DENTON DESIRE, DENTON FIRE

23rd April 2022 - Denton Town 2 v 1 Vulcan FC - A morn spent sorting a new car out was not ideal, me and the missus are not car fans, they are merely tin can conveniences that get us about - all that petrolhead jargon and sales talk is wasted on us.  After the deed we headed home, had lunch and a chill and then I was dropped at Whittles Park where I met the regular faces and my mate STP Stu.  Prior to the game I had a kick about with a couple of young lads - I got a ball in the face and busted my glasses, I had a right sweat on and lost 2-3 and 1-3 on penalty shoot-outs.  My stint in the nets was shite and I am sure I have ruptured a testicle straining to make a world class save.  I came out looking like Gordon Wanks rather than the ex-England hero of a similar sounding name.  A brew and a choccy bar was the reward and a good natter in the sun.  The wind was now whipping up, I saw local doofer Jimmy Pelosi hold onto his syrup and mutter some indecipherable Scottish cusses - I reckon he should just shave his head and have done, oh the cost of vanity.

The game began at 2pm sharp, both teams looked full of desire and the initial competition reflected that with too much haste, a lot of waste and a taste of things to come.  Things were highly vocal from the off with the home set-up battling well and hollering away.  The best of the early pressure was a long ranger from No 4 (Lewis Cooper) but accuracy was lacking and the keeper remained unconcerned.  Vulcan held firm, won a free-kick that was put into the box and nodded on.  No 9 (Scott Walker) collected but contact was poor - chance gone.

A long ball from the Denton No 1 (Hari Cawthorne) came next, a defensive header flicked the ball into the path of No 9 (Jordan McCann) who only had the mittman to negotiate.  The attempt on goal was firm enough but the keeper's legs did what was required of them and the scoresheet remained unblemished.  Denton continued to be the livelier outfit and with the wind at their backs seemed likeliest to bag the first goal.  The blasted wind was now a major factor though and hindered attacks at both ends of the pitch. Another fascinating hinderance may have been the puffing linesman who showcased some exhibitionist flag waving whilst smoking a fag and chatting bollocks with a few fans.  Slick Nick did his best although some would say his best was... well you can make up your own mind.

Despite ploughing into the gale somehow the Vulcanites broke the Denton ranks and No 14 (Stuart Wellstead) was released.  With only the last man between the sticks a sure-fire goal seemed to be the outcome but when the effort came the historical file labelled as 'wank' was opened and this attempt was duly stored away in the subsection of 'forgettable'.

Denton responded to this scare with a counter.  McCann had possession and a chance to shoot but crossed instead.  The defending pack stood firm but still conceded a corner.  The ball from the angle came, the wind assisted the flight of the ball and goalward it went with the keeper doing mighty well to palm away.  Cooper was on it like an Anal Fly on a nudist's exposed buttock but the shot was disastrously mis-hit.

The half rolled on, the last 10 minutes came.  Denton maintained the momentum but Vulcan were resolute and standing proud (this does not mean that 11 players ran around with erect members by the way).  A long ball came for Vulcan next, a defensive mix up saw Walker nip in and release a first time shot.  The keeper was caught standing still (maybe there was a hard-on catching his eye), the ball rolled by and looked to be heading into the onion bag.  Alas the globe went just outside the upright, now that was close.

The half ended with a Denton free kick that was fired at the goalie and a similar gratis hoof the other way that was shite.  I think the break was needed.

A brew and natter was needed, and a stretch of the carcass.  I feel like a walking shambles at the mo, fucking anxiety is an eternal predator always waiting to pounce and of late the darn bastard has had me and ripped my innards out.  I am digging deep. Seeing Jimmy Pelosi and the referee measuring todgers during the interval did nothing for my nervous system - I mean, tartan thongs for crying out loud!

Half two and Vulcan were on it with the breeze on their backs.  A ball was immediately dinked forth, No 10 (Ben Brownhill) let fly first time, I am sure it removed a layer of paint as it shaved the outside of the post.  The kick-back from Denton came via their industrious No 2 (Declan Brinsley) who raced down the flank, resisted several challenges and reached the end line whereupon a cut-back ball was executed.  Alas a striker wasn't waiting for the pass and the chance went begging, it was a shame as this was some run.  Vulcan strove to make an impact, a corner, a flick header by Brownhill over the bar and a free-kick taken by Walker which was blocked all too easily, was the best the team could contribute.

The Town made headway next, McCann collected, worked the line and put in a good cross with No 7 (Luke Morris) bouncing high and putting his header over.  The hosts were undeterred by this failure to bulge the bag (phwoar) and peregrinated into the opponents half once more with a cross not dealt with by a dawdling defence.  Morris was the man on the ball again and this time made no mistake and walloped home to fracture the deadlock - the lead was fully deserved

The same player who had bagged the goal was close to doubling matters soon after when a toe-poke from a high ball trickled wide - Vulcan were living on a buttered knife-edge with their conkers bared.  The guests had the ball on target a couple of times soon after but the attempts were straight at the keeper who remained secure.  Corners followed at both ends, no joy was had.  McCann for Denton had a chance to kill the game but the shot was mightily tame and easily gathered.

Time was racing on, Vulcan were getting desperate but a ball out wide came, a cross was nutted onto the head of Wellstead and the cranium did the business by putting the ball over the static keeper - 1 - 1- what a sickener for the home side.

Undeterred the local lads kicked on with McCann and No 12 (Aiden Hopkins) linking up like a couple of homo-sausages, the ball being served on a plate for No 14 (Romero Coley) to wallop home but the result being a shot in to the Heavens.  At the other end  a chance to bag all three points came but the shot just wouldn't stay on target.  The visitors had another go at grabbing the full 3 point prize but a shot from Walker went across goal and no awaiting toe was found.

