26th October 2018 - Llandudno FC 0 v 0 Cefn Druids - A day spent birdwatching at Burton Mere RSPB and then wandering around Llandudno where we had a walk on the pier and indulged in an all day breakfast before having a snooze. A 30 minute walk to Maesdu Park was had in a nipping wind and upon arrival we duly indulged in a warming cuppa. A walk around the circuit of the ground was had and then seats taken. The wind increased, the overhead dragon emblazoned flags flapped harder than Old Mother Riley's titties in a hurricane and as we snuggled down and chatted with a few locals sentiments were had of a match that would be a tough one and with very few goals. The vibes were far from positive, both units were going through a sticky patch, I held no hope for a net bursting spectacle.
The teams came out, the clouds began to leak, a night of perishing play was to be had - could there be goals to warm the cockles - I bloody well hope so! The opening snippet of action came for the hosts when a crippling ball from No 4 (Michael Pearson) was played for No 10 (George Harry) to chase down. The pace on the globe was frisky, the striker galloped with fervour but the mittman was there first and grabbed with obvious relief. Cefn Druids returned the semi-favour with a long ball of their own that was crossed, touched on and finalised in a slap shot shitter from No 22 (Arek Piskorski). The first corner of the game came for the hosts after some cheeky work from their No 5 (Leo Smith). The ball in was knuckled out, put back in and from the melee the keeper dropped like a sack of sweating shit and duly smothered. The impetus remained with the home pack as the visitors looked to rely on a long ball albeit without any stinging direction. A free-kick did come from one such lengthy punt, it gave the first real suggestion of menace for the travelling team. A low slung ball came but a defensive header off the deck did the job required and the Llandudno bacon was saved (or lettuce if ye be of a veggie persuasion). From a dreary and drab period a splash of attacking pressure came for The Seasiders but each and every potential attack had about as much bite as Albert Steptoe after mislaying is decaying dentures. The game trickled on in scrapyard fashion and whilst making note of the disappointed faces in the crowd I did wonder if the local footballing suicide rate went up after these ghastly affairs or if the local psychiatrist's couch was fully booked by local officials. It was that type of game.
Suddenly a snippet of excitement came. As I fumbled for my tranquilisers (one has to be careful) a corner and a penalty claim was had for The Druids. The plea was waved away and Llandudno broke with No 9 (John Owen) away and looking certain to bury. He shot, the keeper spread himself and a defender did enough with the old ham shanks. Soon after the same player had another dig from distance but the wind took the ball off line and we stayed all square. The Druids battled on, their No 9 (Dean Rittenberg) had a solid shot cleared off the line and then the game returned to Desperation Street with a patchwork effect staining any semblance of fluidity. A few half shots came at either end but high end quality remained minimal - the half time whistle was a blessing without disguise.
For the break we hunkered down, swilled ginger and chewed a few toffees. A local verbally donated his despondency before pootling off to the other side of the ground - was that a gibbet I spied in the distance?
The opening bursts of the follow-up half began with Cefn Druids looking to have the greater appetite. A throw and a thumping shot by No 14 (Ryan Kershaw) was sweetly saved and a return punt by No 8 (Alex Mudimu) was firmly parried away from danger, Good work keeper! From an episode of midfield ping-pong that would have moistened the loins of Desmond Douglas a ball was hoofed over the Druids defence. No 21 (Toby Jones) popped up and looked to bury, the shank swung but the contact made was with 90% fresh air and not the leather orb and the gloved protector smothered with radiant gratitude. As in the first half we had a session of dissolving disarray with each team lacking an accuracy of pass and hustled and harried when in possession. Mudimu produced a sparkling turn and cross to pick out Kershaw for The Druids but the volley was shabby to say the least and this, looked as my good lady had predicted, to be a nailed on goalless draw. No 11 (James Davies) for the guests clobbered one next but again the home mitter was defiant and did his job.
The chess game continued, the rhythm was too rushed to produce anything of note. A Cefn corner eventually came and caused mayhem in the box and a close-in shot needing yet more gloved attention which in turn led to a Llandudno break. It was a 3 on 3 situation, a killer pass was there to be had but an offside call brought utter dismay and screams of anguish for the tried and tested support. From here, the wound that had opened was nearly filled with infecting and spiteful shit when a Druids corner caught the rear guard ball watching allowing Mudimu to sneak in and touch...just wide. This was the miss of the game and at such a late stage was one that was surely a 3 point punisher. Llandudno paid back with 2 corners, the first was too long, the second had too much uplift with the wind being the devilish causal agent. A stunning ball came soon after with No 14 (Alun Webb) destined to rifle home. Alas more fresh air was struck, it was just one of those nights. Extra time came and went in the twitch of a chinaman's chuff - this had been a trial and one that saw both teams snuff each other out. Man of the Match tonight was an easy choice with the home No 1 (Shaun Peason) the man who made sure this was a goal free affair and who kept his mind on the game when so many in the crowd had wandered elsewhere. It was a good stint between the sticks - thank you sir! After the match we walked back to our base, it was nobbing and the rain rattled into our faces - It was one of those night's but for some reason, we still enjoyed it!
FINAL THOUGHT - 2 teams pissing in the wind at the mo and there is nothing one can do only ride the storm and grind it out until the sunshine comes. There were many positive shrooms erupting from the muck tonight, it just takes one to sniff em' out and look on the bright side. Both squads are riddled with pace, both pass with eagerness and both are laden with players who never give up and who put in a full 90 minute effort. What is lacking is composure! Time on the ball, a build up where space is picked out and teams are dragged out of their comfort zone and duly stretched further than they would like to be. Sometimes knocking the ball about and keeping possession just for the hell of it is a good thing and can frustrate the enemy and get a good feel for the ball under foot. These are basics and personal thoughts but for me there was too much panic in the play tonight and an uncontrolled zeal that marred the final execution. One thing though is that, despite this unimpressive match, we will return as this is a good set up and there are a few friendly folk who made us feel quite welcome. Small touches that matter and all gratitude is ours. I hope when we do see both these sides next time fortunes have changed for them, I don't see why not!
Sunday 28 October 2018
Thursday 25 October 2018
FARM, FARTING AND FOOTY
23rd October 2018 - Cheadle Heath Nomads 2 v 1 Maine Road - Before the sun rose I was up, sorted and out with the good lady to drop her off at work and to carry on to await the Young Carers Crew whom I was taking on a farm trip. My colleagues and all attendees arrived and after having the van jump started we eventually set off and had a good day out on the farm. Chickens, cows, sheep, ducks etc, some fun games and a good blow through via the autumnal winds and home to fart about and catch up with some loose ends. Tea was chomped, the arse put back in gear and to the local ground I went with promise had of what I felt would be a goal fest (well 6 strikes at least). I am fairly up to speed with both teams and keep tabs on them as best as I can and this was looking to be a ruddy net bursting blitzer. Alas I am not renowned for my prophesying abilities but, having dropped a couple of Fly Agaric fungi earlier in the day and having consulted a dirty magazine that contained a nude spread of Russell Grant, I reckoned I had done all I could as regards seeing into the future. I had made a blip earlier in the week when I changed my name by deed poll to Patrick Moore and realised he was an astronomer and not an astrologer - bastard or what! I won't mention the Edwin Hubble tattoo I had on my left conker - what a wretched week! So, still confident I supped tea, chatted with STP Stu and a few folk and watched the teams take to the park. Remember, 6 goals at least or my name isn't Mr Moore - let the contest begin.
Arse comfy and after a local Red Fox (Vulpes vulpes) put in an appearance the first attack came with the home No 3 (Stephen Kirby) placing one to No 9 (Leon Grandison) who shot but without any venom. The away team rallied, paid back with their expected hurrying technique and from another patch on the back foot The Road broke with a rapier pass finding No 9 (Michael Burke) who dashed towards the goal with the opposition's No 5 (Jack Warren) in hot pursuit. The striker stayed composed, he shot with measured sanguinity and ballooned the inside of the net to bring up the evening's first strike. It was an unexpected opening goal and from here the team ahead certainly had the better of the play. No 2 (Jamie Hill) was in soon after and had a golden opportunity to double the advantage and throw a cat amongst the pigeons, nay, a sausage amongst the veggies. Despite reeling and trying to gain a foothold the Nomad crew displayed a fine self-command and were in no way being bullied or pressured into playing a panic driven game. The disciplined approach and biding of the time bore semi-ripened fruit when a quick break was knocked wide for a corner. The ball in was a choice cutlet but no takers arrived and we stayed as we were. Grandison went on a good run next, earned another corner that was once more sweetly struck and found the nut of No 11 (Isaac Graham) who saw the globe cleared off the line. A follow-up shot was belted back but stubbornly blocked with all peril negated.
Eventually the home lads got their act together and managed to produced several half chances. A free kick was borne from pressure and when Kirby stepped up there seemed acres of space in the area for him to pick his spot. The ball was struck, the wall missed and the goalkeeper beat - the equaliser was taken with graceful ease, if only every goal was so easily had. A corner soon after was won by the toiling No 9 (Richard Tindall) and, as per, the knock in was clean and well directed and needed another goal line clearance - the pendulum was now swinging a different way, the tick of the clock held threat for the visiting blue-clad crew. To maintain hope Burke slapped a beauty from nowhere and saw the ball dip with purpose but unfortunately clip the outside of the bar - a wonder strike it would have been, a disappointment it actually was. The Blues came again, Hill produced a scintillating turn and whammed in a cross cum shot that was not that far from breaking the net. The game was growing in stature as were several players as numerous noticeable performances were being had. Cheadle had the next crack with Grandison thumping one, the mitter knocking out and the lob back in missing by only a couple of feet. The half ended with the odd dig here and there with a Road player having a decent chance but dragging the ball wide of the mark. His raging holler of 'fuck', that fractured the night air summed matters up nicely - time for a break methinks.
A roam, tea and a jaw wag with Stu and a couple we meet regularly on our roamings. We all agreed this one was still in the balance. whether or not the goal flood would come was anyone's guess - here we go again!
