Sunday 30 September 2018

SCRIBBLING FROM SCOUSELAND

29th September 2018 - Lower Breck 2 v 3 Avro FC - A new ground today and a chance to have a good jaunt out and do some shrooming prior to the game.  We called at Croxteth Hall and Country Park, cultivated a list (111 species at the time of writing) and pootled at our own gentle pace.  The weather was playing ball and it wasn't a bad morn at all.  Time soon tickled by and we made the short journey to The Anfield Sports and Community Centre where we had a slurp and a snack in the quiet cafe before picking our viewing positions and chatting with a few fine 'erberts.  As the teams warmed up I contemplated the greatest things to come out of Liverpool and came up with the following top 5 list:- Phil Thompson's Record breaking nose, Jimmy Tarbuck's incredibly unfunny comedy act, Ken Dodd's gold plated abacus, the bridge that spanned the breadth of Cilla Black's arse and the factory that made a fortune out of Stan Boardman wigs back in the 70's.  I avoided going down the gutter route after my sense of humour had been questioned of late so I refuse to mention the Rectal Railway Tunnel made by Frank Hornby, the lewd penis tattoos of Bill Tidy and the size of Arthur Askey's nob after the night he spent with none other than Dixie 'Dufflebag' Dean.  One has to show a sense of decency don't ya know!  So, from reminiscences to reality and the players went for the pre-match chat and reappeared raring to go.  This is my fungalised punked overview - all I can do is what I do, enjoy, there ain't no stopping any time soon (ooh err).

Laced up and lunging the Avro brigade created the first chance within seconds of the kick-off. No 8 (Joe Bevan) played to No 9 (Michael Norton) who gained a touch but pushed the ball wide - it could have been a dream start!  Avro continued to advance and whipped in their crosses without hesitation, with a hat-trick of balls coming from the angle the last of which saw Norton gather and twat and force the keeper to smother low to the deck.  After a home break the visiting pack bounced back with a stunning laser-like cross falling to the feet of the irrepressible Norton.   The man with hunger in his eyes needed no second chances and struck the ball on the volley with fervent desire.  It was a sweet strike but alas had too much elevation, a shame indeed.  Soon after just reward for a frisky start was had as the guest No 10 (Michael Stockdale) took command of a free-kick, struck low and with middling pace that caught the keeper unsighted and found the bottom corner.  The lead earned was totally deserved and I expected the time to be ripe for the trailing team to get to grips with these unforeseen matters. Alas it was Avro who nearly double-dipped into the lucky bag of fortune when a break saw Norton flash in a sizzling cross that was inches away from being tapped home - Lower Breck were definitely on the ropes.

The match progressed, No 3 (Tom Kinsella) for The Breck was catching the eye with some quality surges and probing passes.  The opposition though were in control and when a corner came and a simple goal was had by the alert Bevan at the near post nearby fans of the home team wondered if this one was going to end up embarrassing.  A quiet period, The Breckites began to hold their own (not surprising with the increasing nip in the air) when suddenly their No 7 (Brodie Kearns) shot from the traps like a pilchard on a motorbike (don't ask, I cannot explain) and passed a pearler to the available No 9 (Peter Donnelley) who came in from the angle, eyed the target and slotted home with clinical authority.  It was a lifeline cast against the crashing waves, a small salvation that could lead to greater rewards.  The next goal now became all  the more important but the game was duly hindered by some exaggerated verbals that were getting out of hand and causing due frustration for the onlookers.  Something had been said, tempers flared, the referee did well to stop things from turning ugly.  Hormones and idiocy - what a combo hey!  As the half eventually got going the guests were primarily untroubled and their No 7 (Louis Potts) was unfortunate not to grab his sides third when his nimble feet found space and struck a ball that needed a top drawer save to deny.  A corner was the result, in it swung and mayhem in the box followed.  A melee of swinging legs, Stockdale was in the right place and wham my man, 1 - 3 to the Avro Army.  The whistle came soon after, the scoreline was reflective of events so far, there was work to be done for the local lads.

Half-time and a brew was had and a stretch of the carcass.  The sky was blue, the day sweet, an autumnal chill was keeping us alert - I needed that cuppa though!

The second half started with Lower Breck working hard but running out of options high up the pitch.  Avro on the other hand were in no rush and looked to dominate matters in the centre of the park.   The opening episode was, in bare bollocked truth, ruddy terrible, a period with too many stops and starts, little liquidity and an overspill of whistle blows.  Eventually Kinsella launched one for the Breck out of sheer frustration and it could only find fresh air but, it was a shot at least, what more could we ask for?  A penalty shout for Avro came after a period of quick movement but it seemed overly ambitious  and whilst the hopeful's were still griping the home keeper hoofed down field, No 10 (Jamie Henders) took it down mightily well and let fly with untamed excitement - the end result was abysmal.  Soon after though a Breck cross came and was touched wide, was there a change of fortune kissing the rear end of this now scrappy game?  Avro made a double substitute but a shot came at their netman soon after and a stunning save was required.   The ball was retrieved, a cross whipped in and slapped home by Henders who cut the deficit to one goal and put the result on a knife edge.  

We were now well into the last minutes, Norton for Avro could have buried the game if he would have kept his composure and slammed home from only 5 yards out.  He had time but the execution was rushed, was this an error that could turn out costly?  A LB free-kick came, the box was crammed like the underpants of Big Balled Bob the gay love machine from Rochdale. In the sphere was sent, out it came and a foul brought a repeat scenario.   Again quality lacked and a corner was just about earned.   This time the delivery was spot on, Henders crept in at the back post and had time to place his header.  Unified touchline breath was inhaled, a gasp came as the globe left bonse - the groan that followed wasn't of ecstasy but of grave disappointment - the target was unbelievably missed.  This was the last chance of the match and after a shabby Avro free-kick the game was called to a halt.  In fairness the 3 points had gone the right way, we two onlookers went homeward, it had been a good trip out and today's Man of the Match goes to the Avro No 10 (Michael Stockdale) whom I thought was a perpetual menace throughout and posed as many problems off the ball than he did on it - therein an art-form is found and it is one that sometimes goes unrecognised - but not today!   Well done fella!

