15th January 2018 - Stockport Town 4 v 0 Cammell Laird 1907 - A first round Cheshire Senior Cup tie, a miserable night that only the bravest or most foolhardy will tolerate and the prospect of a well fought game between two teams who are on a hit and miss roll. My expectation levels were high tonight as I had recently ordered, and received, two Roy of the Rovers Annuals circa 1980 and 1981. Having read a few tales it seems anything is possible in the golden game and if I didn't witness at least 5 goals, two of which have to tear through the netting and kill an unsuspecting onlooker, I would consider myself well and truly let down. The scorer of the winning goal must have golden locks, a scoring record second to none and must have been kidnapped at least once (one must have added drama in these situations). I may ask too much, but I have Melchester Fever at the moment, it somehow distorts reality and gives one a idealistic escapism from the humdrum everyday existence. So, wrapped up better than an overwintering caterpillar I took up my position, set peepers to level 'rose-tinted' and watched the game unfold before me. I couldn't see a Roy Race lookalike, perhaps he was playing incognito - fingers crossed. Prior to the match I had a chat with the Assistant Club Secretary (Rob York) who was a fine chap and very keen on his duties and non-league footie - good on ya mate. I also nattered to a couple of guys who had dropped in from 'darn sarf', both equally keen on this glorious game and happy to squeeze a match in whilst on a working excursion - can't fault it!
The green shoots of promise tentatively peeped out from the 4G pitch and attempted to add intrigue on a night of foul, stinking weather. Both teams were keen to get a spurt on, more than likely to try and alleviate the symptoms of the creeping cold which isn't very good for the muscles or morale. The Lairds No 9 (Joseph Malkin) was the first to stoke interest levels, he put in some good work, purloined a ball that should have been safely dealt with and got in a half decent cross. This time the defense did their job but within a brace of minutes No 7 (Joshua Maldon) was buzzing on the edge of the box and after being upended was awarded a free punt. The play continued, the rear guard stood firm but the CL Crew were putting together some good moves and maintaining a solid amount of pressure. A few shots came the visitors way, no success was had and when Stockport had a corner tipped behind and then their No 7 (Aaron Dwyer) zipped in and provided a low cross that was cleared at the last the game took on a more balanced complexion. Stockport now rallied, a long ball was fluffed by the guest's No 4 (Tom Bane) and in slipped the home No 9 (Ben Halfacre) who needed no time to prepare or set his sights. Instinct took over, the ball was hoofed, the net was struck, it was 1 - 0 to The Lions, perhaps against the general run of play.
Stockport came again but a delicious streaking counterattack was had with 3 swift passes finalised by No 6 (Paul Jewell) who saw his shot well saved by the home mitter (Dylan Forth). A free-kick to Stockport came, a quite lovely floater was watched by a static CL defence and Halfacre rose to put bonse on globe. Alas power was lacking and the keeper dropped and collected without too much fuss. An off the ball incident halted the flow of the game next, a kick-out brought a red card and Bane of the hosts was given his marching orders. It was an unnecessary moment, as were the verbals to the Laird fans afterwards - hey ho, shit happens. From here Stockport pushed, Cammell Laird sensed a golden chance to progress into the next round but as they turned on the heat and squandered many chances the Lions grew in confidence and defended with zeal. A side footed shot for Laird's Maldon was deflected wide, the corner ball that followed was missed by the keeper but the residents of the Stockport Sports Village rode their luck. Laird throbbed with desire (dirty bastards) and yet were not making the most of their possession and not using the full width of the pitch. Malkin was making a few good runs, one of which saw him release to No 3 (Jay Thomas) who crossed with pace, found the head of No 10 (Ben Holmes) who kindly (for the home team) nutted over. The ball was soon back in the Stockport box, pinging here and there, the home netman somehow got his hands on the ball, could it be one of those nights? A late effort by the travelling No 11 (Daniel Cross) was bent towards goal, the swing wasn't generous enough and we went into the break still at 1 - 0.
A cup of tea was swilled at half-time and I had a nice chat with the mother of the Cammell Laird keeper. By heck the lad had been around and was at present really enjoying his football - and why not - 21 years old and indulging in the great game, what is there to moan about. By the way - good luck with your studies mate - the world is thy oyster!
The second half began with a couple of range finders at each end with composure the main ingredient lacking. The weather turned sour, in fact more sour than the face of Theresa May sucking on a cow's arsehole - and that's sour. Malkin for the guests roamed and let fly, it was wide of the mark and if anything, they really should be making sure they test the keeper at least. A free-kick next, the Kirklands lads came, a header was had and missed the framework by mere inches - luckily for the guilty party an offside decision came. Next and a 3 on 2 situation arose, Holmes had the time but he dillied and dallied and the chance disappeared...again! From the advancing hordes Stockport broke, No 7 (Aaron Dwyer) chanced his foot and saw the goalkeeper tip his effort wide. For all The Lairds hustle and threat there was no end venom and when a long ball came against their thrustings and No 11 (Ruben Abreu) collected and slotted home with ease it was a case of saying 'that's is how it should be done' - calmly, coolly and with precision. A sickening blow to the midriff and one could almost see the arse drop from the CL team.
