“God,” said Einstein, “does not play dice.” And who am I to argue?

SCB’s latest victory was not

due to the variances of weather, surface or refereeing, it was down to endeavour, skill, teamwork
and unbelievable tekkers.

Matthew 7:24-7 teaches us that the foolish man builds his house on sand, but the wise man
builds upon the rock. So it was that Ben Gunn was back in goal, dominant in all he surveyed,
plucking balls out of the sky like a gecko catching flies and scooping everything up like a bottom
trawler. Dolphin (read-strikers legs) or no dolphin, he was going to save it.
Ade Shitta was at right back, in some of the most sartorially risky boots I’ve seen on a pitch in
some time, but he pulled off both them and some hair-raising slide tackles, as well as showing
great tactical nous to sweep around on occasion. Centrebacks were Ben Bright Davies (massive,
crunching, reads the game like a loved novel) and Mike Gowland (master of all positions, lippy),
contrasting like Fire and Ice in playing styles but doing the job with panache and flair. Rob
Robinson will have tired of the Alexi Lalas comparisons by now, but his performance wouldn’t
have been out of place in the gung-ho wonderfest that was USA 94 World Cup. He scampered up
and down the touchline like a hummingbird, and if the AFA was prepared to invest in ProZone I’m
sure his name would have been atop the distance covered list.

If someone worked harder than Rob, it would have been one of our centre-midfield pairing. Dan
Higham and Jimmy Mellor never stopped moving, cajoling, winning, wanting. As fearsome as the
Valkyries and as effective as Blitzkrieg, never has the term engine room been so apt. The
midfield was completed by our flying wingers, Amish Patel and Ligio Martinez, who both tackled
and tracked like men possessed without the ball and showed guile and deftness of touch worthy
of a greater stage.

Up front I was joined by Jake. Despite a cold so heavy he was keeping tissue down his shorts,
Jake showed his class and quality, leaving defenders with twisted blood, turning more times than
Theseus in the Labyrinth and to just as devastating an effect.

Mike Gowland glowered, adjusting his captain’s arm band threateningly to intimidate the
opposition, left nothing to chance, and won the toss. We swept down the slope onto our
adversaries like the armies of Salah-ad-Din at the Horns of Hattin and, like the ill-equipped and
parched Crusaders, our opposition were crushed into the baked earth.

Within minutes of the start, we had won a corner on the right. Amish Patel fizzed the ball in low
and Jimmy Mellor, more of a predator than Jean-Claude Van Damme ever was, fashioned a flick
that was somewhere between these two goals. After that goal, they were rocked as we rolled on,
with Jimmy bagging another goal from close range from a Dan Higham (?) corner before a well
worked short corner between Jake and Dan left Jake free on the corner of the box. His shot
wasn’t his purest strike, but it still had enough devil about it to flummox the man on the line into
slicing the ball into the roof of the net.

Before the game had even drawn breath, we were 3-0 up. I rushed toward a through ball, but the
keeper narrowly got there first winning us another corner, with Amish dealing panic into their
ranks. Though they scrambled that away, Jake was soon released by Dan and he humbled two
defenders before drawing the keeper. Jake tried to gild the lily with a further stepover but the
keeper didn’t bite and got a good hand to stop his chip.

Not to be deterred, we continued our charge for goals. Rob crossed the ball and I, beating the
offside trap, chested the ball ahead, ready to strike. The ball bounced too high off the arid surface
to control so I leapt, attempting to prod the ball past the advancing keeper, but I hadn’t reckoned
with the defender, who treated my attempt thusly, leaving me in a heap, dropped from a great
height. I got up and carried on, sending a first time shot narrowly wide from Jake’s well-weighted
ball. Ligio and Ade combined down the right, but no one could quite reach the cross. I chased and
hooked the ball back in, but the keeper gathered underneath his bar. Amish and Dan nearly
managed to beat the entire of their team between them, but the final pass was cut out. Their
goalkicks and clearances were weak and we pushed high up the pitch, scenting a cheap goal.
Dan Higham, a man who knows (See BoE away last year) these things (Grantonians home this),
let rip with a thunderous first time shot, which swooped and fell like Icarus through the fiery
firmament but alas and alak, the keeper threw out a pudgy paw to tip the ball wide, to shock and
awe from all around.

As the half wore on, we couldn’t sustain our earlier irresistible form. The gap between defence
and attack became too stretched, ignoring the ideals of Arrigo Sacchi, and we lost our
dominance. They eked out a corner and from a goalmouth scramble of epic proportions, they
snuck home a goal.

And that was half time. Amish was feeling his ribs, so James Perkins came on in centre midfield,
with Dan moving out to his familiar stomping ground of left mid. Within seconds his introduction
bore rich fruit indeed. He snapped into a tackle, won the ball and chipped forward to Jake, who
flicked the ball on. I sprang into the breach, dribbled nice and close to the keeper, and rolled it
past him.

Dan out wide was causing no end of trouble going forward, but a superb move started out with
him winning the ball. He played it to the defence, who worked the ball nicely out to the right,
where Ligio (?- makes sense) put in a dangerous cross. The defence half cleared it, but James
arrived to slot the ball home with his left foot from the edge of the box. We created several more
chances. I shot narrowly over after Jimmy and I befuddled the defence and later my goal bound
shot was stopped by Jake’s legs after Ligio had duplicitously deceived the defence with a
dastardly disguised inside ball.

With the score at 5-1, we were in complete control. I was withdrawn for Rob Cumber, making a
glorious return to first team action after several months and a knee reconstruction away. It turns
out I’ve broken my wrist, so we can be grateful that Rob got the minutes and fitness under his
girthsome belt.

My withdrawal did little to stop the white (and blue and green) tide, with SCB pushing forward.
Mike and Ben were taking turns to charge forward, Koeman-like from the back and Rob tried (and
narrowly failed) an audacious overhead kick with the ball loose in the box. Rob wasn’t to be
deterred, and after fine work from Jake and Dan he was left alone in the box. He lofted a cross
which Jake would surely have scored from were it not for the invidious hand of a defender. Jake
wanted the penalty, but James, mindful of his stats and knowing he had few games left to make
his mark this season, took the ball, the penalty and the plaudits. Not as good as Antonin
Panenka, but no penalty ever will be.

Jake got involved with the next goal, as his cross was alarmingly ignored by the defence. Jimmy
Mellor snuck in and rounded the keeper for his hatrick, a poacher with no peer but Pippo.

There was still time for the opposition to score a delightful free kick. Gunny was looking into the
sun as the ball dipped viciously and late leaving him with no chance, but that didn’t stop Mike
Gowland muttering that he’d have saved it.

And so it finished 7-2. Were it not for us taking our foot off the pedal before half time, it could
have been double figures, but with results going our way the title’s outcome is in our hands. Win
all our games and we can’t be caught. We must build on this performance and result to finish the
run in with a wet sail.