players (red hot pre-tournament faves) chatted about tactics and exchanged bottles of mineral water. The Boro filed past clutching cans of Skol and cider. QPR chatted about keeping tight formations, supporting the forwards and playing simple passes. I heard a Boro lad say "Did you see the knockers on that bird in the mini-skirt?". A Dichio look alike said "Play it to my feet, pass and go, keep supporting, keep moving and look for each other." Someone in a Boro top let rip with an enormous fart. God I loved that team.

Colchester, the 4th team in our group turned up eventually and played Spurs. They beat them 3-2 and had a couple of lads that looked really useful. Good feet and fast. Some of the Boro players worked on ways of countering this obvious threat. After much talk and discussion they decided the best method was to take the piss out of the Colchester keeper. To be honest it was all good fun, but the keeper turned out to be an arrogant, smarmy twat. We all hated him instantly. Dave "Robbo" Roberts reffed the Man U v's Leeds game. Man U needed a draw to go through to the semi's and Leeds had to win. In a cut and thrust game, with plenty of needle Leeds scored almost in the last minute. How we all celebrated.

Meanwhile, Colchester had to play Notts County. If County won we were almost through. I won't bother with the maths of it all, but Colchester won 5-0 which meant they had scored a goal more than us. We now had to win the final game in the group to go through. The manner of Colchester's win really pissed the Boro lads off. County were a decent set of lads. We chatted to them and had a laugh. But Colchester's attitude stank. After the 4th goal a stroppy git ran upto the keeper and stuck two fingers up in his face. His face was screwed up in a sort of "Fuck you" way. This was a friendly tournament or so we thought. We now had a grudge match on out hands. The Boro relished the prospect. "I'm gonna knack that twat in the black top" or "See him in the purple? He's dead he is" Were the sort of comments passed around. Actually the Colchester lads were OK, but they had three or four players in who were making up the numbers for them, and it was these "ringers" that were causing the friction. Very arrogant chaps you see.

Eventually the game kicks off. Within seconds they were through us and Martyn saved well at the near post. He almost dropped his Bacon, Lettuce and Tomato sandwich. Our defence looked at each other and for the rest of the game were quite simply outstanding. We had, by far, the best organised and most accomplished defensive unit in the competition. It was hard to believe they had never met before! The game continued. A ball was played forward from the midfield and That Man Bendelow forced his way between two defenders. The ball bounced and Smarmy Twat came off his line. Richard jumped and volleyed a lob. Oooerr! Hong Kong Phooey would have been proud. The ball went up......and up....and up.... We lost sight of it as it entered the lower cloud layer. Smarmy Twat scrambled back. Everyone watched the sky. We clearly heard a Jumbo Jet making evasive maneuvers. Then a Boro player pointed. "Here it comes". A dot appeared. Smarmy Twat scrambled back. The dot grew. It was the size of a penny. Smarmy Twat scrambled back. Ten pence, golf ball, tennis ball the dot grew and grew. Smarmy Twat scrambled back. Martyn unwrapped a Egg and Mayonnaise Stotty. Suddenly, it was upon us. The size of a football. It bounced on the line. Smarmy Twat scrambled back and made a desperate, comical, sad flap at the ball. It bounced, hit the underside of the bar and in. Smarmy Twat made certain when it hit his head and then the back of net. 1-0. How we roared. 11 lads stuck two fingers up at all and sundry.

