The ground, a typically soulless Soviet-style concrete arena, attracted a mere 200 or so supporters for this end-of-season top league fixture probably just as well considering what happened next.
The striker I was watching played a blinder. Every ball forward went to him; he danced past defenders and had shot upon shot on goal. When he buried his first one, the president nudged me and said 'Not bad eh?' with a meaningful smile, and he kept on grinning. Although I lost count of how many times the player ended up one on one with the opposing goalkeeper, a total of two goals and two assists away from home against what, according the league table, was supposedly the stronger side would impress any scout
except that I was becoming increasingly uneasy about events as the game unfolded.