For this second period the host's came out with more drive, more determination and more direction. Within minutes a blazing cross was knocked toward goal and nutted home for good measure. The strike looked ideal, the referee agreed until a flag caught his eye and after a brief chat with the liner the goal was disallowed. Steam rose from the home heads, the scandal was hard to swallow but swallow it they did and got on with matters in double quick time (applause for that methinks). With irritation coursing through their carcasses the Nomadic crew got their heads down and inflicted an increasing stranglehold on their opponents hopes. A 3 pass move was concocted quicker than one of Ali Bongo's love potions and a corner was earned. The delivery was top drawer (a consistent theme of the night) and was just nutted away by a gasping rear guard. The state of play was now set with the hosts urgent, the visitors looking for scraps. Tindall had a punt and a second attempt which flew high and just wouldn't fall into the awaiting net. The Nomads came again, No 2 (Kieran Herbert) battling away and winning a free-kick from nothing. The quality cross was dealt with, a corner followed, Warren came mighty close with a firm nutted effort.
As time travelled Herbert thrusted and had a shot to kill. The keepers legs blocked the attempt, the ball went loose and was hoofed back in. Enter The Tin Man with a choice nut that found glory and grabbed a lead that was always on the cards. Tindall peeled away and celebrated with his colleagues, the turn-around was complete now, it was just a question of seeing the game out. The Road suddenly arose from the slumber but Cheadle remained in control with No 8 (Phillip Yuille) having a shot after some good link up play. Again the keeper stopped with the shanks and the follow up corner produced sour FA. Soon after Herbert provided a choice cross with Tindall close to nailing down the coffin lid on the floundering hopes of Maine Road. The game ran into extra time in scrappy style and at the last a late free-dig for The Road was absolutely awful and Warner for the hosts was unlucky not to add the third. The referee blew and this had been a true lesson in 'never say die'. The Man of the Match for me goes to Cheadle Heath Nomad's No 2 (Kieran Herbert) who ran his socks off, battled with control, worked like a Trojan and never gave up the ghost - it was a performance reflective of a team who never know when they are beat - tis a quality not to underestimate.
FINAL THOUGHT - So another one done at this local ground and more questions answered rather than posed. Cheadle Heath Nomads are a force to be reckoned with and even when playing without fluidity and synchronisation still find a way to hang in and give themselves a chance of correcting matters when the chips are down. Today the first half was shady and sketchy, the second half a complete transformation that brought home the full 3 point prize and kept them right up in the dogfight at the top that seems destined to go on until the season's end game. This is a fascinating league and many teams will be dropping points along the way, it will all come down to who has the desire and the determination to grind out a result when there be shit in them thar cogs. Maine Road have turned a corner and from looking like relegation candidates, they now seem a team on the up and who are going to win more than they lose. A consistent run is needed and a boost of the confidence levels a must so as to get all players fully functioning and taking to the pitch with fizzing sanguinity. I think they will be fine but don't forget I did predict 6 goals (at least) tonight! Who knows how things will turn out but one thing is now 100% certain - my name is not Patrick Moore - just plain old Fungalpunk Dave - trying to put back in the usual way. Cheers for reading folks and if anyone wants to buy a second hand glockenspiel and a sexual telescope I am open to offers!
Arse comfy and after a local Red Fox (Vulpes vulpes) put in an appearance the first attack came with the home No 3 (Stephen Kirby) placing one to No 9 (Leon Grandison) who shot but without any venom. The away team rallied, paid back with their expected hurrying technique and from another patch on the back foot The Road broke with a rapier pass finding No 9 (Michael Burke) who dashed towards the goal with the opposition's No 5 (Jack Warren) in hot pursuit. The striker stayed composed, he shot with measured sanguinity and ballooned the inside of the net to bring up the evening's first strike. It was an unexpected opening goal and from here the team ahead certainly had the better of the play. No 2 (Jamie Hill) was in soon after and had a golden opportunity to double the advantage and throw a cat amongst the pigeons, nay, a sausage amongst the veggies. Despite reeling and trying to gain a foothold the Nomad crew displayed a fine self-command and were in no way being bullied or pressured into playing a panic driven game. The disciplined approach and biding of the time bore semi-ripened fruit when a quick break was knocked wide for a corner. The ball in was a choice cutlet but no takers arrived and we stayed as we were. Grandison went on a good run next, earned another corner that was once more sweetly struck and found the nut of No 11 (Isaac Graham) who saw the globe cleared off the line. A follow-up shot was belted back but stubbornly blocked with all peril negated.
Eventually the home lads got their act together and managed to produced several half chances. A free kick was borne from pressure and when Kirby stepped up there seemed acres of space in the area for him to pick his spot. The ball was struck, the wall missed and the goalkeeper beat - the equaliser was taken with graceful ease, if only every goal was so easily had. A corner soon after was won by the toiling No 9 (Richard Tindall) and, as per, the knock in was clean and well directed and needed another goal line clearance - the pendulum was now swinging a different way, the tick of the clock held threat for the visiting blue-clad crew. To maintain hope Burke slapped a beauty from nowhere and saw the ball dip with purpose but unfortunately clip the outside of the bar - a wonder strike it would have been, a disappointment it actually was. The Blues came again, Hill produced a scintillating turn and whammed in a cross cum shot that was not that far from breaking the net. The game was growing in stature as were several players as numerous noticeable performances were being had. Cheadle had the next crack with Grandison thumping one, the mitter knocking out and the lob back in missing by only a couple of feet. The half ended with the odd dig here and there with a Road player having a decent chance but dragging the ball wide of the mark. His raging holler of 'fuck', that fractured the night air summed matters up nicely - time for a break methinks.
A roam, tea and a jaw wag with Stu and a couple we meet regularly on our roamings. We all agreed this one was still in the balance. whether or not the goal flood would come was anyone's guess - here we go again!
For this second period the host's came out with more drive, more determination and more direction. Within minutes a blazing cross was knocked toward goal and nutted home for good measure. The strike looked ideal, the referee agreed until a flag caught his eye and after a brief chat with the liner the goal was disallowed. Steam rose from the home heads, the scandal was hard to swallow but swallow it they did and got on with matters in double quick time (applause for that methinks). With irritation coursing through their carcasses the Nomadic crew got their heads down and inflicted an increasing stranglehold on their opponents hopes. A 3 pass move was concocted quicker than one of Ali Bongo's love potions and a corner was earned. The delivery was top drawer (a consistent theme of the night) and was just nutted away by a gasping rear guard. The state of play was now set with the hosts urgent, the visitors looking for scraps. Tindall had a punt and a second attempt which flew high and just wouldn't fall into the awaiting net. The Nomads came again, No 2 (Kieran Herbert) battling away and winning a free-kick from nothing. The quality cross was dealt with, a corner followed, Warren came mighty close with a firm nutted effort.
As time travelled Herbert thrusted and had a shot to kill. The keepers legs blocked the attempt, the ball went loose and was hoofed back in. Enter The Tin Man with a choice nut that found glory and grabbed a lead that was always on the cards. Tindall peeled away and celebrated with his colleagues, the turn-around was complete now, it was just a question of seeing the game out. The Road suddenly arose from the slumber but Cheadle remained in control with No 8 (Phillip Yuille) having a shot after some good link up play. Again the keeper stopped with the shanks and the follow up corner produced sour FA. Soon after Herbert provided a choice cross with Tindall close to nailing down the coffin lid on the floundering hopes of Maine Road. The game ran into extra time in scrappy style and at the last a late free-dig for The Road was absolutely awful and Warner for the hosts was unlucky not to add the third. The referee blew and this had been a true lesson in 'never say die'. The Man of the Match for me goes to Cheadle Heath Nomad's No 2 (Kieran Herbert) who ran his socks off, battled with control, worked like a Trojan and never gave up the ghost - it was a performance reflective of a team who never know when they are beat - tis a quality not to underestimate.
FINAL THOUGHT - So another one done at this local ground and more questions answered rather than posed. Cheadle Heath Nomads are a force to be reckoned with and even when playing without fluidity and synchronisation still find a way to hang in and give themselves a chance of correcting matters when the chips are down. Today the first half was shady and sketchy, the second half a complete transformation that brought home the full 3 point prize and kept them right up in the dogfight at the top that seems destined to go on until the season's end game. This is a fascinating league and many teams will be dropping points along the way, it will all come down to who has the desire and the determination to grind out a result when there be shit in them thar cogs. Maine Road have turned a corner and from looking like relegation candidates, they now seem a team on the up and who are going to win more than they lose. A consistent run is needed and a boost of the confidence levels a must so as to get all players fully functioning and taking to the pitch with fizzing sanguinity. I think they will be fine but don't forget I did predict 6 goals (at least) tonight! Who knows how things will turn out but one thing is now 100% certain - my name is not Patrick Moore - just plain old Fungalpunk Dave - trying to put back in the usual way. Cheers for reading folks and if anyone wants to buy a second hand glockenspiel and a sexual telescope I am open to offers!
Thursday 18 October 2018
THE ART OF THE GRIND
16th October 2018 - Cheadle Heath Nomads 2 v 0 Wythenshawe Town - Like the left titty and the right titty that adorn the chest of one Big Betty Muldoon there was very little to choose between the clashing entities on parade tonight and I did wonder which way the bra of balance would fall and who would taste the sweet lactated milk of non-league success. Both teams are new sucklers to this soccerised league and both have fed well and held their own in the early ticklings of the ball booting competition. A winning feed on the nipple of opportunity would result in an ascension to echelons higher, a failure to latch on to the dangling pap of promise and a curdling of the hopeful moo-milk could sour early season spirit. A busy day at work, a cycle home, tidying, tea, a stretch of the aching carcass and a short walk with my lovely lady to one of my favoured grounds. Salutations to good folk were plentiful and mandible wags enjoyed. STP Stu was in attendance tonight and we waffled like wankers on whizz and awaited the teams. Predictions were had, it was looking like a tight one (oooh Betty I can't get you out of my mind) and as it turned out....
The Whythy pack were straight on it with several early balls hurtled towards their opponents vulnerable zone, one of which found the fervid No 9 (Liam Crellin-Myers) who shot but could only hit the keepers well spread plates of meat. A throw in soon after travelled some distance and No 3 (Deven Golden) had a close in nut that again went straight at the keeper, this I considered a pivotal miss. Another attack saw a cross, a follow-up shot and a solid save that allowed the hosts time to take stock and try and get a hold on the game thus far. A push soon came, No 4 (Ashley Crank) advanced and put in a mighty fine cross that saw the keeper come and punch in a highly unconvincing manner. No 10 (Leon Grandison) was waiting to hoof back with interest and failed to hit the target by mere feet. In return, No 10 (Steven Yarwood) had a fair dig at the opposite end with the ball looking to dip below the horizontal albeit without significant pace. Luckily the yellow clad keeper was alert and caught with relative ease. The game advanced, an early sub, a card issued, a few free-kicks wasted, this was a close tussle with the away team shading matters in all areas of the park. Grandison for the hosts had another jab at glory in the midst of the tumult but the execution was neither forceful nor accurate. From here The Nomads found balance, some good crosses came and their ever eager No 9 (Richard Tindall) nearly found space on several occasions.
