10th April 2018 - Linotype Cheadle Heath Nomads 4 v 1 Wythenshawe Town - A rearrangement of plans at the last minute and a trip to a ground that is a 10 minutes walk from the doorstep. We arrived in ample time, purchased tea, exchanged a few pleasantries and headed to the seated area between the dug-outs. I have been reading the Ernest Hemmingway Novel 'To Have and Have Not' an appropriate title it seems as this is my 90th match of the season and 'To Have' is to shift one's arse and 'To Have Not' is to stay static and do nowt. My 150th Fungalised gig is on Saturday too and I am closing in on my 1400th CD review - tis good to put back. The wind was mild, the temperatures not too bad and having updated our gen with a few locals we were keen to get our watching orbs on the nights action. The squads entered the early evening air, they had to get a move on, no floodlights means no fannying about - here we go again.
An oxymoron started matters, the non-travelling Nomads attacked with early zeal, No 11 (Liam Millen) was away and had a chance to play the ball into the box. He chose to shoot instead, the near post was missed. Following this early warning the home heads came on again, a great flank charge with a ball to No 9 (Rick Tindall) who turned and shot in one movement forcing the guest keeper to save well and remain on is guard. No 6 (Jordan Young) was the next to advance and due to his extreme efforts won a lost cause, crossed the ball and allowed Tindall to execute a cheeky lob and bring up the first goal of the game. No sooner had celebrations been had than Cheadle were at it again with a free-kick on the edge of the box awarded after a clumsy tackle. The ball came in, No 8 (Tez Butler) was in at the back stick, No 4 (Ash Crank) popped up and nodded goalward and was only denied by a tidy tip over. More trouble ensued for the Wythenshawe men, they were in disarray but eventually settled in and brought about something akin to a contest. They eventually summoned a breakaway, No 7 (Ash Leather) fled all pursuers like his chuff was in danger and crossed with high purpose. The ball however was easily knocked behind and the ensuing corner dealt with without fuss. It was a good response from the visiting team though and added extra chomp to a wholesome game.
Cheadle were up for the night's work, No 7 (Craig Coates) produced some good hassling strength and knocked the opposing No 3 (Paulo Incaque) off the ball. He was hellbent on a strike and let fly with spite. The ball flew over the verdant carpet and audibly rustled the night - a fine goal again, Wythenshawe were under the cosh. No sooner had the pen left paper than I was scribbling again when the Nomads wandered into enemy territory, Tindall gathered the ball turned and twisted quicker than Spencer Tracey's mug in the remake of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde' and banged home a deflected globe to bring up his second and his teams third. I didn't know what to expect from tonight's game but it wasn't this, what a turn-up. The Linotype Lads advanced once more, a free-kick brushed a crust and the last gasp effort just lacked control. Wythenshawe made a substitute and within moments of hitting the turf No 14 (Gavin Salmon) put his bonse on the ball and watched his effort get cleared off the line. It looked as though a tide may turn but up the other end No 10 (Kieran Herbert) launched one and just missed the upright. End to end stuff followed, No 11(Will Shawcross) should have pulled one goal back for the visitors but his header from a free-kick was closer to the nadgers of a passing magpie than the back of the net. Verbals now erupted, concentration for all was affected, Cheadle Heath Nomads were the beneficiaries with an indirect free-kick awarded in the Wythy box. A touch, a twat and triumph, Crank had cranked up the scoreline, 4 - 0 we were, the script was now used as toilet paper.
The final minutes of the first half saw the travellers strike from a long ball with Shawcross having a weak close in shot and the follow up denied by a clumsy tackle. A penalty had been given, it seemed an obscure decision but Salmon was in no mood to mess about and stepped up and struck the ball. The save that followed exuded high quality, the ball duly fell to another attacker who put in a shot cum cross and grazed the crossbar. The excitement was negated as the hosts got rid of the troublesome sphere and the referee gave us all a chance to hitch up our trollies and regain some semblance of mental order.
For half-time we moved to the opposite side of the ground and slurped tea and had a chat with a couple of local faces. The light was fading, the air growing cool - things needed to crack on or a black-out could be had, the ghost of Arthur Scargill was surely getting aroused at the thought!
For the second half we had Wythenshawe initially pushing with an early range finder clobbered in and raising hope. Leather for the guests dashed and won a bonus ball which in turn led to an angled kick. The ball went in, then out, then back in whereupon No 12 (Isaac Graham) nodded home and reduced the deficit. From here Wythenshawe cultivated the next chance too with Graham having bags of time to grab a second but blazing way off the mark. Leather came again, the ball was played to No 11 (Dylan Moth) who had time to run but put in a first time shot. The result - an awful miss for sure! Cheadle responded via a clumsy tackle and a free-kick that was finalised with an ambitious overhead kick - the execution however was...ahem...crap! A cruddy patch came, both teams struggling to create anything of note. The Nomads went closest when Herbert cut in and Tindall dragged the ball wide of the upright but other than that it was a sketchy period void of quality.
The sky now grew dark, the match lacked glow, the visitors were having a lot more possession but wasting promise in the final third. A free-kick came, the keeper dropped and Moth had two bites of the cherry - the first blocked, the second saved - it was a double-edged opportunity blunted. From here the Nomads finished strongest, Butler, Tindall and Herbert were a hard-chugging trio working until the death. Late shots came in return from Wythenshawe's Leather and Moth but both were far too easy for the keeper to deal with. A dazzling dribble by Herbert saw him beat 3 players and set up a chance for the goal of the night but the shot close in lacked venom. Soon after the same player played out to Salmon who dinked in an exquisite chip shot that brought about a tip-top save. A follow-up shot by Leather was blazed over - it was the last of the last, soon after we were done. It had been a tough night for Wythenshawe and a good performance by the Nomads. Man of the match goes to the No 9 (Rick Tindall) of the latter team for his troublesome ways, 2 goals and high work ethic that saw him run himself ragged - it was a good workmanlike effort.
FINAL THOUGHT - And match 90 of the season was done and what a decent night out it was. A mere 10 minute walk from where I live and looking like a place that may be getting a few more visits by this Fungalised git. The home team tonight played some swift, decisive and quick hungry football with an early urgency that really put their opponents on the back peg. Their hustling and bustling ways caught the Wythenshawe pack on the hop and before The Town could recover the damage had been done. The guests are better than this and I think they have been sidetracked by things in the pipeline and next seasons promises. I have seen Wyhthenshawe a couple of times this season and they are difficult to assess on the evidence given. The next campaign will reveal more and I hope to be there to see what duly transpires. This season is nearly done, it has been a busy one and teams are looking to fly out with a flourish or just see matters through and recharge the batteries - there may be some very unpredictable results coming your way, I think tonight was one such example.
Friday, 13 April 2018
Thursday, 12 April 2018
ALT BRING WHAM AS THE KNUTS ARE BRUISED
10th April 2018 - Altrincham Reserves FC 3 v 1 Knutsford FC - Cripes and good golly Miss Molly I am on a decent roll of late and heading towards that century of matches in a season with something akin to stumbling ease (a paradox I know but at my age and with my schedule there is no other way to do things). Tonight was match No 89 and my good lady joined me for this Cheshire League affair that had been switched at the last and played at the nearby Stockport Sports Village. We turned up in good time for the 7pm kick off and were met by closed gates. We beetled around to the back entrance, ferreted in and duly went upstairs to the bar to seek a refreshing drink. It was all closed up and empty except for the father of an Altrincham player whom we enjoyed the company of and chatted with in a glow of late April sunshine. The man was a gent and I wish him all the best in trying to complete his task of 1 million press-ups. He may succeed and end up with a chest like Charles Atlas or he may fail and seem more like a washed up Queenie Watts with arthritic tits - I hope he has read the Health and Safety manual first and has a good support bra handy. As time ticked by we headed out and took up or seats, we partook of some Ginger Biscuits - by crikey man they were tasty. The teams rolled out, the solar warmth was appreciated, hey man, this is the upshot of what transpired.
The start was pleasing on the eye with both squads looking to play quick and rapid-fire football. The first major action came when the Altrincham No 4 (Scott Smith) used good strength to out-muscle an opponent and lay off a sweet pass to a colleague who was over-eager and ran into the offside trap. Knutsford absorbed the early pressure well, they looked to sneak in a break and perhaps bag a counter-punching goal. Their No 11 (Ben Brooks) had an ambitious attempt from a fair distance but rather than find the net he only managed to kill two Wood Pigeons and a Lesser Spotted Tory - I was very concerned about those pigeons. The purple clad Knutsford lads came once more, a glorious pass found Brooks who could only mange an effort that was just off target - nonetheless the wick of the game was now alight, both teams were generating an obvious glow. At the other end a stunning cross was finished by a side-foot volley that really should have been on target, I missed the player who committed the error as the sun was in my peepers - perhaps it is just as well! Brooks for Knutsford came on yet again, a quick turn and a dazzling cross that dropped onto the crust of No 9 (Liam Crellin-Myers) who was denied by the far flung legs of the opposing keeper - nearly but not quite the breakthrough, things were warming up nicely.
The half continued, both teams playing with breathless intensity and an easy-on-the-orb style. No 3 (Sean Lynch) for the Knutty Boys had the next crack, a long ranger that for the briefest of moments looked packed with potential - alas it crawled wide of the upright, the mittman looked relieved. A free-kick came soon after, Crellin-Myers dinked in a pip, the save that followed was quality incarnate but failed to halt the now swarming Knutsford pack. In their purple attire it is with no doubt that an acid-soaked hippy would make comparisons to a melange of electric plums or perhaps an onslaught of Purple People Eaters from Planet Zong, either way there was some nifty activity going on for sure...ma'an! Despite this animation the Alt's still had good fizz and threat with several choice sorties posing various levels of peril. Knutsford had the next chance, a free-kick was played in with a sweet touch, all heads missed it, two players clashed and seemed to be copulating in the box, the referee seemed far from aroused and waved the action on. Next and the Knutsford No 2 (Olli Jones) nodded on from a front to back long ball, the box was invaded but No 7 (Rhain Davis) for the Alts helped clear the danger only to be crowded out when on the brink of a strike. From here the Altrincham Army strove on, Smith started a liquid move that saw a sharp pass, an overlap, 2 crosses get dealt with and then a player upended. A free-kick was had, the shot boomed in and the post clattered which led to a fast counter that in turn led to another thrust with No 11 (Dylan Scanlon) racing away, keeping his head and beating the keeper by a cute trickler. 1 - 0 to the Altrincham Reserves, was it against the run of play or justice done - this was a close one that is for sure and the goal was long overdue. The final blitz of the first period came via the side in arrears, a high ball was defended, Brooks let loose a cruncher that needed a firm mitt to push over. From the corner panic and pushing ensued with some petulant name calling and unnecessary verbals - it must be the hormones! The referee blew soon after, I think it had been a grand half of football, bring on the second.
