Every part of this match was untraditional, bordering on blasphemic. A lot of this feels like what a lot of people absolutely do not want football to be like, but then when football is like this, it starts to feel quite fun.
That solid outfield nine with their lone striker and their height for set-pieces could be just the thing for survival. But what if it's not fun?
As football develops its technical side, one thing becomes clearer: it's really better watched there, with a beer.
This game was important for the players to build up their fitness, and then fans are encouraged to treat it that way, watching carefully to see if the players are getting their sprints in. Never mind expected goals, give me the expected Body Mass Index and a trophy to go along with it.
Somewhere in this uncanny hinterland between kickabout and full league match, someone risks getting hurt, especially a schoolboy trying to work out how things work, where a bitter clogger thinks he can teach him.
Yes there's a reason I'm just telling you the squad numbers now instead of talking about the football.
The best part of these two goals was Richard Keogh rolling his eyeballs and shouting at all his teammates. He's trying to play like Franz Beckenbauer these days, but, like, like Franz Beckenbauer these days, if you see what I mean.
Driving out to the former nursing college to be poked, prodded, scanned and measured has something of the school trip about it for the players, because it's not a holiday, but it's not like going to work either, and most of all because they get to wear their own clothes.
Four Bruno Ribeiro free-kicks and four Ian Harte headers. And four goals!