From here I was dropped off at home so my lasses could go shopping and have some precious time together. I recorded some outstanding wildlife sightings, had my dinner and nailed the aforementioned Puffball with a bit of microscopy. Time cracked on, I hopped on the bike, arrived at the ground and found my usual perch where I had a quick read of a book regarding that talented artist Édouard Manet, I wondered what kind of artistry I would see on the field today. A chat with a few fine faces, I was joined by a gent I know who wanders around the peripheries of many a ground and certainly knows his music - he is grand company although when he confessed to having a fling with a Cleo Laine look-a-like I remained on my toes. I certainly didn't want to dress up as Johnny Wankworth and make a day of it - ooh me sexual saxophone.
The game was soon underway and the damn rain was still falling. As the title says, and from the grot came the opening throes with an early corner won for the Ecky boys. No 7 (Solomon Ashworth) posted, No 8 (Essa Faburay) gathered and forced his way through the pack like an eager turd through a pair of clenched muscular buttocks (I must take more laxatives). A good header down was the end result, one has to applaud the keeper for a good save so early in the game.
Nomads were rattled but won a couple of gratis bootings. No real tit-tingling action came although a throw was cranially flicked on by No 9 (Harrison Riley) with the mittman needing to punch clear to quell further threat. Up the opposite end of the pitch we went, a guest free-kick came, No 9 (Maxwell Chimenes) barged forth, the ball went loose and No 2 (Archie Elsdon) was there to seemingly bury. Alas the shank that swung only made air contact as the ball bounced by into No Mans Land - ooh heck. Soon after the visiting No 11 (Dylan Bath) had a hopeful pop from range but the keeper was behind it and normal service was resumed (cue fine UK Subs album).
A few more minor flourishes came when suddenly a Nomad's ball came forth and Riley was in a wonderland of space with only the mitter to beat. A goal looked on the cards but, like the lady in the 'Cock Linnet Song' he dillied and dallied, lost his way with nowhere to roam and the chance went a begging. It was a terrible waste, I am sure his invite to the 'Goal Getter's Gala' will be scrubbed - ooh Roy of the Rovers will be gutted, not to mention Nobby Nobson, a man soon to be reignited into textual action.
The hosts continued to apply pressure but were soon caught on the hop when Ecky broke, a ball was chipped through to Bath who, from a slight angle, guided the ball home and bagged the crucial opener. Eccleshall now turned up the heat, pushed on and looked to build on the opening advantage. No 10 (Morgan Russell) came mighty close after a free-kick saw the ball ping about, land at his feet whereupon a delicate touch to goal hit the timber. The travelling Chimenes was an increasing menace and was unceremoniously held back on several occasions much to the disgruntlement of himself and his colleagues.
Both teams stuck at it, verbals came in spittle soaked flourishes, the liner gave as good as he got and the closest we came to an additional penetration was when Riley connected from a corner but could only flick over. No 11 (Daymeon Almeida) for the hosts pulled one wide, Riley had another dig that was saved and that was it for the first 45 minute spell.
The weather remained at level 'shite', the fellow I had been chatting with continued to tell of his musical interests and how he once indulged in a naked wrestling match with a buttered-up Gene Pitney. Apparently the referee for this contest was a one-armed Vera Lynn impersonator whom danced to the theme of 'Tales of the Unexpected' between every round. An interesting yarn and when the relator of this anecdote offered me an LSD tab, all became clear (and a darn site more lurid and heavy ma' an).
Half two, as giant millipedes rose from the emerald baize, fanged butterflies fed on the local photographer's paps and the rain that fell turned to crystalised amber an early Nomads corner came with fine accuracy that the keeper did well to fist away. A shot was immediately returned and saved - it seemed the half-time talk was taking immediate effect.
The Cheadle chaps came again, No 12 (Leo Knight) finalised a move with a blistering shot that boomed the upright and then, shortly after, No 8 (Tanor Collins) put one wide and No 11 (Almeida) walloped one over. No goal but the promise was high and the hosts were making a good fight of it for sure.
The game from here broke down as regards fluidity, it stuttered and spluttered like Freddie 'Parrot-Faced' Davis on trial for crimes against comedy. A few spiced tackles came, the referee was put further under the cosh and passions rose and desperation duly invaded. I was left with little to scribble so used my pen to vandalise the stand - nothing too outrageous just 'My Dad has a big nob' and 'George Gibbons steals grapes from the local greengrocers' - one has to keep things varied whilst cultivating doubt.
The final flings of a highly frazzled and fractured game came. Minor occurrences dictated as both teams battled away and snuffed each other out. Eccleshall nearly had a golden chance when Bath was sent forth but the home No 1 (Charlie Jones) was still alert and killed the threat. At the other end a penalty shout was borne of the oxymoron of hopeless hope and soon after, that was that. I considered the Man of the Match as I grabbed the bike, and pootled off. No 3 (Matthew Jones) for Eccleshall FC was given the nod due to an extremely focused stint that had the eyes on the ball, many a great tackle and interception made and an 'under pressure' second half survived due to a good footballing brain. And homeward I headed.
FINAL THOUGHTS - A very gritty game with two teams well-balanced and both looking to really get their season rolling. Eccleshall were tidy and I expect them to be in the end shake-up but I thought during the second half they didn't do enough to break the rising pressure and seemed a little off the pace - a lack of fitness or just one of those days? I thought they were highly resilient at the back though and during the first 45 could have had a couple of extra goals and buried the game. Today though, they showed they have the gift of winning ugly, it is a fine asset to have. The Nomads are stuttering along, they are like a 100 watt lightbulb with a dodgy connection - lots of energy is used but the end glow radiated is minimal. The workrate is admirable, but a cool head is needed, a certain unrushed but direct approach essential and yes, as per, the blessings of Lady Luck needed. The campaign is ticking on, the pressure is rising, if things stay as they are the chairman, Mr Gibbons, may have to up his theiving antics from the greengrocers and open his own stall to fund the team - hold onto yer plums folks, I shall be back here on several occasions and shall relate what unfolds.