The game looked to be done and dusted as we entered the dog end of the do.  No 11 (Elvis Omeroghe) had a late shot for Denton fly off target and then a ball went up in the air in and around the Vulcan box.  No 16 (Sherriff Ayoade) for the hosts was the first to react, took one look and let fly a juicy peach that nestled in the bottom corner of the fruit basket.  The players went ape-shit, a few young fans ran onto the pitch to join in the celebrations and moments later the game was done. What a way to finish and although something of a shock result the outcome after 90 minutes was not to be questioned.  Man of the Match goes to Denton Town's No 2 (Declan Brinsley) a player who stuck to his guns, remained consistent throughout and who does things in his own quiet and effective way - he is getting better by the game.  

FINAL THOUGHTS - Vulcan came with hopes raised and were caught out by a side up for the task and willing to put in a stint.  The beaten side though still have hopes of promotion with 3 tough fixtures to negotiate that will take points away from their rivals.  The team is balanced, has a good home ground and have not got this far through the season without being anything less than 'effective'.  I think if the team miss out this time they will be favourites for the next campaign - all they need do is keep the ethos, keep the players and make sure they make consistency their chief weapon.  Denton Town have had a rocky time of late and put in some stinking performances.  Today they were on it and all areas worked their arses off and communicated with clarity and purpose.  The result speaks for itself and again, if the team holds onto its present staff, focuses on the challenge ahead and makes sure everyone is 100% committed both on and off the field then success will follow.  It sounds mighty easy but it ain't - here's hoping anyway. 

BEAR-FACED ROBBERY

29th March 2022 - Cheadle Heath Nomads 2 v 3 Congleton Town - The palpitations are niggling me, the ticker is playing silly buggers and I am having attacks of the vapours (well, that's what Mrs Teacake used to say).  Having recently spent a testing time in A&E, an ECG, blood tests and general heart check all came back showing no blips or any cause for concern.  To get my monies worth I asked them to give my pecker the once over and check my prostrate - despite a U-bend in the aforementioned sexual piping all is well.  A chat with the doctor eventually ended up debating the plight of Cheadle Heath Nomads this year and the stethoscope wielding quack indicated the palpitations could be linked to too much touchline excitement.  I informed the medicine man that the way The Nomads are performing this time around is hardly helping the fluttering strawberry - he saw my point.

And so, after 4 weeks of pinging and awaiting further explorations into the internal upset I have decided to pen another footy report and reveal a few insights into this great and absorbing game.  I arrived in good time and met the usual faces, it was good to see the Nomads chairman looking upbeat after his recent court appearance for lewd transvestism.  George Gibbons (known at the weekend as Gloria Gibbons) is an unashamed cross-dresser and eases much footballing tension by having a few nights a week on the razzle dressed as a woman.  This is all well and good but a recent trip saw Gloria involved in fracas with the law after trying to steal a Fray Bentos pie from a late-nite convenience store.  Of course, Gloria had had a few sherberts and fancied a quick snack but the police were unimpressed and when Gloria tried to kiss the Chief Inspector the bracelets were clamped around the wrists of the deviant and to the local clink he/she was escorted.  Rumour has it the outcome was a £50 fine for theft, £75 fine for being armed to commit robbery (a can opener in the peephole bra) and £30 for wearing crotchless knickers back to front - that must be the most expensive pie in history.  Anyway, enough of these nerve-shattering insights, let us crack on with the game at hand.

At 7.45pm I was on the touchline along with the good folk that are Gareth and Sandra Evans (who look after the turnstile and wash Ms Gibbons weekend wear). The game began with the climate almost ideal with the first team to gather any momentum being the guests after The Nomads lost possession and a break away came.  A sugar-sweet ball was dealt with No 11 (Arron Johns) outsprinting two desperate defenders and letting fly with a shot that took a slight deflection and dropped into the far side of the onion bag - now where the hell did that come from?

Within seconds of this opening shocker the Congo crew were marauding forth again with the hosts looking frightfully unsettled. Thankfully the resident team were saved by an offside decision and from here made some headway into the game.  No 10 (Kyle Foley) was buzzing about like a wasp on steroids and the rest of the team had an urgency that was surely going to pay dividends.

After much bluster No 6 (Joshua Tinker) had a pop that was deflected just shy of the mark with the corner producing nowt to write home about.  The game however was a captivating contest with both teams working up a good arse-lather.  As the home team earned their crust, from a midfield mush a ball was suddenly released and No 9 (Daniel McLaughlin) was free and only had the keeper to beat.  Like a well-seasoned pro the ball was controlled and slotted home to bring parity back to the game and make this a cup contest to savour.

The high tempo of the game continued with the Nomadic pack now shading matters but with several moments of pissing about with the ball at the back always giving the Congo boys hope and a glimpse at a certain vulnerability.  Some good pressure was maintained though with a couple of corners had, the latter finalised by a poor shot from Foley.  Congo responded with a liquid move of orb-snagging pace that opened up the opposing defence like a tin of sexed-up pilchards.  The apical component to the foray forth was No 10 (Jordan Johnson) whose shot straight at the keeper was more than disappointing.

Towards the arse end of the half Congo continued to force the issue with numerous crosses peppering the zone of peril.  The hosts remained resolute and after one minor scare the half ended all square.

For the break I stayed put, breathed deeply and tried to calm the palpitating heart.  I pondered things tranquil - sunny flower strewn meadows, acid hazed days in dens of iniquity and fluffy pillow switch offs due to excess glue-sniffing - it all seemed to work until my eye spied the aforementioned Gloria Gibbons doing a lap of the pitch on a rusty Penny Farthing.  The sight was a mockery of womanhood, a ghastly horror show to curdle the cranial gunk, and why the fuck was this abomination wearing crotchless knickers? My heart was left racing with disgust.  Thankfully the cycling psycho was taken away by some brave officials, the teams came back out and this was what transpired.

A swift start to period two brought an early free-kick for the away team but the execution was ruddy shite to say the least.  The Nomads soon upped the ante and worked with good fizz. A ball was placed out wide, No 7 (Daniel Byrnes) collected and posted into the box with both pace and accuracy.  Foley came flying in like a fart flung from an elastic anus, the contact with the ball was sound - 2-1 it was - what a fine goal.