A chinwag with the press-up addict, a few more Gingers and a stretch of the old boiled eggs - I was enjoying myself here, it don't take a lot!
The game got back underway, I was chatting to my daughter on the phone when the Purple-ised pirates sailed forth and caused an in-the-box collision. The referee had seen a trip, the chance was awarded for the Knutsford crew to get back on level terms via a penalty. The ball was placed on the spot, Crellin-Myers stroked home with admirable coolness - back to all square we went. Several hot and spicy tackles now followed, a few verbals distracted matters, a booking was par for the madness riddled course. A hold-up came soon after whilst the referee seemingly related tales of how he survived the war and how to cook a hotpot on gas mark 7 to the two opposing managers. It was a lengthy chat, perhaps he was also showing some holiday snaps too - oh man, get on with it please! When the action resumed it was Brooks of Knutsford who pushed in from the flank and fired just off target and then No 8 (Neil Monaghan) of The Alt had a punt that needed a hefty amount of gloved attention. The corner produced nowt but Alt came again, Monaghan a nuisance threading a ball to Scanlan. Suddenly foot hit leather with force, a scintillating shot was had and it flew across the breadth of the goal, passed a disbelieving keeper and into the far corner of the net - what a strike indeed and what a way to re-grab the lead! Soon after another Alt-shot hurtled in but the defending No 5 (Graham Brotherton) put in a brilliant block and kept his side within touching distance of a result.
The team on the back foot now began to fizz with renewed eagerness, Brooks had another crack but the ball dropped wide. Altrincham came straight back, 3 swift and sweet passes and No 9 (Max Pouncey) hitting a form drive that was adequately parried wide. The corner came and saw No 5 (Sam Heathcote) blaze into the firmament - it all added excitement to a quite wonderful game. Knutsford now came back, a free-kick was earned and played, Brooks rattled one, the tip over was tidy. Another angled hoof followed, the keeper grabbed this one with ease and helped stem the incessant flow of the match (ooh the rotten sod). As The Robins flapped hard they were caught on the hop with Smith racing away like a weasel with his willy on fire. His pass was picture perfect, and Pouncey did as it says on the tin and tucked away like a seasoned pro. 3 -1 - now that wasn't what was predicted I bet!
Into the last fling, more pecking by The Robins and a superb cross that saw No 10 (Aaron Dwyer) nod on the line and somehow miss. It was all academic, the liner was waving his pennant like a man possessed. At the death Knutsford made a pig's-ear of an Altrincham advance, a ball in wasn't dealt with and a shot came that needed a firm hand from the keeper. It came but moments later the goalie was beat by a nodded effort but his defensive colleague cleared off the line and momentarily quelled the panic. The ball came straight back, No 10 (Joel Swift) hammered one close in - over. The last few minutes fizzled and then this fluid and frantic game was over. We said adios to the aforementioned keep-fit artist and drove home for a cuppa. Man of the Match from this captivating contest goes to No 4 (Scott Smith) of Altrincham Reserves FC who deserves the nod for an industrious effort loaded with strength, gusto and some trickery to boot. He certainly put in a good 90 minute effort and was a constant splinter in the opponent's arse - well played chap.
FINAL THOUGHT - Well another dip of my chips of enthusiasm into the molten gravy of The Cheshire League and I have walked away with a grand taste in my mouth full of lively spirit and downright footballing honesty. Take away the unwanted spice of verbal nonsense and attempts at official swaying and you get a game of football full of action, played with high animation and tireless zeal. Both teams should be proud of their efforts here and the way they tried to play the game, on the deck, with forethought and reliant on skill rather than caveman 'ooomph', is totally applaudable. One or two moments swung the final result but this shouldn't take away from what an efficient and accomplished side Knutsford are and who, if circumstances would allow, could certainly hold their own in a higher league. Altrincham Reserves are also a good squad, their problem being that in many respects they are a feeder unit for the higher placed relatives. This being said, they still play cohesive football, move with freedom and give each component enough time to shine. Next season I shall donate some more of my time to both these outfits - in the meantime, keep focused chaps, forget the oral distractions and most importantly enjoy the game you are lucky to play.
The start was pleasing on the eye with both squads looking to play quick and rapid-fire football. The first major action came when the Altrincham No 4 (Scott Smith) used good strength to out-muscle an opponent and lay off a sweet pass to a colleague who was over-eager and ran into the offside trap. Knutsford absorbed the early pressure well, they looked to sneak in a break and perhaps bag a counter-punching goal. Their No 11 (Ben Brooks) had an ambitious attempt from a fair distance but rather than find the net he only managed to kill two Wood Pigeons and a Lesser Spotted Tory - I was very concerned about those pigeons. The purple clad Knutsford lads came once more, a glorious pass found Brooks who could only mange an effort that was just off target - nonetheless the wick of the game was now alight, both teams were generating an obvious glow. At the other end a stunning cross was finished by a side-foot volley that really should have been on target, I missed the player who committed the error as the sun was in my peepers - perhaps it is just as well! Brooks for Knutsford came on yet again, a quick turn and a dazzling cross that dropped onto the crust of No 9 (Liam Crellin-Myers) who was denied by the far flung legs of the opposing keeper - nearly but not quite the breakthrough, things were warming up nicely.
The half continued, both teams playing with breathless intensity and an easy-on-the-orb style. No 3 (Sean Lynch) for the Knutty Boys had the next crack, a long ranger that for the briefest of moments looked packed with potential - alas it crawled wide of the upright, the mittman looked relieved. A free-kick came soon after, Crellin-Myers dinked in a pip, the save that followed was quality incarnate but failed to halt the now swarming Knutsford pack. In their purple attire it is with no doubt that an acid-soaked hippy would make comparisons to a melange of electric plums or perhaps an onslaught of Purple People Eaters from Planet Zong, either way there was some nifty activity going on for sure...ma'an! Despite this animation the Alt's still had good fizz and threat with several choice sorties posing various levels of peril. Knutsford had the next chance, a free-kick was played in with a sweet touch, all heads missed it, two players clashed and seemed to be copulating in the box, the referee seemed far from aroused and waved the action on. Next and the Knutsford No 2 (Olli Jones) nodded on from a front to back long ball, the box was invaded but No 7 (Rhain Davis) for the Alts helped clear the danger only to be crowded out when on the brink of a strike. From here the Altrincham Army strove on, Smith started a liquid move that saw a sharp pass, an overlap, 2 crosses get dealt with and then a player upended. A free-kick was had, the shot boomed in and the post clattered which led to a fast counter that in turn led to another thrust with No 11 (Dylan Scanlon) racing away, keeping his head and beating the keeper by a cute trickler. 1 - 0 to the Altrincham Reserves, was it against the run of play or justice done - this was a close one that is for sure and the goal was long overdue. The final blitz of the first period came via the side in arrears, a high ball was defended, Brooks let loose a cruncher that needed a firm mitt to push over. From the corner panic and pushing ensued with some petulant name calling and unnecessary verbals - it must be the hormones! The referee blew soon after, I think it had been a grand half of football, bring on the second.
A chinwag with the press-up addict, a few more Gingers and a stretch of the old boiled eggs - I was enjoying myself here, it don't take a lot!
The game got back underway, I was chatting to my daughter on the phone when the Purple-ised pirates sailed forth and caused an in-the-box collision. The referee had seen a trip, the chance was awarded for the Knutsford crew to get back on level terms via a penalty. The ball was placed on the spot, Crellin-Myers stroked home with admirable coolness - back to all square we went. Several hot and spicy tackles now followed, a few verbals distracted matters, a booking was par for the madness riddled course. A hold-up came soon after whilst the referee seemingly related tales of how he survived the war and how to cook a hotpot on gas mark 7 to the two opposing managers. It was a lengthy chat, perhaps he was also showing some holiday snaps too - oh man, get on with it please! When the action resumed it was Brooks of Knutsford who pushed in from the flank and fired just off target and then No 8 (Neil Monaghan) of The Alt had a punt that needed a hefty amount of gloved attention. The corner produced nowt but Alt came again, Monaghan a nuisance threading a ball to Scanlan. Suddenly foot hit leather with force, a scintillating shot was had and it flew across the breadth of the goal, passed a disbelieving keeper and into the far corner of the net - what a strike indeed and what a way to re-grab the lead! Soon after another Alt-shot hurtled in but the defending No 5 (Graham Brotherton) put in a brilliant block and kept his side within touching distance of a result.
The team on the back foot now began to fizz with renewed eagerness, Brooks had another crack but the ball dropped wide. Altrincham came straight back, 3 swift and sweet passes and No 9 (Max Pouncey) hitting a form drive that was adequately parried wide. The corner came and saw No 5 (Sam Heathcote) blaze into the firmament - it all added excitement to a quite wonderful game. Knutsford now came back, a free-kick was earned and played, Brooks rattled one, the tip over was tidy. Another angled hoof followed, the keeper grabbed this one with ease and helped stem the incessant flow of the match (ooh the rotten sod). As The Robins flapped hard they were caught on the hop with Smith racing away like a weasel with his willy on fire. His pass was picture perfect, and Pouncey did as it says on the tin and tucked away like a seasoned pro. 3 -1 - now that wasn't what was predicted I bet!
Into the last fling, more pecking by The Robins and a superb cross that saw No 10 (Aaron Dwyer) nod on the line and somehow miss. It was all academic, the liner was waving his pennant like a man possessed. At the death Knutsford made a pig's-ear of an Altrincham advance, a ball in wasn't dealt with and a shot came that needed a firm hand from the keeper. It came but moments later the goalie was beat by a nodded effort but his defensive colleague cleared off the line and momentarily quelled the panic. The ball came straight back, No 10 (Joel Swift) hammered one close in - over. The last few minutes fizzled and then this fluid and frantic game was over. We said adios to the aforementioned keep-fit artist and drove home for a cuppa. Man of the Match from this captivating contest goes to No 4 (Scott Smith) of Altrincham Reserves FC who deserves the nod for an industrious effort loaded with strength, gusto and some trickery to boot. He certainly put in a good 90 minute effort and was a constant splinter in the opponent's arse - well played chap.
