Deal with it, bitches.

A bit of an unusual WorldNet for me this year as my customary pre-tourny preparations included the minor detail of a lengthy plane journey from Japan, via Dubai. On the plus side, this afforded me the opportunity to read the entire series of Harry Potter books on the way to and from England.

Less rigorous than Air Emirates was the Friday night Orca cab from Coventry up to Leeds, the squad were in the bar and in fine singing voice, so the auspices were good- it was great to see so many familiar faces from our previous WorldNet exploits, plus a few new ones.

The squad as I recall was:

Back Row L to R: Ali Evans (Manager), Jordan Mills, Jonny Hawkins, Simon Fahy, Dan McKeown, Simon Winkless, Richard Adams, Peter Myton, Cross Ross, Gavin Rumble, Dave Beidas, Martin Spare. Front Row: Liam Mcrea, Sam Mills, Mick "The Hitman" Hibberd, Samuel Cledwyn, Ed Silvester, Russ Cassidy, Jed Hardy, Tim James, Joe McKeown.

Actually that had sweet FA (1987) to do with recollection, I just copied and pasted something that Tim submitted. Apologies folks, no spotter's badges. Of course, we were as well supported as ever by Diane, Polly (avec Maud the sprog,) Michelle, Anita, Karen Silvester nee Ellis.

My personal highlight of the evening was sailing past Russ on the M69 in the Orca cab, thereby earning myself and Orca the joint accolade of being the first people to outpace him all weekend (except for a couple of joggers and the old dear in front of him at the Post Office.) Rooters of the evening were undoubtedly another team in our building who were hurling the contents of their rooms out of the windows and onto the lawn at Bodington Hall. I remember my first shandy too. Suspicions abound that this collection of shining wits were from a certain town in the North where I once saw Lee Hughes bag a hat-trick.

Our opponents for Saturday's qualifying group were Barnsley, Birmingham and Brentford. Obviously, we were anxious to get off to a good start in our first game against Barnsley; the last thing we wanted was for the group to go down to alphabetical order.

Well, the first game was agianst those unknown quantities known only as Barnsley and, from an SBA perspective, it was a complete load of trousers. Early morning tomfoolery abounded, we lacked shape all over the park and consequently struggled to create. Barnsley looked a lot more chipper and slapped in a goal in the second half, sentencing the SBA to their customary nightmare Worlnet start.

After this outstanding display of non-football, Ali was calmness itself. Although evidently frustrated, everyone warmed down properly and hid from the rain as we awaited our second match.

The badly-delayed (way to go, Martin) second game was a totally different kettle of carp against Brentford. The match was about 30 seconds old when Sam Cledwyn unleashed a thunderous shot from distance which made the keeper look like a pigmy in lead boots as it ripped over his head into the roof of the net.

Buoyed by this display of footballing wizardry, the SBA turned in a steady performance, showing good shape and spirit and working the ball around well.

With the SBA, however, misfortune is never far away. Early in the second half, Martin "the golfer" Spare managed to bugger up his leg making a covering tackle. Although the team was a bit muted after this, we still picked up a second goal when the Brentford centre-half obligingly volleyed a corner past his own goalkeeper. 2-0 to the SBA it finished.

Barnsley, meanwhile had drawn one and lost one, finishing with 4 points; Birmingham had one their first game and drawn their second. This meant that if we beat Birmingham, we would finish top of the group, but any other result would mean elimination and an early start on the morrow.

Having enjoyed a bright start to the previous game, we were a little unfortunate, after a busy opening, to find ourselves a goal down when the Birmingham striker drilled a low shot home through a crowded penalty area. When I congratulated the spawny boy on his goal, he was even kind enough to apologise for having scored it! Nice guy. Anyway, I told him not to worry because we'd been planning to score two.

Although a bit racked off at having conceded (Ross picked up a yellow card for a poor challenge) we kept at it and managed to wear down the Brummies a bit with our high-tempo, all-hands-to-the-pump brand of football. Towards the end of the half we were rewarded when a few tired-looking challenges in the opposing area allowed us to get the ball across to a completely unmarked and flagrantly goal-hanging Cledwyn, who controlled it before finishing coolly with the left. BAM!

There were a few tactical shuffles at half time, then on with the show and a real boost for the SBA when Liam went through the opposing defence like a bowling ball going through a hospital ward full of people with brittle bone disease to score a rampant goal. 2-1 and qualification beckoned.

Then we buggered it up- a corner whipped in to the near post, a deft header and the Brummies equalised. The matched finished all square at two apiece, consigning us to a match before breakfast the following day. Pah!

Had we made it into the second round, I think we would have been clear favourites for the title. Actually, probably not, but it still would have been nice.

Anyway, after this liberal shower of misfortune, a tomfoolerised game against the Lards, plus a more aqueous shower, we geared up to go to a curry house. This is where we hit a few problems...