Congo now reacted, a long ball found No 9 (Thomas Pope) who chested down and cracked forth - the outcome was only a corner that was wasted, retrieved and redelivered by No 7 (Oliver Putnam) with great panic ensuing and the Nomad's surviving by the skin of their private bits. Soon after Putnam was provider again, this time No 4 (Richard Booth) was the recipient but could only lash into the sable beyond in reckless fashion.

To the next animation and The Nomads rallied, No 11 (Kieran Alley) was a menace incarnate, a cross was blocked but immediately reposted with a wild clearance over the bar the outcome.  The corner was cleared. No 14 (Charlie Mulgrew) gained controlled, put a neat ball to No 4 (Kieron O'Connell) who had an unexpected pop across goal that ended mere inches wide of the far timber.  This was now a very entertaining bout of ball-booming action with Congo counterpunching and Pope at the apex having a good effort beautifully saved by a well-stretched keeper. After a failure to capitalise on the momentum the travelling pack were soon on the back foot as Foley fed Mulgrew and then screamed for a return pass.  The player in possession however ignored the pleas and chanced his shank with the ball rising over the keeper and twatting the horizontal - unlucky fella.

A bout of pseudo argy-bargy saw handbags lose sequins and frilly knickers get in many knots before play resumed. Tension rose, the guests were getting anxious but a Nomadic error came and miscommunication allowed Putnam to weasel in and put the ball into the net for a very crucial equaliser.  Now this was getting tasty.

Disgust and disbelief swept through the home supporting ranks, elevated hope brought raised hollers from the visiting onlookers, the time trickled on regardless - it was a case of 'next goal wins'.  The Cheadle Chaps advanced with No 16 (Max Lewens) surging and providing a cross of teasing proportions that needed a lengthy shank to connect with and send the globe home. The clock ticked on, penalties loomed until... Johns of Congo had a shot that the home No 1(Dimeji Wilan) saved with elegant skill. A corner came, another blockage, the ball was soon back in the box and a bagatelle of madness ensued.  Ping, pong, ping - and then... the ball was in the net and the Congleton contingency were ecstatic.  Moments later the victory was confirmed, Cheadle Heath Nomads had committed Harikiri (again).  Man of the Match however goes to the home No 3 (Jack Taylor) - I thought his stint was composed, rock steady and a crucial bedrock on which the rest of the team could rely. Here's to plenty more performances like this.

FINAL THOUGHT - Congleton came as favourites tonight, were matched in every area of the park, and somehow scraped through into the next round. The Bears were dipped in honey tonight, they stuck to an arduous task and when on the back paw still worked away and never lost their belief. They nearly got stung but fortune favours the fighters and somehow, they pilfered the victory tonight and I do hope they go all the way in this competition.  It is always a pleasure to visit their ground of course, the chips they sell are still unsurpassed.  Cheadle Heath Nomads are now appointed Masters of the Unpredictable - one game they are on fire, the next smouldering like pissed on ashes.  One minute they are dashing to victory, the next they are falling to unexpected defeat - a gambling man would be crippled if he were placing wagers on this team, in facts he would be starkers and destitute and in need of psychiatric help - I think he would need to get in the queue with Ms Gibbons - God bless the doctor who deals with these matters.

HAPPY VILLAGERS

26th March 2022 - Gorleston FC 1 v 3 Long Melford - We were out and about recording nature and our travels had found us stopping for a few night's in Acle, Norfolk.  A day break from wild wandering was taken with a morn spent at Great Yarmouth where a good walk was had, some fine scram digested and a superb ice-cream devoured. Along the way I did have a gander at a few wildlife species (there is always time to have a nosey at things natural) which included some 2 Spot, Pine and Harlequin Ladybirds, a few bird species and some sub-species of human beings that deemed it fit to carry unnecessary weight and let it all spill out in the unseasonable sun, individually known under the Latin appellation of (Indiscreetus wobblewankus).  From here we took a short drive down to the tucked away ground of Gorleston to witness an encounter of a team lying second in the Thurlow Nunn League Premier Division and a travelling team lying second bottom.  The outcome, on paper at least, looked a matter of course but the last time these two teams met Long Melford won 1 - 0 and trying to predict anything in this Non-League lark is about as easy as juggling diarrhoea.

Upon arrival at the ground we paid our dues and chose our sitting positions (right in the glorious sun that saw me expose my belly in the hope of turning from milky white to Cadbury brown).  We were soon joined by the fine gent that is Richard Kemp (Long Melford President and Independent Councillor) and his lovely wife Blanche, who both kept us entertained with footballing stories and insightful gems.  Soon the teams were taking the pitch and we all settled in to watch the encounter where I shifted position to stay out of the glare and get a solid view of both goals.

With the haze insistent the game got underway with matters quite stagnant early on.  The away team sat back and allowed the opposing force to prod and poke like an arse-inspecting doctor with a criminal record as long as your arm.  After taking a slight mauling however Long Melford sprang a counter with some swift football culminating in a tumbling for No 9 (Jamie Griffiths) in the box.  The put-upon judge who holds all the cards was unimpressed and waved play on with another penalty shout at the other end also ignored.  The latter claim for a gratis gift was for a handball, I think if the decision would have been given it would have been quite scandalous, almost akin to the time when Alan Ball claimed to have a 14 inch dongler.

The Greens were on top during the opening throes but the next action came after a Long Melford ball ended in a corner that was delivered, dealt with, reposted and nutted over by a player in free-space.  I failed to get the cranium cracking player's number - darn this awkward sun.  Gorleston were soon roaming forth, with No 10 (Connor Ingram) laying the ball onto No 9 (Christy Finch) who shot on the slow turn and watched the ball trickle wide.  This was a grinding first 45 with little between the sides.  As the hosts pushed and pressed the guests stood firm with their mittman punching a few balls clear and collecting a few angled kicks with ease.  

Half chances came and disappeared down the U-bend of no hope before Long Melford advanced with much promise.  The ball was passed across the box, No 11 (George Day) gathered and decided to swing the shank and send forth a decent curler that just stayed on the wrong side of the timber - now that was close.  Again the visitor's came and following a free-kick, a ball out wide was crossed and a header was denied at the very last, leaving Gorleston thanking their lucky stars.  The half wound down with little else to report besides Gorleston's No 11 (Robbie Sweeney) having a bonus boot on target that was too easy for the keeper.  By now I was very much in need of a good cuppa.