After that it was all one way traffic. We tortured them. In one of our many attacks That Man Bendelow had a shot which bounced off the keeper for Daryll Collins to slam home with venom. 2-0. How we roared even louder. The lad who had given the County keeper a hard time collected the ball in his own half, sadly under the impression he had time. Dave "Chopper" Roberts kicked him about ten foot in the air with disturbing nonchalance. He turned arms held wide in innocence. Dave didn't even have the decency to flinch when the sad sack of shattered bones crashed into the ground behind him. Martyn was almost put off his Beef and Mustard sandwich. "Sorry mate" says Dave. "You were a bit quick for me". Daves face was a picture of apologetic sincerity, helping him to his feet at least 15 minutes before it was medically advisable he get up. The Half time whistle blows. A few lads on, a few lads off. In the second half Jez Thomas scored a beauty with a strong, confident run into the box and a powerful shot past Smarmy Twat. 3-0. Not long after the third the lad who "Chopper", ermm....tackled, got the ball again. Dave "Studs" Roberts moved like lightening, and I swear the lad went higher this time than he did the first time. They heard the squeals in the beer tent. Funnily enough that lad didn't touch the ball again. In the latter stages Rob Notman picked it up in our half and went forward. He noticed a lumbering centre back and glided past him. Rob was doing at least twice the speed. He moved into the box from the left. Smarmy Twat came out. Rob unleashed a screamer into the top right corner. 4-0. Smarmy Twat still advanced. The lumbering centre back eventually finished his turn. Smarmy Twat crouched to narrow the angle. Lumbering Centre Back informed Smarmy Twat that the ball was in the net. Rich came off again and looked for the Skol. Smarmy suddenly had a bad injury and spent the last 5 mins limping around. Fanny. The ref blows for full time and Colchester wander off dejected. Boro are through to the semies. Marty celebrates with a Chicken and salad sandich.

To Be Continued....................... Don't miss the next exciting installment - Forest gets the "chopper".

Part 2.......

The story so far.....

...Boro thrash all and sundry with total football coming out on top of their group with most goals scored (11) and only one conceded. (We were there to enjoy ourselves so no finger pointing etc etc (Dave R apologised after the game)).

As the tired, but happy, warriors trooped off the battlefield they wondered about their semi-final opposition. It was down to the outcome of the Forest v's AEK Athens encounter. Forest needed to win to qualify and AEK would go through with a draw. It was 0-0 with seconds to go as we approached the field. Suddenly a roar and a loan red shirted player sprinted past followed by 10 others all with their arms in the air and yelling "Yeeeeeeeeeeesssssssssss!". The AEK Athens keeper dejectedly retrieved the ball from the net and kicked it up the field. Martyn suggested that it would be Forest in the semi. Dave told him not to speak with his mouthful, and Chris Stevens dusted the crumbs of a Cheese Savoury buttie of his shoulder. Seconds later the ref blew his whistle and our Semi Finals oppostion celebrated with gusto.

It was a pity AEK had gone out. They celebrated everything in style. Even corners were greeted with a mini pitch invasion. In their first game they had beaten Stockport 5-0 and spent almost the entire game with wives, girlfriends, substitutes and children running onto the pitch screeching with Joy and waving dodgy looking Donner Kebabs in the air. Martyn looked on enviously.

The Semi resulted in Boro's first shirt clash of the day. The officials had set aside an Arsenal away kit for just such purposes so both teams were very keen not to have to touch the bloody things. Forest swapped for an earlier game so felt they had done their bit, it was now our go. We retorted with "No sodding way am I taking this shirt off. EVER!" Dave's eyes opened wide at this point and he began to formulate excuses to give to the Club. "You only returned 3 shirts Mr Roberts!" "Ermm...yes...ermm..we ermmm, it...Look over there!", heads turn to see nothing and the sound of running footsteps recedes into the distance.

The obvious solution was to toss a coin. We approached the Forest lads and soon a silver 50p was spinning into the air. As it reached the top of the arc the Forest captain shouted "heads". The coin resumed it's inevitable return to mother earth. Half a dozen Boro stared at it. It landed Heads up. Forest were about to celebrate when the coin noticed Dave "Chopper" Roberts contemplating tackling it. Quickly realising the error of it's ways it bounced, flipped and said "Boro in red please!" A signal was flashed to the team and a hearty roar reached our ears. They were proud to be wearing the Lion on their chest and relieved it was staying there.

We had a 10 minute breather before the teams lined up. The game kicked off and was instantly stalemate for the entire first half. Neither team carved out a decent chance. Forest were keen on mixing it up and Boro were happy to oblige. Player after player was sent sprawling by "solid" tackles. Shirt tugging and obstruction seemed to be the order of the day. I was quite happy to blame Forest entirely for the rough stuff, but on reflection, Richards sprinting, jumping, twisting collision into their Centre Backs chest 6 seconds into the game may have had something to do with it. Forest were well organised at the back and Boro had trouble getting through. When chances seemed on, a bit of arm tugging and leaning soon extinguished any hope of a goal. It was good to see Boro could easily look after themselves and as the game wore on we got stronger and stronger.

