Sunday 4pm. June 29th. The Old Dublin Roaders versus Greenfield Drive. The Final. The Drive had quietly yet assuredly cantered through the previous rounds. But they were far from prolific in front of goal, had they the quality to cause an upset? It was unlikely, they were missing Eamon Gallagher, their midfield anchorman. The Roaders were confident. Very confident. But had they fully recovered from their epic encounter with Old Greenfield?

Yes they had. And, with nine players at their disposal, they knew that The Old Dublin Roaders' name was on the cup. The game was an open affair, The Roaders carved out several chances in the first half. At times they were unlucky and also somewhat wasteful in front of goal. A bobbly surface was rightly blamed for one missed opportunity in particular.

It took a miscued slice off the boot of Joe Lee to calm the ODR nerves. 1-0. A fortuitous goal perhaps, but it was a lead that the Roaders thoroughly deserved. The Drive looked weary, lethargic, there was a distinct  lack of urgency and fluency in their play. They knew that they were second best. One drink too many the night before? Perhaps. 

The team spirit and camaraderie was alive and kicking in the Roaders' camp, and with a full complement of staff, they used their substitutes wisely and effectively. It was a luxury they were very thankful for after the titanic struggle just a few days before. The Drive could not cope with the fortitude, focus and sheer desire to win of the proud Roaders' lions. "We will not be defeated", the warriors' cry that beat ferociously in their hearts.

For all their skill and creativity, the Roaders' could not find that killer second goal to finish off their opponents, the brave but ultimately inferior dogs of war. But they were relentless in their pursuit of that holy grail of 7-a-side football, the Joe Murphy trophy.

1-0 became 2-0, Ciaran McCarron, a much-needed and gifted replacement for the sidelined player/manager, pounced on a ball in the Drive's penalty area and dispatched it with aplomb into the back of the net. The relief was orgasmic in intensity. That knockout uppercut sent the Drive crashing to the canvas, a fall they would have no chance of recovering from. You're out!

The game ebbed and flowed until the final whistle. To the Drive's credit they forged on and were slightly unlucky not to score themselves. The Roaders defended resolutely when needed but having controlled the tempo of the game from start to finish, they could relax. The trophy was theirs. And it still is. Somewhere...

the end.