As my lasses went for a beverage I chatted with a fine bloke who had played for Cambridge and several other clubs in his heyday.  Alas I couldn't compare my footballing past with this as the highest level I ever competed at was as a substitute for the Titbit's Eleven reserve team who competed in the now defunct Rubber Arse Magazine League - now that is fantasy football.

With brew in one hand and pen in the other the second half began and I scribbled and slopped with keen abandon.  Gorleston had had a man sin-binned at the end of the first half - Long Melford were keen to capitalise.  After a scrapyard opening 5 minutes Gorleston tried to progress but the guest keeper (Matt Walker) gathered and humped long.  The last defender couldn't manage matters and in pounced No 7 (Hassan Ally) to collect and slide past the stick man to open the day's scoring.  The lead lasted only a couple of minutes though when a ball forth for Gorleston saw a defender/keeper miscommunication and in stepped Finch to grab the loose globe and fire home from a tight angle - Long Melford had committed the cardinal sin (no, not pissing in the font water but losing a goal just after scoring one).

This was a good contest now and I am sure many would have put money on Gorleston turning up the heat.  Not so, despite being desperate to keep their title challenge on track Gorleston lacked creativity and urgency and were soon trailing again after a long free-kick was nutted back into the perilous zone and No 8 (Ben Judge) swivelled and fired home with sanguine ease.  This was a finger up the rear of the resident ranks who now tried to force the issue (there is nowt worse than straining a sphincter muscle).  A cross into the box by No 8 (Joel Watts) was pushed away by the hand of the prostrate keeper with an immediate follow-up shot coming via No 17 (Kyle Ingram) with the gloved guardian recovering to produce a quite excellent save.

Time was now Gorleston's enemy and Long Melford were doing their best to slow matters up and quell any home momentum.  With 10 minutes left The Greens continued to seek an equaliser whilst The Villagers played a cagey offside game.  Home-free kicks were earned and wasted whilst the LM lads came close to grabbing a third.  Into extra time we soon went and the home No 5 (Connor Deeks) was complacent at the back and duly robbed of possession, No 9 (Josh Norris) had his eye on goal but unselfishly fed (Griffiths) who rattled home to secure the 3 point prize.  

As the travelling fans shouted for full-time and the lone sable clad figure of tested patience refused to blow his pea-laden contraption Long Melford nearly had a fourth but No 14 (Ronnie Ward) somehow put the ball over the bar from only a few feet out.  Gorleston refused to give in but the best they could offer was a couple of shots wide of the mark - the game would have to be signed off as a bad day at the office.  The referee closed proceedings soon after, we said farewells to Richard and Blanche and consider Long Melford's No 8 (Ben Judge) worthy of the Man of the Match Award after a live-wire stint that gave his team constant options and a good supply of energy.  A player always thinking and looking to make a difference I thought.  

We pootled off happy with the match observed, it will be good to get back over this end real soon.

FINAL THOUGHT - As a neutral, the difference between the teams today was hardly noticeable despite the league positions of both units.  What I witnessed was the fact that Long Melford have enough desire to get clear of the drop-zone and maybe finish the season in a more respectable position but, running off the ball and playing with greater width are crucial to rising within the ranks as well as stout discipline.  Gorleston looked a trifle one-paced today and for me, just didn't battle hard enough for 50/50 balls and when in a position of threa and didn't deliver anything of quality.  Passion and pride are now needed to win this league as well as a fiery hunger and some focused work on dead ball situations.  The outcome lies in their own hands, this loss will test their mettle - I shall be checking on-line to see the weekly results.

Thanks go to all though for another grand Non-League outing - I can't fault it and here's to many, many more adventures.

THAT'S MOORE LIKE IT

27th February 2022 - Moore Utd 2 v 1 Maine Road Reserves - It seems the world is on the brink of the apocalypse, and yet no matter what, too many folks are marching into Hell with their heads screwed on backwards and not prepared to do a damn thing for the planet.  It makes me puke!  The morn was spent recording nature at a local park near to the ground, with a little effort a few species go on the map and conservation efforts can be done with a little more knowledge - in truth it is pissing in the wind.  Talking of pissing in the wind, why would anyone in their right mind do a football report for a game with only 16 folk in attendance?  Why would anyone stand around in a chill and scribble away and try and put something back?  Well, the option of doing fuck all is no option at all and as a DIY doofer I am happy to pitch in and try and do something for the game at level 'real'.  This is where it matters, down in the soccer cellar where it is one constant struggle to just keep things ticking over without any hope of any big time success.  This is bread and butter booting and I fuckin' love it.  Like my nature jaunts and the music I promote, it is all about getting back to zero and seeing things unaffected and unmolested by greed and kudos.

And so, we arrived at the club early, had a brew, conducted our pootling, returned and had a chat with Maine Road Reserve Coach Darren Jones, a fine amiable chap, trying to do something positive and eager to get his arse in gear.  After the jaw wag me and the missus sat in a bowling hut and had a bite to eat before having a natter with the day's referee - another nice bloke helping keep this game moving.  Eventually the players were out, the few in attendance were in position and we were pitchside with the grandad of The Roads No 10 (Joshua Clegg) - and good company he was.

The game began on the stroke of 2pm, a mere 30 seconds had passed before Moore United attacked down the flank with No 11 (James Sowerby) delivering a choice cross that No 7 (Dylan Glass) connected with and fluffed but duly jabbed home at the second time of asking.  Was this the quickest goal in Cheshire League history?  If so, will the ghosts of Ross and Norris McWhirter be summoned to verify this claim and would the spirit of Roy Castle do a tap-dance in celebration?  Either way - Maine Road reserves looked as though they couldn't give a toss and weren't impressed by this early kick up the arse.