FINAL THOUGHT - I really enjoyed the day today, the pre-match victuals in the cafe, the general friendly folk whom we shared a few words with and the whole set up that makes these trips worthwhile.   The teams on show are a hard kettle of fish to sum up even though they are in the upper reaches of the league.  Lower Breck play a strange system and look at times to be in disarray and at others to be bang on the mark.  Today things came unstuck mainly down to the fact that up front limitations were had in the amount options on offer.  Losing by one goal seems to signify a close match but on another day Avro could have buried several more and really left their mark on a team out of sync.  I think a shuffle here and a shuffle there will help and there is enough quality in the pack to keep the team honest and vying for honours - it must be done quickly though as the games come thick and fast.  Avro have some obvious strength and play a controlled game at their own pace.  What I like most is the fact when they are going forward there is little delay in getting the ball into the box to the ever hungry forward line.   This, on certain occasions, will produce some big wins and this lot are going to be in a very tense shake-up come the last few weeks of the campaign.  The only niggle I have is that they must not get distracted and lose their focus - today they were nearly denied the full victory and that is something they must look at and ask why!   Overall though 2 fine teams, and this is a ground that we will certainly be back at-  another fungi/footy combo and snacks in the cafe to boot - tis all grand stuff!

Tuesday 25 September 2018

TO ESCAPE THE CRITICAL LIST

24th September 2018 - Stockport Town 3 v 0 Maine Road - Between the two teams on show tonight there has been mustered up a paltry 12 points from a total of 15 games (45 possible points).  This, as the headmaster of the footballing school would say, 'is not good enough', and a scribble of a red inked 'must try harder' is surely found on the early season report.  Like the bowels of a rhino after a sausage pie bender things are far from animated and active in both camps and I personally thought that if any match had potential laxative properties to get things moving proper then this was it.  But would the U-bend of success be cruised down, would the first flush of triumph kick start matters proper or would we end up with further clogged drains of decision and no progress made - only those brave enough to 'scratch, sniff and find out' from the lower depths of the First Division South will learn the truth - I was one such soul! Another was STP Stu whom I met and enjoyed the game with.  The day had been spent trying to make headway through a heap of fungal specimens and preparing for a week of work and wildlife recording - plus trying to get over this darn nagging virus - the football was a welcome respite!  Surely both teams were going for a win tonight, I was on the edge of my seat for the start and it had nothing to do with an attack of the old Farmer Giles.

The early harassment came via the visiting pack, The Town however absorbed like a reliable soccerised sponge, responded in a quick reflex action with one pass dissecting the rear guts of their opponents allowing No 9 (Symon Czubik) to flash in like a streaker on whizz, wallop home and grab a highly crucial lead.  The Road, shell-shocked and shitted up looked to strike immediately back but a crack at goal was nothing less than a stinker.  Soon after a long ball found the feet of No 9 ( Michael Burke) who launched and forced a touch save from the stand in No 1 (Kiarno Samms).  The corner that came saw No 11 (Jamie Hill) rise and put in a firm header that, like the dog of John Noakes, just wouldn't stay down.  A period of probing came, both units were seeking a critical killer pass, Road were the ones to have the next decent dig when No 8 (Jamie Roe) played the ball to No 10 (Ben Davison) who spun, fired and forced the keeper to gather low.  No 7 (Jesurun Uchegbulam) came at the other end of the pitch and showcased a pair of quick feet that found space to fire in a shot that lacked any real chomp.  The Town were soon marauding forth again with a glorious move that saw Czubik take one touch too many and be denied by a prostrate keeper.  A corner was had, the ball came, No 5 (Kieren O' Connell) put in an audacious bicycle kick - it was on target but dealt with.  The home team were on top now, Czubik fired and forced a decent one handed save from the man between the sticks, Road tried to cultivate hope but were constantly on the back foot, it was looking like a long night for the short-distance travellers.

The next action came after a Town free-kick saw the guests break.  Davison was in the clear, only the mitter was left to beat and therein a problem was found.  The last man standing was quick and there to block with the old shanks, this I feel was a crucial moment.  Soon after a host free-kick went into the box where a melee of carcasses indulged in minor mayhem.  From the transient havoc a shank was swung and the ball was lashed against the upright - who the Hell the striker was is anyone's guess, it may have been No 11 (Adam Etches).  Straight down the other end we went, 2 shots, no spite so no breakthrough - cor blimey my pen was ablaze. Onwards, a Maine Road free-kick, the mitter got nobbled and soon after No 11 (Jamie Hill) was away and picking his spot.  Foot hit sphere, the outcome was from the tucked away vaults of 'wankism'.  Town pressured next, over-elaborated matters and Road had a free-kick followed by a volley that went just over.  The countdown to the break was on, the home lads had one final dig but the mittman did enough and at half-time there was only one goal in it.

A cuppa, a roam to the far side of the ground after a chat with a fine couple who are pootling around a few grounds.  Positions taken, this is the second half low down.

The start was scrappy and disjointed, no team had space or time on their side (unlike Dr Who don't ya know) and battled like Orgons with hormone problems.  No 4 (Festus Arthur) had an in-box shot blocked but other than that there was sweet FA to get enthralled about.  This was a hive of industry producing little honey but all the while Stockport were providing the greater buzz.  A few bonus boots, no quality at the end, and out of the mix the MR No 5 (Rhys Jones) proved to be the vital epicentre of salvation that kept the team in blue still within touching distance.  The gruelling grind continued, Czubik was a constant menace but couldn't find his range, soon after however a whipping cross was had by the feet of Uchegbulam and Czubik put bonse on ball.  It didn't find the net but was an aperitif for a surging run by the same player who was eventually bumbled to the floor in the box and awarded a penalty.  Jones for The Blues was sent off, it seemed a trifle tough, but it didn't stop The Lions' Etches from stepping up and neatly slapping the ball home.  2 - 0 - that seemed to be about it

The timepiece ticked along, the hosts had the greater chances and looked keen to inflict further damage on a reeling victim.  No 15 (Sam Leadbetter) had a chance but went off target and No 6 (Thomas Whitty) indulged in some outlandish improvisation, produced an overhead that forced a quite lovely save from the No 1 (James Downhill).  From the corner a slight mix up was overcome but a midfield blunder allowed Stockport to come straight back with Czubik staying calm and controlled and slotting home the final nail in the pale blue coffin.  The MR lads still stuck at the hopeless cause and a decent set piece should have brought consolation but was headed over.  Town burst back, a stunning ball in saw several players hold the potential to grab the 4th, when the shot did come the block on the line was world class and deserved of the night time applause.  2 late strikes for the losing team saw the keeper's legs deny once again and the final effort fly over after the ever busy No 8 (Jamie Roe) tried his luck.  The whistle put an end to the agony, the home team were cock-a-hoop with 3 points and I reckon Man of the Match should go to their stand-in No 1 (Kiarno Samms) for obvious reasons.  He was there when it mattered read the game well and was one of the pivotal reasons why the 3 points went the way they did.