FINAL THOUGHT - Well another dip of my chips of enthusiasm into the molten gravy of The Cheshire League and I have walked away with a grand taste in my mouth full of lively spirit and downright footballing honesty. Take away the unwanted spice of verbal nonsense and attempts at official swaying and you get a game of football full of action, played with high animation and tireless zeal. Both teams should be proud of their efforts here and the way they tried to play the game, on the deck, with forethought and reliant on skill rather than caveman 'ooomph', is totally applaudable. One or two moments swung the final result but this shouldn't take away from what an efficient and accomplished side Knutsford are and who, if circumstances would allow, could certainly hold their own in a higher league. Altrincham Reserves are also a good squad, their problem being that in many respects they are a feeder unit for the higher placed relatives. This being said, they still play cohesive football, move with freedom and give each component enough time to shine. Next season I shall donate some more of my time to both these outfits - in the meantime, keep focused chaps, forget the oral distractions and most importantly enjoy the game you are lucky to play.
Wednesday, 11 April 2018
FIGHTING FOR THE SCRAPS
9th April 2018 - Abbey Hey 1 v 2 Irlam FC - It has been a tough season for the two sides on show tonight and one that has seen undulating fortunes and great unpredictability keep all concerned on the edge of their seats and with a constant need for a nearby lavatory. There are a few receding hairlines on the benches, a few chewed nails and some stomachs riddled with ulcers after a campaign that hasn't really gone to plan - the last few weeks though are there to pick up crucial scraps and perhaps add an end gloss to the finishing position and give hope for the next season. The day was spent cycling, gardening and trying to solve a few computer problems. It seems that the company I have been using is wank and after failing to fix the latest problem they can kiss my foul arse if they think they are getting any more of my custom. Progress over the last few months has been had but I am back to square one, no devices can be recognised and so no photo's can be uploaded and no back-up's made - I think I need to piss in the hard drive and have done. Tea was had, I arrived at the ground unconcerned with the techno-tossery, bring on some good football and all will be reet! It wasn't the most picturesque evening after a day that was quite ruddy lovely - the Great British climate kind of sums up the unpredictability of the two teams on show - place your bets at your peril.
In atrocious conditions the teams came out with The Hey having a couple of tentative shots to get the feel of the pitch and test the sights. The home team initially forced matters, their No 11 (Adam Farrand) sent in a nice mitt-warmer that the keeper could only fully grab at the second attempt (just). Irlam eventually got their teeth into the the soggy flesh of the game but the weather was destined to make this just one mucky old affair. Abbey Hey won the first free-kick, it came after a tackle was deemed to have been too rough by the visiting No 5 (Steven Mills). It was a wayward decision and when the punt came to nowt justice had been done. At the other end Irlam won a gratis hoof of their own and when the ball was played in chaos briefly reigned until No 8 (Isaac Illidge) popped up and put the globe into the mesh. It was an ugly goal on an ugly night - in fact waking up to the face of Ted Bovis (after a night of warped passion) could be deemed less insulting on the eye! The team in the lead now started to get pushed back as Abbey Hey added a bit more urgency to their game. A rapid counter however was the result of the home sides efforts and when No 7 (Marcus Perry) surged and crossed only the merest touch was needed to bring up the second goal of the evening - alas contact came too late and the ball went agonisingly wide, it was a severe let off for the hosts.
As the moisture fell Irlam battled well to protect their advantage, the match though needed a spark although an arsonist would have had trouble igniting matters in these conditions. In the mire of nothingness both teams were miraculously producing nothing, it was becoming a poor spectacle but Abbey Hey had a brief patch of pressure that saw several balls come in and the Irlam noggins take a pounding as they consistently headed one ball after another free from danger. The visiting Blues reacted with a dazzling move that saw 4 defensive passes turn into a sizzling attack with Perry placing one for No 10 (Jordan Icely) to take in his stride and run forth with. All that was needed was a bulge of the netting, the shot however was woefully wank, I dropped my noggin in disappointed resignation - it was one of those nights, I could feel it in my festering water! From here the match progressed to the break with as few thrills as found in the bedroom of Yvonne and Barry Stuart-Hargreaves - Hi De Hi campers!
I stayed put at half-time, the rain plays havoc with my long flowing hair and besides, I had a couple of decent folk to chat to and a Twix to devour - the highlights of the evening so far.
The second period started in drab fashion with the slightest suggestion of an opportunity snuffed out by a blocking carcass or a mistimed pass. Irlam did start to play the ball around with something akin to fluidity but there was hardly any way through the unstoppable downpour and resilient defense. No 9 (Haydn Foulds) did get space at one point but again the finish was shoddy and we stayed as per! Abbey Hey strove to make something happen and when a ball in was nodded on by No 7 (Peter Boyle) it was only from a blur of legs that the ball was eventually cleared. Irlam forced themselves back when Icely and Boland put in some good work with the latter hoofing in a splendid cross that was void of takers. A substitute held up matters and then Perry for Irlam picked up the ball, got his nugget down and drove forth like a man being chased by an aroused Liberace. He beat two players, had several options to his left and right but chose to smack one instead. The result - the best moment of the night and a great goal to boot - 0 - 2 to the Blues and seemingly 3 points in the saturated bag.
Abbey Hey now needed a miracle and nearly got just that when a free-kick saw a skimmed touch fall to the bonse of a forward player. The nut forth was only inches from the goal line and the one handed save that came was straight out of the top drawer (you know the drawer I mean, the one with the spare wigs, old copies of Tubby Tossers and this cream you use to make your willy bigger). A dazzling moment and one that led to the guest No 2 (Sam Bolton) racing way and crossing to Icely who was just denied in the nick of time. The last minutes were upon us, a few had seen enough but Abbey Hey were still trying and after a corner the sub (Daniel Heffernan) somehow managed to bag a goal and make for a tetchy closing period that saw a few wild tackles come and several players take to the ground. The Hey put in a late flourish but it was to no avail, they had been beat on a dreary night and left the pitch knowing, that in the coming weeks, there was a whole lot of work still to be done. Man of the Match tonight goes to No 2 (Sam Bolton) for Irlam whom I thought showed a good footballing brain, was difficult to read throughout and defended and tackled as well as anyone on the park. He made a few good runs too which made him an eternal problem for the home lads.
FINAL THOUGHT - And that is that for Irlam FC, as safe as King Kong's conker in a pair of Bette Davis Safety Knickers - and that's safe. They deserve this, they are better than results have shown and, with a bit of concentrated effort, they could end up with a top half position that would be justice incarnate. Abbey Hey I feel are just going to scrape by but man, tis gonna be a close call and a few slips here and there and, as in the words of that Dad's Army pessimist Private James Frazer, they could be 'doomed'. Why they are in this mess is anyone's guess as they have some good players in their midst and one or two who never fail to bust a gut. If they drop after a long season they can have no complaints though, the wheat from the chaff is separated over a lengthy campaign and there are many opportunities to get clear of the danger. As said, I reckon they will be fine but the question is - do you believe it and do the lads - watch out for a further installment of this nail-biting drama coming soon. Buster Crabbe - eat your heart out!
In atrocious conditions the teams came out with The Hey having a couple of tentative shots to get the feel of the pitch and test the sights. The home team initially forced matters, their No 11 (Adam Farrand) sent in a nice mitt-warmer that the keeper could only fully grab at the second attempt (just). Irlam eventually got their teeth into the the soggy flesh of the game but the weather was destined to make this just one mucky old affair. Abbey Hey won the first free-kick, it came after a tackle was deemed to have been too rough by the visiting No 5 (Steven Mills). It was a wayward decision and when the punt came to nowt justice had been done. At the other end Irlam won a gratis hoof of their own and when the ball was played in chaos briefly reigned until No 8 (Isaac Illidge) popped up and put the globe into the mesh. It was an ugly goal on an ugly night - in fact waking up to the face of Ted Bovis (after a night of warped passion) could be deemed less insulting on the eye! The team in the lead now started to get pushed back as Abbey Hey added a bit more urgency to their game. A rapid counter however was the result of the home sides efforts and when No 7 (Marcus Perry) surged and crossed only the merest touch was needed to bring up the second goal of the evening - alas contact came too late and the ball went agonisingly wide, it was a severe let off for the hosts.
As the moisture fell Irlam battled well to protect their advantage, the match though needed a spark although an arsonist would have had trouble igniting matters in these conditions. In the mire of nothingness both teams were miraculously producing nothing, it was becoming a poor spectacle but Abbey Hey had a brief patch of pressure that saw several balls come in and the Irlam noggins take a pounding as they consistently headed one ball after another free from danger. The visiting Blues reacted with a dazzling move that saw 4 defensive passes turn into a sizzling attack with Perry placing one for No 10 (Jordan Icely) to take in his stride and run forth with. All that was needed was a bulge of the netting, the shot however was woefully wank, I dropped my noggin in disappointed resignation - it was one of those nights, I could feel it in my festering water! From here the match progressed to the break with as few thrills as found in the bedroom of Yvonne and Barry Stuart-Hargreaves - Hi De Hi campers!
I stayed put at half-time, the rain plays havoc with my long flowing hair and besides, I had a couple of decent folk to chat to and a Twix to devour - the highlights of the evening so far.
The second period started in drab fashion with the slightest suggestion of an opportunity snuffed out by a blocking carcass or a mistimed pass. Irlam did start to play the ball around with something akin to fluidity but there was hardly any way through the unstoppable downpour and resilient defense. No 9 (Haydn Foulds) did get space at one point but again the finish was shoddy and we stayed as per! Abbey Hey strove to make something happen and when a ball in was nodded on by No 7 (Peter Boyle) it was only from a blur of legs that the ball was eventually cleared. Irlam forced themselves back when Icely and Boland put in some good work with the latter hoofing in a splendid cross that was void of takers. A substitute held up matters and then Perry for Irlam picked up the ball, got his nugget down and drove forth like a man being chased by an aroused Liberace. He beat two players, had several options to his left and right but chose to smack one instead. The result - the best moment of the night and a great goal to boot - 0 - 2 to the Blues and seemingly 3 points in the saturated bag.
Abbey Hey now needed a miracle and nearly got just that when a free-kick saw a skimmed touch fall to the bonse of a forward player. The nut forth was only inches from the goal line and the one handed save that came was straight out of the top drawer (you know the drawer I mean, the one with the spare wigs, old copies of Tubby Tossers and this cream you use to make your willy bigger). A dazzling moment and one that led to the guest No 2 (Sam Bolton) racing way and crossing to Icely who was just denied in the nick of time. The last minutes were upon us, a few had seen enough but Abbey Hey were still trying and after a corner the sub (Daniel Heffernan) somehow managed to bag a goal and make for a tetchy closing period that saw a few wild tackles come and several players take to the ground. The Hey put in a late flourish but it was to no avail, they had been beat on a dreary night and left the pitch knowing, that in the coming weeks, there was a whole lot of work still to be done. Man of the Match tonight goes to No 2 (Sam Bolton) for Irlam whom I thought showed a good footballing brain, was difficult to read throughout and defended and tackled as well as anyone on the park. He made a few good runs too which made him an eternal problem for the home lads.
