Team: GK: Mercelis Defence: Lebbink, Mojena, Lachia, McGrath, De Roeck Midfield: Lamarra, McGeehan, Ricketts Attack: Vadora, Kellermann Subs: Legere, Hodgson

With that incredibly annoying UEFA jingle still reverberating in our heads following RBBFC’s thrilling victory last week over La Lorraine, meaning that the league title was secure with six games left to play, the team arrived for the match against Portugal FC in relaxed and festive mood.

So relaxed, in fact, that various outrageous rumours were sweeping Rosieres - that Sylvain was arriving straight from a seedy Bangkok nuit blanche, that Steve's finger had swelled into the size of a large carrot, that Richard had been spotted sipping a gin and diet tonic on Friday evening, and that a private area with magnums of Cristal had been reserved at Ethnic in the name of "Massimo y Jonny".

So festive, in fact, that – having had the "Any Given Sunday" DVD on repeat during the week in preparation for The Big Pre-Match Speech - Coach McGrath suddenly forgot his Al Pacino lines and failed to notice his son delivering the starting line-up. Taking his time to perfect the beat? Was he thinking of "Scarface" or "The Godfather" instead? I have no idea. The team was told to "focus on one thing you could improve today" (I thought of my scissors/paper/stone performance) and emerged, blinking and confused into the light, and set about trying to defeat the skilful and tricky Portuguese team, something which hadn't happened for several years.

The game kicked off and it was immediately scrappy, with RBBFC denying the Portuguese space and time on the wet surface, asserting our physical presence and pressing hard as Joao passed to Joao Paolo, back to Joao, and then on to Joao again. This paid off relatively quickly as Ed headed the ball on, Micky made life difficult for their right-back, whose suicidal back pass was happily snapped up by Tommy who rounded the keeper and passed the ball into the empty net. Joga bonito!

The first half followed a similar pattern, enlivened only by the ongoing dialogue between the referee and the Portuguese captain, whose lively discussion on the situation in Ukraine eventually resulted in a yellow card for the latter, as the chant of "You’re just a fat Abel Xavier" could be heard coming from the sidelines. The team was defending well, with the returning Nils and Sylvain forming ABSSA's calmest centre-back partnership alongside the equally assured Jonny 5, while Didi and Kevin were bossing the spaces in front of them, as the Joaos had most of the possession but didn’t do very much with it.

The half-time message was clear: keep shutting down space, pressing and passing accurately, and the match was ours. The midfield trio of Steve, Richard and Ed continued to disrupt the Portuguese rhythm, putting in tackles, interceptions and trying to break forward on the counter attack with the hard working Micky and Tommy. Goalkeeper Kris – whose powers of mental concentration this season must be applauded, not only because of his Red Bull regime – was called on to deal with several awkward shots and crosses, while the defence continued to hold firm as a bus was parked across the RBBFC area.

As the Portuguese defence decided to all start playing libero along their captain (the chant had, by now, been changed to “Fernando Couto”), big spaces began to appear in behind, one of which was exploited by Stevie, who dashed into the box following a deft pass by Didi and chipped the keeper. Dois a zero! Several other breakaways could have resulted in further goals, but after a draining match, the men in white (Nils, Tommy and others trying to imitate an over-elaborate Arsenal move) couldn’t quite find the finishing touch. On came Lolo and Hodgey to stabilise matters, and shortly afterwards the final whistle blew.

Another three points, free beers, the usual camp tribute songs in the bar afterwards, and the invincible record for the season is STILL on - a shame that this season has to end really, and it STILL feels good to have no hair.

Reporter and (Scissors/Paper/Stone champion) MOM: Ed Ricketts