FINAL THOUGHT - There is still a whole lot of work to do for both teams over the coming weeks and although Stockport Town took the main prize tonight I was far from convinced.  They have some good runners and move the ball quickly but the test during this game was far from austere and allowed the pack to play at their own pace somewhat.  There will be sterner battles to face, 3 points is better than a kick up the arse but the training ground is where further points will be gained and where confidence can be truly cultivated.  Maine Road are a team in disarray and exhibit a frightening lack of options when going forward.  It seems to be a real quandary as to where the exact problem lies and the manager really has a tough job on his ever eager hands.  The key for me is to keep a consistent squad and get them gelled and keyed up for each and every battle with an inner belief that they can indeed turn this bad run of form around.  There is hope, many a player has potential but only the brave or foolhardy would place any serious bet.  I shall be watching both teams closely and viewing several more times this campaign - here's to some fine outcomes.

Sunday 23 September 2018

UNPREDICTABLE

22nd September 2018 - Cheadle Heath Nomads 2 v 5 Rylands FC - Totally on the back foot of late with the the car playing up and eventually sorted, a fungus walk done via the bus to and from the destination and a ruddy cold seeing me cough and splutter this way, that way and t'other.  After a morn shrooming, a pick up of the car, it was a quick change and out and down to this local ground.  As per many friendly faces welcomed my knackered self, chits and chats were enjoyed and thoughts on the game ahead were pondered.  It was a case of 'who the fuck knows' and myself and STP Stu wandered to our sitting positions none the wiser.  The teams warmed up, we slurped and nibbled (in the usual non-sexual way you mucky buggers) and as time ticked the teams eventually appeared.  The intro today is like the todger of Ronnie Corbett, short and sweet, let us get to the meat of the matter before another coughing fit takes over.

The settling in period saw initial moves made for territorial gain.  The opening action saw Ryland's No 10 (Stuart Wellstead) and Cheadle's No 4 (Ashley Crank) challenge in the air, a free kick for the former side was won.  The shot came via the peg of No 11 (Steven Boothman), the deflected dig ended up in the hands of the mitter - it was an early sniff at success. The visitors built from here, a couple of crosses were poor and a reactive attack from the Nomads saw No 11 (Stephen Kirby) thread to No 9 (Richard Tindall) who hoofed on to No 10 (Kieran Herbert) whose header flew over - intriguing stuff to say the least.  Soon after Herbert was in again, shooting from an acute angle and forcing the goalkeeper to block.  The corner that followed fizzed in like a fart in a bubble bath yet missed all potential takers, the merest touch would have borne glory.   The hosts came once more, a throw saw Crank send in a blistering cross of high accuracy, the crust of Herbert was firm but a regulation save was had, albeit at a stretch.  Up the other end (said the deviant Doctor), No 2 (Alex Davies) wriggled and released like a laxative laden eel.  Wellstead arrived and put semi-glabrous pate on the sphere, the goalkeeping tip over rounded off a quite succulent footballing session.  The corner was cleared, the action remained high, Tindall for the Nomads was denied an advantage and consoled with a free-kick which was duly wasted - wrong decisions can end with heavy regrets.  

As both teams exuded breathless perspiration and critical industry chances became rather scarce.  Many fine balls were falling shy but eventually, from a spot of Nomadic pressure, the Rylands team broke with No 7 (George Riley) placing a keen pass to Wellstead who chased, used good strength and slotted home with chilled measure - the finishing touch of an artiste at work, the deadlock had been broken.  Cheadle looked shell-shocked and whilst recovering were nearly punished as Wellstead pilfered and passed to a colleague who was only denied by a well flung keeper.  A corner followed, a panic arose, somehow the danger was quelled.  Nomads still looked to play their game in their own way - on the deck and probing.  No 2 (Liam Danaher) dashed, won a free kick from which No 8 (Phillip Yuille) launched wide and without venom,  As the Nomads pressed, Rylands rampaged with Davies allowed to escape down the outside and duly cross.  The ball was pregnant with accuracy, up popped Wellstead to deliver a bundle of joy in the form of a goal.  0 - 2 - you couldn't have written this one.  As if this wasn't bad enough another strike came soon after with a goal kick, nut on and No 9 (James White) slipping through after an untimely blunder.  The striker kept his head, he rippled mesh, the game was becoming outrageously lop-sided (akin to the pendulous titties of Unga Bunga Alice from Clacton - so I hear).  

The latter part of the half saw Rylands still keen to get another and Nomads try their mightiest to gain a glimpse of hope.  Riley for the guests tried a long ranger but over the bar it flew whilst Herbert for the hosts had a blast from a severe angle that forced a solid save.  The same player had another pop right on the half time whistle with a pseudo-cross that turned into a bar trembling shot.  On a day kissed with more fortune it may have dropped in. 

The break was spent supping tea and eating chocolate whilst chatting with local Abbey Hey fan Pete. A nice guy this but why he had a pocketful of goldfish on him today was beyond me. When I pulled a face at his aquarium based antics he told me the fish like a good day out and since Great Grandpa Guppy died it was a shame to leave them at home - I think the guy may be on medication!

The second period kicked off with Cheadle looking to get a balance between high activity, control and penetration.  A midfield mush of no consequence followed, no team could gain any form of ascendancy.  Crank put in a tame shot, White for Rylands twisted and turned like a hula-hooping worm but could only spurt a shot straight at the keeper.  From the mediocrity a ball for the visitors severed the spine of the Nomadic defence, yes that man Wellstead was waved onside and bagged his hat-trick in worthy style.  The game, as a contest, had just had the last bit of shit kicked out of it, now it was just a case of how many extra goals we would get.  Once more the home 'erberts pushed and were caught on the hop, matters were however over-complicated by the away pack and only a corner was had - the ball in was crap.  2 home subs came, loads of scampering won a free-kick and as the ball went in confusion reined.  The attackers were slow to react but somehow won another corner from which Crank crept in on the blind side and bagged a strike back.  1 - 4 - surely not the start of one epic rejuvenation?