Moore continued to be the more animated pack and repeatedly advanced with notable purpose.  A gratis hoofing was earned, No 10 (Tom Smith) posted onto the cranium of No 9 (Kane Hackett) who disappointingly nutted the globe over the timber.  The hosts came again, Hackett put in a troublesome cross that saw the Maine Road defence get their knickers in a twist and snap a few elastics.  Somehow the trailing teams gonads of fear were tucked in and the danger was dealt with.

Maine Road eventually found their feet on the uneven and adhesive surface.  Clegg was on the end of an overhit free-kick and duly darted and won a corner.  The angled punt was caught by the wind and looked to be curling into the far corner of the meshing but the inside of the post was unkind and the ball bounced to safety.  Moore broke with rapid pace, a cross came and two wannabe assassins flew in to make that all-important killer contact - the final touch never came.

Again the resident ranks poured forth with No 8 (Jordan Rudge) and Glass linking up with the former player having a pop that had a trifle too much elevation. Maine Road, in return, put together a sweet passing move that ended in a free-kick decision.  The attempt on goal from a standing ball was ruddy poor and punishment was duly issued as Moore attacked and wellied the ball from one side of the pitch to the other.  A cross came. Hackett launched himself like a pseudo Bob Latchford and executed a flying header to double the lead - the guests looked gutted.

The game entered the final third of the first period.  More assaults on the MR goal came with headers and shots dealt with but all sending a strong message that the home team were hungry for more.  No 2 (Chris Slater) came close but had a brace of efforts blocked and Road in return had a weak penalty shout after No 11 (Joesef Aloush) went down like a poleaxed piss-pot and Clegg had a pop on goal, but the unforgiving pitch saw the ball bobble and end up flying into the now bracing air.

Half done, we headed back to the hut beside the bowling green and had a warm drink and a choccy bar.  A sit out of the wind with my best mate was grand and by heck the Bounty Bar was smashing.  

Back out for the second half we went to witness Maine Road playing a perilous passing game at the back and not showing any urgency to advance.  Possession was eventually lost, Rudge supplied Hackett who sent the ball into the box where Glass was denied on the line.  A corner ensued and Hackett connected with his noggin but sent the ball wide.  Maine Road were like Naughty Norman Price in a memorable episode of Fireman Sam (no, not the one where he got bummed) and were playing with fire.  

The hosts sensed another goal was about to be gained but the closest they came was when No 6 (Jack Lawrence) had a long range drive just bend away from the target zone.  The blue clad team tried to up the ante but were lacking composure and an all round sharpness. Too many times they lost 50/50 balls and a lack of off the ball work was costing them dear.  

Another corner came for Moore with the guest keeper doing well to punch and then hold the follow-up shot.  The Road kept huffing and puffing with No 12 (Zach Curtis) having a pop wide and then another shot that brought the home keeper into his first bit of action of the day.  The save was regular - nothing more, nothing less.

The game bundled on, from a midfield mire one of the red clad residents was released and had only the keeper to negotiate.  The attacker's first touch was shabby, the mitted man collected the ball with great relief.  A corner the same way came soon after, an ambitious gent tried to execute a hopeful overhead with the result a punt off target and a ruptured scrotum.  Some route one football followed with the Moore keeper booting long and Rudge chasing and looking destined to score from 5 yards out.  Inexplicably the post was struck and I am still wondering how he missed it!

With time running out the scoreline looked settled but on the 90th minute Clegg for Maine Road was in possession out wide, sent in a teasing cross that No 8 (Sam Barnett) bumbled into the net.  2 - 1 and thoughts of a comeback were on, but banished seconds later when the full-time whistle blew.  I think the deserved side won and their No 8 (Jordan Rudge) a good choice for Man of the Match.  A brilliant work ethic, some all round effective movement and a willingness to get stuck in all over the park - a choice stint.

FINAL THOUGHT - a ragged match on a testing playing surface with both teams at the bottom end of the league and looking to build some late season impetus.  Maine Road were disorganised and out of sync today and looked like a team in need of some serious attention.  Commitment to loose balls was lacking, not enough verbals left players in possession not knowing what to do next and a willingness to run off the ball for the full 90 minutes wasn't there. On the plus side, there were many players on show capable of skilful touches and appearing to have the ability to up their game and their sides fortunes - here's hoping.  Moore Utd wanted this and worked hard from the off.  The desire got them through a tricky fixture that was lacking in general flair and delicacy of touch.  The key, when in the mire, is to just dig deep and give it 100% - I think the long ball game is an option here and when the back is up against the wall - kick big chaps, kick big. Sometimes winning ugly is the only way - just ask Quasimodo about the time he won the jackpot on Liberace's One Armed Love Bandit - ooh err!

ROBIN BUGGERS

24th February 2022 - Avro 1 v 2 Ashton United - A week of wicked weather was a good way to blow away the cobwebs and consider why Mother Nature is kicking back against a human mush of neglectful gits?  I did just that and despite already being a nature doofer have decided to try and do a bit more.  Over the last few days, despite work, I still managed to squeeze a Non-League report in and go forth and record a couple of mosses and springtails.  Neither efforts will bring any form of popularity but putting back is what we must do rather than wallow in a pit of self-complacency and apathetic inertia.  After a day off work I went out and about up at work I darted home like a ferret with a curry-dipped rectum. I spent the afternoon reviewing a few songs, microscoping a few bugs and eating chicken butties before heading out and meeting my good lady on the way home from work. We both went to get my daughter from her place of work and then I was dropped off at tonight's footballing ground whereupon I met my mate STP Stu.  It goes without saying that we put the world to rights and partook of a ruddy good brew and some fine chips from Macie's Diner.

Positions were taken and I produced my notepad.  I was a man armed and ready to vandalise paper - I was hopeful of a fine Manchester Premier Cup semi-final encounter, what I got was this:-

The game began, Avro had a couple of early pops at goal that the mittman collected without furrowing the brow. Ashton were struggling to settle as Avro beavered away with good industry.  The guests did manage to win a free-kick which was delivered with whipping accuracy, but the home team stood firm and cleared the danger.  