FINAL THOUGHT - And that is that for Irlam FC, as safe as King Kong's conker in a pair of Bette Davis Safety Knickers - and that's safe. They deserve this, they are better than results have shown and, with a bit of concentrated effort, they could end up with a top half position that would be justice incarnate. Abbey Hey I feel are just going to scrape by but man, tis gonna be a close call and a few slips here and there and, as in the words of that Dad's Army pessimist Private James Frazer, they could be 'doomed'. Why they are in this mess is anyone's guess as they have some good players in their midst and one or two who never fail to bust a gut. If they drop after a long season they can have no complaints though, the wheat from the chaff is separated over a lengthy campaign and there are many opportunities to get clear of the danger. As said, I reckon they will be fine but the question is - do you believe it and do the lads - watch out for a further installment of this nail-biting drama coming soon. Buster Crabbe - eat your heart out!
Sunday, 8 April 2018
THE ROAD IS UPHILL
7th April 2018 - Maine Road 0 v 5 Runcorn Linnets - I am not a footballing sage, at this level I am happy to proclaim myself non-plussed when it comes to predicting results but I would have quite happily put my gonads on a railway track whilst the 17.15pm from Batley came hurtling down with the intent to remove both gambling globes. My only way out was to pick a winner of today's match and I felt confident that the trembling testes would be plucked free from the incoming wheels as The Linnets were given the nod! So imagine the picture, one Fungalised git with conkers rested and the locomotive of ill-intent getting forever closer. I have a look of sanguine belief on my face, a cocksure radiance that I could regret - in a perverse way I hope I am proven wrong, but then again, a squeaky voiced eunuch is no way to live ones footballing life. So the morn, as per, was spent doing chores, pushing the night's DIY gig I had sorted and polishing my nuts for the aforementioned railway exposure. On the touchline I considered the forthcoming event, I like Maine Road and wished them well, but man, The Linnets are hot property and peck like the frisky finches of football they are and looking to stay put on the highest perch of all, this is what unfolded during the 90 minutes of action!
The Linnets started with good patience and initiated the early tempo in what was a tepid opening sequence. Some neat interplay saw the Road's No 11 (James Ormrod) take an undue knock and the visiting No 6 (Michael Simpson) sneak in and hammer wide. Soon after the green and yellow army flew forth with a ball into the box causing defensive confusion that eventually cleared matters but then a second ball in fell to No 10 (Paul Shanley) who nutted over from only a couple of yards out. It was a bad miss but the stall had been firmly set out and the home team needed to be on their guard. Credit to the Blues though as they dug in and rode the initial storm and strung a good few passes together themselves. Alas Runcorn are a stern team when their tails are up and from a midfield pack their No 11 (Adam Jones) burst through and was denied by the home mitter who dashed out and saved low. The striker tumbled, a penalty shout was called for, the referee let play resume. Up the other end and No 9 (Jack Coop) broke clear and shot. A fine one handed stop was had via the No 1 (Dylan Forth) whereupon the blue clad No 10 (Ben Davison) flew in and nutted low. A second save of grand quality was executed, this was great action indeed and had all and sundry on the edge of their seats.
From here a few good moves came, a few spunky tackles and then an innocuous ball was put into the Road box whereupon a minor collision took place and the referee awarded a penalty. A very harsh decision I thought and when the ball was hoofed by No 5 (Daniel O' Brien) the unlucky No 1 (Ryan Livesey) went the right way and was centimetres from making a save. The cruel conkers of Uncle Unlucky had been swung, the outcome was a goal to the Linnets, and an ominous long nailed finger up the jacksie for the hosts. The guests now passed with watery ease, a flourish of manoeuvres saw Simpson try a long ranger but only found lofted air and then a series of threatening balls forth that kept the sweat on the brow of the Maine Road lads. One such ball came from a quiet spell, Shanley at the back post nutted back across goal and No 9 (Mark Houghton) connected well. The globe went goalward, out of the perspiring back pack a defender appeared and cleared off the line, things were getting desperate indeed. From the pressure Coop for the Road had a hopeful crack back but that is all it was...hopeful! The half finished in frantic style, voices were raised around the ground, a free-kick came the way of the Linnets and was looped in with good direction. Jones put noggin on leather, the contact was sound, the accuracy lacking - over...and out. The referee blew - the first 45 was done, my nuts were still safe and sound!
I sat put for half-time, I couldn't be arsed to queue for a cuppa but enjoyed a Topic bar - ruddy marvellous. The time passed quickly, people adjusted their viewing points, here goes half two!
A fractured start came that saw both teams unable to create any initial fluidity. There was lots of industry but no end result. Eventually the first attack was had, the Linnets flocked and swooped in fine style with an unstoppable flourish seeing a ball floated wide and Shanley take up the responsibility and surge with intent. He ran, swept the ball home and basked in the erupting celebration as the first strike was registered and the visiting team had acquired their just reward. The Linnets, once on the wing, are difficult to shoot down, they came again, No 8 (Kyle Hamid) played a mouth-watering pass that dissected the home defense. No 7 (Kristian Holt) was the recipient, he cut in and sensed a goal scoring chance and when he let fly he was unfortunate to just miss the upright! Shanley came once more for The Linnets, he grabbed a loose ball and passed on to Simpson who, out of character, knocked the ball high into the Heavens. The Linnets now had the laxatives of belief keeping their attacks regular, it seemed a matter of time before the shit would hit the fans of the Blued strugglers. The Road dug in and tried to defy, No 14 nipped in and had a header blocked on the line, Coop followed up and swept one toward goal. A good save and an offside rule crapped on the potential and made sure the hosts were in a state of nagging frustration. Davison had an attempt soon after but put the ball over, it was more agony and another rare chance that needed nailing.
A drab period followed, we needed a spark and the man to provide it was Shanley again who collected and fed No 15 (Stuart Wellstead) who played the ball off to No 14 (Freddie Potter). A chance to shoot was missed, sights were reset and through a crowd of players and a stretching keeper the 3rd goal was whacked home. It was, in truth, too easy and a 3 goal deficit was only half of the tale as to what was transpiring. A few minutes later Wellstead had a crack, the home mitter partially blocked, Potter was on hand like a Buzzard on a dead Pheasant and tapped home the scraps to bring up goal number 4. From here the high-flying team continued to turn the screw. A lofted cross was nutted back across goal by the ever-present Shanley, Wellstead nodded downward, chased and shot - the ball somehow swerved wide - phew! The next attack came after a bout of leisurely passing. It was Shanley to Wellstead and back to Jones. I expected another pass, what we got was a hundred mile per hour howitzer that roared into the top corner and put the final cherry on the cake of success and brought great delight to all in attendance - even the home support couldn't deny the quality of this strike. A few minutes later we were done, it was just as well, this was just getting plain old silly. Man of The Match could go to any one of the Runcorn Linnets crew but man, No 10 (Paul Shanley) is supreme quality, showed an eagerness throughout and played the game with acute insight, persistent desire and highly agreeable quality - he is a prize asset for sure and one of many reasons the team are were they are. I buggered off home after the match, had a quick update on the computer and got to my punk gig on time, that was a peach of a gig - just what the Doctor of Discordance ordered.
FINAL THOUGHT - Today we witnessed a side on the crest of a wave surf to success over a side floundering in a trough and in need of a life jacket. There is no doubt that The Linnets possess all the qualities to advance from this league and more than hold their own at the next level up - and bloody good luck to them. I will no doubt catch them on their travels now and again and will be as interested as ever to see how they get on. It will be a tough test next season, they won't have things all their own way but they will certainly be putting the wind up a few teams and ruffling a few feathers. Maine Road are in trouble, it has been on the cards for a good while now and they are going to have to dig in and get dirty whilst clambering out of the mire. It can be done, they have the players and the work ethic, just a bit of luck and a bit of form and they may just hang on by the skin of their conkers. As a neutral though I'll be popping down now and again as per, no matter where they end up - it has gotta be done and if it helps each club in the smallest of ways then so much the better. PS - to all those concerned, my globes are now tucked away and feeling the gratitude of triumph, I shall not be risking them again anytime soon - thank you Runcorn Linnets, you have helped keep my manhood...respectable!
The Linnets started with good patience and initiated the early tempo in what was a tepid opening sequence. Some neat interplay saw the Road's No 11 (James Ormrod) take an undue knock and the visiting No 6 (Michael Simpson) sneak in and hammer wide. Soon after the green and yellow army flew forth with a ball into the box causing defensive confusion that eventually cleared matters but then a second ball in fell to No 10 (Paul Shanley) who nutted over from only a couple of yards out. It was a bad miss but the stall had been firmly set out and the home team needed to be on their guard. Credit to the Blues though as they dug in and rode the initial storm and strung a good few passes together themselves. Alas Runcorn are a stern team when their tails are up and from a midfield pack their No 11 (Adam Jones) burst through and was denied by the home mitter who dashed out and saved low. The striker tumbled, a penalty shout was called for, the referee let play resume. Up the other end and No 9 (Jack Coop) broke clear and shot. A fine one handed stop was had via the No 1 (Dylan Forth) whereupon the blue clad No 10 (Ben Davison) flew in and nutted low. A second save of grand quality was executed, this was great action indeed and had all and sundry on the edge of their seats.
From here a few good moves came, a few spunky tackles and then an innocuous ball was put into the Road box whereupon a minor collision took place and the referee awarded a penalty. A very harsh decision I thought and when the ball was hoofed by No 5 (Daniel O' Brien) the unlucky No 1 (Ryan Livesey) went the right way and was centimetres from making a save. The cruel conkers of Uncle Unlucky had been swung, the outcome was a goal to the Linnets, and an ominous long nailed finger up the jacksie for the hosts. The guests now passed with watery ease, a flourish of manoeuvres saw Simpson try a long ranger but only found lofted air and then a series of threatening balls forth that kept the sweat on the brow of the Maine Road lads. One such ball came from a quiet spell, Shanley at the back post nutted back across goal and No 9 (Mark Houghton) connected well. The globe went goalward, out of the perspiring back pack a defender appeared and cleared off the line, things were getting desperate indeed. From the pressure Coop for the Road had a hopeful crack back but that is all it was...hopeful! The half finished in frantic style, voices were raised around the ground, a free-kick came the way of the Linnets and was looped in with good direction. Jones put noggin on leather, the contact was sound, the accuracy lacking - over...and out. The referee blew - the first 45 was done, my nuts were still safe and sound!
I sat put for half-time, I couldn't be arsed to queue for a cuppa but enjoyed a Topic bar - ruddy marvellous. The time passed quickly, people adjusted their viewing points, here goes half two!