Onwards we went, Holmes of the Cammells in again, he was too shy when it came to the trigger pull and when he did fire a block came. The ball was soon put back in and a defensive header came closer than any CL striker had done and nearly scored an own goal. The ball came in from the angle and the home mitter fumbled, again things were not going the way of the guests and when a long ball was played up field and Halfacre connected on a cross and slotted home his celebrations seemed like pure salt in a very open wound. The linesman though applied a salve and waved his flag like a good un' - a saviour, a spoilsport or a soggy sufferer on this wicked night - you decide! The visiting team tried hard to get a goal here, a free-kick was sweetly struck but Holmes was only met with a vibrating crossbar rather than a rippling net - it just was not going to happen. Suddenly Stockport had a couple of half-arsed attempts before Dwyer wiggled in and struck the globe. It hit the back of the mesh with good pace and the game was put to bed. A first class effort by 10 wet and weary men and when Dwyer came again and fired it was with relief that power was lacking and the keeper saved with relative ease. A couple more shots came either end, No 11 (Ruben Abreu) being denied by the Laird keeper with a decent block and No 8 (Kynan Mason) at the other end, in and with only the last man to beat - alas he fired straight at the No 1 and it seemed par for the very testing course. We were now in the last minute, the result was secured but another Lion's long ball was played, No 3 (Izzy Miranda) connected and played to the substitute (Reece Skelton) who slotted home and made for one embarrassing scoreline. We were now done, dusted and the Lairds had been busted - who would have predicted this one? There were some good performances tonight but I am giving the Man of the Match to The Lion's No 9 (Ben Halfacre) a player who seems to be growing in presence, is a good old fashioned target man and holds the ball up with apparent ease. The fact that he has a good eye for goal and goes about his business quietly is a mere bonus - fine work sir!
FINAL THOUGHT - A punk band from the olden days had a very apt song that kind of summed up Stockport Town's performance and attitude tonight. The band was known as Blitz, the song was called 'Never Surrender' - it was a minor classic, the opening lines went 'never surrender, never give in, never let the enemy win' - you can see where I am coming from. After 22 minutes the team battled hard with one man short and took their chances whenever they arose - now that is worthy of a win. Cammell Laird are difficult to sum up as they have several pacey players and make plenty of chances but seem to lack that killer instinct to drive them forth on to more victories than they currently clock up. There is more to this team than meets the mere passing eye and I reckon with a bit of tweaking here and there, things could slowly improve and see them set a whole new standard. I shall leave them with best wishes and as in the words of John Lydon on one of his many hits - 'may the road rise with you'.
Tuesday, 16 January 2018
Saturday, 13 January 2018
TO FLEE FROM THE DROP ZONE
13th January 2018 - Irlam FC 2 v 1 Burscough FC - An mid-season scuffle this one to try and break out from the clutching hands of Mother Relegation and dwell in arms of relative safety and set about playing some relaxed football. Irlam are on a run best described as 'wank' whereas Burscough started the season poorly but have dug in and clawed their way up the league and reached the intoxicating heights of 16th. They are far from a place of pleasure though and a few slips and into the dreaded death zone they will drop. As you can see, this one was looking a tasty affair. The morn was spent having a blaze in the back garden and revisiting my lost arson-based youth. A fact you may not know about your friendly scribbler is that in his early days he was so obsessed by the charm of the flame he tried to change his name by deed Poll to Arson Wells and star in a remake of Blazing Saddles, this time with actual arses on fire. It never came off, I spent several years on the psychiatric couch and have been on water tablets ever since - bah. Away from the twaddled digression and back to the day - dinner, a visit to the charity shop to drop off some donations and to the Ambitek Stadium we went. Tea purchased, a sit in the clubhouse and a nice chat. Outside and chips purchased, places found, a read and a natter with Matty Kay (Irlam's Assistant Manager) and a disgruntled Burscough die-hard (both fine chaps). The gladiators duly appeared and, as in the words of that renowned darts nutter Sid Waddell it was 'game on' rather than 'Get yer hands off me bulls-eye mate or I'll tweak yer trebles' - ooh the sexy bastard!
The first onslaught came via the guest team, No 7 (Terry Cummings) being a nuisance and feeding No 2 (Daniel Brady) who crossed low with pace. The keeper read the early danger and was down to gather - good work. Another Burscough attack came but Irlam used it to counterpunch, alas the end shot lacked any pace and was easily dealt with. Burscough were having the better of things early on with Cummings and No 9 (Chad Whyte) both problematic players and ones to watch closely. A brace of back-to-back corners were had, nothing came of them but a follow up cross found the crust of the rising No 5 (Luke Gibson) and in truth, the ball should have been buried. Burscough came once more after a somewhat settled period. A ball was nudged through, Whyte was way offside but play was allowed to continue. A cross went forth, the mittman punched and Cummings tried a cheeky lob toward the goal. A defensive bonse did enough and a follow-up shot was well blocked, Irlam were hanging on here. Soon after Cummings threaded through a group of 3 players. He turned on the pace, left the trio in his wake and crossed with total ease. Whyte pounced like a blow fly on a recently passed turd, he slipped the ball home without fuss and got his team their just reward for a very eager start.