The game continued in a somewhat fractured and messy fashion with both teams quick to neutralise any threat although Ashton came mighty close with a curling corner posted with pace and pinging off the head of No 5 (Harry Coates) at the back post and dropping inches wide.  On matters went in broken style with very little coming in the way on nob-tingling action. Ashton tried to penetrate but Avro were tighter than a niggardly clam in a recession.

Suddenly the hosts began an assault from the mush, the attack looked to be an innocuous affair until No 9 (Louis Potts) received at the angle and twatted from range. The ball flew with fiery zeal, the keeper lunged but the sphere would not be denied access to the onion bag - 1 - 0 - by heck the game needed it.

From here Avro played with renewed vigour, Potts collected in midfield and executed a delicious curling cross ball that No 11 (Michael Afuye) collected before dashing with ardour - alas the ball escaped true control and ran into the dead zone.  A free-kick soon followed, all that came from it was a clattered keeper who bounced up and just got on with matters - well done that man.

The Ashton pack now dug deep, a late attack saw the ball enter the box, ping back out and get rifled back via the lashing hoof of No 4 (Micahel Brewster) with the crowd of players dissected and the home keeper producing a quite top notch save.  Moments later the Avro net was bulging but the goal was disallowed for who knows what?  Several more jaunts forth were made by the visiting squad before the break with No 14 (Florian Yonsian) having a wild lash fly way off target and No 2 (John Lufudu) partaking of a soaring run that ended with little in the way of threat.  The interval came next, it was a chance to stretch the legs and let the squads rethink matters.

As per, we stayed put for half-time, stood up and shook out the chill with many dashing forth for a drink and of course, a squirt.  I was happy to hold onto my thermally gratifying golden liquid and keep my lower parts a trifle warm. Stu was of the same frame of mind and clenched with devoted passion.

Half two began with a lowering of the chuffs onto cold plastic and a slight groan from the prostate glands.  Avro had a corner that the keeper punched with ease. Afuye collected the stray globe, exposed some mercurial feet and let fly a shot the keeper duly held on to.  

The game ticked on from here, Ashton Utd were showing very little in the way of creativity and were severely out-hustled by the home squad who really had the bit between their teeth. The result of these counterpunching teams was a shabby period that saw little in the way of high end action. Avro kept on niggling away with Potts nutting on from the middle of the park and No 12 (Liam Ellis) gathering and sending forth a good dig that the mitter did well to save. The game looked to be ending in a 1 - 0 home win when...

...from seemingly nowhere the away team were born again. Despite Avro going close the Ashton Army survived and started to push with some real zeal.  Suddenly, on the 90th minute the leading pack became jittery, a ball entered the box, from the defensive disarray Yonsian appeared and wasted no time firing at goal - and as if by a quirk of twisted fate - the net duly bulged.

Penalties now loomed, we were in added time. Ashton summoned one last surge with a ball threaded through, space found and No 15 (Ben Hardcastle) keeping his head and firing the ball home.  Uproar ensued from the visitors, utter disgust was emanated from the resident ranks. What the utter buggery had happened here then? Before the final whistle it could have been 3 (and confirmed my pre-match prediction) but Brewster was denied by a solid near post save.  Soon after the game was done, The Robins had been under the cosh, kept on pecking away and eventually fluttered away with the fatball of success.  Man of the Match however goes to Avro's No 11 (Michael Afuye), a man who posed constant threat, weaved this way and that with eye-snagging skill and on many occasions led his markers a merry dance - next time I hope he is on the winning team.

FINAL THOUGHT - This was far from a classic game, in fact at times I think I would have been more enthralled watching game of chess between Plumpton's champion of the board Monotone Mick Bishop and Flatline Peter Pawn of Bolton.  To be fair though both units battled away with the hosts working as a tireless pack and giving the opposing force very little room to manoeuvre.   They moved with sharp impetus and I thought defended with a concentrated focus.  They are doing well in their respective league and tonight was clear evidence of why that was.  Ashton United didn't play that well (or weren't allowed to) and really had a somewhat mundane night but yet still pilfered the end prize.  The determination to play out the full running time got them through and maybe, just maybe, their name is already written on the cup.  They got lucky tonight, the buggers stole the show, they will have to be on it next time if they want to be crowned champions - get yer tickets booked folks and good luck to em'.

SECOND HALF ST'ISLE

19th February 2022 - Stafford Town 1 v 5 FC Isle of Man - After a lengthy break I was ready to scribble a match report again and decided a new ground would be an ideal reason to put pen to paper.  An early morning trip with the missus was made to Stafford with tea and cake in the Albert Cafe on Victoria Park had and then a walk around the local shops made due to the piddling rain having put a kybosh on our nature ramblings.  We also had a lovely trip to a rare second hand book store tucked away on a business estate. Visits are by appointment, we were lucky the owner was on site.  After making a few purchases we headed to the football where warm drinks were glugged and much needed victuals consumed. It must be stated that the purchased pasty was a ruddy stunner and didn't half warm the cockles.  I did consider shoving it up my arse to keep certain other bodily parts thermally pleased but I think I chose the best option - what a beauty it was.

So, after a middling wait a good crowd took up their positions, the teams came forth and the game got underway at 1.45pm (an early start so the IOM lads can get their plane back home). No sooner had the game started than the home No 8 (Declan Arber) had received and executed a delectable turn which gave him time to feed his comrade No 9 (Matthew Pinder).  A dash was made, the visiting keeper advanced and the wannabe striker was tumbled. Penalty pleas rained down on the lugs of the central official, his failure to agree got him labelled 'useless'.  Well I suppose its better than being called a 'wanker'.

The game continued, the guests progressed with liquid precision, No 9 (Sean Doyle) was the at the apex and put in a shot that was a trifle too tame allowing the mittman to collect with ease.  Soon after the same team advanced once more with a corner void of excitement but a free-kick culminating in a looping shot by No 4 (Jack Camarda) who, once again, could only find the awaiting keeper's gloved paws. Within the twitch of a fidgets foreskin the guests came yet again. A ball entered the box, a bout of head tennis ended with No 7 (Lee Gale) sending a rasper across the face of goal with no striker in position to touch home.  The two circling Buzzards overhead seemed disappointed although a nearby Carrion Crow was in a right flap.  Seeing that he has a close relationship with The Ravens I could see why.

