Most of us will have played a game of five-a-side at some point; it’s one of the most popular forms of football in the country, with thousands of teams across the UK – some good, some bad, and some very ugly. For the first of what will be a regular feature, we’re going to follow the fortunes of one particular team from the perspective of their latest recruit. Charlie (pictured below) will be charting the highs and lows of his London five-a-side team, beginning here with his first game for the club.

“Early on Saturday morning I received a phone call from my good pal; Olly, he was asking whether I wanted to join a 5-a-side team with him, the first game being the following Monday. Of course I did. The precedent was set, Hackney, 9.30pm. Team colour? Red. Shin pads? Required.

Olly rang me again on Monday afternoon, making sure I’d got my mitts on some shin pads and a red shirt. I’d forgotten both. In a hurry I turned my room upside looking for a red shirt, but to no avail. Which is honestly really surprising considering the fact that I am a massive Liverpool fan. All I could find was a red string vest. Wow. Well at least now it was going to be guaranteed entertainment for any onlookers. I went to town in search of the cheapest shin pads I could find, which were a shade of shiny silver and looked like something Robocop might have worn had he ever lined up for the great game. I was ready.

At least I thought I was ready, it turns out I’d forgotten suitable socks. One of my teammates leant me his female flatmate’s knee-high sports socks. So there I stood, with my red string vest and female knee-high socks, looking, well, interesting to say the least. At least I had my trusty vintage Spain shorts.

Our whole team arrived an hour and a half early, the idea was to try and gel together before the match happened. In reality practicing for an hour and a half before a match is just a waste of energy. But still it gave me a chance to learn my new teammates’ names; Jack, Joe, Stefan, Rob, David and Olly were already acquaintances. Together we formed ‘Howard’s Juicebox’. Rather strange for a team name, I agree.

The time came to get on the pitch and start the match. We had a huddle. The huddle is the place where great motivational speeches are made or ingenious tactics are ordered. Our huddle was used to decide who was going to be plying their trade between the posts first.

Needless to say I wish we’d discussed some tactics or even “a” tactic. Within a few minutes we were 2-0 down, no big deal. Bad start, we decided to just try and keep hold of the ball. That didn’t work. What at first seemed like a bit of an unlucky start, quickly turned into a damage limitation exercise. All the while we were still adjusting to the new rules; no balls above head height, no slide-tackles, the keeper can’t kick the ball, under-arm throw-ins, and the list goes on.

The ref obviously pitied us, and didn’t blow on a couple of illegal moves – you know it’s a bad night when the ref is bending the rules for you and the other team don’t complain. Probably because they pity you too.

Half-time couldn’t come soon enough. We were 5-0 down at the change over and we made a couple of substitutions. Our fitness levels were highly concerning. The opposition didn’t make a single substitution the whole game, and there we were abusing the roll-on/roll-off sub rule so much you would have been forgiven for thinking we were managed by Sven himself.

The only consolation on my part was that I had been given a nickname by the opposing team – they actually considered me dangerous enough to warrant one. What did they call me? “Wife-beater”. I knew my vest was going to get some attention.

I went between the posts for the early part of the second half, and I must have conceded at least four goals during my tenancy. I went back outfield.

The game was becoming stretched and we had a decent attack, the ball fell kindly to me. It was all in slow motion, I looked around, did I have a teammate better positioned? No? Did I really have to shoot? Yes. Really? Yes. My mind flashed back to the football camp I went to as a child and the shooting practice that I was never any good at. I got my knee over the ball and smashed it with my laces. It was a fairly good connection, but the ball was rising. The keeper tipped it over, even though it was already going off target, saving my blushes.

The other team ran us ragged. The game ended 13-0. We later found out that they have won the league the last three years in a row. That’s no defence though, 13-0 is a serious smashing no matter who you are playing against. We shook their hands and walked off the field.

On the bus ride home I considered where we went wrong. Possibly everywhere. Having your weekly practice directly before the match is never going to be the best start. Not knowing the league rules will also hinder your progress a bit. Not to mention having no fixed positions or having no concept of marking.

I’m confident in saying: things can only get better for ‘Howard’s Juicebox’.”