The news had been grim all day. Losses everywhere, some heavy. First the Ladies 1s, then the Ladies 2. Later the Men’s. We’d suffered across the entire upper echelon of our sphere of operations. By the time the men’s 4s lined up for the 4pm Ashton pushback, the mood was as grim as the weather, and the weather was, well, just grim. Cold, heavy rain, hardened by a strengthening northerly. Even the umpires didn’t want to be there.

We knew the task in hand was a tough one: To take the gloam of the darkening October afternoon and turn it into something brighter. To win against Southend. To prevail.

We were a ragtag bunch. Youngsters on their first outing rubbed shoulders with grizzled men perhaps too world-weary even to take part. Still, they did. A week earlier we’d had to concede with too few players. Now, we faced this. Our reckoning.

Things started well. Crisp passing into space. A turn of speed from Mike Bond. Connections of three, four, five, and more coming together. The mood lightened, and the ball flowed.

Soon it came. Liam Ferns thumped one in. “There’ll be no messing about, mate,” he seemed to mutter as we lined back up for Southend’s PB. He was right.

By late first half we were 4-0 up. We were Liverpool in a late ‘70s European fixture against an obscure Moravian industrial town. The ball moves from left to right and right to left, and back and then forward, finding our swift attack, who were merciless.

The opposition pulled one back. We didn’t flinch. Halftime it was 4-1. Were we complacent? Hell, no! Sure, the team talk focused on the positives but we knew our work was far from over.

Back out in the now driving rain we moved to consolidate our position. Our rotating subs worked to good effect, confusing the opposing team and resting tired legs. A spell of I don’t know how many short corners yielded another string of goals. An outstanding individual effort from JP saw the back of the net bulge from a long-range flick. Southend pulled another back but it was too late. At the final whistle, the score stood at 8-2. Among the scorers: Bond, Kevin Foot and newcomer Sean Chen.

Back at the clubhouse we understood what we had done. We didn’t speak of it directly. But each man knew it. We had prevailed.

Back at the clubhouse we understood what we had done. We didn’t speak of it directly. But each man knew it. We had prevailed.