From here the match looked to settle down until No 8 (Steve Wolhuter) for the guests displayed fine skill via nimble feet and turned quicker than Quasimodo sucking a shit-dipped sausage.  He sensed where the goal was and duly bagged a beauty - it was icing on the crammed and constructive cake.  In response to this piece of brilliance No 8 Yuille produced a delectable turn and twat moment that was foiled by a stunning reaction save.  Soon after Tindall was bustling, ended up in a collision that was duly rewarded with a penalty.  No 15 (Kayle Power) stepped up and blasted against the inside of the bar to lessen the deficit.  The last action saw the home keeper make a disastrous clearance and was spared blushes by an awful return shot - from here the whistle came and tired legs were spared any further embarrassment. This had been an outlandish turn up for the form books and a result I for one, didn't expect. Rylands were good though and the Man of the Match must go to No 10 (Stuart Wellstead) for his 3 goal strike, fair and frisky play and fine ground coverage - the lad plays with a good thinking noggin, a fine season ahead awaits.  Farewells and homeward bound I went - another seven goals witnessed and another surprise scoreline.

FINAL THOUGHT - By crikey what a season it is turning out to be in this North-West Counties nest of capriciousness.  Roald Dahl could have penned many tales of the unexpected by taking inspiration from these games as the results each and every week are nothing short of eye-opening.  Today we saw a very good Rylands team dismantle a very decent Nomads team who were just out-hustled and out thought in many areas of the park.  Time and time again the home lads seemed to be outnumbered and have a lack of options in the decisive areas, something I have no doubt they will address and put right so as to keep them in the upper reaches of this competitive league.  The guests displayed enough promise here to go all the way at the first time of asking, they have a good work ethic, plenty of pace and a network of players that look to link up well.   The season is long though, nothing is won until mathematics says the contest is done - until then, get your calculators out and work out the permutations and to the players involved, work yer arses off and give it your best.

Friday 14 September 2018

DOWN TOWN

11th September 2018 - Cheadle Town 0 v 7 Sandbach Utd - The second midweek fixture and another meet up with STP Stu.  The day was spent at work, I was feeling rather iffy with the guts griping and nausea knocking me sideways - I hope these shrooms aren't finally getting to me - that is all I need, a Brittlegill induced shitting session - ooh me poor Twyford Basin.  Anyway, the walk down to the ground was pleasant enough as the autumnal air was kissed with a chill and the old noggin was perked up a little and a spring in the step was had.  I arrived in good time, had a chat with the gent on the gate and met up with my mate whereupon we purchased tea, wandered to the far side of the ground and wagged the jaw.  Predictions as to the outcome were made, I won't emphasise what complete fools we made of ourselves but I would defy anyone who claimed to have foretold the outcome of tonight's match up and accuse them of falsehood with the scathing words 'liar, liar, ring-piece on fire'.  The 3 points went the way I thought they would go, the way they were grabbed was something of a revelation.  Intrigued? Read on and all will be revealed.

The two sides set to battle, the start was played at 100 miles an hour with a certain recklessness just glossed over by the hard work put forth.  Cheadle were guilty of an early howler after their keeper (Daniel Whiting) had to produce a quick save.  His team went down the other end ,No 8 (Rhys Webb) worked in and from mere feet out had a certain strike prevented by a goal line stoppage.  The ball should have been buried, the chance was gone.  Cheadle continued to work hard, their No 2 (Joseph Neild) and No 9 (Rhys Clooney) were central cogs in a steamed up machine and after Whiting had saved another shot Clooney had a chance to burst netting after weaving between 2 defenders and letting fly.  Alas, he could only wallop into the bracing night air.  At the other end a free-kick followed, the ball went into the box, hesitation and indecision made for a minor mess.  The ball was loose, was it going in, was it going to be cleared, wham, in it went from close range, an unkempt goal for the host's to concede, No 11 (Ryan Allcock) for Sandbach was the fortune-favoured executioner.

Cheadle began to grunt and grind like a gay pig with six willies, 2 free kicks at a threatening angle were won, the first was rather wank, the second ruled offside.  Despite this the team were passing with patience, looking with sharp eyes to find that crack in the Sandbach rear (the underpants department can pay dividends).  The guests were using crowding tactics, giving the home lads no peace to dwell on the ball.  The outcome was an error, the SB squad flashed forth, a scything cross was laden with accuracy, up stepped No 9 (James Kirby) to tap home with ease.  0 - 2 it was, the better work-rate, better movement and better options had borne true fruit, and there was still more plucking to be done.  After a delay that saw the home No 6 (Joseph Shaw) hobble off Sandbach soon picked up from where they left off and duly won a corner.  The ball was hoofed in, several chances to clear were missed, No 7 (Harry Cain) for the visitors was being a perpetual menace, eventually the ball fell to Kirby, he was in the mood for chancing and cracked home to bring up a 3 goal lead.  As if this wasn't insulting and embarrassing enough for The Town two further crosses soon came, Kirby was on hand again to belt forth.  The first shot was shit, the second shot was a hit, pluck that out, a 4 goal cushion was had, the roost was being ruled.  The half-time whistle came after a few more semi-threats each end and an awful Cheadle free-kick.  This was an unexpected scoreline, a 'WTF' event, as we wandered to the opposite side of the ground we chatted with a couple of good blokes from Crewe who were also shocked at the outcome - you just can't weigh this strange non-league game up.

Half-time and there was no tea as there were no cups available, food was running low and people looked a bit miffed.  We met up with the assistant secretary for Stockport Town and he joined us for the second-half, always good company that fella and quite an authority on the love-life of Armpit Ants (Glandosis perspirus).  