Some good moves were hitting the floor, No 8 (Phillip Yuille) for Cheadle put in a sweet turn to escape a surrounding triangle of players and duly knocked forth a pass that was only just dealt with before destroying all visiting hopes. With the twitch of a spasmodic buttock a long ball found Grandison who struck with sugar sweet feet but again did so without placement. Tindall was there to follow up the loose scraps, a deflection came for a corner which followed and pinged off the latter players noggin with too much 'oomph' and too little finesse. Some end to end action ensued, shots were offered but all awry and as the terminal point for the break was reached we arrived at destination zero with the match in a state of intriguing equilibrium.
Half-time and a wander for a cuppa and back to a different spot to watch the game unravel and hopefully someone grab the 3 point prize. During the break myself and Nomad coach David Potter indulged in a spot of glue-sniffing (my wife left it alone due to political reasons and STP Stu was never touching it again after falling pregnant during the last heavy session). During the huffing Potter said he had seen the light and the way to victory was in his grasp - it seemed a bold claim, as we both staggered to our respective hot-spots this is what transpired.
Once more The Town started brightest but Cheadle were quicker to respond to the rally call this time around and put their foot on the gas and made this a far closer competition in all respects. A ball came for the hosts. Tindall was on it like a wasp on a sun-bathers arse. The head went down, the strikers instinct coursed through the gushing veins and even though a colleague was in space the Tin Man had only an eye for goal. He staved off a defender, picked his moment and buried like a seasoned pro. He looked overjoyed, the corner flag got a good kicking, and why not - a great way to break a very tight deadlock and now the game was on. Both teams now worked the leg flesh with ardour, Cheadle were solid value for the lead and their No 11 (Stephen Kirby) had an ambitious dig soon after but the save was very much equal to it. The Nomads sub, a veritable footballing Jack Russell No 12 (Terence Butler), won a free-kick next due to nothing more than being a dog with a bone and not giving up on the chase. The cross that came was a trifle wank, a shame as the previous work was deserved of much, much more. Wythy had an equally dire gratis punt of their own and then Tindall for the hosts was causing mayhem again with a flick header to a colleague who shot and saw the ball saved. The sphere came out, was recovered and wham, Kirby hit a low hard drive and doubled his sides lead and knocked the sheer shit out of their opponents expectations. This was a fine kick back after the first half events, Cheadle Heath Nomads once again, were proving a tough nut to crack.
Into the mush we went, a few crunching tackles, some idiot argy-bargy and a few tempers tested. The referee was under the cosh but dealt with matters fairly and all the while the Wythenshawe energy and potential was being suppressed. Wythenshawe had a rare chance in this second period, Yarwood latched onto a cross and his close in header was a scandalous miss that could have given promise and a game changing situation - the culpable man looked rather disappointed. A settled period saw Kirby have a punt for the hosts, and then their No 14 (Kieran Herbert) went on a scintillating run that surely deserved a goal. The keeper sprawled and blocked though and Herbert had another dig soon after but the No 1 (Jake Aldred) was up for it again and duly parried. Wythenshawe laboured on to the last, won a few free-kicks but there was no quarter given and no way through a very resilient and hard working back-line. When the game was called to a halt no one could argue with the result and the Cheadle Heath Nomads got their due reward. Man of the Match goes to the home No 8 (Phillip Yuille) who was a choice cutlet in the meat of the midfield and looked to create plenty of time for himself on the ball, played a thinking man's game and knocked the ball about in a quite simple and cultured way - a great performance done in a subtle fashion but making a big difference.
FINAL THOUGHT - You can see why Cheadle Heath Nomads are holding their own in this league and what great desire and unyielding spirit they have when under fire or advancing forth. They have a good blend of skill, belief and hard-working components that will undoubtedly keep them in the top slots and put many a team on the back foot. Today we saw a first half were they scurried to hold their own and they did just that so as to come out in the second half, build on all the hard work and duly achieve the end result. They are nearly a complete package and with one or two additions to give strength in depth who knows what the future will hold. Wythenshawe Town are no mugs and today gave good value throughout and put the wind up the hosts early on. Direction was lost in the second half and, if the truth be known, they were outgunned. For me though they have too much in reserve to be put in any kind of jeopardy and have a few eye-catching footballers that will always produce a few goals. I hope to get back down their end soon enough, the calendar is always clogged though so I can only do what I do. I will be back at The Nomads next Tuesday - here's to a good un' as per, and may both teams have a ruddy good season. PS - on the way home David Potter was seen in the gutter still on the old glue bag - he seemed delighted with the nights events - and so he should be - stick at it sir, stick at it (literally).
The Whythy pack were straight on it with several early balls hurtled towards their opponents vulnerable zone, one of which found the fervid No 9 (Liam Crellin-Myers) who shot but could only hit the keepers well spread plates of meat. A throw in soon after travelled some distance and No 3 (Deven Golden) had a close in nut that again went straight at the keeper, this I considered a pivotal miss. Another attack saw a cross, a follow-up shot and a solid save that allowed the hosts time to take stock and try and get a hold on the game thus far. A push soon came, No 4 (Ashley Crank) advanced and put in a mighty fine cross that saw the keeper come and punch in a highly unconvincing manner. No 10 (Leon Grandison) was waiting to hoof back with interest and failed to hit the target by mere feet. In return, No 10 (Steven Yarwood) had a fair dig at the opposite end with the ball looking to dip below the horizontal albeit without significant pace. Luckily the yellow clad keeper was alert and caught with relative ease. The game advanced, an early sub, a card issued, a few free-kicks wasted, this was a close tussle with the away team shading matters in all areas of the park. Grandison for the hosts had another jab at glory in the midst of the tumult but the execution was neither forceful nor accurate. From here The Nomads found balance, some good crosses came and their ever eager No 9 (Richard Tindall) nearly found space on several occasions.
Some good moves were hitting the floor, No 8 (Phillip Yuille) for Cheadle put in a sweet turn to escape a surrounding triangle of players and duly knocked forth a pass that was only just dealt with before destroying all visiting hopes. With the twitch of a spasmodic buttock a long ball found Grandison who struck with sugar sweet feet but again did so without placement. Tindall was there to follow up the loose scraps, a deflection came for a corner which followed and pinged off the latter players noggin with too much 'oomph' and too little finesse. Some end to end action ensued, shots were offered but all awry and as the terminal point for the break was reached we arrived at destination zero with the match in a state of intriguing equilibrium.
Half-time and a wander for a cuppa and back to a different spot to watch the game unravel and hopefully someone grab the 3 point prize. During the break myself and Nomad coach David Potter indulged in a spot of glue-sniffing (my wife left it alone due to political reasons and STP Stu was never touching it again after falling pregnant during the last heavy session). During the huffing Potter said he had seen the light and the way to victory was in his grasp - it seemed a bold claim, as we both staggered to our respective hot-spots this is what transpired.
Once more The Town started brightest but Cheadle were quicker to respond to the rally call this time around and put their foot on the gas and made this a far closer competition in all respects. A ball came for the hosts. Tindall was on it like a wasp on a sun-bathers arse. The head went down, the strikers instinct coursed through the gushing veins and even though a colleague was in space the Tin Man had only an eye for goal. He staved off a defender, picked his moment and buried like a seasoned pro. He looked overjoyed, the corner flag got a good kicking, and why not - a great way to break a very tight deadlock and now the game was on. Both teams now worked the leg flesh with ardour, Cheadle were solid value for the lead and their No 11 (Stephen Kirby) had an ambitious dig soon after but the save was very much equal to it. The Nomads sub, a veritable footballing Jack Russell No 12 (Terence Butler), won a free-kick next due to nothing more than being a dog with a bone and not giving up on the chase. The cross that came was a trifle wank, a shame as the previous work was deserved of much, much more. Wythy had an equally dire gratis punt of their own and then Tindall for the hosts was causing mayhem again with a flick header to a colleague who shot and saw the ball saved. The sphere came out, was recovered and wham, Kirby hit a low hard drive and doubled his sides lead and knocked the sheer shit out of their opponents expectations. This was a fine kick back after the first half events, Cheadle Heath Nomads once again, were proving a tough nut to crack.
Into the mush we went, a few crunching tackles, some idiot argy-bargy and a few tempers tested. The referee was under the cosh but dealt with matters fairly and all the while the Wythenshawe energy and potential was being suppressed. Wythenshawe had a rare chance in this second period, Yarwood latched onto a cross and his close in header was a scandalous miss that could have given promise and a game changing situation - the culpable man looked rather disappointed. A settled period saw Kirby have a punt for the hosts, and then their No 14 (Kieran Herbert) went on a scintillating run that surely deserved a goal. The keeper sprawled and blocked though and Herbert had another dig soon after but the No 1 (Jake Aldred) was up for it again and duly parried. Wythenshawe laboured on to the last, won a few free-kicks but there was no quarter given and no way through a very resilient and hard working back-line. When the game was called to a halt no one could argue with the result and the Cheadle Heath Nomads got their due reward. Man of the Match goes to the home No 8 (Phillip Yuille) who was a choice cutlet in the meat of the midfield and looked to create plenty of time for himself on the ball, played a thinking man's game and knocked the ball about in a quite simple and cultured way - a great performance done in a subtle fashion but making a big difference.
FINAL THOUGHT - You can see why Cheadle Heath Nomads are holding their own in this league and what great desire and unyielding spirit they have when under fire or advancing forth. They have a good blend of skill, belief and hard-working components that will undoubtedly keep them in the top slots and put many a team on the back foot. Today we saw a first half were they scurried to hold their own and they did just that so as to come out in the second half, build on all the hard work and duly achieve the end result. They are nearly a complete package and with one or two additions to give strength in depth who knows what the future will hold. Wythenshawe Town are no mugs and today gave good value throughout and put the wind up the hosts early on. Direction was lost in the second half and, if the truth be known, they were outgunned. For me though they have too much in reserve to be put in any kind of jeopardy and have a few eye-catching footballers that will always produce a few goals. I hope to get back down their end soon enough, the calendar is always clogged though so I can only do what I do. I will be back at The Nomads next Tuesday - here's to a good un' as per, and may both teams have a ruddy good season. PS - on the way home David Potter was seen in the gutter still on the old glue bag - he seemed delighted with the nights events - and so he should be - stick at it sir, stick at it (literally).