In the second half the traffic was all Forest goal bound. They looked worried and stretched. Still we couldn't get through. Paul McGreavey picked it up 10 yards out of the box to the left of the area. He had his back to goal so turned and hit the ball in one flowing movement. It was an astonishing shot, rising and curling over the keeper before dipping. Everyone on the touch line started to celebrate as the ball headed into the top right corner. Then the impossible happened. The Forest keeper dived backwards and twisted in mid-air. I still can't believe he got his hands to it and I suspect Paul still thinks he didn't. The slightest touch took the ball over and wide by about an inch in both directions. Boro looked on in agony and the Forest players, who were heading back to line up for the kick-off rushed back gleefully to defend the corner.

A minute later the keeper again kept Forest in it with a save at the feet of an on rushing Boro player, but it was not to be and the Ref finished the game with Boro attacking, as had been the case for most of the game and all the second half.

Confident lads rushed up to volunteer for taking penalties. I had to beat them off with a big stick. My arse!"Come on, someone. Please! Pretty Please" I hadn't seen so much embarrassed avoiding of eye contact since Dave "Studs" Roberts pulled out the No 8 shirt. 17 or so players twirled their toes in the turf, busy doing nothing. Dave stepped up. I'll take one. Then Rich, Rob and Daryll all volunteered. One left to take. We had a couple of lads decide they would take one and eventually the responsibility fell to Pete Hodgson. Martyn volunteered but we chased him off. And his pork and apple sarnie. Dave tossed the coin and again the Gods smiled. He decided that we would kick first. I asked him if he was sure. Dave replied that he was. He took the ball, put it on the spot and said "This is a big responsibility. It needs to be someone with conviction and belief in himself. Someone who the team trust and who won't buckle under pressure". As I was about to congratulate him and his bottle when he said "Were all counting on you Rob" and walked off pretty sharpish.

The Forest keeper took position and Rob stepped up. We had seen what the lad in goal could do and I suspect confidence in the spectators was not high. Fortunately the confidence in the players was so high you could have stepped off it and onto the moon. Wallop, 1-0. Keeper not even close. Rob strolled back. Martyn handed his egg and cress in brown to the Ref, got beaten and retrieved it, all in about 7 seconds.

Daryll Collis stepped up. The keeper crouched professionally. Daryll gave himself a huge run up. We all watched as he started in on the ball, and built up speed. We all watched as he crossed the half way line still accelerating. We all watched as at the edge of the "D" he stopped, knackered, and had a breather, then continued with the run. WHACK. The ball rocketed goalwards. It was close to the keeper who went the right way and got both hands to it only to have his wrists shattered for his efforts! The ball took a slight deflection and in. Daryll was visibly relieved and expansively wiped his brow with a big "Phew". We all laughed the way you do when things are going your way. "Wahhh ahhh hahaaah haaa haaa" we said. 2-1 to Boro.

The Forest lad stepped up. Martyn stood on the goal line and bounced lightly. The yellow shirted forest player struck the ball cleanly and it moved at speed but to close to Martyn. He dropped both hands down and left and scooped it up and over the bar. The Forest lad dropped to his knees and Martyn went off on a lap of honour. On his own. A negleted cheese and pickle nestled by the post. Martyn began his second lap. "Sit down" we all yelled "It hit yer". 2-1 to Boro.

Richard stepped up. Placing the ball the ref said "put it on the spot". Rich tried but it kept rolling forward. Eventually it sat still but the ref wasn't happy. "On the spot" he said this time pointing. Rich tried again but it kept rolling into a divot. Rob was muttering next to me. He seemed to think Rich was nervous. Later Rob admitted he wanted someone else to take it for Richard. Said he'd seen it happen before, when the ball won't sit, and they always miss. Rob then kissed a crucifix, rolled one sock down, crossed himself, turned three times, spat into the wind and said he was glad he wasn't superstitious.