The match recommenced, Cheadle Town had 2 early chances, both falling to the shanks of Clooney.  The first was dinked wide, the second forced the mitted man between the uprights to save.  The hosts were still not giving up the cause, No 3 (Tom Ratican) tried a long ranger and saw the ball deflected wide, from the corner nowt of any value came but promise was there and only a minor disaster would halt the progress.  Enter a clumsy tackle, a yellow card upgraded to a red and the home lads were now down to 10.  Things threatened to get out of hand with verbals piercing the night air, handbags swung and in danger of losing a few sequins of control.  The lady in charge took no messing, two more yellows came, the game carried on with little fuss.  A Sandbach free-kick followed, the delivery was choice, No 5 (Kris Stockton) stretched and just missed a killer connection.  In return, No 9 (Rhys Webb) for the Town produced a lovely run that culminated in a firm shot that went wide of the far stick - the effort deserved more.  Sandbach had a good 3 cross flurry next, Cheadle cleared and advanced but a hustle was executed, Kirby the perpetrator duly got the ball, headed goalward and looked like a man on a mission.  The head was down, the legs a blur, the target set and when in range the trigger pulled.  The scoreline went to 0 - 5, and we weren't done just yet.

I scribbled my notes, looked up and Kirby was in to tap home and only thwarted by Whiting's athleticism and awareness - good save lad.  The substitute had a dig seconds later, another solid block was had.  Cheadle still tried to scrape together a goal, Webb was thwarted at the last and No 15 (whoever it was) was working his arse off and duly catching the eye.  Alas, one strong pass, a ball forward, Kirby to Cain and the sixth goal was had.  This was a rout, The Town were down and out.  No 8 (Luke Hincks) was eternally frustrated but did managed to unload a nice grass grazer that quivered the vertical timber - it was one of those nights and no matter what one could summon up, the Lords of Fate would shit on it!  A late shot by Cheadle's No 7 (Ruben Abreu) crawled wide, Sandbach replied with 2 quick passes that allowed Kirby to muscle in and grab the seventh of the night - the man needed testing for steroids, this was madness.  From here the game died a death, it fizzled away like the erection of Billy Bunter in an empty larder - this had been a thumping, one of those home game nightmares that send all pre-match predictors home bewildered and in some cases, suicidal.  Man of the Match goes to Sandbach Utd's No 9 (James Kirby), I could give you 5 reasons why and an insight into the off the ball work he puts in, I reckon the previous textual dabbling explains well enough though.  The crowd thinned, farewells were had, all and sundry seemed in a state of disbelief - what a ruddy season this is turning out to be!

FINAL THOUGHT - The knicker elastic of normality went twang tonight and the pimpled buttocks of Lady Capricious were bared for all the world to ogle at.  The crack of the predictable arse was forced wide upon and from within the rectal area of regulation fell forth an upset that would turn the stomach of any home supporting stalwarts.  Of course the visiting tribe would be thrilled with the evacuation of unexpected triumph - there are some shifty perverts in our midst.  Seriously though Sandbach Utd were on fire tonight and all over the park they were quicker, more fluent and more determined to push forth with control - it was a bold performance and one that backs up many people's belief that come season end we have a definite top 6 team.  Cheadle Town are becoming something of a conundrum and with one match producing a goal glut, another a beating and then another a patchwork performance it seems there is a superabundance of work that needs to be done (primarily off the park).  The players worked hard, tried their best to kick start a stuttering machine but they were outstripped on the night by an opposition who were ablaze and eager.  The next couple of results will reveal more about each side, for the time being I am off shrooming but I will keep keeping a tab on the outcomes.

Thursday 13 September 2018

BATTLING NELSON

11th September 2018 - Prestwich Heys 1 v 1 Nelson FC - A midweek fixture featuring 2 sides from the NWCFL First Division North at a ground we usually visit several times a season. Times are busy at the mo (they always are) and the fungi season has crept in and thrown me onto the back foot with it barrage of conundrums and identification posers.  From the swirling depths of multi-coloured Russulas, beautiful Boleti, tricky Tricholomas and aggravating Entolomas I am glad to rise and have a welcome respite at the game I love.  The day was a holiday from work and was spent, once more, tackling many chores, with a small break had to watch 'Flying Deuces' featuring Laurel and Hardy - and why not!   My good lady was joining me for the night's kick about and upon arrival we met that keen non-league pootler STP Stu.  A couple of cups of tea apiece, a chat with Sideburn Bob and out for the match.  Predictions for the night's event would normally go the way of the hosts but both teams were not firing on all cylinders and there was a slight suggestion of a shock on the cards.  If I was a betting man though my conkers would go the way of the home 'erberts, but take care, you have more chance of seeing the Pope's todger than making any money following my feeble attempts at footballing prophecy.  Keep your hard earned cash in your pockets folks, just enjoy the game and hope for a good un' - tis a simple formula but it saves one having to re-mortgage the house or knit one's own underwear.  So tea and chocolate acquired, positions adopted, teams out - game on!

An effervescent start was had as both packs worked with a high running ratio and much steam.  The first corner came for the guests, Heys remained rigid in defense and even when a cross cum shot strayed just shy of the vertical the rearguard looked composed.  From here the home team started to pass the ball like the food between the claws of a pair of Red Kites - smoothly and efficiently.  Time on the globe was not had though as they were constantly harried and hustled by the the corvid-like pests that had obviously swooped in to make a game of it.  As Heys pecked, Nelson stubbornly squawked with stubbornness and flew away on a 3 touch move to shock the shit out of the home team's arses of hope.  A goal kick, a soar down the line, a cross and a nut home by the ever willing No 10 (Gareth Hill) and the away team had pilfered the lead.  It was a basic, effective and very sweet execution, suddenly we had a game to consider.

A period like the mush of Ivy Tyldlsey followed, nip and tuck, nip and tuck, the next goal could have gone either way with Nelson's Hill and No 11 (Jake Townsend) chasing everything.  As effort remained high the Heys struck with 2 razor cum laser passes and up stepped No 9 (Lee Bruce) to knock the ball home and level the scoreline.  On possession of play it was a fair outcome, now it was time for someone to grab the gonads of the game and squeeze out an ultimate victory.  No 2 (Ashley Brierley) of the visiting outfit took a punt at regaining the lead and in truth his lengthy effort wasn't too far off the target.  Next, and a long ball for Prestwich went up, down and bounced like a lopsided testicle on an egg box.  This angular rebound saw a defender and attacker thrown into uncertainty, the former gave the latter a nudge, the referee considered it a foul and seeing that these were the most advanced players on the park a red card was issued.  It was a bitter twist and ruddy unfortunate, the fellow leaving the pitch looked far from impressed.  The following free-kick was taken by the home No 4 (Max White) who had two attempts at placing the ball into the net but was thwarted both times by well flung carcasses.  The last time I had seen bodies thrown with such gusto was at the Midget Flinging World Cup on Malta where Arthur Shortarse was pipped at the post by the human projectile that is, 2 Foot Thompson - the Human Arrow.  

