Futbol Mundial Numero Dos

Oxford 2 - 10 Some other Guatemaltecos

So, once again we wind up out of the city into the hills toward Pradera Concepcion for gameweek 2 of the Oxford season. Confidence is high(er) tonight. Rumours of not only a full team, but a substitute as well abound. Personally I'm more confident tonight, having managed to eat something in the two days preceding this week's game. No rum either, as we're running late - all in all the omens couldn't be better...

On arrival, I'm presented with a slip of paper detailing my 20Q fine for last week's (scandalous) yellow card. 20Q is about 2 quid, forex fans, but gets you a cooked lunch, drink and change in one of the local comedors here. I promise to pay next week and wonder what the Spanish for 'appeal' might be.

With a full team the opening exchanges of the game are quite even, you might even say that Oxford are shading it, particularly when my speculative affort (left-footed too) crashes against the bar and out. Then, unfortunately, a shot finds a way through a throng of bodies and nestles itself in the bottom corner. How will Centro de Idiomas respond to this setback? Very well, as it turns out, as impish striker Adna robs a dithering defender and slots into the top corner. Turns out this was a bit of a false dawn though, as the opposition quickly rack up another three goals to go 4-1 up. Just before half-time some neat Oxford passing brings just, if ungraceful reward as your correspondent shins in a volley for 4-2.

The half-time team talk consists of lots of heavy breathing and imbibing of water. Someone wheezes "we're still in this". And we are, matching the opposition blow for blow for the first 10 minutes of the second half. Then, disaster: goalkeeper Hergil, in attempting to save a corner, succeeds only in turning the ball back to the lurking striker, who rolls into the empty net. Oxford hearts break, and knees start to give way. Truly, playing at altitude is no fun at all; you feel permanently breathless, unable to recover any energy whatsoever once its gone. I find myself praying for just a couple of gulps of good old Sussex air, but there is none. The last fifteen minutes is a parade for the opposition, slotting in six more. After the game, training is half-heartedly discussed, and dismissed. Better luck next week I guess - I'm off for a run.