A testing few days for the South selection panel had resulted in an ever-so-slightly hotch-potch 11 being eventually dispatched to the Peterborough beach for the final match of the weekend. There was, however, a certain band-of-brothers togetherness, which served us in good stead as the first half was essentially an extended defensive drill.

The new-look backline, well marshalled by Anns, was coping manfully with the various onrushing waves of red, with fellow Tom (Rosselli) sweeping up where necessary on the cover. As we retreated deeper into our own half, however, it was difficult for the respite to be anything more than momentary. There were, of course, a few penalty corners conceded, but debutant Jason Mann between the sticks (whose previous sporting experience seems to have been limited to a bit of mixed doubles badminton) seemed comfortable kicking away anything that came his way.

In fairness, although Peterborough had been on the front foot for the full 35 minutes, their clear shots at goal had been kept very much to the minimum – evidence, one hopes, that the general policy of protecting the middle and forcing the oppo out wide might serve us well though the season.

A Peterborough player later conceded that their plan for the second half had been that we would surely tire and leave spaces to exploit. Well, tire we did. If anything though, our resolve only increased as the minutes ticked by, and it became a little easier to string together a couple of passes of our own and spend some time in the attacking half of the field. After three quarters of an hour of running and bullying his opposite number around the field in full Drogba-mould, Jan B then turned goal-hero, slotting in first-time after a rare Pearson burst.

The final fifteen minutes felt like days, as all eleven ran themselves into the ground. Every trick in the book was pulled out, most notably Cooper’s searching, right-to-left touch-finder that recalled memories of Ronan O’Gara in his pomp, and Sneadey’s shameless blurring of the lines whilst holding the ball in the corner as seconds boomed away. Hearts were in mouths as what looked to be an open goal went begging at the far post. And then, it was over. With a precious three points in hand, it was bye-bye Dunkirk and hello Cambridge.

Next week sees the visit of Wisbech to the Theatre of Broken Dreams. Viva Long Road.