Wednesday 17 October 2018
DRAINING THE MAINE VEIN
15th October 2018 - Maine Road 6 v 5 Abbey Hulton Utd - The weekend had been non-stop, today had involved a slog through many fungal specimens and the match on show was very much anticipated. The hosts were in the lowly depths of the league, the guests flying high and looking to recover after a recent blip. The pressure was on both sides to grab a win for obvious reasons, if ever a game looked to have goals in it this was it. As I result I removed my rhetorical testicles and put them on the line marked 'optimistic' and hoped and prayed that I wouldn't end up a foolish eunuch with my conkers in my hand. Me and the missus had tea, watched some idle TV (Bargain Hunt - inoffensive enough I suppose since that copper coloured bastard David Dickinson had jumped ship) and then we set out for a short drive to the ground. A warm drink, viewing point found and cop a load of this.
From the off, The Hulton advanced with their heads to the grindstone and nearly broke their opponents back ranks with a sharp passing sequence that was blighted at the death by the flapping touchline flag. No sooner had the pressure valve been released on the Blue defense than a moment of unexpected madness saw a goalkeeping mis-kick allow the ball to fall into space and No 11 (Angelo Rico) loop one homeward and find the awaiting space between the sticks. It was a well taken goal and certainly put an early kybosh on the host's ambitions. From here The Road buzzed about with No 9 (Mike Burke) having a hopeful dig that went tamely wide. A free-kick down the other end saw panic in the box and much fluster ensue. The home lads survived, had a good period of possession but never made any genuine inroads - Abbey Hulton seemed to be very much in the driving seat. As the visitors built with purpose, Maine Road pugnaciously stuck in and from a seemingly mediocre moment a ball was tossed forth, nutted out and up stepped No 10 (Lee Hendley) to absolutely nail one home and bring parity back to the game. It was a firm strike and a bolt out of the unpredictable blue - this one was a very intriguing affair!
Resting on a knife edge the game developed further, Burke had a dig for The Blues but a bobbling ball put paid to the target being troubled and I thought the windows of nearby resident Edwina Thrutch were in greater danger of being hit which, in itself, would have been disastrous as it was about this time she was settling down to knit herself another 3 breasted bra (don't ask). Half chances came at each end, the ball was just elusive at the last and so the scoresheet remained without further blemish until Abbey Hulton advanced and were duly robbed of the ball. From the halfway line Burke decided to get the head down and go on a mission. One player, two player, three player beat, a quick glance and wallop - goal of the evening had, a 20 yard beauty and a turnaround to savour was achieved and all done with grit and gonads exposed along the way - marvellous. Hulton were injured, they sprung back, No 3 put in a cross, the home mittman flapped and a shot came and was blocked on the line. In, out and back in the ball went, like the hips of an Alsatian humping the leg of its narcoleptic owner. As peril seemed to pass a leg swung, the globe was hit on the volley and whack - back of the net bulging, the game was all square - Nathan Grice was the assassin, this was turning into a stunner.
The excitement continued, Maine Road had a free-kick, Hendley struck a quite outstanding effort but it was matched by an exquisite piece of goalkeeping with the gloved guardian at full stretch and palming the ball away from the target zone. More pressure came via the Blues, Hulton pushed late on, a cross came, a header had by a defending bod and another that was nutted backward and in popped No 9 (Lee Cropper) to nip in and toe poke home. 2 - 3 - what the ruddy hell! A corner came soon after, Cropper in again and inches wide. Other end, 7 minutes of the half left and the well-deserved role of captain had fallen to the ever-busy Blue No 8 (Jamie Roe). He found himself in a small area of space, he made the decision to shoot - oh man, shit the bed - 3 - 3 - this was unreal and what a well taken goal. From here the mania continued but thankfully the half-time whistle came and we could all recover and dose up on our nerve controlling meds. The excitement had been too much for some, an elderly couple next to me had died of exposure to the lunacy, one old lady was undergoing a seizure and an unashamed fellow further along was still in the throes of an all-consuming orgasm. Yes, it had been one of those halves.
During the break my wife had a natter on the phone to our daughter and I had a chinwag with Cheadle Heath Nomad's Secretary, and all round good guy, Neville Pearson. Football and fungi dictated matters with Nev giving hint of a book he is writing on the love life of a Tangerine. The Karma Fruitra sounds a fascinating read and with a nude pineapple centre-spread thrown in for the connoisseur I can see the author making his fortune and opening his very own Fruit Museum. Good luck to him, ooh the zesty character.
The opening throes of the second period were played with frenzied heat. A cross for Hulton came, Cropper was keen to get his crust on the globe, missed it and up stepped No 7 (Kieran Lazenby) to feed on the scraps and bury the ball. The 7th goal was had, another chance nearly came the other end as Roe put in a pearling cross that was knocked out with some crucial defending. The trailing team came again, corner won, out and repeat. Ball in, flick on, Burke at the back post and 4 goals apiece. No sooner had I witnessed this 8th strike than some horrorshow defending by the hosts saw an eager striker pop up and have a crack that went just wide. After a small injury break and a quiet spell a few more half glimpses of goal were had by both units. From nothing a soft free-kick was awarded to the AH lads, Cropper waited for the whistle and eyed the target. The shrill peep came, a relaxed shank swung and the ball looped over the wall and squeezed into the net for a quite simplistic strike. It was a lapse in defense for the Blue Army, it was now time to respond.
Down the back stretch we were about to enter, Cropper for Hulton had a crack just off line, No 10 also had an effort that needed a goal line clearance - this was one game of capricious football and more was still to come. Road's No 3 (Luke Podmore) came on strong, graced the game with a sublime pass that saw Hendley latch onto and strike inches wide. There was no abatement to the action, like a couple of jitterbugs hepped up on goofballs the incessant animation remained high. Next up, Abbey Hulton progressed and looked to seal the win, they were caught napping and Road broke. A cross came forth, the defender couldn't get the ball from beneath his feet and No 12 (Joe O'Brien) swooped like a shithawk on a sausage and brought about yet another equaliser. With 16 minutes left on the clock Road pressed again and won a corner. In the globe came, the keeper caught, dropped and wham, No 11 (Kyle Hendley) had bagged his own prize and brought sheer joy to his teams ranks. Hulton didn't roll over and die, their No 10 and Cropper both had efforts, one nutted away by the keeper, one saved and pushed behind which resulted in a goal kick (a very odd decision). The last 5 minutes were hectic, Hulton posed greatest threat and a shot from one of their subs wasn't that far off the mark. Eventually the final bell was rung, Maine Road looked overjoyed, Abbey Hulton devastated, and no ruddy wonder. Both teams should take pride in providing a darn good spectacle and the losers can have consolation in the fact that they had several players who caught the eye tonight. Man of the Match though goes to Maine Roads No 9 (Mike Burke) for two reasons - the brace of goals and for not giving in - simple hey! We pootled off homeward after a classic, I thought my prediction of many goals was outlandish, man, you just can never weigh it up.
FINAL THOUGHT - A glorious stunner, the best match of the season, a pleasure to witness such a ruddy good goalfest that had it all. Both units played with a desire to create chances and ripple mesh - it was a kamikaze game, end to end action and laden with skill, errors and tales of the unexpected. On the plus side, each unit displayed a proven ability to create chances and bury the ball when the chance arose. Both packs have pace, produce many moments of quick passing and good movement and never give up the ghost. On the negative side, this was a nightmare for the manager's with goals leaking here and there and composure sometimes lacking in the heat of battle. The game was played fairly and squarely, very little griping and moaning and the head down approach is one all and sundry should be applauded upon. If I was a gambling man I reckon the next time the teams meet it will be a hand's down goalless draw, such is the outlandish freakishness of this Non-league lark. Thankfully I keep my conkers in my pocket and just attend, enjoy and appreciate. The option tonight was to stop in and watch those overpaid wankers who play for England go through motions I am certainly not interested in and certainly not willing to support. This punk bastard likes it real and honest, I think my choice proves that point. Thank you to all involved.
From the off, The Hulton advanced with their heads to the grindstone and nearly broke their opponents back ranks with a sharp passing sequence that was blighted at the death by the flapping touchline flag. No sooner had the pressure valve been released on the Blue defense than a moment of unexpected madness saw a goalkeeping mis-kick allow the ball to fall into space and No 11 (Angelo Rico) loop one homeward and find the awaiting space between the sticks. It was a well taken goal and certainly put an early kybosh on the host's ambitions. From here The Road buzzed about with No 9 (Mike Burke) having a hopeful dig that went tamely wide. A free-kick down the other end saw panic in the box and much fluster ensue. The home lads survived, had a good period of possession but never made any genuine inroads - Abbey Hulton seemed to be very much in the driving seat. As the visitors built with purpose, Maine Road pugnaciously stuck in and from a seemingly mediocre moment a ball was tossed forth, nutted out and up stepped No 10 (Lee Hendley) to absolutely nail one home and bring parity back to the game. It was a firm strike and a bolt out of the unpredictable blue - this one was a very intriguing affair!
Resting on a knife edge the game developed further, Burke had a dig for The Blues but a bobbling ball put paid to the target being troubled and I thought the windows of nearby resident Edwina Thrutch were in greater danger of being hit which, in itself, would have been disastrous as it was about this time she was settling down to knit herself another 3 breasted bra (don't ask). Half chances came at each end, the ball was just elusive at the last and so the scoresheet remained without further blemish until Abbey Hulton advanced and were duly robbed of the ball. From the halfway line Burke decided to get the head down and go on a mission. One player, two player, three player beat, a quick glance and wallop - goal of the evening had, a 20 yard beauty and a turnaround to savour was achieved and all done with grit and gonads exposed along the way - marvellous. Hulton were injured, they sprung back, No 3 put in a cross, the home mittman flapped and a shot came and was blocked on the line. In, out and back in the ball went, like the hips of an Alsatian humping the leg of its narcoleptic owner. As peril seemed to pass a leg swung, the globe was hit on the volley and whack - back of the net bulging, the game was all square - Nathan Grice was the assassin, this was turning into a stunner.