Into the back stretch of the opening period, Nelson made a substitute, a long shot by White for the Heys came soon after but had more hope than accuracy.  The hosts were now regaining command of matters though and the away lads needed to work damn hard to go into the break all square.  A slight chance came, a ball in for the touchline, Hill flicked on, the keeper was forced to save.  Soon after another touch on from the same bonse led to an overhead kick.  It was tame but in truth, was more promising than anything the home team could offer - the half-time break was needed for both teams and after a few heated exchanges they pootled off to recharge the batteries and hopefully get to grips with a gritty game.

We 3 onlookers stayed put, we had a Yorkie bar apiece, I had a cussing for picking up my daughter's  chocolate and not leaving it at home - I have a simple streak at times borne of a distracted head - ooh heck.  The second half soon came around, I had no idea how this one would end up.

The Prestwich pack came out chomping, No 5 (Daniel Vincent) put in a punishing pass that could only be dealt with by a clumsy foul.  The free-kick that came pinged out, Nelson had time to re-adjust and get their shape and set about the hard-shift ahead.  No 10 (Ris Wilson-Heyes) for the home lads was the first to break with purpose during this soccerised segment.  Bruce latched onto a delicious cross, a deflection put the ball over.  The corner was cleared, Nelson raced away, Vincent dealt with the situation with a messy lunge and duly saw his name go in the book, the away team were doing their job - thinking and frustrating.  As the hosts looked to burst the Nelson bubble of hope the guests still looked in control and had their shit, well and truly together.  The Admirals were sailing the high seas of stress and coping mighty well, they mithered the home pack like flies around a bovines ringpiece and as the clock ticked on Hill latched on to a defensive lapse and looked to add his own twist of fate to a very intriguing match that could still go either way.  Alas the mittman was alert and did just enough to quell the peril - bloody spoilsport.

And to the home run in, the game now appeared to be like that kids game known as 'Operation'.  Nelson were in the role of patient, Prestwich Heys were the examining doctors, prodding and poking and looking to take out the heart of their opponents and bring about their own personal buzz.  Shots came, the nose of decision flashed a verdict of 'shite' and the inner organs of the travelling 10 men remained intact.  A collision after a ball forth brought the Hey Heads a corner, the ball was plucked from the air by the keeper, he seemed to have mighty safe hands tonight.  At the other end the ball went in and out with a handball claim coming from the midst of the turmoil.  A free-kick was given, the Blues No 12 (Kenneth Taylor) put in a lovely chip that just wouldn't fall quick enough.  Into the added time and no great shakes were had, the whistle blew, a draw was gained, Man of the Match for me goes to Nelson's No 3 (Alexander Grice) for his funneled and focused discipline that helped keep the visitors tight at the back and always in with a fighting chance.  He played with the right attitude when needed, as did his comrades, and if this can be achieved with 10 men, what can happen with 11. We 3 watchers buggered off home, we enjoyed it even though none of our pre-match predictions came true - we keep on trying!

FINAL THOUGHT - Battling Nelson was a Danish professional boxer who held the World Lightweight Title after beating Jimmy Britt on September the 9th 1905.  The qualities of this famed pug were similar to what Nelson FC displayed tonight, an enduring resistance to pressure, a durability and an ability to strike when on the back foot.  I was impressed by what the team did and how they remained unflustered and, like plastics titties of Pamela Anderson, they kept their shape when under pressure - it was a performance with many positives and the next time their arses are against the wall, this should be used as a reminder of what is still possible.  Prestwich Heys disappointed me on this occasion, something I am surprised to hear myself say as normally they are a fine footballing unit who play eye-catching stuff with a definite end product.  At times they passed well but when in a position of threat options were limited and they seemed at a loss as to where to go forward.   Too many stray balls were punted into no man's land, too many incohesive moments meant that fluidity was lacking.  They have too many good players in the ranks to let this go on for much longer but work needs doing and on my next visit I will be looking for a much more convincing performance and a solid victory.  

Sunday 9 September 2018

THE JUDGE, THE JURY, THE KNOCKOUT BLOW

8th September 2018 - Whitchurch Alport 1 v 2 Silsden FC  - The week had entailed decorating (still), work, finalising a few fungal lists, completing a couple of CD reviews and finishing reading my latest book, 'Hands of Stone - The Life and Legend of Roberto Duran'.  I grew up watching this maniac box, he was a walking slab of idiot testosterone and never knew when to quit.  He is the greatest lightweight of all time but marred his record somewhat by venturing up the weights and going on for a little too long - he had some classic mix-ups though which, in a round-about way brings me to today's non-league encounter (yes, the pocketful of pseudo tangents are always at my beck and call).  I was hoping for a minor classic here with two teams capable of playing some quite sturdy football that can pack quite a punch when fortune is on their side.  Like the first meeting between Duran and DeJesus, this was a tough one to call, unlike any contest featuring Amir Kahn or Joe Bugner, I didn't expect it to be a one dimensional affair and tedious to watch - who knows though, if predictions were easy we would all have bulging wallets and be wearing those special underpants that vibrate when a goal is scored (come on now, admit it, shyness is a failing don't you know).  So, after leading a mushroom walk in the morn at Harthill Cookery School (48 species found and a ruddy good soaking had) we drove to the ground purchased liquids and solids (instead of releasing them, although I did manage one small squirt before kick-off) and waited for the battle of two sleeping giants.  I will stick with the pugilistic theme if you don't mind, it keeps me stretched and thinking about matters a little harder.

The bell rang (OK a whistle but let's not ruin the thematics early on), the two combatants got to work (saying 22 would just sound foolish).  Pawing jabs were exchanged, the hosts seemed to just edge early matters but the guests had the initial free-kick and corner that gave the first chance at landing a meaningful blow.  The latter saw the ball come in and get easily dealt with and a counter-attack followed.  A robust coming together brought hollers from the crowd, the reaction by the home fans indicated which way the decision had gone.  The free-kick for Silsden had accuracy but the finishing blow via a rising bonse was off the mark.  A Benny Leonard-like scuffling period produced little action and then a rapier pass from a quiet lull saw the Silsden guard breached.  No 11 (Alex Hughes) used great control, recovered from a slight slip and set his feet to produce a quite punishing shot that the keeper only half-blocked.  It was with disappointment the few peregrinating fans saw their net ripple and the first scar appear on the eager countenance of hope.  