Eventually the ball sat pretty and That Man gave himself a little run up. He struck it, the keeper went the wrong way and another relieved red shirt plonked down on the edge of the box. It helped itself to a can of Skol. 3-1. Forest took their 3rd penalty and scored. Martyn shrugged. "Sorry lads can't understand it, I stopped the last one" he said before moving off for a reconciliation with that Cheese and pickle in brown. 3-2.

Pete Hodgson stepped up. The Forest No.1 took position and Pete stepped back. Pete also had a fair run up and he let fly with probably the most viciously struck penalty taken. It went straight as an arrow toward the keeper. The keeper stood his ground but really was done for speed. The ball crashed against the bar, rattled the goal, the Forest players cheered too early, as it came back, hit the keeper on the back of his head and went in. I noticed a smile of satisfaction on Paul McGreavey's face. The rest of us went smoothly into mental mode and as Pete came back and the smart arses went into action. "Cunning use of the crossbar Pete", "Ah, the old double deflection shot, always gets 'em", "Did you not like that keeper then Pete?". Pete just grinned and shrugged. 4-2.

Martyn went into goal for possibly the last time. If he saved this we would be in the final. He stood on the line. "Get on the line" ordered the ref. "I am" replied Martyn somewhat indignantly. The ref shakes his head "The goal line please". Martyn, in the manner of those hard done to, moves back six yards. As the Forest player steps back Martyn goes all wobbly. His legs are like a drunks at a rave. At the same time he is manage to bounce up and down and the whole image is pretty unsettling and the penalty taker was turning a shade of green. The ref told him to stand still and Martyn protested. "Just stand still" said the ref sternly. Martyn lifted his eyes to heaven for support and tutted. He looked so hard done to. Then the lad booted the ball into the net. Martyn glared at the ref for letting it in and stomped off.

Dave "Studs" Roberts stepped up. Pressure was on. "No shame in missing a penalty" he was claiming. about 25 pairs of eyes just looked at him. He smiled weakly. "Well here we go". He walked towards the box and placed the ball. The keeper crouched and glared at him. Dave backed up. A shout came from the crowd of Forest players "He's missed these before". You could see Dave get determined. "Yeah, but not this one" he said and walloped the ball. It skimmed past the post and away toward the electricity pylon 50 yrds behind. We were all saying "Ahhhhhh shit". The keeper said "Did it miss?" when Dave sprinted past him yelling "Did it fuck!" and ran into the distance celebrating. Quick as a flash and still unsure we all joined in, chasing him down and jumping on him in joy. Apparently it had gone a yard inside the post and through a hole in the net. None of the Forest players argued as they were best positioned and knew it was a goal. 5-3 and in the final.Eeee-iii-oooo eeee-iiii-oooo. The Forest lads were pretty good about it. Go on and win it now they said. We said we would try.

We had 15 mins before the final. Dave wandered off to do something with the press and we sat around. We decided that that was it. QPR had won 5-1 in the other semi against Leeds and everyone had written us off. Apparently QPR had played together for years. They were a pub team before they were an internet team. They even knew each others names for God's sake! During an interview Dave was asked what he thought about the Final and he said "Well, I think QPR have peaked early". All the QPR lads booed and Dave came back grinning. You could see the steel sneaking into the Boro team. The determination to win was flooding through our veins. The Red Lion had never been more proudly worn. Quietly the players conditioned themselves not to lose. We had good players in our team. Hard workers. We had a magnificent defence that never stopped. We could win this. We knew we could win this.

The game started and QPR immediately got into the ascendancy. Traffic flowed at the Boro goal, a half chance was spooned, a shot cleared off the line. Crosses were headed out and last ditch tackles prevented runs on goal. Boro were in an unforgiving mood and everyone got stuck into everything. Boro were never dirty, always solid. A few lads went down on both sides and the game developed a bit of an edge. Slowly, ever so bloody slowly, Boro were getting more and more posession. We had a couple of speculative digs and QPR were put more and more on the back foot. They didn't like it much, and were struggling to keep their game fluid. We got a ball into the box and it crossed the line, only for the ref to say it didn't. Our forwards who were stood on the line swear it was a goal. Then it happened. Rob picked the ball up in the midfield on the right. He moved toward goal, cut inside and from about 25yrds unleashed a tremendous shot. It never got more than three foot off the ground and never dropped below 2'10". As soon as he hit it Rob turned away. He knew. The keeper watched with the rest of us as the side netting bulged outwards.