The excitement continued, Maine Road had a free-kick, Hendley struck a quite outstanding effort but it was matched by an exquisite piece of goalkeeping with the gloved guardian at full stretch and palming the ball away from the target zone. More pressure came via the Blues, Hulton pushed late on, a cross came, a header had by a defending bod and another that was nutted backward and in popped No 9 (Lee Cropper) to nip in and toe poke home. 2 - 3 - what the ruddy hell! A corner came soon after, Cropper in again and inches wide. Other end, 7 minutes of the half left and the well-deserved role of captain had fallen to the ever-busy Blue No 8 (Jamie Roe). He found himself in a small area of space, he made the decision to shoot - oh man, shit the bed - 3 - 3 - this was unreal and what a well taken goal. From here the mania continued but thankfully the half-time whistle came and we could all recover and dose up on our nerve controlling meds. The excitement had been too much for some, an elderly couple next to me had died of exposure to the lunacy, one old lady was undergoing a seizure and an unashamed fellow further along was still in the throes of an all-consuming orgasm. Yes, it had been one of those halves.
During the break my wife had a natter on the phone to our daughter and I had a chinwag with Cheadle Heath Nomad's Secretary, and all round good guy, Neville Pearson. Football and fungi dictated matters with Nev giving hint of a book he is writing on the love life of a Tangerine. The Karma Fruitra sounds a fascinating read and with a nude pineapple centre-spread thrown in for the connoisseur I can see the author making his fortune and opening his very own Fruit Museum. Good luck to him, ooh the zesty character.
The opening throes of the second period were played with frenzied heat. A cross for Hulton came, Cropper was keen to get his crust on the globe, missed it and up stepped No 7 (Kieran Lazenby) to feed on the scraps and bury the ball. The 7th goal was had, another chance nearly came the other end as Roe put in a pearling cross that was knocked out with some crucial defending. The trailing team came again, corner won, out and repeat. Ball in, flick on, Burke at the back post and 4 goals apiece. No sooner had I witnessed this 8th strike than some horrorshow defending by the hosts saw an eager striker pop up and have a crack that went just wide. After a small injury break and a quiet spell a few more half glimpses of goal were had by both units. From nothing a soft free-kick was awarded to the AH lads, Cropper waited for the whistle and eyed the target. The shrill peep came, a relaxed shank swung and the ball looped over the wall and squeezed into the net for a quite simplistic strike. It was a lapse in defense for the Blue Army, it was now time to respond.
Down the back stretch we were about to enter, Cropper for Hulton had a crack just off line, No 10 also had an effort that needed a goal line clearance - this was one game of capricious football and more was still to come. Road's No 3 (Luke Podmore) came on strong, graced the game with a sublime pass that saw Hendley latch onto and strike inches wide. There was no abatement to the action, like a couple of jitterbugs hepped up on goofballs the incessant animation remained high. Next up, Abbey Hulton progressed and looked to seal the win, they were caught napping and Road broke. A cross came forth, the defender couldn't get the ball from beneath his feet and No 12 (Joe O'Brien) swooped like a shithawk on a sausage and brought about yet another equaliser. With 16 minutes left on the clock Road pressed again and won a corner. In the globe came, the keeper caught, dropped and wham, No 11 (Kyle Hendley) had bagged his own prize and brought sheer joy to his teams ranks. Hulton didn't roll over and die, their No 10 and Cropper both had efforts, one nutted away by the keeper, one saved and pushed behind which resulted in a goal kick (a very odd decision). The last 5 minutes were hectic, Hulton posed greatest threat and a shot from one of their subs wasn't that far off the mark. Eventually the final bell was rung, Maine Road looked overjoyed, Abbey Hulton devastated, and no ruddy wonder. Both teams should take pride in providing a darn good spectacle and the losers can have consolation in the fact that they had several players who caught the eye tonight. Man of the Match though goes to Maine Roads No 9 (Mike Burke) for two reasons - the brace of goals and for not giving in - simple hey! We pootled off homeward after a classic, I thought my prediction of many goals was outlandish, man, you just can never weigh it up.
FINAL THOUGHT - A glorious stunner, the best match of the season, a pleasure to witness such a ruddy good goalfest that had it all. Both units played with a desire to create chances and ripple mesh - it was a kamikaze game, end to end action and laden with skill, errors and tales of the unexpected. On the plus side, each unit displayed a proven ability to create chances and bury the ball when the chance arose. Both packs have pace, produce many moments of quick passing and good movement and never give up the ghost. On the negative side, this was a nightmare for the manager's with goals leaking here and there and composure sometimes lacking in the heat of battle. The game was played fairly and squarely, very little griping and moaning and the head down approach is one all and sundry should be applauded upon. If I was a gambling man I reckon the next time the teams meet it will be a hand's down goalless draw, such is the outlandish freakishness of this Non-league lark. Thankfully I keep my conkers in my pocket and just attend, enjoy and appreciate. The option tonight was to stop in and watch those overpaid wankers who play for England go through motions I am certainly not interested in and certainly not willing to support. This punk bastard likes it real and honest, I think my choice proves that point. Thank you to all involved.
Saturday 13 October 2018
RED AHEAD
13th October 2018 - Whitchurch Alport 2 v 0 Barnoldswick Town - Whenever I am called upon to lead a walk at Harthill in Cheshire the first thing I check is that Whitchurch Alport are playing at home. With walks running from 10am til 1pm that gives us enough time to get sorted and travel the short distance to watch this fine team at a ground that is always a pleasure to visit. Today myself and my good lady got a soaking in the name of the shrooms, hopefully kept a group of folk intrigued and inspired and showed them a few myco-delights that could have easily been passed by. From here, and after a quick cuppa, we drove to the ground, had a quick change and paid our entrance fee. Chips and more tea were crucial and upon purchase we picked our scoffing spot and indulged. The weather was still shabby, the wind nibbled at regions best left undescribed and I was hoping for a ruddy good football match with plenty of goals, no bookings and perhaps a streaking midget sporting a 10 foot hard on. My wife tells me that sometimes I ask for too much, hey ho, the chips went down well I suppose so anything else is a bonus. On paper this looked a tough test for both squads with Whitchurch always good value at home and Barnoldswick on a decent run of late and looking to keep tabs on the league leaders. Intrigued? So am I and this is the outcome of much huffing, puffing and passion!
The Barlick Boys had the major possession in the opening sequences with a keenness displayed to play a sharp passing game. The Red Men absorbed and made sure that when they got the ball it stayed on the deck rather than getting tossed up in the swirling air. The first action saw the home No 11 (Alex Hughes) brought down in clumsy fashion and a free-kick duly given and wasted with the ball thudding into the wall and then getting hoofed clear. Barlick remained unruffled and passed with a good awareness of where each player was and the movements made. One move earned a bonus kick on the flank but the ball in followed the suit set by the previous effort at the other end and was easily punted away. The Alport reacted, Hughes was through and shot with hopeful desire and saw the ball go through the keepers legs but seem to hit the hanging arse that somehow impeded momentum. Beat by the buttocks hey - bah! The visitors came on, several corners, a few balls in and a booming header from their No 2 (Elliot Wilson) all failed to troubled the target zone, it was looking like a match that was going to end up mighty close with only one or two goals in it.
As a midfield battle brought little in the way of chances Whitchurch suddenly put together a sterling move that saw 3 passes come from front to back and the ball get buried from a sizzling cross. It was a pity the liner was a flag-waving party pooper - his decision did seem correct though - the rotten sod! Barlick had a couple of chances to nip through from the central melee but the final touch was just lacking and as matters became slightly mundane I did ponder the prospect of a goalless draw. The guests came once more and the best chance of the game seemed on the cards when the home No 4 (Leon Ashman) got duly stuck in and produced a sensational tackle built on rugged strength and fine timing. From this moment a turnaround came as a Whitchurch ball over the top seemed a trifle optimistic but found the feet of the galloping No 9 (Tim Sanders). He broke the offside trap, zoned in on goal and looked to pick his spot. The game needed a goal, the home supporters certainly wanted a goal and he duly obliged with a cool stroke home that brought great joy to the many onlookers. From here the travellers battled but No 10 (Matthew Ashbrook) for the WA lads competed hard, won a ball from sheer endeavour and provided a cross that was aching for a finishing execution - alas it didn't come. Within seconds the same player went on a good run and earned a free-kick. Hughes took charge, hammered one and the keeper saved. The ball was loose and on the scraps the ever industrious No 7 (Simon Everall) fed and crossed for Sanders to belt home and put icing on the first half cake. The half was soon done, this had been close but the home chaps had certainly stuck at it and were good for the advantage.
Half-time, we stayed put, continued a chat we started earlier with a fine local gent who was mighty keen on his side. Me and the missus shared a yoghurt bar and the teams came out to recommence the battle.
The first chances fell the way of the visitors at the beginning of the second period with No 7 (Adam Latham) contributing some decent work and a cross that No 8 (Andrew Hill) knocked waywardly off target. A corner came next after the guest No 3 (Ethan Kershaw) nipped in and shot. To much arsing saw the angled kick wasted and Whitchurch go on a sudden break. Hughes was at the helm of the charge, indecision and a headwind put paid to any serious bother but a goal kick for the home side soon after saw Everall gallop on, slap in a razor cross that was well held by the under pressure mitter. No 3 (Nicholas Marley) was soon having a burst forth himself when linking up with Everall and bringing about a foul. The free-kick came, the ball in was low and hard and connected with but somehow peril was piddled on and we stayed as we were. A few spiced tackles ensued (ooh curried goolies) but the home team remained very much in control.
Into the back stretch after much hard labour, WA's No 10 (Matthew Ashbrook) was allowed to trespass forth and release but the dig that came went straight at the keeper. All the Town could offer in return was a free-kick that needed a crucially accurate placement. What transpired was a shot out of the bottom drawer of shittery where one keeps all things deemed awful. Into the last 15 minutes we entered, onwards the trailing side pushed but with each and every advance a resilient rear pack was hit. A late free-kick for The Alport saw the sequence finalised by an audacious overhead kick that wasn't that far off the mark. Hughes, was the brave soul (or ambitious lunatic if you so prefer) who ended up without luck - a worthy try though nonetheless. The added minutes brought little in the way of excitement although a loose page from a back issue of 'Nude Pygmies' fluttered by in the wind and I did get a glimpse of some unexpected micro genitals. The referee eventually called a halt to matters, I pondered a Man of The Match and went for Whitchurch Alport's No 3 (Nicholas Marley). A good effort, very secure at the back and always looking to cause trouble in a more advanced position with some dinky runs and sharp passing - nice one.
