The pre-match chat was dominated by questions. Could Pete preserve his 100 per cent free kick record? Would we survive Luke’s and Nico’s absence? How many opponents would suffer concussion from a German piledriver? Would the opposition bring a full team?

With half of their squad going to be away on a beano, Sporting had tried to reschedule the game to 8am on Saturday morning. Sporting chaps that we are, we entertained the idea for as long as it took to realise that our captain would likely still be in Apocalypse Now at that time. No, Sporting, bring out your elderly, your infirm, your unplayably bad. The show must go on.

The Raiders line up in red, with their opponents sporting green and white. History has shown that the only surer guarantee of victory than playing in red is playing without Luke McDonnell. So with omens on his side, maverick coach Cartier deploys a formation resembling a dyscalculiac countdown: 4,2,3,1. Senior Raiders double-check that this does actually total eleven players, and we are off.

Subs: Jon Hoff, Harry, Daniel Vo, Aron.

 

Mike looks up from the kickoff. Is the ‘keeper off his line, or does he just look closer because of his apparent predilection for pies? Either way, the quality of the cheeky attempt renders the question unimportant. An early contender for Turkey of the match? Far far worse is to come.

With ten minutes gone the Raiders are passing well and building from the back. Mesut Owen receives the ball, spins and feeds Mike Clark, whose looks may be of Gilberto Silva but whose composure is of Ronaldo. Great finish; great start. 1-0 Raiders.

Two goals for Sporting follow a collective Raiders slump, where for ten minutes all forget how to pass and tackle. 1-2 Sporting.

Then just like that, Mike C is through again, latching onto another Owen through ball. The ‘keeper is caught in no man’s land and starts to go to ground. Ronaldo must score. 1-2 Sporting. Yes, with the goal gaping like Harry Kane’s mouth, Mike lifts it over the crossbar. Turkey moment? Still worse is to come.

Indulge me in a short sympathetic aside. The news comes in on Friday afternoon: numbers are low and you are needed on Saturday. Yes, you are a fringe player and your fitness may be more baker’s than butcher’s dog, but the team will support you. And it is only the Raiders. Imagine the poor Sporting left back on first realising that there were no substitutes, then that Stefan had brought his wing-heeled boots and was in the mood to run. I have not seen such a red-faced look of despair since Bao’s last shot of Wild Turkey.

So, having once again skinned his man like the Bastard of Bolton, Stefan gets his reward with a fine goal. Cue delirium on the sidelines from Rich Davis and sponsor Allan Johnston, resplendent in his new red Raiders polo. 2-2.

Some coaches are famous for their in-game management. Before his wonderful recent decline, Mourinho, for example, made an artform of finetuning with strategic substitution. Coach Pat does things his own way: You lot, off; you lot, on. Anywhere!

So a different eleven sets about winning the game. Daniel Vo joins Yoshida on the left to compete for Hopeful long ball of the game, Jon Hoff bolsters midfield, Craig debuts in defence, Harry plays somewhere and Aron comes on up front. It works. Mike slots another delightful pass through to Aron, who hits the spot as only a gynecologist can. 3-2 Raiders.

In the excitement of the goal, the Sporting ‘keeper is injured, which sees them down to ten men. Out of solidarity, the Raiders refuse to take advantage and comically miss the various chances created before the end of the half. Particularly Mike Owen. Half time.

A word for the man of the match, Mike Owen. A true Scot, in his normal life he would not even help you spring him from death row without some payment. Yet here his mantra seemed to be “How may I assist you?” Congratulations on five assists and a goal, Mike.

Now the details get hazy. The shame of the Turkey moment clouds much of what happened in the remainder of the game and the highlights reel, coming soon, will have to shine light on it. Mike Clark kept up his incredible scoring record, completing a brace. 4-2 Raiders. Mike Owen added to his tally following a classic Jon Hoff assist. 5-2 Raiders. And Aron scored a sweet second, demonstrating the wealth of striking options blessing the Raiders. 6-2 Raiders.

Stefan was cynically punished for his humiliation of the Sporting left side and forced to withdraw, letting Harry and Ras loose on the hapless left back. Jon Hoff proved visionary once more, spotting an unmarked Peter Bloor on the edge of the box from a free kick, nearly setting up one of the goals of the season. Will Potter shredded his legs with a series of blockbuster slide tackles. Mirko did what he does and kept the scoreline disrespectable. Daniel blocked it all and did not concuss anyone. Jerry put his body on the line with a barnstorming midfield performance. And Craig kept everything under control, always available for a pass and strong in the tackle. Ah yes, Craig also used his time on the bench to fix the Turkey voting.

So on to the key moment of the match; an act of flagrant disregard for the beautiful game. With the score at 1-2, Sporting, pressing home the advantage, attack down the right. With the Raiders’ defence in disarray, the ball reaches the box at waist height. The scoundrel Bloor, unsporting, unshaven, plainly refuses to withdraw his arm, which the ball duly strikes. Time stands still. Poor Sporting cry foul, lamenting the injustice. Ignoble Bloor, the blaggard, does not stop. Worse, yet, he plays on. The honourable Raiders, reputation besmirched, beseech him, implore him to confess. He shrugs them aside. Like Henry against the Irish, he is stained with disgrace. Kick it out. Cast him out. Send him to the damned to write match reports for eternity.

Written by Peter Bloor