Report courtesy of special guest reporter, Nick Garrett, aka Rob G/Forrest/Whippet's brother.

I'm not gonna sugar coat it for you folks: I'm not really down with the hockey 411. So I was more than a little surprised when asked to write this report. And right now it's locked in a gripping battle with the men's half-pipe at the Winter Olympics for my attention. But yet, such was the spectacle witnessed by you, me and various lucky others on the hallowed turf of the Perse School this week, that I feel a duty to tell the story.

I'm typically an arm-chair sports fan and when it comes to hockey I'm more accustomed to watching the 'on-ice' version, so I decided early on to work with what I know: ergo, thus, henceforth Cambridge South shall be known as 'Cambridge South Cougars.'

The match began in earnest: joust and parry, the teams probing each other's defences. But the framework for this match was to be rapid in its inception: the first goal arrived promptly and was followed by a silky second from that whippet of a forward, Forrest. When Cheggers scored the fourth it was, to use a careworn cliché, like a knife into warm butter. And that's the fastest four goals of the season (my attention span competes only with the life of a mayfly in its briefness).

In these early exchanges there were snippets of the animosity to come: The March No. 29 could best be described as 'confrontational' and their keeper as 'scrappy', with a mouth that can only make me believe his future lies as announcer at the Lakeside with the World Darts Championship.

The Cougar's fourth goal seemed to spur March into life as they embarked on a series of quick counters. But any hopes of a potential fight back were doused with South's fifth goal - "BULLS EYE !!!" And that's why you can't take your eye of these Cougars for a second, they'll get ya.

The simmering discontent in this match began with push-back and continued as March's No. 29 was given a verbal warning by the ref. He's a feisty one.

Being on the receiving end of five unanswered goals obviously didn't inspire March to roll over, and their keeper made a good save from South's forwards. That might be the first time he'd touched the ball that didn't involve picking it out of the back of the net. He bestrode his goal line like a fat man at the oche there (they just keep coming to me). The keeper wasn't happy with his defence as they were being a little too accommodating to the Cambridge front men but he might have regretted turning his verbal tirade towards the ref as well as he was green carded! I'm not particularly au fait with current hockey regulations, but I'm assuming that's bad.

Back to the action and Matt Murray lifted a delightful ball down the wing for Forrest to chase on to and whip in a cross. And no sooner had one of my fellow spectators noted that the March keeper goes down a bit easily, than he was on the deck again and someone I'd like to think is named Stuart delicately lifted the ball over his prostrate form for another Cougars score. It's a massacre!

Barely seconds after the restart and "the best move of the match" so far (© Cheggars) results in another goal for Forrest! How many does he have now? How many do the Cougars have? Questions to which I'm not going to pretend I have the answers. But will this plethora of goals come at a price? And are the Cougars willing to stump up the fee?

March had another couple of sprightly counters in the last five, but the dominant Cougars contained them with a brash attitude that screams 'Ask me a Question!!' (I don't know what that means...)

A lightening break in the other direction: pass…pass…whippet…and…! but Forrest steers it wide. He should be benched. The Cougars were playing with a continental flair and balletic grace rarely seen in the South-East England game.

Half-time! It's been easy on the eyes for the neutral in this first half. As I'd so far been typing my thoughts into my phone, and long ago lost the feeling in my fingers, there will be less commentary in the second half. I'm not sacrificing a digit to frostbite. I'm doing this pro bono.

I will take this pause in play to note that the 'passionate' nature of this game isn't confined to the pitch. Old Man River next to me on the sidelines - March mentor and sage old man, I presume - was rousing himself for action: Encouraging the visitors with such endearing tit-bits as, "Trip him!! Lift your stick...!" Although similar in appearance, he's definitely not the man from the Werther's Original advert. That guy looks so homely.

The game restarted and brings with it a brief melee between the two teams. Handbags/Gray GX4000s at ten paces. The immediate result was a yellow card for March No. 29. Apparently I'm not the only one who's a little rule-rusty as he remained on the pitch, argued with the ref and then gets the big red card and he's gone.

There were two more goals meanwhile, one a beauty from someone called Lukas. The Cougar's No.14, who I don't know, so I'll call him shaggy [Ed's note - the has to be Tom, doesn't it?], was becoming an increasing threat on their left-hand side. That hair: feathery and lethal. And as if this game hadn't had it all already, Man down! One of the March players had taken a nasty blow to the head, but it looked like he was ok. Walk it off, big guy.

The gulf in class between the two teams was now vividly apparent - no doubt the box of tricks being displayed from the Cougars here is what's made them primus inter pares in the league this season. They' were camped in March territory so long they've attained squatters' rights. And they were reaping the rewards – another goal, apparently the ninth. Time for substitutions with four-goal hero Forrest taking five. The battle for top-scorer raged on incessantly, as Chris remained on the pitch with a chance to add to his tally.

And there it was, full-time! The whistle rang out like a death toll for March's title hopes (...oh, apparently they're in a relegation dog-fight. Well today wont help that either). There were some handshakes, not all seemingly heartfelt. There was no love lost out there. 11-0 - it was like lions and Christians (In fact, to extend the metaphor, the March captain looked rather like a certain philanthropic carpenter in my opinion – to be honest, though, I haven't had a lot of back-up on that one). I note that the ref lingers, presumably awaiting an armed-guard to the car park.

And so Cambridge South march on. What will the end of the season bring? Riches? Untold fame and glory? Only time will tell…