A fractured start came that saw both teams unable to create any initial fluidity. There was lots of industry but no end result. Eventually the first attack was had, the Linnets flocked and swooped in fine style with an unstoppable flourish seeing a ball floated wide and Shanley take up the responsibility and surge with intent. He ran, swept the ball home and basked in the erupting celebration as the first strike was registered and the visiting team had acquired their just reward. The Linnets, once on the wing, are difficult to shoot down, they came again, No 8 (Kyle Hamid) played a mouth-watering pass that dissected the home defense. No 7 (Kristian Holt) was the recipient, he cut in and sensed a goal scoring chance and when he let fly he was unfortunate to just miss the upright! Shanley came once more for The Linnets, he grabbed a loose ball and passed on to Simpson who, out of character, knocked the ball high into the Heavens. The Linnets now had the laxatives of belief keeping their attacks regular, it seemed a matter of time before the shit would hit the fans of the Blued strugglers. The Road dug in and tried to defy, No 14 nipped in and had a header blocked on the line, Coop followed up and swept one toward goal. A good save and an offside rule crapped on the potential and made sure the hosts were in a state of nagging frustration. Davison had an attempt soon after but put the ball over, it was more agony and another rare chance that needed nailing.
A drab period followed, we needed a spark and the man to provide it was Shanley again who collected and fed No 15 (Stuart Wellstead) who played the ball off to No 14 (Freddie Potter). A chance to shoot was missed, sights were reset and through a crowd of players and a stretching keeper the 3rd goal was whacked home. It was, in truth, too easy and a 3 goal deficit was only half of the tale as to what was transpiring. A few minutes later Wellstead had a crack, the home mitter partially blocked, Potter was on hand like a Buzzard on a dead Pheasant and tapped home the scraps to bring up goal number 4. From here the high-flying team continued to turn the screw. A lofted cross was nutted back across goal by the ever-present Shanley, Wellstead nodded downward, chased and shot - the ball somehow swerved wide - phew! The next attack came after a bout of leisurely passing. It was Shanley to Wellstead and back to Jones. I expected another pass, what we got was a hundred mile per hour howitzer that roared into the top corner and put the final cherry on the cake of success and brought great delight to all in attendance - even the home support couldn't deny the quality of this strike. A few minutes later we were done, it was just as well, this was just getting plain old silly. Man of The Match could go to any one of the Runcorn Linnets crew but man, No 10 (Paul Shanley) is supreme quality, showed an eagerness throughout and played the game with acute insight, persistent desire and highly agreeable quality - he is a prize asset for sure and one of many reasons the team are were they are. I buggered off home after the match, had a quick update on the computer and got to my punk gig on time, that was a peach of a gig - just what the Doctor of Discordance ordered.
FINAL THOUGHT - Today we witnessed a side on the crest of a wave surf to success over a side floundering in a trough and in need of a life jacket. There is no doubt that The Linnets possess all the qualities to advance from this league and more than hold their own at the next level up - and bloody good luck to them. I will no doubt catch them on their travels now and again and will be as interested as ever to see how they get on. It will be a tough test next season, they won't have things all their own way but they will certainly be putting the wind up a few teams and ruffling a few feathers. Maine Road are in trouble, it has been on the cards for a good while now and they are going to have to dig in and get dirty whilst clambering out of the mire. It can be done, they have the players and the work ethic, just a bit of luck and a bit of form and they may just hang on by the skin of their conkers. As a neutral though I'll be popping down now and again as per, no matter where they end up - it has gotta be done and if it helps each club in the smallest of ways then so much the better. PS - to all those concerned, my globes are now tucked away and feeling the gratitude of triumph, I shall not be risking them again anytime soon - thank you Runcorn Linnets, you have helped keep my manhood...respectable!
Saturday, 7 April 2018
THE BATTLE FOR SAFETY
6th April 2018 - Abbey Hey 1 v 2 West Didsbury & Chorlton - I am on a run at the moment, my 3rd night at football on the bounce and a match tomorrow - I may as well start taking my boots in case I get offered a game. The problem is I have many things on the go and the insistent clutches of this globe kicking cobweb means my time is stretched further than the tongue of a starving anteater or perhaps the ringpiece of Elvis Presley after a cheeseburger bender? I have a target set before season end and my wife's patience is admirable. I have promised if I do 100 games this season then next year I will stick to my regulation 60 per season. Along with CD reviews, putting on gigs, recording wildlife, work and many other time-gobbling aspects I have to juggle like an Octopus - the more I do the more my spirited suckers get sapped - oh the hazards of passion. So, work done, a cycle home, a quick tidy, a sprawl and some bilge TV - and out I was, with notebook and pen, book for a read and my clean underpants on (a knitted pair featuring a portrait of Richard Widmark, not Richard Skidmark). My wife decided to join me and we shared a cuppa and a choccy bar in the clubhouse. The rear was put out of gear and parked in a sensible spot, in no time at all this battle to escape the dropzone was on, the reds of Abbey Hey versus the Black and Whites of West Didsbury and Chorlton - here we go, yet again!
The West raced toward goal first with No 7 (Ben Steer) tearing down the flank, laying the ball off and No 11 (Matthew Kay) firing one wide of the mark. Abbey Hey responded with some hard-worked movement, passing the ball this way and that and allowing No 7 (Peter Boyle) to weigh up his chances. He needed little time, in fact the flicker of a wasps stinger when eyeing up a chosen rump to sting would take less time (ouch) and the ball was duly rattled forth. The mittman flung himself in desperation, the ball was too quick and too accurate, have that - 1 - 0 to The Hey! From here the hosts out-passed their opponents and kept matters fluid and brisk and when a corner was put into the box the visiting team looked slightly shaken and dealt with matters in a far from convincing way. No 2 (Lee Wilshaw) contributed to the mounting pressure with a hefty shot but the ball blazed over and we stayed as we were. The West eventually settled, Steer again went on a marauding run with several defenders in hot pursuit. The cross was had, Kay touched close in but the pace of the ball outwitted him and the target was missed. Both teams were now stroking the ball around, No 11 (Robert Swallow) migrated to the left flank and received a wonderful pass that flew the full width of the park. The player in possession cut in, decided to shoot but was wild in his execution and returned up field a trifle disappointed. Soon after it was Swallow again who got his crown on a cross from only feet out. The contact was firm, the mittman (Arron Ashley) produced a decent save and made sure the contest was still alive and kicking. 3 corners followed, The West survived and after a sub was made their No 15 (Steven Affleck) took a throw, got the ball back, crossed and won a corner. From the angular strike sour FA was had but it stemmed the opposing flow and gave the guests time to rebuild.
A sloppy period now ensued, both teams were grunting and groaning like a pig in labour but failing to produce any sucklings of success. Suddenly we sensed some pork of promise when Steer for The West broke down the wing, edged inwards and swung his hock. The ball flew, the net bulged, it was with great joy that many celebrated a fantastic equaliser that knocked the stuffing out of the team in the ascendancy and got this one back to all square. Now who would go on to bring home the full bounty of bacon - the crystal ball of Old McDonald may reveal all or perhaps this ongoing report! The West pushed on, a free-kick was had and cleared with uncontrolled zeal for a corner. The ball that came in was easily dealt with but Abbey Hey failed to finalise a potential break and soon after the visitors were at it again with Affleck knocking a long seeking pass that found Steer who knocked in to No 11 (Ashley Woods) who punted just over - now that was too close for comfort. The Hey had one last push before the break but the fruits of labour were left to rot and the break came with the match resting in perfect equilibrium.
Me and my grand lady wandered to the opposite side of the ground, indulged in some chocolate and awaited the two tribes whilst some young 'erberts kicked a ball about on some nearby grass.
The second half came, the opening session was looser than the bowels of Mavis Riley after a 1970's Vesta Curry and a game of Mastermind with Heinz Wolfe. Something akin to a zephyr wafted over the pitch, a break for a crook player further impeded any hope of some football, I waited with patience. The game restarted, stray passes were plentiful until Steer for the West worked well, put in a cross from which Affleck volleyed with zoned-in intent - POW - just wide. The guests now began to shade matters and when a regulation ball came in and a regulation header followed it was no surprise the net was found and No 6 (Matthew Eckersley) peeled away to indulge in some quite animated celebrations. The home team now worked harder, the away lads sensed blood and tried to settle matters once and for all. No 14 (Chappi Massamba) for The Dids was desperately unlucky not to bury a third when he got bonse on ball and just tupped over. It was getting to a stage now were the traffic was flowing one way although Abbey Hey did have a rare thrust forth that ended in a hopeful lob that wasn't too far off target - where there is effort there is hope!
From here we went into the final gasps of the game, No 3 (Matthew Cook) and No 10 (Daniel Heffernan) for AH came next, good link-up play and some powerful running saw danger only snuffed out at the last moment as the keeper left his line and smothered. A further flourish followed, Cook came again, earned a free-kick but the end result was nothing more than wastage - a shame indeed. The dregs went back and forth, no real adhesive play was had until, from the tension, No 9 (Peter Watling) hurtled his way through the rear pack, released a shot and was only denied by a crucial save from the mittman's lower limb. As it turned out it was a 3 point saver, the referee blew soon after, it had been a hard-fought affair that lacked style but had much substance. Man of the Match for me goes to No 15 (Steven Affleck) for his quick interplay, fast thinking and the extra danger he brought to the game, not bad for a substitute methinks.
FINAL THOUGHT - Fact - West Didsbury & Chorlton are now removing their safety knickers as the knickers have done their job for sure. Fact - Abbey Hey are wearing hole-filled underpants and there is a severe danger that something untoward may occur if they don't tuck in and keep an eye on any loose ball work. It has been a long season, this game exhibited two teams who look in need of a rest but, there is work still to be done and Abbey Hey are going to have to fight like vagabonds over a chip barm to avoid the chasm of relegation whereas West Didsbury & Chorlton can relax a little and maybe, just maybe, steal a few points here and their and earn a finishing position deserved of their efforts and quality. We tootled off home after the match, we were fagged out - there is another game next day, followed by a Fungalpunk gig featuring Mark Ayling, Apocalypse Baby's and Proud City Fathers - tis all go, all variety and all done with reality - get off yer arse folks, the underdogs need you!