The game remained animated, Arber and effervescent No 7 (Nathan Scott) for The Town indulged in a lovely link-up next with the latter player posting a shot cum cross into the zone of peril but without any incoming striker found.  The Staffs pushed on but were caught by a straight forward break that saw No 11 (Daniel Simpson) race away and only have the keeper to beat.  The No 1 (Henry Smith) stood tall, kept his eye on the globe and saved with eye-catching efficiency - well done fella.

This was proving to be a good contest with Stafford Town doing well to edge matters.  Scott was an active and integral component and had the next pop at goal with the guest gloved guardian only holding at the second attempt. Again the hosts came, numerous chances to bury were on offer but mis-kicks and mis-timings were the order of the day.  The Isle of Man pack though failed to clear their lines and the so-far impressive Arber received, had a look and walloped home - a well-taken goal and a well deserved lead to say the least.

Onwards we raced, the guests had a rare sortie with the ball going many ways before Williams sent in a whistling shot that the keeper left and saw fly past his upright.  Next, and following a Staffs foray forward the IOM unit broke with electric pace via Simpson who galloped like a gopher with his gonads on on fire. The legs were a blur, the cross released was sugar sweet and found the awaiting cranium of No 9 (Sean Doyle) who nutted home to round off a brilliant counterpunch.

The dregs of the first half came, Scott for the hosts rattled away and provided a cross that saw Pinder denied at the last. Before the break the visitors forced the hosts into some last ditch defending that resulted in a corner.  The angled hoof came and was heading straight into the net but the keeper reached up on high and tipped over.  Another corner from the opposite side followed.  The ball was struck firm and long and the greying bonce on No 6 (Sean Quaye) was there to bury and turn the half on its head.  The guests had been under the cosh, but strode off the pitch for the break 1-2 in front. By heck football is a capricious game.

The wind was now whipping with spite, a queue deterred us from partaking of a brew, we stayed put and dithered and talked about the sunny days when my penis actually resembled a penis and not a shivering slug.  I normally don't feel the cold but we had been out since 9am and I was jacket-free - I does stupid very well.

Half-two and as the trembling pen was put to breeze blown paper the first action of note saw two attempts at goal by the leading back with both efforts not even close.  The game regained a certain parity with Stafford doing well to hang on in there.  In fact, it was the resident No 10 (Joshua Wilson) who had the next crack at glory with a low sizzler that zoomed past the vertical woodwork by mere inches.

The frontrunners now responded. Williams displayed meaty strength and beat off two players before cracking one wide.  Gale soon had a marauding meddle and put in a pinpoint accurate cross that Doyle  duly accepted at the back post and banged home - now that was a suckerpunch. Stafford strove to respond to this latest blow but were caught by a counter that was nulled by an offside call. The travellers came again, the ball was pilfered in midfield and Doyle was away and producing a shot that needed solid keeping attention.  The angled kick that followed saw Doyle in the mix again and contribute a flick header that was just to high to make an impression.

The game was flowing away from the grasp of the hosts with the opposing force always looking dangerous when in possession. More shots came at the Stafford goal with the lads under the cosh just managing to survive.  Stafford did summon enough spirit to win a corner that was delivered, knocked out, re-posted and finally executed by an audacious overhead kick by Arber - the outcome was closer than one expected but not close enough.

The closing stages came, the Isle of Man produced a scintillating 3-pass move that saw the end touch to goal bring out another splendid save from the man between the timber.  Shortly after though, more probing and good movement saw No 10 (Luke Murray) pick up on a clearance and slam the ball home with consummate authority.  The scoreline was now getting out of hand but the Ravens weren't done yet.  Another bout of passing, a ball in to Murray who took one touch and walloped home - that was that and soon after the referee brought the game to a close.  Stafford Town looked bewildered, the Isle of Man strode off and looked proud of a job well done.  The Man of the Match for me was Isle of Man's No 8 (Michael Williams) a solid player, a good decision maker and a crucial cog in a well-oiled machine.  If the visiting team were a scrumptious pasty then this bloke was a right fine chunk of meat (and I mean that in a non-homosexual way).

With the game done we beetled off homeward, a lovely visit to a fair ground this, we may just well return.

FINAL THOUGHTS - And so to the thoughts on the teams.  Stafford Town seemed to have had a whipping today, if one cares to take the evidence on paper as gospel - this was not the case.  They edged the first half and dug deep in the second and along the way displayed some good football and one or two quality players in their midst.  The final third of the game saw them run out of ideas and a little bit of huff and puff but they were up against a strong side who play with patience and a certain precision.  The hosts have had an average season this year but there are great foundations here on which to build - I hope they do just that.  The Isle of Man were one of my pre-season choices to be in the mix and after a slow start they are really on a strong roll and seem to be getting better.  The key to this - well, judging on today's evidence - the fact they remain calm, play to their strengths and repeatedly knock into the box choice ball after choice ball are surely a few reasons why they are doing so well. They do look an efficient machine and are hot on the tails of the leaders with a crunch match just around the corner.  If the IOM brigade can put one over on the leaders (West Didsbury and Chorlton) then the winning of the league can go right to the wire - by heck I can feel my pasty-holding hands shaking with excitement.

MID TABLE MEDDLING

22nd January 2022 - Cheadle Heath Nomads 3 v 1 Alsager Town - This is the first report of the year due to a stodgy start, a need to pick and choose where I scribble and having a slight problem re-capturing my mojo.  The Covid fiasco, the empty headed people, the general piss-take and the days of dishrag grey skies have jaded me no end and with the masses pissing on their own chips, the Mother In Law in hospital again and my good lady worrying her lovely head, I have good reason to be a pissed off bugger,  Never fear though, Fungalised defiance and determination runs deep and I am being productive in many ways. Work on my latest books has been solid of late and I have seen a few new bands this year as well as reaching a total of 50 matches attended for the season.