From here the residents looked to open up and flex muscle, the travellers used a peek-a-boo style, absorbed and sought a gap to exploit - the threat of the sucker-slap was always apparent. The upper-hand was still had by the WA warriors, several combinations brought applause and the desire shown was surely noteworthy - a spirit worth concentrating on for future match-ups. Gratis-punts came from both sides, no injury was inflicted as the defensive postures remained disciplined.  Despite Alport commanding ring-space a few bad calls, mistimed combo's and the rigid rearguard of their opponents put pay to any serious penetration.  If Whitchurch were going to build on the domination  they were going to have to work hard and maintain a high intensity of pressure.  2 shots did come, No 7 (Joseph Howell) pilfered and let fly, the guest gloved guardian saved low with authority and then easily gathered up the flying orb as Hughes popped one forth.  The rain now teemed, steam rose, a penalty claim for the home lads was had but was waved away.  A last surge by the Sils saw a touch, flick on and lunge just fall short of a killer thriller.  The half ended with the visiting keeper on his arse after hoofing down field, I think the planned late night with a gay Frank Bruno look-a-like may be on hold.

We stayed put at half time, shared some Toblerone and waffled.  The weather was shite, my feet were still soaked from the morns myco-mooch and my t-shirt and kecks were still slightly damp.  The match was warming up nicely though, by full time the thermals may have wafted my way and I would be as dry as the genitals of Tutankhamun

The match restarted, the visitors pushed out a few tentative prods and pokes, a few crosses came, the mitter did what was required.  Silsden were providing many shots to the Alport midriff but no real set-up punch was had and so the solar plexus crippler remained elusive (bring on Bob Fitzsimmons I hear you call).  A home free-kick, a foul cum low blow was given in Duran-esque style, surely only a one-point deduction at most.  The decision was a shocker, it was a one man reduction as the hosts were given an extra smack in the mush and a cut was opened - the roar from the crowd was vehement, one shout of 'dickhead; from the opposite side of the ground was laden with spite, cor blimey guv'nor.  From here Silsden sniffed out blood, the complexion of the game had now changed, further battle scars were starting to be exposed, niggles were raising hackles and the referee was a man under the cosh.  The onlooking judges were growing livid, a condemnation was taking place, would the confrontation be further affected?  Silsden now expressed themselves with more clarity, a long ball was jabbed forth, No 10 (Aiden Kirby) brought it down on the chest, chanced on a bold crack and wham, the match was all square as the still raw wound of the Alport pack had just been deepened and the team were sent reeling.  Going into the final rounds this was all to fight for, Mugabi v Hagler, Bowe v Holyfield was this going to be a final thrash out?

On the ropes Whitchurch looked to regain composure and hit back but No 6 (Reece Lyndon) for Silsden had the next effort, the disappointingly flew over the bar.  The hosts were not finished though, this fiery game was still on a knife-edge and a corner was won by sheer will-power and damned hard work.  The ball came, No 5 (Leon Ashman) made cranial contact, the end result was shy of the mark.  Both No 9's had efforts next, (Mateusz Tomas) for Silsden forced the keeper to save, (Simon Everall) for Alport was tackled at the last by the guest No 2 (Craig Bentham).  Suddenly another 50/50 coming together ensued, a yellow card was issued, this decision was correct and only emphasised the earlier faux pas.  The free-shot was awarded to the WA lads, the ball was drilled and deflected wide, a cross came followed by another clash in the box which brought an incandescent eruption with chests expanded, arms raised and verbals spilling.  The result, Hughes for Whitchurch sent off, ten little indians were down to 9, the grit of Marciano was now needed, the counter punching speed of Julian Jackson a must, was there a way to save the day?  As matters settled one of the Silsden subs was through and had a chance to win it, the keeper spread quicker than butter on a teacake, the save was both tidy and crucial.  A free-kick soon after saw the keeper clobbered but refuse to drop the ball, he was a fine last man standing that is for sure.  All Whitchurch could do now was pepper in spurts and look for one wild swing.  Despite the imbalance in numbers this one was going to the wire.  The 90 minutes was somehow reached, overtime was the territory now trespassed, could a draw be snatched from the chomping jaws of potential defeat?  The 93rd minute arrived, Silsden put in several set up shots, the home guard held firm until - thwack, No 8 (Kyle Hancock) let fly, the low blow was delivered, the insult to effort spat forth with venom.  The sag to the canvas was forced and the bell sounded seconds after.   What a twist, what a game, what an unexpected conclusion! After the final call we chatted to a fine local, we agreed that several decisions had marred this one but the home team were far from disgraced.  Man of the Match however goes to the visiting No 5 (Daniel Illingworth) who displayed a cool and classy streak with a footballing generalship that kept his defense sanguine and orderly.  Never ruffled, always with the eye on the ball, the way defenders should play.  

FINAL THOUGHT - If that shifty swine Don King ever got his untrustable mitts on a game of football what we would witness would be something like what transpired today.  Full of ambiguity, full of grey areas, full of controversy and with many talking points after the game was done.  Whitchurch may have lost this one but there were many positives and I think, despite a very shaky start, a corner has been turned and things are looking rosy.  The return match further 'oop' north will be a classic and it could go the way of the away side provided they work with high animation like the mithering Harry Greb and execute many lethal rapier-like shots akin to The Hitman, Thomas Hearns.  Their players were tireless until the end, their No 5 (Leon Ashman) put in a great stint and kept his team in the contest until the very death - unlucky sir, unlucky. Silsden are a tough nut to crack and gradually wear down their opponents like the body shots of Mike McCallum.  There is still room for improvement though and today I thought they put in a methodical effort that was reminiscent of Larry Holmes in his pomp - not overly dramatic or flamboyant but getting the job done.  They were helped by a couple of refereeing decisions that looked mighty cruel, but hey, as the season unfolds they will get their share of shit and shine and will just have to ride it.  We had certainly got our money's worth today, until the next time - enjoy the season and keep focused.  