The West raced toward goal first with No 7 (Ben Steer) tearing down the flank, laying the ball off and No 11 (Matthew Kay) firing one wide of the mark. Abbey Hey responded with some hard-worked movement, passing the ball this way and that and allowing No 7 (Peter Boyle) to weigh up his chances. He needed little time, in fact the flicker of a wasps stinger when eyeing up a chosen rump to sting would take less time (ouch) and the ball was duly rattled forth. The mittman flung himself in desperation, the ball was too quick and too accurate, have that - 1 - 0 to The Hey! From here the hosts out-passed their opponents and kept matters fluid and brisk and when a corner was put into the box the visiting team looked slightly shaken and dealt with matters in a far from convincing way. No 2 (Lee Wilshaw) contributed to the mounting pressure with a hefty shot but the ball blazed over and we stayed as we were. The West eventually settled, Steer again went on a marauding run with several defenders in hot pursuit. The cross was had, Kay touched close in but the pace of the ball outwitted him and the target was missed. Both teams were now stroking the ball around, No 11 (Robert Swallow) migrated to the left flank and received a wonderful pass that flew the full width of the park. The player in possession cut in, decided to shoot but was wild in his execution and returned up field a trifle disappointed. Soon after it was Swallow again who got his crown on a cross from only feet out. The contact was firm, the mittman (Arron Ashley) produced a decent save and made sure the contest was still alive and kicking. 3 corners followed, The West survived and after a sub was made their No 15 (Steven Affleck) took a throw, got the ball back, crossed and won a corner. From the angular strike sour FA was had but it stemmed the opposing flow and gave the guests time to rebuild.
A sloppy period now ensued, both teams were grunting and groaning like a pig in labour but failing to produce any sucklings of success. Suddenly we sensed some pork of promise when Steer for The West broke down the wing, edged inwards and swung his hock. The ball flew, the net bulged, it was with great joy that many celebrated a fantastic equaliser that knocked the stuffing out of the team in the ascendancy and got this one back to all square. Now who would go on to bring home the full bounty of bacon - the crystal ball of Old McDonald may reveal all or perhaps this ongoing report! The West pushed on, a free-kick was had and cleared with uncontrolled zeal for a corner. The ball that came in was easily dealt with but Abbey Hey failed to finalise a potential break and soon after the visitors were at it again with Affleck knocking a long seeking pass that found Steer who knocked in to No 11 (Ashley Woods) who punted just over - now that was too close for comfort. The Hey had one last push before the break but the fruits of labour were left to rot and the break came with the match resting in perfect equilibrium.
Me and my grand lady wandered to the opposite side of the ground, indulged in some chocolate and awaited the two tribes whilst some young 'erberts kicked a ball about on some nearby grass.
The second half came, the opening session was looser than the bowels of Mavis Riley after a 1970's Vesta Curry and a game of Mastermind with Heinz Wolfe. Something akin to a zephyr wafted over the pitch, a break for a crook player further impeded any hope of some football, I waited with patience. The game restarted, stray passes were plentiful until Steer for the West worked well, put in a cross from which Affleck volleyed with zoned-in intent - POW - just wide. The guests now began to shade matters and when a regulation ball came in and a regulation header followed it was no surprise the net was found and No 6 (Matthew Eckersley) peeled away to indulge in some quite animated celebrations. The home team now worked harder, the away lads sensed blood and tried to settle matters once and for all. No 14 (Chappi Massamba) for The Dids was desperately unlucky not to bury a third when he got bonse on ball and just tupped over. It was getting to a stage now were the traffic was flowing one way although Abbey Hey did have a rare thrust forth that ended in a hopeful lob that wasn't too far off target - where there is effort there is hope!
From here we went into the final gasps of the game, No 3 (Matthew Cook) and No 10 (Daniel Heffernan) for AH came next, good link-up play and some powerful running saw danger only snuffed out at the last moment as the keeper left his line and smothered. A further flourish followed, Cook came again, earned a free-kick but the end result was nothing more than wastage - a shame indeed. The dregs went back and forth, no real adhesive play was had until, from the tension, No 9 (Peter Watling) hurtled his way through the rear pack, released a shot and was only denied by a crucial save from the mittman's lower limb. As it turned out it was a 3 point saver, the referee blew soon after, it had been a hard-fought affair that lacked style but had much substance. Man of the Match for me goes to No 15 (Steven Affleck) for his quick interplay, fast thinking and the extra danger he brought to the game, not bad for a substitute methinks.
FINAL THOUGHT - Fact - West Didsbury & Chorlton are now removing their safety knickers as the knickers have done their job for sure. Fact - Abbey Hey are wearing hole-filled underpants and there is a severe danger that something untoward may occur if they don't tuck in and keep an eye on any loose ball work. It has been a long season, this game exhibited two teams who look in need of a rest but, there is work still to be done and Abbey Hey are going to have to fight like vagabonds over a chip barm to avoid the chasm of relegation whereas West Didsbury & Chorlton can relax a little and maybe, just maybe, steal a few points here and their and earn a finishing position deserved of their efforts and quality. We tootled off home after the match, we were fagged out - there is another game next day, followed by a Fungalpunk gig featuring Mark Ayling, Apocalypse Baby's and Proud City Fathers - tis all go, all variety and all done with reality - get off yer arse folks, the underdogs need you!
MILLERS GROUND DOWN
5th April 2018 - New Mills 0 v 2 Litherland Remyca - 'The sun is shining, the sky is blue, some more midweek football, so nuts to you' - there endeth this weeks poetical corner, next week I shall be doing a duet with Pam Ayers accompanied by Cyril Fletcher on background mumblings - nude of course. Work, chores, changed and chomping - out and about and a good journey down the A6 to one of my favoured grounds. The Millers are doing OK this season and floating in the middle of the pack whilst their guests, Litherland Remyca, are keeping up the pressure on top spot and looking to sneak the title in the last weeks of the season. Will the lads come through with a strong finish like the consistent tortoise against the eager hare or will they leave things a little too late like that grumpy old twat Greville Starkey did whilst riding Dancing Brave (not sexually of course) in the 1986 Derby. That late finish cost me big time and I had to spend 6 weeks mapping the crags in Brough Scott's face for a Racing Atlas. Luckily my gambling days are over and I am a neutral wherever I go these days. If I were to place any guineas on the outcome tonight then the guests would get my vote but, may the team who plays fair and fast get their dues and may the the team with flair and class drink from the cup of victory, unless some bugger has piddled in it of course which does happen, in fact me and Pan Ayres have written a poem about it - tune in next time to be enlightened. So we came, indulged in chips, tea and I had a burger too and had a chinwag with the Litherland frontman Colin McDonald and that bald headed Assistant Manager Kevin Dally who exudes an abundance of gusto whilst warming up the Litherland team prior to the match - a couple of fine characters with sound attitudes for sure!
The match kicked off on the dot, the dot being that white thing in the middle of the pitch as well as a miniscule mark on a timepiece. The commencement was even, a flashing cross cum shot via the New Mills No 7 (Jordan Pendlebury) brought the first gasp of excitement but the ball was only loaded with pace and contained very little accuracy. Next and the first feisty tackle came via Remyca's No 3 (Jake Connor) who flew in with vigour and won the ball. The incident raised a few blood pressure levels but the referee kept his head and order was restored. A tackle the other way brought further uproar, it looked a 50/50 ball and just a case of matters mistimed, the first yellow card of the night was brandished by the man in black. Litherland earned a free-kick soon after, No 10 (Colin Quirk) knocked the ball in, No 9 (Colin McDonald) collected and turned like a ballerina on whizz and thumped an effort wide of the upright. The first warning shot across the bows had been had, from here the pace of the match was frenetic, the midfield action a veritable blur of busy industry. A few shots came from the rollicking rumpus, Quirk of Remyca putting one in that was particularly close. Again the guests came, the nipples of pressure were being squeezed and when a corner flew in, a defender nutted on and No 4 (Marvin Molyneux) got his bonse on the ball it seemed the first squeal of conceding pain was about to occur. Luckily for the Miller Men the top of the bar was grazed and their teets of focus remained undamaged. Promise now built for the travellers but despite much heave-ho chances were few and far between. The hosts eventually settled into matters and started to gain some semblance of equilibrium but the Remyca defensive unit were a canny group and several times over they played the offside trap to perfection.
It looked as though we were set for a goalless first half, little in the way of penetration was had until a ball from nothing was tossed into the Miller's box, a minor clash took place and the referee pointed to the spot. The decision appeared a trifle dubious and from the innocuous incident great disaster looked on the cards for the hosts. Up stepped Quirk, clattered the ball, rattled the bar and looked to the ref to see if the ball had crossed the line. The liner gave the decision, goal given - a Lady of Fortune was smiling on the LR lads, an imp of the perverse was dishing out a duff hand to the NM crew. Shit happens! From here a shot from the visiting No 11 (Connor Murphy) kept up momentum but lacked bite and then No 8 (Oscar Billington) thumped in a rip-roaring strike that the keeper did well to save. Remyca now went for the jugular but were frustrated in their efforts by a hard-working home side and when some heated words were exchanged and focus was temporarily lost the Miller's No 11 (Aaron Kirk) had time to cut in and lay the ball off to No 4 (Jordan Milne) who let fly with a bending effort that flew further off target with every passing inch - unlucky. Late on the Millers made a good fight of matters, they pegged their opponents back but just couldn't get a glimpse of the mesh. Remyca had a late flourish, Murphy had a decent dig that was saved low in the corner and then a New Mills free-kick offered salvation but was duly wasted and saw the team trudge off trailing by that unfortunate penalty.
Half-time, tea and a Topic, my wife had a chat on the phone to our daughter, I went and had a jaw-wag with a brace of locals and a fine couple I had met the night before at Cheadle Town - tis good to know many more are cursed with the non-league virus.
The second half began, Remyca were sharpest, they were making a concentrated effort to double the lead. Quirk nearly found a route through, New Mills were hurling bodies around like Vincent Price in The Last Man On Earth. A free-kick was won, the delivery was dire, Murphy followed up with an equally awful effort, New Mills were hanging in but still showing plenty of buzz and general gusto. The home team in fact were having a good amount of possession, it was just in that final third were they were lacking, due, in part, to Litherland's high work rate and discipline. A mucky period ensued, coherence went for a wander and came back dishevelled. Connor for the guests made a storming run from one half to the other eventually being tumbled and earning a bonus boot. The following shot was straight and into the keepers carcass. Within seconds of the ball being belted clear a lob was attempted by No 7 (Paul Foy) who saw his shot graze the keepers digit tips, loop up and down and somehow drop into the net off the inside of the post. Again, a touch of fortune was had, but nonetheless Litherland Remyca were 2 goals to the good and this game looked over. The celebrations that followed showed what this meant to the lads, it was grand to see.
