So here we were, The Old Dublin Roaders, safely through to the semi-finals after clinching top spot in our group. It might have been only on goal difference, but it was thoroughly deserved after a mix of dynamic and professional performances in prior games. Old Greenfield on the other hand, had scraped through their group with some hard graft and a fair slice of luck. This would surely be their toughest challenge yet.

But, like a sudden clap of thunder, or an unexpected use of simile, our confidence in victory was shattered. We only had six players for the game ! We had already lost our 'Rock of Moygaddy', Pádraig Burke, through injury. Also absent were John Gillespie, who was on a mission abroad and Tomás Madden who had also picked up an injury, possibly groin-related, we couldn't be sure. Now Noel Boyd was out. Disaster. Memories of Saipan came flooding back.

It came to light that certain comments were printed which resulted in uproar in the previously united ODR camp. What could we do but play on. A man down, it was do or die time in the Harbour field. What followed was truly inspiring..

Two minutes had passed in the game, an unexpected lobbed header forward by our talisman Brian McHale and Conor McGinley was onto it in a flash. The ball dropped nicely over his shoulder, and with a nonchalant flick of the left boot, was dispatched wide of the keeper, into the bottom corner of the net. 1-0. The Greenies was dumb-struck. The crowd were awe-struck. The Old Dublin Roaders were up and running in the biggest game of the season so far.

Not long after that it was 2-0. Some tidy play by our midfield henchmen was finished off with a right-footed thunderbolt from Pádraic Flood. "That's in" he announced with authority, as the ball smashed into the net from all of twenty yards. We were flying.

Old Greenfield knew they were in for the toughest game of their lives. How would they react? They shouted and roared at one another, "come on, they've only got six!". Their squabbling instilled an added sense of belief in our ability. We will not be defeated. In the second half we ran and ran, hassled and harassed, but we were running out of energy. Fatigue was setting in. We had no subs. We had to fight on. But we were getting closer to the ropes. Constant encouragement from the sidelines drove us on. Our will to win was fearsome. 

They scored. 2-1. Could Old Greenfield make a remarkable come-back? They had a life-line, not long to go, they threw everything at us but we stood tall and held our ground. Unbelievably, they scored again. 2-2. Our heads and hearts sank. Surely this couldn't be happening? We had them. The referee blew his whistle. Full-time. Extra-time. 'Silver' Goal. Old Greenfield were revitalized, they were now in the ascendancy, or were they? Seven players, two subs, against the debilitated six. Shattered, battered and bruised, we battled on. We will not be defeated was the warriors cry in our hearts. One final effort, one final goal, and we would be there, in the final.

It happened. McGinley controlled the ball, looked up and played a  pass to McHale, who without hesitation tore off, weaving through the beleaguered Old Greenfield defense like a champion slalom skier. Six yards from goal, and with a coolness that hadn't been seen since the invention of the ice-cube, he spoon-fed the ball to Caoimhin Flood, who took what seemed like an eternity before powering the ball into the roof of the net. Agony for them. Ecstasy for us. We had done it. We were there, we were in the final...