Saturday 1 September 2018

FROM THE STINK COMES SUNSHINE FOR SHELL

1st September 2018 - Shelley FC 2 v 1 Penistone Church - Mycelial strands are invading my carcass at the moment as the fungal season is upon us and my mind is awash with cheilocystidia, erumpent growths (ooh me arse), paraphyses, hygrophanous caps, sinuate lamellae and other such terminology.  I like the environment, I like the shrooming world so I do my bit and this Non-League footy lark is a nice respite from the absorbing fungal world.  Today was a drift over from red rose country to that which boasts petals of white and after a busy morn we pootled across and eventually found our destination.  Today's musical escort came via bands such as The Lillettes, Nicky and the Dots, The Pirhanas and The Chefs.  In between a smattering of Northern Soul was had too.  The two teams on show today were ones I hadn't seen before so anticipation was high due to my love of all things different.  As a slight diversion, the away team bring to mind the many penis stones I have passed over the years due to having a dodgy gland in the neck that formed crystals to gather in my kidneys.  30 years of passing conglomerates of grit and when the gland was whipped out all was sorted - a pity I had only pebble-dashed 75% of the house. Someone came up with a laxative and gravel diet to finish the rest, I did try but now have a two-tone abode and a prolapsed anus - oh bother.  So back to matters at hand, a shit drive over and a few wrong turnings we arrived at the ground in time to purchase tea and crisps and park our arses to take in the atmosphere.  The programme was poor to be fair, primarily adverts and no substance and the tea wasn't the best.  I hate to be critical though so onwards, honesty prevailing and hopefully positivity dictating.

The early play was up in the air, back and forth and without cohesion.  It was a very scrappy start but out of the muddled mire the Penis tone rung true and a quick ball brought about a one on one situation that saw the keeper rounded, a ball flashed in low and a steady tap home for No 11 (Sam Scrivens).  From here the guests pressed and looked to enhance the ever-promising tangerine dream.  Despite this early goal the match failed to ignite and all we got for our eager eyes was a dreary disjointed spectacle.  In fact, this opening showcase was the worst football I had seen this season and something special or outlandishly capricious was needed to inject life into a staggering footballing beast.  A hopeless cause was chased by the visiting Scrivens, a cross cum shot came (sounds like an angry ape having an orgasm) and the keeper did enough to push it behind.  The corner was decent but was dealt with, Penistone however, still looked the likeliest team to get the next strike.  In fact if No 9 (Nathan Keightley) would have controlled a well-delivered heat-seeking cross his touch home would have been as easy as A, B and C and not as complex as 'X, Y and Q'.  The miss was poor and another cross soon after ended yet again without glory as the ball was left unmolested rather than bollock-booted home.  

Eventually the Shelley squad hinted at promise with their No 10 (Israel Johnson) an intricate component in the first applaudable move.  It was unfortunate that the ensuing corner and throw in produced nowt.  Free-kicks came at both ends - the first for Penistone hit the quality mark of 'wank', the second for Shelley upped matters to 'non-wank' but the following header failed to hit the target.  As the half withered quicker than the exposed teats of Old Mother Riley in a desert-based sirocco the visiting bunch put in many good surges but were let down time and time again by the final ball. This footballing folly was exacerbated by a bout of rearguard indecision that saw several crosses come and the blatant vacillation punished by the quick feet of Johnson who walloped home and got proceedings back to all square.  The half ended soon after but not before the Penistone No 5 (James Young) drove in a lovely free-kick that swung low and was beautifully saved by the home mitter (Max Dearnley).  A good full-stop to the half to banish much of what had gone before - the break was very much needed.

A wander to the touchline, a swill of some fruit juice and a soak up of the rays - it were getting warm lad.

The second half began with Penistone out quickest, a couple of switch passes ended with No 8 (Jordan Coduri) crossing to Scrivens who eventually got the ball down, poked forth and was denied by a quality block.  At the opposite end No 7 (Matthew Waller) put in a superb angled ball that saw No 9 (Craig Billington) take down and crack first time mere inches wide - unlucky. Shelley urged each other on, Penistone were malingering and lost possession.  Johnson for the hosts put in a superb ball, in popped No 8 (Daniel Keane) - somehow the hosts had turned this around, their opponents looked both disgusted and gutted.  A quiet patch followed, Coduri for Penistone had a glorious opportunity to level but was struck down with Heavenly guidance and gently knocked the ball into the awaiting keeper's arms - how Christian and who said charity begins at home?  Frustration now manifested itself, space was being found by the hosts with a couple of chances just inches away from a definitive killer blow.  Billington should have added another but tied himself in knots and released all too tamely.  The same player had another shot soon after, this one with more pep, but gravity was denied and the ball sailed over the bar.

A few spiced tackles now came as well as a smattering of end to end marauding.  Several escapades towards goal were indulged in, all players who had hopes of a rippled net where about as accurate as a glass-eyed dart player with an attack of delirium tremens - it seemed to be one of those days.  Composure was an absent friend, no doubt playing host at the local bridge school or hanging around the chilled vegetable section of the local supermarket where other cooled cucumbers may be found.  The finish to the affair was fractious, a bloody nose, a headbutt accusation, a splatter of gushing desire borne from the loins of many desperadoes. Penistone sent in numerous low balls, every single time an executioner was absent - very frustrating indeed.  The guests just couldn't get back in this one and after a few impeding moments via the whistle and an head injury, the final call came and they had to resign themselves to letting this one slip.  Man of the Match though goes to their No 11 (Sam Scrivens) whom I thought offered most danger, ran himself into the ground and was unlucky not to be on the winning team - it is a small consolation I know.  We two wanderers buggered off home, I did see two Hawthorn Shieldbugs near the car park - it was a nice way to end the trip.

FINAL THOUGHT - A day out that didn't live up to expectations with the game being a struggling session between two teams not fully firing on all cylinders and hitting too many stray balls.  Shelley though stuck at matters and somehow pulled a victory from the mire which, in many ways, can be the sign of a team not to underestimate.  They need to pick up matters though as the NWCFL will certainly take no prisoners and they have a few teams within the league that could really take them to the cleaners.  I am sure I will catch them again at some point, it will be interesting to see the progression made.  Penistone have potential and should have had this game won today but  they were ground down, didn't fulfill many opportunities and at the last, were too rushed in their play and so let some good positions go astray. I shall have a pootle to their ground deeper in the season, once more it will be interesting to see how far they have progressed from today's performance.   We are still in the pubescent throes of the season, wait til the bollocks have dropped and a fair judgement can be passed - I will be waiting!