Remyca now pushed on, the substitute No 14 (Josh Hamilton) bent a shot and forced a regulation save and then following a free-kick No 5 (Stephen King) took time away from writing the odd horror novel and popped up with a header that brushed the bar. The finish of the match was a sketchy affair but Remyca were unlucky not to bag a third when a close in shot was blocked at the last and then Hamilton sent in a bender that curled a little too late. Into the depths and game management came into play, the contest deflated quicker than the titties of that rubber woman I ordered on E-bay. I thought the pink thing was a nipple not a ruddy valve, darn those Russian instructions. The game was soon done, Litherland Remyca and their stalwart followers were over the moon and after we had said goodbye to a few faces and climbed into the car we were serenaded by the victorious followers singing 'Top of the league, we are top of the league' - good on em'. This had been a hard fought win, a tussle that very much needed a sturdy element to keep all heads level. For this reason No 5 (Stephen King) gets the Man of the Match choice and for the fact that he remained a reliable element in the midst of a whirlwind of unpredictable activity. Another Captain's performance, the armband is obviously worn for a reason.
FINAL THOUGHT - A good trip out this to watch a gruelling affair that saw the side with that extra touch of killer instinct come good and bag the full prize. New Mills though ran themselves ragged and one or two players can be right proud of themselves with their skillful and energetic performances that now and again very nearly bore the sought after fruit of success. They are a pacey side and are destined to keep putting teams in trouble when they attack with such rapid urgency and swift accurate interplay. Tonight the elements missing were the final assassin's ball, the crucial decision making of when to release and when to keep things simple and, as is always the case, a little bit of good fortune. They also came up against a very well-drilled and unified Litherland team who are salivating for the top spot and the reward of promotion to the Premier League. This lot are one of the most solid teams I have seen this year and go about their work in a very deliberate and perhaps understated way but get the results they want more often than not. The final weeks are going to give us more excitement than ever-experienced inside the underpants of Lester Piggott when riding Sister Agatha to a 4 length victory in the annual Flog a Nun Derby. I shall be watching events unfold with eager beaver interest!
The match kicked off on the dot, the dot being that white thing in the middle of the pitch as well as a miniscule mark on a timepiece. The commencement was even, a flashing cross cum shot via the New Mills No 7 (Jordan Pendlebury) brought the first gasp of excitement but the ball was only loaded with pace and contained very little accuracy. Next and the first feisty tackle came via Remyca's No 3 (Jake Connor) who flew in with vigour and won the ball. The incident raised a few blood pressure levels but the referee kept his head and order was restored. A tackle the other way brought further uproar, it looked a 50/50 ball and just a case of matters mistimed, the first yellow card of the night was brandished by the man in black. Litherland earned a free-kick soon after, No 10 (Colin Quirk) knocked the ball in, No 9 (Colin McDonald) collected and turned like a ballerina on whizz and thumped an effort wide of the upright. The first warning shot across the bows had been had, from here the pace of the match was frenetic, the midfield action a veritable blur of busy industry. A few shots came from the rollicking rumpus, Quirk of Remyca putting one in that was particularly close. Again the guests came, the nipples of pressure were being squeezed and when a corner flew in, a defender nutted on and No 4 (Marvin Molyneux) got his bonse on the ball it seemed the first squeal of conceding pain was about to occur. Luckily for the Miller Men the top of the bar was grazed and their teets of focus remained undamaged. Promise now built for the travellers but despite much heave-ho chances were few and far between. The hosts eventually settled into matters and started to gain some semblance of equilibrium but the Remyca defensive unit were a canny group and several times over they played the offside trap to perfection.
It looked as though we were set for a goalless first half, little in the way of penetration was had until a ball from nothing was tossed into the Miller's box, a minor clash took place and the referee pointed to the spot. The decision appeared a trifle dubious and from the innocuous incident great disaster looked on the cards for the hosts. Up stepped Quirk, clattered the ball, rattled the bar and looked to the ref to see if the ball had crossed the line. The liner gave the decision, goal given - a Lady of Fortune was smiling on the LR lads, an imp of the perverse was dishing out a duff hand to the NM crew. Shit happens! From here a shot from the visiting No 11 (Connor Murphy) kept up momentum but lacked bite and then No 8 (Oscar Billington) thumped in a rip-roaring strike that the keeper did well to save. Remyca now went for the jugular but were frustrated in their efforts by a hard-working home side and when some heated words were exchanged and focus was temporarily lost the Miller's No 11 (Aaron Kirk) had time to cut in and lay the ball off to No 4 (Jordan Milne) who let fly with a bending effort that flew further off target with every passing inch - unlucky. Late on the Millers made a good fight of matters, they pegged their opponents back but just couldn't get a glimpse of the mesh. Remyca had a late flourish, Murphy had a decent dig that was saved low in the corner and then a New Mills free-kick offered salvation but was duly wasted and saw the team trudge off trailing by that unfortunate penalty.
Half-time, tea and a Topic, my wife had a chat on the phone to our daughter, I went and had a jaw-wag with a brace of locals and a fine couple I had met the night before at Cheadle Town - tis good to know many more are cursed with the non-league virus.
The second half began, Remyca were sharpest, they were making a concentrated effort to double the lead. Quirk nearly found a route through, New Mills were hurling bodies around like Vincent Price in The Last Man On Earth. A free-kick was won, the delivery was dire, Murphy followed up with an equally awful effort, New Mills were hanging in but still showing plenty of buzz and general gusto. The home team in fact were having a good amount of possession, it was just in that final third were they were lacking, due, in part, to Litherland's high work rate and discipline. A mucky period ensued, coherence went for a wander and came back dishevelled. Connor for the guests made a storming run from one half to the other eventually being tumbled and earning a bonus boot. The following shot was straight and into the keepers carcass. Within seconds of the ball being belted clear a lob was attempted by No 7 (Paul Foy) who saw his shot graze the keepers digit tips, loop up and down and somehow drop into the net off the inside of the post. Again, a touch of fortune was had, but nonetheless Litherland Remyca were 2 goals to the good and this game looked over. The celebrations that followed showed what this meant to the lads, it was grand to see.
Remyca now pushed on, the substitute No 14 (Josh Hamilton) bent a shot and forced a regulation save and then following a free-kick No 5 (Stephen King) took time away from writing the odd horror novel and popped up with a header that brushed the bar. The finish of the match was a sketchy affair but Remyca were unlucky not to bag a third when a close in shot was blocked at the last and then Hamilton sent in a bender that curled a little too late. Into the depths and game management came into play, the contest deflated quicker than the titties of that rubber woman I ordered on E-bay. I thought the pink thing was a nipple not a ruddy valve, darn those Russian instructions. The game was soon done, Litherland Remyca and their stalwart followers were over the moon and after we had said goodbye to a few faces and climbed into the car we were serenaded by the victorious followers singing 'Top of the league, we are top of the league' - good on em'. This had been a hard fought win, a tussle that very much needed a sturdy element to keep all heads level. For this reason No 5 (Stephen King) gets the Man of the Match choice and for the fact that he remained a reliable element in the midst of a whirlwind of unpredictable activity. Another Captain's performance, the armband is obviously worn for a reason.
FINAL THOUGHT - A good trip out this to watch a gruelling affair that saw the side with that extra touch of killer instinct come good and bag the full prize. New Mills though ran themselves ragged and one or two players can be right proud of themselves with their skillful and energetic performances that now and again very nearly bore the sought after fruit of success. They are a pacey side and are destined to keep putting teams in trouble when they attack with such rapid urgency and swift accurate interplay. Tonight the elements missing were the final assassin's ball, the crucial decision making of when to release and when to keep things simple and, as is always the case, a little bit of good fortune. They also came up against a very well-drilled and unified Litherland team who are salivating for the top spot and the reward of promotion to the Premier League. This lot are one of the most solid teams I have seen this year and go about their work in a very deliberate and perhaps understated way but get the results they want more often than not. The final weeks are going to give us more excitement than ever-experienced inside the underpants of Lester Piggott when riding Sister Agatha to a 4 length victory in the annual Flog a Nun Derby. I shall be watching events unfold with eager beaver interest!
Thursday, 5 April 2018
DERBY MAYHEM
4th April 2018 - Cheadle Town 1 v 2 Stockport Town - A local Derby, a match between two teams who, on their day, are both a tough nut to crack but who just lack that touch of consistency to make them contenders for the rise. As an aside did you know that a Derby Hat is the American name for a Bowler and makes a quite remarkable bedpan. Personally I'd rather empty my bowels on all this US talk that is infiltrating our language as I am quite a lover of the home grown tongue and all its regional nuances. Mind you, give me a Topper and tis like a laxative to a lunatic - a cracking receptacle for the eternal waste. Without getting myself too deep into an headwear prejudice though I shall go back to the match and after a day out at a fantastic working farm with some Young Carers the game tonight was a nice way to unwind and contemplate a contest that is another hard call. I would suggest the best way to ascertain the result would be to toss up but that would encourage too many to stop indoors and indulge in a palm-searing practice that is not good for the eyes. So with trousers fastened, hands in pockets I arrived at the ground after me and my good lady picked up a couple of young groundhoppers and let the Gods of Goals cast their dice and hopefully keep us all guessing until the last. A few faces were present, the jaw was wagged and paper scrawled upon. At the end of 90 minutes I had cultivated a reminder of event's past - if you are of a nervous disposition I would turn away...wait, for it, wait for it...now!
Phalanx poked leather, all eyes were on the sphere that turned, it must be something in the water that has sent our minds perverse - would anyone sane spend 90 minutes of their life watching people thwack a ball about, I bloody well hope so, it would be poor to miss out on all the fun! Stockport Town started with the greatest hunger, a ball in after a few seconds caused defensive disarray and No 9 (Ben Halfacre) was nearly on the scoresheet with a hopeful toe-poke. The ball was somehow hoofed away but moments later the same irksome Lion growled with intent once more and sent in a shot that blew wide. Immediately up the opposite end we went, No 11 (Christopher Sherrington) placed a ball to No 9 (Luke Cotton) who had a head of steam, rushed matters and fired over. A free-kick ensued soon after, Sherrington took charge, the keeper kicked the incoming effort and it fell to No 7 (James Dunn) who, like the straining Atlas, just couldn't wrap himself around the globe - the chance went begging! The game settled, Sherrington had a thump off target, it showed a keen chomping desire! A cross again from the anally ignited Sherrington saw No 10 (Richard Whyatt) put in a dire header and contribute to his teams early frustrations. For all of Cheadle's industry their conveyor belt of potential production was nearly ruptured with excitement when the home mitter (Daniel Whiting) foiled Halfacre who had latched onto a ludicrous back pass. The home mitter then put in a dreadful clearance that saw Halfacre shoot with instinct and force a solid recovery save - oh you lucky bugger. Some outrageous defending at the other end saw Whyatt collect. He went around the keeper instead of taking the direct route, a defender recovered and put a stranglehold on the danger - another magic moment missed. This was a frantic opening burst to a well-balanced game, mistakes were abundant, the attitude and commitment spot on, the conditions far from ideal - what more do you want for your fiver?
