Starting XI: Kris Mercelis, Jean Minne, Sylvain Lachia, Dex Bernando, Spencer Springob, Richard McGeehan, Luka Novak, Joaquin Gimeno, Andrew Hodgson, Nils McGrath, Thomas Kellerman

Subs: Benjamin Thom

On the train: James Philpot

A long time ago on a pitch far, far away… from my home, there gathered a group of men. Incredible, not only in their beauty, but also in their athletic prowess and cunning football tact. The gathering was not for leisure, and certainly not for the faint of heart, as the men still burned from the last encounter that had ended in a gut-wrenching draw to the bastardly LXG. Behind each man’s eyes lay the flame of desire to utterly dominate on this day. Richard, the lion-hearted leader, and Hodgson, the steely-eyed vice-captain, incited the company’s thirst for victory by insisting that we build on our play and fire shots when the opportunity arose.

The first half of the match saw much of what the captains had requested come to fruition. The passing was sharp from time to time but nothing to get too excited about. Surely Nils, the deceptive athlete, held the ball well and outwitted defenders. Tommy made aggressive calls for the long ball, while starting from an offside position. Luka brought his Friday night dancing skills to the pitch as he would cut, twirl and tip-toe around defenders. Joaquin with all the confidence of a Spanish bull-fighter took on anyone on the left side while Hodge relied on his guile to outplay those on the right. Richard made his presence felt by ball hawking in the middle and happily, skillfully, taking set pieces. The American utilized his Forest Gump like endurance, and intellect, in the middle. Sylvain used his typical nonchalant French work-ethic to frustrate the opposition. While on the other side of the defense, Entente was met with the fervent flying fanatic, Dex, who can’t let a ball hang in the air, even if there is another human in the way. On this day, we needed a defender, WE CALL JEAN MINNE. Enough about his hair, let us remember Kris’s fearless goalkeeping… done with a smile that could melt any heart.

Second half was a carbon copy of the first half (so just read the in-depth analysis provided above) but the key difference was that RBBFC begin to pour on the pressure with incredible urgency going into the last 10 minutes. The exigency of a victory was palpable throughout the hallowed grounds and RBBFC was playing with a fire that was consuming Entente. But the anxiety started to build, nearing a panic, when there remained five minutes and still no goal. Three minutes to go. The ball never escaped Entente’s half but still they held us scoreless. Was it a powerful throw from Big Jean? Was it a deft cross from the wing? Could it have been a slippery boot towards the middle of the box from a striker? No one could possibly recall the origin of that mythical ball that floated in towards the middle, but everyone will remember, Nils, the cold-blooded, last-minute assassin, "sprinted” towards the ball, relying on his innate goal scoring ability deftly guided the ball past his defender, the keeper and into the back of the net. BOOOM. RBBFC folklore continued its unstoppable expansion as the team, and legendary fans, let out a cry of relief. Tommy scored a goal a minute later, because when it rains, it bombs. BOOM.

Glory to the players and fans. Uno Mas.

Reporter and MoM… was born in the USA.

PS: James was on a train the instead of playing, because the train messed up.