The day was bright and crisp. Ibiza Global Radio provided the soundtrack. Wizard provided the warm-up narrative and Pearson provided the pre-game distraction: he’d got lost on the way to Brentwood and had inadvertently ended up in Felixstowe…again.

Before entering the pitch, ex-captain Jim provided a rousing and inspirational quote, which beyond its bare-faced simplicity and directness, eluded to what the team could achieve if we really tried. Many people commented on his eloquent and clear delivery during those tense pre-game moments. Those lofty heights were aspirational but not unreachable.

We lined up against a Brentwood side, born of the Essex heartland in which they inhabit: the Sugarhut, TOWIE and…the Sugarhut. However, they looked on the whole, young, relatively mobile and clearly keen. Brentwood finished 6th in Div2S last year, against our 8th in Div2N, worthy opponents indeed.

South opened brightly, with strong movement from Chalky and Jim in midfield beginning to connect with an attacking line of Wizard, Shin and Mann. Some penetrating runs from the forwards exposed serious weaknesses in the Brentwood defence. South won a penalty corner early, which was cleanly taken, trapped and Shin finished, with arguably the best drag flick of his career, into the top-right corner of the goal. Short corner practice had paid off. The crowd cheered. Ibiza Global Radio beats filled the air, seemingly from nowhere.

Substitutions were made and players rotated through the midfield and forward line - but the South team looked in control. Dutch Tijs came on, then came off, complaining of tasting blood - this seemed like a bad thing so he rested for almost all of the remainder of the match. As we crossed over the half-time break, South appeared to lose some of their initial zeal. Brentwood had scored two penalty corners and we’d managed to claw one back, keeping the scoreline level at two-two.

An air of panic filled the stadium, the tension permeated the watching crowd and the Ibiza Global Radio soundtrack was replaced by some hectic Bach played on a harpsichord; slightly unpleasant and dissonant. Ex-captain Jim fell foul to his superior strength on the ball, muscling a player clear, only to receive a green card. Shortly after, Rosselli performed the last in a series of late tackles (mostly committed by Aston) resulting in a second green card. South were down to nine men. They weathered the Brentwood attack admirably, with Mike stepping in to fill the defensive ranks, and Pearson and Jon Mann falling back into midfield. Once back up to strength though, South never quite regained their composure, struggling to build play out of defence and capitalise on the stretched play that the game now revolved around. Brentwood’s attack was unrelenting and, eventually, their no. 9 flummoxed South’s defensive quartet to reach the baseline and pass back to the P-spot for a simple slap in. Two-three. White noise filled our ears.

South rallied in the final few minutes and, with two minutes to spare, South got a series of penalty corners. The last of these ended with Jon Mann slapping the ball in from the right-hand side of the D, straight to goal. The keeper dived flat to the ground, covering his line. Harry dived, stick out-stretched, the ball made contact and chipped, clean over the keeper and into the net. Skipper Harry had scored, he was our saviour. We would leave with a point at least. The opening bars of Elgar’s Pomp and Ceremony echoed round the park. But no, the needle skipped and scratched across the vinyl…the umpires were conferring. Had Harry’s stick made contact with the ball? Was it a back-stick? There was uncertainty. We were going to be denied this draw in the cruellest fashion. Alas, no, the umpires pointed to the centre circle and the score was three-all. The trumpet fanfare started again and the crowd paraded round the pitch in jubilation.

The final whistle went. We sighed a sigh of relief and thought about what to do in training to maintain our composure going forward. Colin thought about how he was going to eat twelve hot chicken wings in under 1.24mins. (He only managed 2.43, closely followed by Shin’s 4.14 - admirable but no fanfare necessary).

Harry also got a yellow card in there somewhere.