The action continued unabated, Sherrington came again for the Green Army, a marvellous cut in from the left flank was had but the shot was blocked. 2 corners followed, the second saw a shot from Whyatt fly over, disappointment rose. At last a quiet spell came, somehow after all the fizzing energy we were still goalless, I duly blame the lovely couple I was stood next to. The fella claimed that there would be goals tonight and the lady predicted a 2-2 draw - surely the mockers had been put on any potential strikes! Mind you, I predicted a 6 goal game, who am I to cast aspersions? The game soon got flowing once more, the home team were having the better of things with Whyatt galloping through again but getting denied at the last. Next and Halfacre for the visitors latched on to a sweet cross and shot from only a few yards out. The block by the home No 3 (Jonathan McLaughlin) was exceptional and from here Cheadle pushed hard. With only a few ticks of the clock left a free-kick from Sherrington was played, the mittman fumbled like a virgin with a titty and the ever alert Whyatt pounced like a vampire on an uncooked lamb chop. It was 1 - 0 to the hosts, in many respects it had been thoroughly earned. Soon after the whistle sounded, a good entertaining half for sure, there were no complaints from this end although after a good fish and pea tea I am sure my rear was straining to make its opinions known!
A few chats during the interval were thoroughly enjoyed, there are some good folk about with a love for the simple joys of this genuine game - I like that! The aforementioned couple chatted some more and the bloke indicated his insight into some good old punk. He had been listening to Flux of Pink Indians recently, a decent noisy crew. We also discussed the merits of X-Rays Spex, The Undertones, UK Subs and of course the continual push to get the new breed moving. Tis in the blood. DIY or DIE!
And to the second half and Cheadle were out and at it. Cotton was nearly in, the keeper denied but the loose ball was lobbed back by Whyatt in the hope of adding an early second. The key to the game is to shoot on target, this was not an example of that rule! As Cheadle looked to increase their advantage The Lions came back and earned a free-hoof. Myself and the Stockport Town assistant secretary discussed the options, I said that I thought it would go straight and low (similar in fact to Ronnie Corbett when he was on bail). The ball duly did as predicted as Halfacre swung his shank. The save should have been routine but a hash of matters was had and the ball sneaked home - 1 - 1 we were, now who would take the bull by the balls and squeeze out the juices of triumph (I hope all had the hand gel ready afterwards). From here more wayward passes dominated, Cheadle had a corner in the chaos, No 5 (Joseph Shaw) rose and nutted with considerable force and the save that followed was of a lofty standard indeed. End to end stuff came, the hosts looked to have the edge but they couldn't add shine to their industry. The guests were given another free-kick, a sloppy tackle it was and Halfacre indulged in a repeat insult with a second strike that saw the keeper get his fingers to the ball but just too late - it was just one of those nights.
The Greens now had to work harder, a ball in saw the substitute Ambrose punt over and then the same player turn and let fly again but he saw his shot easily saved. The game was now in the last pangs of passion, steam was rising, another shot for the Greens came and was once more saved. The rain fell, a foul night it was, the onlookers ran for cover, Stockport pushed late on with a decent dig denied by the recovering mitter. The last gasps saw Cheadle push, 2 players indulged in a mix-up and blew a chance and a final header grazed the bar before the referee saw fit to save the players from a full on drowning. It had been a fair and tasty game, the result went to the team who had a touch of luck, held firm and who smashed and grabbed when they could, Cheadle could consider themselves very unlucky and a few blips were the difference tonight. Man of the Match must go to Stockport Town's No 9 (Ben Halfacre) who put in a Captain's stint, bagged two goals (fortunately) and ran until the very last thus setting a good example to all his fellow colleagues. It was very much needed after a week of change and the 3 point bonus was icing on the cake.
FINAL THOUGHT - A very keenly contested affair, both units played with zeal and on another night the result could have been entirely different. Rumours are bouncing in many directions at the mo and change is forever in the air. I think, given the vibrations picked up on, that both these teams will be born-again battalions next year that the rejuvenating hands of Billy Graham would be proud of. I once went to Billy Graham to heal a pain in my buttocks, I don't know what went on but after being put into a haze I staggered home with my underpants missing, £33 missing from my trouser pockets and a tattoo of John the Baptist on my left testicle. The pain in my jacksie had gone though, one can't have everything and my advice to the teams is to forget about this year's aches and pains and to look forward to next season with renewed and agony-free arses. I shall be popping in now and again and doing my bit, my money is on one of these teams making genuine ripples on the flesh of the re-jigged league - don't say you haven't been warned.
Phalanx poked leather, all eyes were on the sphere that turned, it must be something in the water that has sent our minds perverse - would anyone sane spend 90 minutes of their life watching people thwack a ball about, I bloody well hope so, it would be poor to miss out on all the fun! Stockport Town started with the greatest hunger, a ball in after a few seconds caused defensive disarray and No 9 (Ben Halfacre) was nearly on the scoresheet with a hopeful toe-poke. The ball was somehow hoofed away but moments later the same irksome Lion growled with intent once more and sent in a shot that blew wide. Immediately up the opposite end we went, No 11 (Christopher Sherrington) placed a ball to No 9 (Luke Cotton) who had a head of steam, rushed matters and fired over. A free-kick ensued soon after, Sherrington took charge, the keeper kicked the incoming effort and it fell to No 7 (James Dunn) who, like the straining Atlas, just couldn't wrap himself around the globe - the chance went begging! The game settled, Sherrington had a thump off target, it showed a keen chomping desire! A cross again from the anally ignited Sherrington saw No 10 (Richard Whyatt) put in a dire header and contribute to his teams early frustrations. For all of Cheadle's industry their conveyor belt of potential production was nearly ruptured with excitement when the home mitter (Daniel Whiting) foiled Halfacre who had latched onto a ludicrous back pass. The home mitter then put in a dreadful clearance that saw Halfacre shoot with instinct and force a solid recovery save - oh you lucky bugger. Some outrageous defending at the other end saw Whyatt collect. He went around the keeper instead of taking the direct route, a defender recovered and put a stranglehold on the danger - another magic moment missed. This was a frantic opening burst to a well-balanced game, mistakes were abundant, the attitude and commitment spot on, the conditions far from ideal - what more do you want for your fiver?
The action continued unabated, Sherrington came again for the Green Army, a marvellous cut in from the left flank was had but the shot was blocked. 2 corners followed, the second saw a shot from Whyatt fly over, disappointment rose. At last a quiet spell came, somehow after all the fizzing energy we were still goalless, I duly blame the lovely couple I was stood next to. The fella claimed that there would be goals tonight and the lady predicted a 2-2 draw - surely the mockers had been put on any potential strikes! Mind you, I predicted a 6 goal game, who am I to cast aspersions? The game soon got flowing once more, the home team were having the better of things with Whyatt galloping through again but getting denied at the last. Next and Halfacre for the visitors latched on to a sweet cross and shot from only a few yards out. The block by the home No 3 (Jonathan McLaughlin) was exceptional and from here Cheadle pushed hard. With only a few ticks of the clock left a free-kick from Sherrington was played, the mittman fumbled like a virgin with a titty and the ever alert Whyatt pounced like a vampire on an uncooked lamb chop. It was 1 - 0 to the hosts, in many respects it had been thoroughly earned. Soon after the whistle sounded, a good entertaining half for sure, there were no complaints from this end although after a good fish and pea tea I am sure my rear was straining to make its opinions known!
A few chats during the interval were thoroughly enjoyed, there are some good folk about with a love for the simple joys of this genuine game - I like that! The aforementioned couple chatted some more and the bloke indicated his insight into some good old punk. He had been listening to Flux of Pink Indians recently, a decent noisy crew. We also discussed the merits of X-Rays Spex, The Undertones, UK Subs and of course the continual push to get the new breed moving. Tis in the blood. DIY or DIE!
And to the second half and Cheadle were out and at it. Cotton was nearly in, the keeper denied but the loose ball was lobbed back by Whyatt in the hope of adding an early second. The key to the game is to shoot on target, this was not an example of that rule! As Cheadle looked to increase their advantage The Lions came back and earned a free-hoof. Myself and the Stockport Town assistant secretary discussed the options, I said that I thought it would go straight and low (similar in fact to Ronnie Corbett when he was on bail). The ball duly did as predicted as Halfacre swung his shank. The save should have been routine but a hash of matters was had and the ball sneaked home - 1 - 1 we were, now who would take the bull by the balls and squeeze out the juices of triumph (I hope all had the hand gel ready afterwards). From here more wayward passes dominated, Cheadle had a corner in the chaos, No 5 (Joseph Shaw) rose and nutted with considerable force and the save that followed was of a lofty standard indeed. End to end stuff came, the hosts looked to have the edge but they couldn't add shine to their industry. The guests were given another free-kick, a sloppy tackle it was and Halfacre indulged in a repeat insult with a second strike that saw the keeper get his fingers to the ball but just too late - it was just one of those nights.
The Greens now had to work harder, a ball in saw the substitute Ambrose punt over and then the same player turn and let fly again but he saw his shot easily saved. The game was now in the last pangs of passion, steam was rising, another shot for the Greens came and was once more saved. The rain fell, a foul night it was, the onlookers ran for cover, Stockport pushed late on with a decent dig denied by the recovering mitter. The last gasps saw Cheadle push, 2 players indulged in a mix-up and blew a chance and a final header grazed the bar before the referee saw fit to save the players from a full on drowning. It had been a fair and tasty game, the result went to the team who had a touch of luck, held firm and who smashed and grabbed when they could, Cheadle could consider themselves very unlucky and a few blips were the difference tonight. Man of the Match must go to Stockport Town's No 9 (Ben Halfacre) who put in a Captain's stint, bagged two goals (fortunately) and ran until the very last thus setting a good example to all his fellow colleagues. It was very much needed after a week of change and the 3 point bonus was icing on the cake.
FINAL THOUGHT - A very keenly contested affair, both units played with zeal and on another night the result could have been entirely different. Rumours are bouncing in many directions at the mo and change is forever in the air. I think, given the vibrations picked up on, that both these teams will be born-again battalions next year that the rejuvenating hands of Billy Graham would be proud of. I once went to Billy Graham to heal a pain in my buttocks, I don't know what went on but after being put into a haze I staggered home with my underpants missing, £33 missing from my trouser pockets and a tattoo of John the Baptist on my left testicle. The pain in my jacksie had gone though, one can't have everything and my advice to the teams is to forget about this year's aches and pains and to look forward to next season with renewed and agony-free arses. I shall be popping in now and again and doing my bit, my money is on one of these teams making genuine ripples on the flesh of the re-jigged league - don't say you haven't been warned.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)