A few QPR players let their heads drop, hands on hips. We staged a pitch invasion to waste a bit of time. Half time and a little chat. We apologised to lads we promised a game to. It had become to important. Daryll Collis agreed to come off a couple minutes after the game restarted and we got another player on. Another chance to Boro but the QPR keeper came out quickly and saved at the forwards feet. Slowly QPR began to boss the game as Boro fell back in numbers. 10 minutes into the second half I asked Tim Lloyd how long had gone. 2 minutes he said. "Shit, shit, shit. COME ON BORO". The defence that had got us into the final stood steady. QPR had lots of pressure around the box but carved out very few chances. A shot zipped over the bar, a cross drifted wide. Martyn collected a few lofted forward balls and Boro players were starting to look tired. Then disaster. A ball was booted forward collected at the far post by a QPR player. He laid it inside and another player in Blue and white tapped it into the net. The QPR lads roared but Dave ran over to the ref. He pointed out the linesman had put his flag up but put it down. Suddenly we were back in 1966. The ref ran over to the lines man. QPR players chased the referee who waved them back. The officials consulted and the ref pointed to the Boro goal line. Free kick! We cheered on the touch line as the game restarted.

Time slowly ticked away. Dave helped mix things up on the edge of the box, and full time came and went. A minute of injury time, then two minutes. A last attack for QPR was snuffed out by Martyn who stood his ground and waved the players upfield. A long punt and the final whistle. We had only gone and won the bloody trophy!!! A gang of lads who had never met before had gathered together, pulled on the red shirts and played with commitment and fire. If we get half that bottle next season from the pro's we will win the league easy.

Right through the final the Leeds players, who were the only team to really hang around cheered us on in that peculiar way "Come on Boro, you bunch of Teesside wankers" or "Come on Boro, your grounds shite!" and we laughed with them. What a day. QPR were great afterwards. Clapping and cheering as Dave collected the Cup. Rob Notman won a football for "player of the final" but as he said himself everyone in a red shirt deserved it. Everyone got a medal engraved with "Euronet Space '96". Apparently when ringing up about the wording on the medals the lad had been asked to spell it out. "E..u..r..o..n..e..t space 96" and sure enough the space went in. But hey who's complaining?

We hung around for an hour or so afterwards and had a few slurps in the beer tent. Martyn's scoop had become a full length dive into the corner, Daves penalty had burst the net, not gone through a hole and Robs winner had been from just inside our half. Much laughter and fun continued. After every song Martyn leapt to his feet and shouted "I saved a penalty" the standard response was a unanimous "Sit down, it hit yer". Dave rang someone up he addressed as "Darling" and we all sang Championees down the phone. "Home soon, see you sweetheart" said Dave. I asked if it was his wife and Martyn said "Nah, it was Alistair Brownlee". We all collapsed with laughter. Dave bought everyone a drink and much to soon it was time to go home.

As we drove off the sun set over the green fields of our victory. The beer tent stood empty and the groundsman held the gate open waiting for us to go. A few empty cans lay around. The silent scoreboard, suddenly not trivial, stood brightly in the gathering gloom, bearing the proof of our victory. Eventually the last sounds of laughter disappeared with the final car.

Against the odds, and with pride MIDDLESBROUGH FC - EURONET CHAMPIONS 96.

Jon

It's worth saying a big thanks to all the following lads, big hearted warriors every last one of them. I'd also like to apologise to the guys who went all that way but didn't get to play much football. You will next time, honest. But we couldn't have done it without you anyway.

Paul McGreavey, Rob Notman, Rob Robotham, Pete Hodgson, Gavin Thomas, Jez Thomas, Pete Riley, Mark Norton, Ste Wren, Mike Dawson, Chris Stevens, Norman Gordon, Martyn Wears, Rich Bendelow, Daryll Collis, Simon Blower, Paul Lewis and James Sampson.

Must single out Dave Roberts for the effort and drive that got us all down there in the first place and also the Club itself for supplying the kit and taking our efforts seriously.

It's worth while thanking Tim Lloyd and Alex for all they've done and will do for the list and also for their invaluable help with the pitch invasions.