FINAL THOUGHT - Well another good trip down to Yockings Park was had and although wind blown, filthy from the fungi walk and with wet feet we had no complaints whatsoever. The away team looked a bit flat today and when setting themselves to punch released without any inspiration and looked lost for follow-up shots. A team on a decent roll can hit days like this and the true test comes in how they bounce back. Today they were forced to scrap on the ropes and looked mithered and far from comfortable although their No 3 (Ethan Kershaw) was a shining light and one example of a few positives to hold onto. Whitchurch Alport played a tight, unforgiving game today and made sure they were on it from the off and working as a complete unit. It wasn't a flamboyant performance but a workmanlike shift that got the job done far easier than one would have expected. They are now moving in the direction they should be, dead ahead, and doing so without looking over their shoulders and worrying about things around them. This is a tough and competitive league but I will be very surprised if this lot aren't in the top six when the final whistle blows. So we tootled off home, I never did find the rest of that pygmy magazine, and will be back again ready to enjoy some more non-league action - tis good to pootle and support!
The Barlick Boys had the major possession in the opening sequences with a keenness displayed to play a sharp passing game. The Red Men absorbed and made sure that when they got the ball it stayed on the deck rather than getting tossed up in the swirling air. The first action saw the home No 11 (Alex Hughes) brought down in clumsy fashion and a free-kick duly given and wasted with the ball thudding into the wall and then getting hoofed clear. Barlick remained unruffled and passed with a good awareness of where each player was and the movements made. One move earned a bonus kick on the flank but the ball in followed the suit set by the previous effort at the other end and was easily punted away. The Alport reacted, Hughes was through and shot with hopeful desire and saw the ball go through the keepers legs but seem to hit the hanging arse that somehow impeded momentum. Beat by the buttocks hey - bah! The visitors came on, several corners, a few balls in and a booming header from their No 2 (Elliot Wilson) all failed to troubled the target zone, it was looking like a match that was going to end up mighty close with only one or two goals in it.
As a midfield battle brought little in the way of chances Whitchurch suddenly put together a sterling move that saw 3 passes come from front to back and the ball get buried from a sizzling cross. It was a pity the liner was a flag-waving party pooper - his decision did seem correct though - the rotten sod! Barlick had a couple of chances to nip through from the central melee but the final touch was just lacking and as matters became slightly mundane I did ponder the prospect of a goalless draw. The guests came once more and the best chance of the game seemed on the cards when the home No 4 (Leon Ashman) got duly stuck in and produced a sensational tackle built on rugged strength and fine timing. From this moment a turnaround came as a Whitchurch ball over the top seemed a trifle optimistic but found the feet of the galloping No 9 (Tim Sanders). He broke the offside trap, zoned in on goal and looked to pick his spot. The game needed a goal, the home supporters certainly wanted a goal and he duly obliged with a cool stroke home that brought great joy to the many onlookers. From here the travellers battled but No 10 (Matthew Ashbrook) for the WA lads competed hard, won a ball from sheer endeavour and provided a cross that was aching for a finishing execution - alas it didn't come. Within seconds the same player went on a good run and earned a free-kick. Hughes took charge, hammered one and the keeper saved. The ball was loose and on the scraps the ever industrious No 7 (Simon Everall) fed and crossed for Sanders to belt home and put icing on the first half cake. The half was soon done, this had been close but the home chaps had certainly stuck at it and were good for the advantage.
Half-time, we stayed put, continued a chat we started earlier with a fine local gent who was mighty keen on his side. Me and the missus shared a yoghurt bar and the teams came out to recommence the battle.
The first chances fell the way of the visitors at the beginning of the second period with No 7 (Adam Latham) contributing some decent work and a cross that No 8 (Andrew Hill) knocked waywardly off target. A corner came next after the guest No 3 (Ethan Kershaw) nipped in and shot. To much arsing saw the angled kick wasted and Whitchurch go on a sudden break. Hughes was at the helm of the charge, indecision and a headwind put paid to any serious bother but a goal kick for the home side soon after saw Everall gallop on, slap in a razor cross that was well held by the under pressure mitter. No 3 (Nicholas Marley) was soon having a burst forth himself when linking up with Everall and bringing about a foul. The free-kick came, the ball in was low and hard and connected with but somehow peril was piddled on and we stayed as we were. A few spiced tackles ensued (ooh curried goolies) but the home team remained very much in control.
Into the back stretch after much hard labour, WA's No 10 (Matthew Ashbrook) was allowed to trespass forth and release but the dig that came went straight at the keeper. All the Town could offer in return was a free-kick that needed a crucially accurate placement. What transpired was a shot out of the bottom drawer of shittery where one keeps all things deemed awful. Into the last 15 minutes we entered, onwards the trailing side pushed but with each and every advance a resilient rear pack was hit. A late free-kick for The Alport saw the sequence finalised by an audacious overhead kick that wasn't that far off the mark. Hughes, was the brave soul (or ambitious lunatic if you so prefer) who ended up without luck - a worthy try though nonetheless. The added minutes brought little in the way of excitement although a loose page from a back issue of 'Nude Pygmies' fluttered by in the wind and I did get a glimpse of some unexpected micro genitals. The referee eventually called a halt to matters, I pondered a Man of The Match and went for Whitchurch Alport's No 3 (Nicholas Marley). A good effort, very secure at the back and always looking to cause trouble in a more advanced position with some dinky runs and sharp passing - nice one.
FINAL THOUGHT - Well another good trip down to Yockings Park was had and although wind blown, filthy from the fungi walk and with wet feet we had no complaints whatsoever. The away team looked a bit flat today and when setting themselves to punch released without any inspiration and looked lost for follow-up shots. A team on a decent roll can hit days like this and the true test comes in how they bounce back. Today they were forced to scrap on the ropes and looked mithered and far from comfortable although their No 3 (Ethan Kershaw) was a shining light and one example of a few positives to hold onto. Whitchurch Alport played a tight, unforgiving game today and made sure they were on it from the off and working as a complete unit. It wasn't a flamboyant performance but a workmanlike shift that got the job done far easier than one would have expected. They are now moving in the direction they should be, dead ahead, and doing so without looking over their shoulders and worrying about things around them. This is a tough and competitive league but I will be very surprised if this lot aren't in the top six when the final whistle blows. So we tootled off home, I never did find the rest of that pygmy magazine, and will be back again ready to enjoy some more non-league action - tis good to pootle and support!
Thursday 11 October 2018
FROM THE CRAP TO THE CRUEL
9th October 2018 - Irlam FC 2 v 3 Radcliffe FC - A Manchester Premier Cup 1st Round match, one of many contests in many cups that boggle the old Non-League mind. The Ambitek Stadium was the destination after a day leading a bunch of carers around the sunny climes of Etherow CP and showing them the marvels of fresh air, fungi and tea and cake. A great way for people in a stressful situation to switch off and have a bit of time for themselves - putting back is always the key. The drive to the ground, as per, was a pain in the proverbials (or bollocks if you so prefer) with traffic crawling along and the end of day commute highlighted what ruination we are doing to the environment and ourselves - tis all one rat race to the grave - thank goodness I don't chase the coin and have opted for a job I can walk/cycle to and do some good for people too. We eventually arrived at the ground, entered and brought our raffle ticket despite knowing the Gods of Fortune are more bent than a Rheumatic's todger. We had a fine natter with the grand club secretary Warren Dodd (now there is a good amiable chap who adds to the pleasure visiting grounds such as this) and duly purchased chips and tea and took our seats. Whilst chomping and slurping we nattered to a fine couple from Radcliffe who were ardent supporters of their team and had put 30 years work in helping them on their way - now that deserves applause, the real backbone of a club usually goes unnoticed - not here though! After the guts were full the teams came out, we had to move early on in the action because the position of the seats and peoples touchline positioning were far from complimentary - down the far end we tootled and this is what we witnessed.
The Silver Street residents found themselves under the cosh from the start as the travellers scurried, steamed and duly won a penalty. It came before the game had fully started and when No 11 (Shelton Payne) stepped up and slapped home with ease it seemed that a very long night ahead awaited the Irlam lads. From here the hosts dashed with determination trying to create instant hope in the wretched face of early adversity. No 11 (Marcus Perry), the eternal release valve, had a brief glimpse of goal after scampering away on whirring legs. The shot that came however was borne under heavy harassment and was duly thumped wide - it was a chance nonetheless. The game eventually levelled out but Radcliffe were conducting the tempo and looking likeliest to grab the next strike. As chances dwindled No 9 (Connor Martin) for the hosts appeared from the midfield mush, released a sweet dipping shot that was falling with pace beneath the awaiting horizontal. The visiting keeper (Ollie Martin) was on his toes though and tipped over to deny a glorious goal. The corner, like the dehydrated teets of a desert stranded cow, produced nowt and from here the game almost died a death.
Matters coughed and spluttered, Perry for Irlam produced the only run of note when flashing the flanks, working in with hunger but finalising matters with a shot that lacked any real chomp - disappointing to say the least. At the other end a corner came and a good thumping header by the No 5 (Callum Grogan) looked promising but missed the target by a good couple of yards. The half remained drab, excitement was a rare commodity and the first 45 ended with the guests trying as best as they could to double their lead but having about as much threat as an arthritic hedgehog. The referee blew - time to rest the arse and contemplate that deemed as crap - there was not a lot to add really - these things happen.
Half two began after we had had a sit, we took up the same viewing position and were joined by some long term away fans who grumbled and groaned and cracked some good banter whilst getting frustrated by their teams performance. The first shot of the second period came for Irlam but the effort was utterly ineffectual. Moments later the No 2 (Sam Bolton) picked up the globe in his own half, got the noggin down and dashed forth. 1, 2, and 3 players were passed, space was found and slap - 1 -1 and what a goal it was. This was a surprise for sure and it was just what Irlam, and the game in general needed, a real shot up the khyber. Radcliffe responded from the off, Payne slipped in, side-footed and just put the ball over. Irlam were up for this now, an immediate attack saw Radcliffe in disarray and a foul had. The referee was decisive and pointed to the spot - penalty given, surely the turn-around couldn't be so easy. Up stepped Martin, put good weight on his shot and just beat the keeper to give that lead goal - whatever seeds of confidence were planted in the dressing room at half-time was certainly bearing fruit. Soon after, the sanguinity running through the veins of the home pack was manifesting itself once more with a stunning passing sequence ending with Perry striking but only hitting the keeper shanks. A corner followed, the man in the gloves collected with relief.