The party bus, which we ordered well in advance, took an age to arrive and when it did, every Tom Dick and Harry at Worldnet wanted to jump on board. The amiable scallies providing the service solved this minor logistical dilemma by letting EVERYONE on, so there was a great deal of lap-sitting and (probably) covert fondling going on. We eventually got to the curry house and, bugger me, there were Barnsley, the Northern nemeses of our day. Although dismayed by the presence of the whippet-huggers, we had a pretty good curry before going our separate ways for the evening. Joe and I had great fun booting in the door of the hall since Liam "Oliver Twist" McCrea had gone to bed with our room key.

Ah well, no matter- we dragged our sorry butts out of bed the next day and marched to the very furthest end of the playing fields for our first round plate fixture with Airdrie (except for our crippled golfer Martin, who got a lift on the rubbish cart.)

After a lengthy wait for the opposition, a lone figure in the Airdrie kit trudged up to tell us that, despite his best efforts, his team were all still in bed and they were forfeiting the fixture. Then he turned round and went back the way he came. Gone, and never called me mother.

This meant a headlong rush for the breakfast hall for most people, although some remained and Rip Van McCrea made good on his night's sleep by bagging one for the Leeds Lards against Arsenal. They still lost.

For our second round match, we were against Huddersfield in a new-look 3-5-2. This gave us a pretty dominant midfield, but left our defence exposed on one or two occasions. There were some massive tackles going in and I remember Rich pulling out a couple of fine stops. We were definitely the better side though and were unlucky not to snatch a late winner when they managed to camp four men on their goal line, with the keeper on his gussetts. This meant golden goal.

Cometh the hour, cometh the man. After a half-cleared corner and with a packed penalty area to cross into, Sam Mills pulled out a shifty Cruyff turn on the left hand side of the area, before curling the ball into the far side of the goal with a shot that, quite frankly, no keeper in the universe could have saved. Sam turned in celebration to be greeted by the biggest SBA pitch invasion since our legendary PK victory over Manchester United, many moons ago. The SBA were victorious and all that remained was the punditry.

"It was whatever you wanted it to be," said Sam, when asked whether it was a cross or a shot. History is written by the winners, I guess. Not the next bit of history, though, since I'm the one writing it...

Our quarter final opponents in the plate were West Brom's Boing FC, who wear yellow pyjamas and smell of mushy peas. They were progressing well in the competition, though, and were evidently well up for this match.

It all started so well for the SBA: camped in the West Brom half, we dominated everything in the midfield and pounded their area from every imaginable angle. It seemed like every goal kick they had was won in the air by a sky blue and ended up with us in possession. Despite this supremacy, we only had one real chance when a close-range Jed Hardy effort brought a smart save from the keeper, although Sam Cledwyn came close with a quick turn and shot from the edge of the area as well.

The second half, though, saw a completely different West Brom team. LITERALLY! I didn't recognise half of their guys and there was a definite improvement in their football (no disrespect to the guys whose butts we'd been kicking in the first half.) Nevertheless, I thought we'd begun to steady the ship when they humped the ball over the top to a suspiciously-positioned striker (although the defence all simultaneously appealed for offside and the linesman looked a few yards behind the action, he immediately signalled that in his view the guy was onside, so I personally have no complaints on that score) who ran on a shanked the ball into our goal like the lottery-winning stroke of luck that it was. Despite vociferous protests from the SBA back line, the goal stood and in the subsequent foul-tempered spell of football, Edwin got himself booked for having a big smart mouth.

Sadly, the West Brom goal knocked us all out of goose and the remaining five minutes of the match were all about us frantically squandering possession whilst we looked for glorious 50-yard passes that weren't really on. The final whistle went and the SBA's Worldnet dream went back into the closet for another year, along with Pete and Ross. Although a lot of people felt that we'd been humped and that the Boing goal was offside, I'm sure we can all remember decisions that have gone our way in the past. I thought the refs and linesmen we had over the two days were pretty much spot on and it certainly beat having to find volunteers from amongst our own ranks, which is always an absolute pain in the arse.

Anyway, this marked the end of the football competition and the beginning of the Player of the tourny voting. Both of the Sams (Mills and, er, non-Mills) earned themselves honourable mentions, but the real winner (by dint of having the most votes) was our itinerant midfielder Liam-Oliver-Twist-McCrea, for his dominant presence in the middle of the park. It's less fun to play against him than it is to share a bedroom with him, and that's saying something.

Overall, I was really pleased with the weekend: there were a few players experiencing there first Worldnet, but I thought the spirit was as good as ever. Although we were ultimately undone by our slow start against Barnsley, we played ourselves into contention for some silverware on the second day and hopefully we'll be a force to be reckoned with next July, wherever the tournament turns out to be.

On a more personal note, a big "thank you" to Orca and Mick for driving me there and back, respectively. I'm looking forward to Worldnet '05 already!