The morn was spent decorating, typing up some wildlife records and listening to obscure DIY noise by The Conspiracy, Little Bohemia, Smashing Red and other such creative forces. I have my own gig next week, rest assured it will be under-the-radar, as pure as the driven snow and not built on shittery, posing and pleasing the socialites - you see, I am still chomping.

I arrived at the local ground in good time, nattered with some fine, reliable faces, had a brew and 2 sausage sex rolls, one of which I ate whilst the other I shoved up my arse.  I took up my usual position beneath dreary skies and scrawled out my observations on another 90 minute session of ball-booting effort.

The jet-clad authoritarian blew his shrilling gadget, the globe was animated with the first unit to create anything worthy of ink spilling being the hosts who dashed forth and had a penalty shout duly turned down by the referee.  The Bullets quickly pounced next, a shot came that was tidily saved with a follow-up dig also palmed away, this time onto the post and back into the keepers arms.  Moments later the ball was stroked into the opposite net by a keen No 10 (Kyle Foley) although his erection of celebration was soon quelled by the numbing flag of offside.  The arousal levels were soon raised again though when Foley came on strong and No 11 (George Blackwell) sent in a cross that looked to be heading to the belfry of No 9 (Daniel McLaughlin) but instead dropped straight into the net - well, they all count.

From here the Nomads continued to play good, honest, 'on the deck' decent football making the guests earn their onions.  The game though became a battling affair with Alsager more than holding their own.  The next chance came the way of the visitors with No 10 (Stephen Jones) going on a fine, carving run that ended in the box with the final shot neatly blocked by the home No 1 (Adam Rigby).  A corner followed, it had great swing and surprised the attacking Jones whose head the globe pinged off and went over.     

Alsager came again soon after, No 7 (George West) pitched a superb ball over the top that Jones gathered and sent towards goal, once again the keeper saved his side's bacon. A follow-up punt came, it was closer to hitting the recently opened George Gibbons Brothel in Cheadle Hulme rather than the back of the net.  It seems as though we know where the best place to score is, although cross-eyed women dressed as football players has never been my thing.

Nomads now upped the urgency levels, No 2 (Robert Lewis) flew the line like a Moorhen with an avian pervert hot on its tail. A fizzing cross came that exposed McLaughlin's neck as being too short.  The chance went begging, but the same unit were foaming with desire, came on again with a quite sumptuous cross finding No 3 (Kieran Alley) at the back post who duly controlled and cracked home - a quite simple, but eye-catching goal.  

At 2 goals down the guest gang needed to summon up a response, but the best they could offer was a dig over the bar by their ever-willing No 11 (Bobbie McDonnell).  The closing stages of the half saw the Alsager keeper make a good save from a flashing Blackwell shot and then Foley put in a low-drilled cross that just needed the merest touch to send it into the net - alas that touch failed to materialise.  One last effort came via the toes of Alsager's No 9 (Christopher Smith) but genuine power was lacking and that was that.

For the break I stayed put and chatted with Johnny D who had recently started a collection of prosthetic legs in the hope that a civil war would break out soon.  John's business prowess is always to be taken seriously after his investment in absorbent underpants paid off when working in the Diuretic Gas Wars of Limpopo.  The man doesn't piss about when a chance to make some dosh is concerned, I duly put in an order for two-PVC feet and a plastic nipple - one never knows.

Half-two began in balanced fashion.  Thoughts of limb replacements were banished as the Alsager mob strained hard to make some headway. The Nomads just couldn't make any territorial advances as the opposing force pressed on.  The hosts stood firm however and eventually started to build some momentum.  After a grinding period a push came, Foley gained command of the globe and fancied his chances from range,  The peg swung, the ball was sent forth with loft and loop and as the keeper dove it was all to no avail as the top corner was found and the striker jigged around like a man with an arse full of happy pickles.  What a beauty, the delight was justified although when inserting pickles into one's rear always remember to add a finishing cork.

From here we were witness to 6 on-the-bounce corners for the Nomads, several of which held good threat.  Alsager looked relieved to have survived the half-dozen angled assaults and the hoofer was equally relieved to get back to normal play and be substituted soon after.  The home lads where now on top, Foley had another dig with a low daisy decapitator just humming wide of the timber and then, as in the words of Cilla Black - surprise surprise, it was as Alsager advanced, the ball was played in to No 8 (Ben Darby) who took one look and drilled home the ball to gain an unexpected comeback goal.  

We entered the darkening dregs with Alsager renewed but stumbling at the last, The hosts bounced back, a ball was passed to Foley who ran free and noted the keeper off his line.  A chip-shot came, the keeper reached up on high and got a mitt in the way - ooh the lucky blighter.  With a few minutes more played out in middling fashion the game was called to halt and I was left to bid farewells and ponder the Man of the Match.  The choice was Cheadle Heath Nomad's No 5 (Thomas Greenfield) for a quite concrete rear-guard session that was carried out with authority, good discipline and a high level of exactitude.  Keep it up good fellow.

FINAL THOUGHTS - Despite walking through cerebral treacle of late a visit to the Nomads is always a tonic due to the fact there are some good faces involved, a warm welcome guaranteed and the team always tries to play fair, honest football.  Today they got their just deserts and ran out winners due to effective off the ball work, some improved decision making and one stunning goal.  This could be the start of a rewarding run and with a few choice signings of late, I can't see why not.  Alsager Town have been involved in a minor upheaval recently but today exhibited sound evidence of a team sorely underachieving.  The lads worked hard and for 2 thirds of the game put in an applaudable display with many attacking moves well thought out and just failing at the last.  I can see no reason why they will stay in the bottom three and am hoping they build up a good head of steam soon.  Their No 7 (George West) was a particularly eye-catching component and their strikers have net-busting capabilities that just need tapping.  Keep an eye on The Bullet's folks, firing blanks is not their thing.

And that is that, next stop Maine Road v Alsager Town, hopefully the Mother-in-Law will get better, the skies will donate a bit of sun and Johnny D will throw in a bonus synthetic tit due to my company loyalty. The arthritic fingers are crossed.