Now Radcliffe began to push with purpose, No 9 (Tunde Owalabi) and Payne linked up but the shot was straight at the sprawled mitter. The ball bounced back out, the return punt was shabby. Delays aplenty held up matters but eventually fluidity came and the guests passed and moved with just the odd stray ball negating the promise. No 8 (Liam Morrison) was a stand out player putting in a rewarding stint and at one point won a midfield ball from nothing, fed Martin who was denied at the last by a terrific tackle by the Borough No 3 (Mason Fallon) - how crucial it was was anyone's guess at this stage! Suddenly, out of the blue (well, yellow in fact) a long ball found Payne on the run. The front man took it in his stride, cut in and fired. The shot wasn't the greatest but it had enough pace to confound and a slight deflection made sure it found the net - we were back to all square - penalties loomed. Radclifffe were now slightly on top, Irlam were slowly sitting back deeper and deeper with the odd free-kick offering brief respite. Some weak refereeing was making matters tense and killing potential at both ends. The hosts seemed always to have enough to keep the predatory opponents at bay with shots coming, bodies thrown and blocking and the ball pinging this way and that. The dregs were upon us, we were into overtime - everyone seemed ready to watch a spot kick treat when Radcliffe pushed, Morrison of all people, committed the clumsiest of fouls and the man in black pointed to the spot. Payne stepped up - this was to win it and grab a hat-trick - the pressure was on. The marksman approached the ball, swung the leg and bang, 2 - 3, game over, cruelty incarnate and Irlam gutted. Seconds later the whistle blew - it was a harsh ending but one to learn from. As the teams left the pitch I contemplated a Man of the Match and went for the obvious, No 11 (Shelton Payne) of Radcliffe FC for striving on when things weren't running smoothly and for bagging a hat-trick from out of nothing. He saved his sides arses tonight - make sure he gets a good drink chaps.
FINAL THOUGHT - What an odd game and what a tale of twists and turns, tossery and triumph. The first half was not good, and although we started with a penalty excitement tailed away and it was a game without control and in some parts real urgency. The second period was more like it with the Irlam lads showing they are no pushovers and playing some decent football with a good spirit. The team will hold their own in the premiership and will certainly be a team I always keep an eye on and one I will support here and there when this busy life allows. Radcliffe FC are an odd one to assess on this one showing as on one hand they looked to be a team lacking bite and then, when the backs were up against the wall, looked a unit who can pounce at any given time and cause much mayhem in their opponents half. The fact that they sell darn good pasties at their ground may twist my arm and get me down their soon enough but man, the chips at this gaff tonight did the job too - ooh the problems that arise when fond of football and food. Overall I think the result went the right way tonight (just) and reckon this cup distraction may be better out of the way for the boys in Blue. Radcliffe could just well pinch this trophy, they will have to play for the full 90 minutes in future though - keep checking the scores people.
The Silver Street residents found themselves under the cosh from the start as the travellers scurried, steamed and duly won a penalty. It came before the game had fully started and when No 11 (Shelton Payne) stepped up and slapped home with ease it seemed that a very long night ahead awaited the Irlam lads. From here the hosts dashed with determination trying to create instant hope in the wretched face of early adversity. No 11 (Marcus Perry), the eternal release valve, had a brief glimpse of goal after scampering away on whirring legs. The shot that came however was borne under heavy harassment and was duly thumped wide - it was a chance nonetheless. The game eventually levelled out but Radcliffe were conducting the tempo and looking likeliest to grab the next strike. As chances dwindled No 9 (Connor Martin) for the hosts appeared from the midfield mush, released a sweet dipping shot that was falling with pace beneath the awaiting horizontal. The visiting keeper (Ollie Martin) was on his toes though and tipped over to deny a glorious goal. The corner, like the dehydrated teets of a desert stranded cow, produced nowt and from here the game almost died a death.
Matters coughed and spluttered, Perry for Irlam produced the only run of note when flashing the flanks, working in with hunger but finalising matters with a shot that lacked any real chomp - disappointing to say the least. At the other end a corner came and a good thumping header by the No 5 (Callum Grogan) looked promising but missed the target by a good couple of yards. The half remained drab, excitement was a rare commodity and the first 45 ended with the guests trying as best as they could to double their lead but having about as much threat as an arthritic hedgehog. The referee blew - time to rest the arse and contemplate that deemed as crap - there was not a lot to add really - these things happen.
Half two began after we had had a sit, we took up the same viewing position and were joined by some long term away fans who grumbled and groaned and cracked some good banter whilst getting frustrated by their teams performance. The first shot of the second period came for Irlam but the effort was utterly ineffectual. Moments later the No 2 (Sam Bolton) picked up the globe in his own half, got the noggin down and dashed forth. 1, 2, and 3 players were passed, space was found and slap - 1 -1 and what a goal it was. This was a surprise for sure and it was just what Irlam, and the game in general needed, a real shot up the khyber. Radcliffe responded from the off, Payne slipped in, side-footed and just put the ball over. Irlam were up for this now, an immediate attack saw Radcliffe in disarray and a foul had. The referee was decisive and pointed to the spot - penalty given, surely the turn-around couldn't be so easy. Up stepped Martin, put good weight on his shot and just beat the keeper to give that lead goal - whatever seeds of confidence were planted in the dressing room at half-time was certainly bearing fruit. Soon after, the sanguinity running through the veins of the home pack was manifesting itself once more with a stunning passing sequence ending with Perry striking but only hitting the keeper shanks. A corner followed, the man in the gloves collected with relief.
Now Radcliffe began to push with purpose, No 9 (Tunde Owalabi) and Payne linked up but the shot was straight at the sprawled mitter. The ball bounced back out, the return punt was shabby. Delays aplenty held up matters but eventually fluidity came and the guests passed and moved with just the odd stray ball negating the promise. No 8 (Liam Morrison) was a stand out player putting in a rewarding stint and at one point won a midfield ball from nothing, fed Martin who was denied at the last by a terrific tackle by the Borough No 3 (Mason Fallon) - how crucial it was was anyone's guess at this stage! Suddenly, out of the blue (well, yellow in fact) a long ball found Payne on the run. The front man took it in his stride, cut in and fired. The shot wasn't the greatest but it had enough pace to confound and a slight deflection made sure it found the net - we were back to all square - penalties loomed. Radclifffe were now slightly on top, Irlam were slowly sitting back deeper and deeper with the odd free-kick offering brief respite. Some weak refereeing was making matters tense and killing potential at both ends. The hosts seemed always to have enough to keep the predatory opponents at bay with shots coming, bodies thrown and blocking and the ball pinging this way and that. The dregs were upon us, we were into overtime - everyone seemed ready to watch a spot kick treat when Radcliffe pushed, Morrison of all people, committed the clumsiest of fouls and the man in black pointed to the spot. Payne stepped up - this was to win it and grab a hat-trick - the pressure was on. The marksman approached the ball, swung the leg and bang, 2 - 3, game over, cruelty incarnate and Irlam gutted. Seconds later the whistle blew - it was a harsh ending but one to learn from. As the teams left the pitch I contemplated a Man of the Match and went for the obvious, No 11 (Shelton Payne) of Radcliffe FC for striving on when things weren't running smoothly and for bagging a hat-trick from out of nothing. He saved his sides arses tonight - make sure he gets a good drink chaps.
FINAL THOUGHT - What an odd game and what a tale of twists and turns, tossery and triumph. The first half was not good, and although we started with a penalty excitement tailed away and it was a game without control and in some parts real urgency. The second period was more like it with the Irlam lads showing they are no pushovers and playing some decent football with a good spirit. The team will hold their own in the premiership and will certainly be a team I always keep an eye on and one I will support here and there when this busy life allows. Radcliffe FC are an odd one to assess on this one showing as on one hand they looked to be a team lacking bite and then, when the backs were up against the wall, looked a unit who can pounce at any given time and cause much mayhem in their opponents half. The fact that they sell darn good pasties at their ground may twist my arm and get me down their soon enough but man, the chips at this gaff tonight did the job too - ooh the problems that arise when fond of football and food. Overall I think the result went the right way tonight (just) and reckon this cup distraction may be better out of the way for the boys in Blue. Radcliffe could just well pinch this trophy, they will have to play for the full 90 minutes in future though - keep checking the scores people.
Wednesday 10 October 2018
AM DRAM AND SLAM
8th October 2018 - Stockport Town 2 v 3 Wythenshawe Amateurs - Man, this is a busy time of year for me and the weekend has been non-stop - The Sonics were seen on Friday and produced a fine spectacle of garage noise, a fungus walk was led on Saturday with 103 species clocked up, a tidy and another fungal pootle was had at a nearby Environmental Centre on Sunday and the day ended with a good tea and me and the good lady cuddling up and watching 'Dr Strange' - we like a bit of comic book action but we don't read such smut as 'Desperate Dan and the Tale of the Terrible Todger' or in fact 'Minnie The Minx and the Muff Doctor's Muddle' - no we shall stick to the Mighty World of Marvel if you don't mind. Prior to the match I was on the microscope, doing a few CD reviews, household chores and some exercising and after a fine meal I was dropped off at the ground where I met up with STP Stu. Tea was a foregone outcome, we took up our positions and nattered away like two old gits on a park bench. The tick of the clock carried on, the parson farted, the game started and this is what went on.
As is per on these occasions the start saw both teams go at matters full tilt and compromise organisation and composure for hustle and mania. The Town were having the better of the contest with an early mitt warmer for the keeper had via the feet of No 7 (Adam Etches). Soon after No 8 (Festus Arthur) had a tidy long range effort turned around for a corner, an angled kick that was met by the same player who nutted without ferocity and caused little in the way of fuss. Arthur was soon at it again (ooh the frisky devil), going on a weaving run and winning a free-kick. Up stepped No 9 (Gavin Salmon) to send in a pacey dipper that just stayed above bar level and brought a sigh of relief from the agitated guest bench. The Wythy Warriors started to warm to the night's task but they were nearly caught on the hop when No 11 (Szymon Czubik) almost nipped into clear space but was just about dealt with by a wide awake defence. A patchy period followed from which No 10 (Reece Skelton) leathered one from the angle and only just missed the far upright - promise was in the air, the first goal was surely imminent. Wythenshawe did managed to earn a couple of corners but both finishing shots were off target and Stockport were battling well and running down any space given. The sidelines became thermally elevated as verbals were exchanged and fantasy island pleas fell on deaf ears - I must get some of those hallucinogenics these people are on - they are really seeing some fantastical stuff.
