One of the things I disliked most about Kick Off and the culture of incompetent lying bollocks surrounding it was the notion that it was a true game of skill - that yeah, it was difficult to get to grips with, but when you mastered the controls it opened up a fluid world of Gullit-esque sexy football, and good players would destroy bad ones effortlessly. After an office argument one day, I decided to put this to the test.

Amiga Format, our sister magazine, had been a bastion of support for Kick Off. All the writers on AF loved it, and had been playing it for many months by the time Amiga Power was created. They were considered to be pretty hot players, so I strode into their office and demanded the right of combat. I still couldn't string two passes together, so logically I should have been in for a major tanking. The AF veterans crowded around to watch the uppity new kid get taught a lesson.

Since there was no point in taking them on at their own game, I opted for a Liverpool-style spoiling approach. That is, every time I got the ball I hoofed it as hard as I could in whichever direction I happened to be facing at the time, and when I didn't have the ball I launched into brutal scything challenges from in front, behind or to the side. As a gameplan it was about as sophisticated as Happy Shopper sausages, and should have been easy meat (with 72% sawdust and additives) for my highly-experienced and skilful opponents.

We played a total of eight five-minutes-each-way games. I lost one 2-0, and the other seven all ended in goalless draws.

Shit. Videogame.

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