At the close of 2009, Howard’s Juicebox were still searching for their first victory. Would their final game of the year provide that elusive result? Here’s the team’s star player Charlie WB with the latest instalment of their story…

‘It felt as if there were an added sense of magic for our five-a-side team this week. It was cup week. Cup week. A chance for us do to some giant killing. Considering we had yet to win a game, this seemed like the perfect opportunity to start.

For the week running up to this momentous occasion we all spoke in awe about cup week. But for all our talking, none of us seemed to really know what was actually going on in terms of the cup format. The confusion was thankfully brought to an end when we turned up at the astro pitches. The first stage of the cup would in fact be group based, with four teams in each group, the top two qualifying for the next stage. Each team would play every other team in their group once. A maximum of a nine-point haul, obviously that’s what we would be aiming for.

So lets just do a re-cap. Our team had now played a considerable amount of games together. We had conceded in every match. We had lost every match. Things weren’t looking promising, but we weren’t put off in the slightest.

This week saw the absence of fan-favourite Olly, the excuse? His girlfriend was undergoing surgery that evening, or he was just afraid of the cold. We warmed up. Standard. No messing about, no muscle tweaks. We started our first game. Things were going well, a few minutes passed and nobody had scored. Then something happened, something magical.

Jack scored an absolute screamer.

He must have been about 300 yards or so away from the goal. I was high up the pitch trying to lose my marker, when the ball just whistled past my head in concorde-like fashion. If the keeper had been able to get a hand behind the ball it surely would have been broken, so it’s probably better for his health that he lacked the ability. So there we were 1-0 up. I pinched myself. I pinched myself again. Then I pinched Jack’s cheek in celebratory fashion.

Rob and I shared a nervous look at each other, we’d never been in the lead before and we weren’t quite sure what the next step was. It’s easy enough when you’re losing, letting in one more goal doesn’t make that much of a difference. But when you’re winning? Well you’ve actually got something to play for. What followed was an Allardyce-style backs-to-the-wall team effort and yet again some fantastic goalkeeping from Alex. Towards the end of the match we managed to counter and Rob slotted home a second. 2-0 up and with little time to go, it actually seemed like we might be on course for our first victory. I was dead on my legs and after clearing the ball terribly, decided a substitution was a good idea before I did something foolish. I watched the final whistle blow from the sidelines and looked at my teammates. What I both saw and felt was a sheer joy I could not have anticipated. There were hugs, handshakes and even possibly a casual bum-slap from David. But that was only our first match.

If I could choose one word to sum up the second match I would pick “tired”. We had obviously used up every ounce of energy that our bodies possessed in the first game and that lead us to a 3-0 spanking in the second. I could ramble on about why we lost and the mishaps that took place, but that would take the shine off of our previous victory and considering its rarity, I think it was a victory that should be coveted. So we lost the match 3-0, lets not dwell on it. Next please…

Our final group game and we had no idea what the table looked like. We knew we had three points and we knew we had all witnessed a goal of super-natural proportions thanks to Jack’s left foot. But we didn’t know any of the other results. If “tired” is the word that best described the previous game, then naturally “knackered” seems to fit the third one.

A victory would more or less guarantee qualification, but a loss meant the opposite, we couldn’t work out what would happen if we drew the game so we didn’t pay it much thought. Alex was carrying an injury, his courage at collecting the ball had meant his ribs had made a nasty connection with someone’s foot, but with no substitute goalkeeper he soldiered on.

We knew we had to dig deep, I tried to call a huddle, but nobody seemed interested so I pretended I was just doing some abstract stretching instead. We kicked off. With an unbearable stitch I was restricted to sitting back and just hoofing the ball up the pitch whenever it came to me. On one such occasion, David collected the ball and broke with a speed that left us all in awe. He smashed a low shot at goal and all the keeper could do was parry the ball into the net. 1-0. We were on course for qualification. This was not to be expected. Stranded somewhere between dreams of qualifying and my failing ability to run, the ball went past me and I watched in slow-motion as my foot feebly attempted an interception. Interception failed. Their striker knew what to do and applied the finish. Damn me and my imagination! Almost instantly our lead was taken from us.

The opposition with their new-found confidence started passing the ball around a lot better. They struck again, Alex held his chest in pain. Then the game slowed down and looked destined to finish 2-1 in their favour. In the dying seconds Jack attempted another piledriver, it was going completely off target but somehow Steve managed to get his toe on it and poke it past the keeper. Salvation! 2-2! The final whistle blew and we were left in limbo.

What had happened in the other games? Would four points be enough to qualify? Did Jack’s shot in the first match break the speed of light?

As it turned out we lost on goal difference. By one goal. A bitter-sweet end for a night that surely had seen every emotion known to man.

We consoled one another and reminded ourselves that although we hadn’t qualified, we were still entitled to our victory pint at the pub and my, didn’t it taste wonderful. Not to mention a shared happiness with the knowledge how jealous Olly was going to be when he found out he wasn’t involved in our first victory.

Our performances gave us something we had yet to see as a team – hope.’