A midfield melee followed, chances became a scarce commodity but eventually, from the crowded scrimmage started to propagate seeds of potential success. Arthur had a shot laid on a plate but his well-placed crack was deflected wide. A corner followed, a defensive blip saw Arthur slip in and duly bury the ball in determined style - wham - the home team had the lead and it was a long time coming if the truth be known. Now the off-field gobbage moved up a notch, the tackle intensity increased and from the incandescence Skelton for The Lions nearly doubled his sides advantage and The Amateurs came close with a cross nodded close in and just about grabbed by the grateful man in green. The final few minutes of the half had a tetchiness creep in and a touchpaper lit - some heads needed to cool down, never in a month of Sundays will misused passion win a game. An injury ended matters, thankfully the clobbered player was mended and as we walked and purchased tea we wondered what the second half would bring.
During the break a couple I meet quite regularly were joined and we exchanged words on the game so far and where we had been of late. One good thing about this non-league lark is the many decent folk one can meet - these two are keen and eager gems - always a pleasure. After wandering back to our positions the teams entered the fray and, as it turned out, we were all in for a bit of a surprise to say the least.
From the off no quarter was given either way, the game became jumbled and discontinuous as both packs sought to achieve a level of control. Arthur for The Lions drilled a low shot that tickled wide and a following free-kick was too elevated to trouble the keeper. The guests response was much fluster and a shot by No 11 (James Green) screwed wide and reflected a team very much out of sorts. A lull was banished by some Lionised action, Etches threaded a beauty to Skelton who found No 9 (Gavin Salmon) who duly slotted home. Now how simple was that? 1, 2, 3 and thank you - Wythenshawe were utterly shell-shocked, was there any way back? Well, the best way to get back into a game is to catch a team napping after scoring a goal, an occurrence that happens all too often at all levels and must surely drive managers to drink or, perhaps worse, heavy bouts of therapeutic masturbation - perish the thought! As the home lads were in sub-celebration mode Wythy broke, a cross was slapped across goal and 'thank you most kindly', up stepped No 9 (Nialle Rodney) to half the deficit. No sooner had I scribbled my notes than Town nearly caught their opponents on the hop too when a cross saw Skelton rise, nut and get denied from inches out - applause to the visiting No 1 (Martin Slain) for being mighty alert.
From here Town let the pressure nibble at their undercarriage and shit forth a sensation of being bothered. The Ammies sensed the aroma of concern and came on strong with Rodney having another effort and then a free-kick being won. The ball was floated in, cleared but soon after another bonus ball was earned. No 10 (David Wright) took charge, released a mid-paced bender that caught the keeper slightly unsighted and found the inside of the post. A cultured strike, a kick up the arse for The Lions, a fine way to level the score. Stockport tried to punch back, a quick strike was off target then at the other end a post was duly clattered - this was now end to end madness, anyone losing this was going to be severely disappointed. Town brought about the next attack, No 17 (Jesurun Uchegbulam) had a dig but the keeper did just enough to turn away for a corner. The ball came in, was dealt with and followed by a long ball that was taken down by Rodney in eye-catching style. An advance, sights set and have that - 2 -3 - the lead goal was had, this was a turn-around to relish, the visiting bench went haywire. Bookings for the hosts brought further misery with their No 5 (Christopher Howard) very unlucky to be shown a red card. The game eventually ended in a shower of oral shittery and scrapyard ugliness - one team was elated to hear the final whistle, the other looked as though the bell had tolled for dead men walking - you really can't weigh this game up. Man of the Match looked to be going several ways throughout the night's proceedings but No 9 (Nialle Rodney) stuck at a lost cause, bagged two goals and showed some neat work in the face of sheer adversity and so gets the decisive nod.
FINAL THOUGHT - A game tonight that was laden with drama, full of bluster, streaked with verbal madness and, right up until the last, impossible to call. Despite the over-spill of words the ingredients were all that any self-respecting non-league fan could wish for and from the jaws of victory somehow Stockport Town managed to get themselves in a whole heap of trouble and snatch a very sickening loss. The team need to reflect though on their first half efforts and the opening portion of the second half and how they let matters slip away and walk off the pitch with sweet FA. The team are getting there, they will now rise up the table but they must stay tight, avoid any off-pitch bollocks and make sure they work as one and...believe. I personally think a corner has been turned. Wythenshawe Amateurs impressed me on my first viewing but tonight, for most part, did little to earn applause. They somehow won the game whilst playing poorly - is this a sign of a very, very good team or one who just got lucky and were let off a very precarious hook? They have many fine players, a couple of subs that came on look on the cusp of full time positions which, I hope, reflects a depth to the squad that will keep them in fine fettle. As for where both teams will end up come season end, who the Hell knows, this is turning out to be one unpredictable campaign with each and every result a real surprise. All one can do is keep watching and enjoying. Once the fun in football is lost you have missed the whole point - something we all need to remember!
As is per on these occasions the start saw both teams go at matters full tilt and compromise organisation and composure for hustle and mania. The Town were having the better of the contest with an early mitt warmer for the keeper had via the feet of No 7 (Adam Etches). Soon after No 8 (Festus Arthur) had a tidy long range effort turned around for a corner, an angled kick that was met by the same player who nutted without ferocity and caused little in the way of fuss. Arthur was soon at it again (ooh the frisky devil), going on a weaving run and winning a free-kick. Up stepped No 9 (Gavin Salmon) to send in a pacey dipper that just stayed above bar level and brought a sigh of relief from the agitated guest bench. The Wythy Warriors started to warm to the night's task but they were nearly caught on the hop when No 11 (Szymon Czubik) almost nipped into clear space but was just about dealt with by a wide awake defence. A patchy period followed from which No 10 (Reece Skelton) leathered one from the angle and only just missed the far upright - promise was in the air, the first goal was surely imminent. Wythenshawe did managed to earn a couple of corners but both finishing shots were off target and Stockport were battling well and running down any space given. The sidelines became thermally elevated as verbals were exchanged and fantasy island pleas fell on deaf ears - I must get some of those hallucinogenics these people are on - they are really seeing some fantastical stuff.
A midfield melee followed, chances became a scarce commodity but eventually, from the crowded scrimmage started to propagate seeds of potential success. Arthur had a shot laid on a plate but his well-placed crack was deflected wide. A corner followed, a defensive blip saw Arthur slip in and duly bury the ball in determined style - wham - the home team had the lead and it was a long time coming if the truth be known. Now the off-field gobbage moved up a notch, the tackle intensity increased and from the incandescence Skelton for The Lions nearly doubled his sides advantage and The Amateurs came close with a cross nodded close in and just about grabbed by the grateful man in green. The final few minutes of the half had a tetchiness creep in and a touchpaper lit - some heads needed to cool down, never in a month of Sundays will misused passion win a game. An injury ended matters, thankfully the clobbered player was mended and as we walked and purchased tea we wondered what the second half would bring.
During the break a couple I meet quite regularly were joined and we exchanged words on the game so far and where we had been of late. One good thing about this non-league lark is the many decent folk one can meet - these two are keen and eager gems - always a pleasure. After wandering back to our positions the teams entered the fray and, as it turned out, we were all in for a bit of a surprise to say the least.
From the off no quarter was given either way, the game became jumbled and discontinuous as both packs sought to achieve a level of control. Arthur for The Lions drilled a low shot that tickled wide and a following free-kick was too elevated to trouble the keeper. The guests response was much fluster and a shot by No 11 (James Green) screwed wide and reflected a team very much out of sorts. A lull was banished by some Lionised action, Etches threaded a beauty to Skelton who found No 9 (Gavin Salmon) who duly slotted home. Now how simple was that? 1, 2, 3 and thank you - Wythenshawe were utterly shell-shocked, was there any way back? Well, the best way to get back into a game is to catch a team napping after scoring a goal, an occurrence that happens all too often at all levels and must surely drive managers to drink or, perhaps worse, heavy bouts of therapeutic masturbation - perish the thought! As the home lads were in sub-celebration mode Wythy broke, a cross was slapped across goal and 'thank you most kindly', up stepped No 9 (Nialle Rodney) to half the deficit. No sooner had I scribbled my notes than Town nearly caught their opponents on the hop too when a cross saw Skelton rise, nut and get denied from inches out - applause to the visiting No 1 (Martin Slain) for being mighty alert.
From here Town let the pressure nibble at their undercarriage and shit forth a sensation of being bothered. The Ammies sensed the aroma of concern and came on strong with Rodney having another effort and then a free-kick being won. The ball was floated in, cleared but soon after another bonus ball was earned. No 10 (David Wright) took charge, released a mid-paced bender that caught the keeper slightly unsighted and found the inside of the post. A cultured strike, a kick up the arse for The Lions, a fine way to level the score. Stockport tried to punch back, a quick strike was off target then at the other end a post was duly clattered - this was now end to end madness, anyone losing this was going to be severely disappointed. Town brought about the next attack, No 17 (Jesurun Uchegbulam) had a dig but the keeper did just enough to turn away for a corner. The ball came in, was dealt with and followed by a long ball that was taken down by Rodney in eye-catching style. An advance, sights set and have that - 2 -3 - the lead goal was had, this was a turn-around to relish, the visiting bench went haywire. Bookings for the hosts brought further misery with their No 5 (Christopher Howard) very unlucky to be shown a red card. The game eventually ended in a shower of oral shittery and scrapyard ugliness - one team was elated to hear the final whistle, the other looked as though the bell had tolled for dead men walking - you really can't weigh this game up. Man of the Match looked to be going several ways throughout the night's proceedings but No 9 (Nialle Rodney) stuck at a lost cause, bagged two goals and showed some neat work in the face of sheer adversity and so gets the decisive nod.
FINAL THOUGHT - A game tonight that was laden with drama, full of bluster, streaked with verbal madness and, right up until the last, impossible to call. Despite the over-spill of words the ingredients were all that any self-respecting non-league fan could wish for and from the jaws of victory somehow Stockport Town managed to get themselves in a whole heap of trouble and snatch a very sickening loss. The team need to reflect though on their first half efforts and the opening portion of the second half and how they let matters slip away and walk off the pitch with sweet FA. The team are getting there, they will now rise up the table but they must stay tight, avoid any off-pitch bollocks and make sure they work as one and...believe. I personally think a corner has been turned. Wythenshawe Amateurs impressed me on my first viewing but tonight, for most part, did little to earn applause. They somehow won the game whilst playing poorly - is this a sign of a very, very good team or one who just got lucky and were let off a very precarious hook? They have many fine players, a couple of subs that came on look on the cusp of full time positions which, I hope, reflects a depth to the squad that will keep them in fine fettle. As for where both teams will end up come season end, who the Hell knows, this is turning out to be one unpredictable campaign with each and every result a real surprise. All one can do is keep watching and enjoying. Once the fun in football is lost you have missed the whole point - something we all need to remember!
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