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Fukuda Denshi, Sunday 18th January.
TOUCHY-FEELY
Remember when you dropped your first E -- Bristol, Manchester, Ibiza, wherever? Touchy-feely, in it together, loving everyone -- and convinced everyone loved you back?
Last week's 6-0 mashing of the French had felt a bit like that. So why were we all dancing alone this week, ignoring the DJ and the chemistry, and shuffling in little circles plugged into our own iPods? BFC truly are an enigma. It can drive you crazy but there's a certain poetry in it.
In 11 privileged years with the BFC I have seen it all -- some of the most sublime goals, comic red cards and some horror defending, players slinging postbag-sized scrotums over shoulders such was their confidence one week, only to disappear from view the week after. That's football, innit.
Analysis of 'le grand blip' -- a result which ended BFC's hopes of a decent cup run -- could prove self-defeating. BFC not so much coughed up the dog's dinner with the two French goals. They even went as far as to tickle his tummy and run him a bubble bath before feeding him little Swiss chocolates as he soaked, the lucky mutt.
UNORTHODOX DEFENDING
Limply surrendering possession for the first and trotting alongside the Frenchman, whispering 'Allez, mon ami! Have a shot, son!' instead of getting a tackle in is unorthodox defending, it must be said. But it's how we bounce back that define BFC, as it always has.
See, we write match reports when we lose too. We weren't very clever today but we will look to back-to-back TML titles and hopefully put it right.
Yes, perhaps Sahara might have started in midfield to give BFC more attacking bite, or the Kenyan guvna, indeed, but truth be told (and no disrespect to the French), whoever BFC started with, they should have won this game. (Er, the 'President of Djibouti' did in fact start -- sorry, presidente. Sorry, Morse.)
Phantom offsides whistled by a referee 30 metres behind the play, despite the fact the (French) linesman had not flagged hardly helped, but BFC can't blame the official, however inept he was.
Perhaps he had seen Evans changing before the game, head to toe in black stockings and thermal underwear, like a frog-diver dredging for a dead body in the Thames. He even wore a mask. I swear I saw a snorkel in his kitbag.
Fact of the matter was BFC appeared to have decided they had pinged in their quota of crosses for the season in last week's big win and lacked the composure to break down a resilient French side.
PANTS DOWN
Sahara and Evans came close from corners but there was little happening from open play. Then disaster for BFC, their opponents going ahead completely against the run of play, Dr Lowes caught with his pants down (revolting image, I know) and Stephan Welsch racing clear to score.
The French had learned their lesson and were determined to put Taka Imai in a jar and tightly screw down the lid. Clarke, on the other flank, flitted in and out of the game -- as did most of BFC's players -- but credit to the French for identifying the danger and shutting it down.
BFC are hardly a two-player team, however, although it was not until the last 20 minutes, when Sahara began exert influence in central midfield, that they looked like scoring, although their decision-making with the final pass had apparently been left on the train on the long journey out to Chiba.
BFC skipper Morson, looking to inject the urgency that was strangely missing, bombed forward looking to make things happen. Tidy at the back, he was showing the way for a midfield lacking ideas.
Players were clattered on the edge of the box, several times, but the referee was not interested. Pomares and Brummie Mike, both on yellow cards, raged at the cluesless official, risking reds.
TEA AND BISCUITS
Imai and Sahara tried their luck from long range but fired too close to the French goalkeeper. Before calamity struck again. Quite how Frenchman Rachid Cherrou was allowed to skip from the halfway line into the BFC area and score, with the coolness of someone putting the kettle on, is a mystery. But he was, incredibly.
There were only 10 minutes left. Sahara found Himmer, who flicked it on for Evans, but his telescopic legs were not quite telescopic enough. Then, finally, the breakthrough. Day's cross from the right headed past his own keeper by a French defender. Game on again.
BFC poured forward but, with numbers over, Clarke, who had plugged away diligently all game, delayed his pass with players left and right screaming for it and that, as they say, was that.
Chiba TV, who had come along to interview BFC players and record the game, had wisely decided to leave long before the final whistle, doubtless wondering what the fuss was all about.
A long, long way to go to get dumped out of the cup but the experience will make BFC stronger, once the sting has gone.
As with all things BFC, however, there was a moment of comedy gold in the changing room when Sahara noticed Brummie Mike's pierced nipple and remarked, in all seriousness: 'It says a lot about who you are.' Moments like that make life worth living.
By Pinky and Dianne
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