A claggy patch followed, an Irlam injury knocked the flow out of the game but The Green Army found impetus first and Whyte broke and passed to No 10 (Dylan Hodkinson) who let go a stunning shot that just missed the far top corner - it was worthy of a goal, unlucky brother. A touch of Deja vu next when Whyte was once again in an offside role, given free rein to run on and allowed to pick his shot. Luckily for the home 'erberts their No 1 (Lee White) produced a ruddy good block and kept his side right in the mix. From off the back foot Irlam cultivated a rare thrust forth. No 7 (Daniel Greene) put in some fine work, laid the ball off to super-sub No 15 (Isaac Illidge) who thumped like a donkey on steroids and rippled the net with power - 1 - 1 - a perfect response to much pressure. A free-kick for the Ambitek Army soon after saw the head of No 6 (Ryan Ledson) get duly glanced, it caused no problems but indicated that the fight back was fully underway. A more balanced game followed, Irlam were willing to do much dirty work, Burscough were looking to produce something worthwhile for their efforts. Whyte and Hodkinson for Burscough combined in the box towards the back end of the half with the latter player hitting the side netting although a few in the crowd thought he had actually scored. Cummings came next, he was having a good half this lad, but No 3 (Joel Amado) was now reading the play and defended well and quelled all threat. A scrappy end to the first 45 was played out but, in truth, Irlam could have pilfered the lead when a close in shot was finely blocked by a very alert and agile keeper. We stayed at 1 -1 when the referee blew, I think Irlam were happiest with the scoreline and Burscough were rueing several missed chances. That's football, especially at the gloriously real and unpredictable level.
Tea was slurped at half-time, a ginger biscuit consumed and a pootle to have a piddle. I could have thrashed another tray of chips but I am being good at the moment and trying to shed a few pounds - besides I never did want to play for Fat Bastard Utd and Blubber Bollocks City could never afford my wage demands. I have standards don't ya know!
Half two, the Silver Street residents were out quickest with some good mithering play finalised by a hefty shot from Illidge. Alas the bugger was leaning back a little too much and the shot wouldn't stay down - I may send him a girdle so that his back can stay more upright! The visitors bounced back, No 12 (Tom Croughan) was hopeful with his effort and yet was disappointed to see the globe swing wide. This was all to play for, a real touch and go game, with the ball going one way and back the other, each time panic rising and some marvellous defending being exhibited. No 5 (Steven Mills) had the next pop at the mesh but his crown was too firm and the header he produced was knocked over the bar. Suddenly Irlam caught fire, a blazing attack saw No 9 (Jordan Icely) receive and look to shoot. No 3 (Alexander Parkes) of Burscough was strong and resolute and doused the danger with efficient waters of cultured talent - a noteworthy effort sir. A corner was knocked in, the ball went all ways and it was a shame that No 8's (Liam Morrison) shot was tame and easily gathered. Another flashing Shack Shaker followed, Icely was the last man again and boy this was a lousy miss - would this be costly, would confidence be the deciding factor in this tumultuous game?
The home side were now primarily controlling matters with several more lightning breaks forcing the Burscough rear guard to be on their hard worked toes. Greene and Icely combined next, the latter bod burning with passion and mightily unlucky only to get a corner for his exertions. The resultant ball in was choice, the header just off target - the thumbscrew was getting tighter. A shot a few minutes later by the hosts No 11 (Matthew Boland) was tame but it proved that the team were still baring their teeth and eager to bite hard and grab a much needed win. From the rising tide the Green Army won a corner and when the ball went in the box mayhem ensued. A penalty shout was had, tempers became slightly frayed, collars were heated, the referee was having none of it. A dinking chip by Cummings put Whyte in soon after, he was pipped at the post by an advancing keeper - who the hell was gonna win this was anyone's guess. No 17 (Marcus Perry) was a main source of release for Irlam and when he threatened to break several times it was only the measured quality of Burscough's Parkes that saved the day for a team clinging on for dear life. A corner was awarded to Irlam, the ball was put in and a great chance was squandered, who was that guilty man? I was getting carried away by the mania - what a fine finish! Perry was at it again, he crossed and a mis-kick was had, Burscough broke, a last gasp tackle was made and then Amado for Irlam flashed down the flank and covered nearly the full length of the pitch. He grabbed a seemingly lost ball, cracked it in and saw Connor strike with force. No 5 (Luke Gibson) of the travelling team threw his carcass in the way and blocked like a good un' - unsubtle perhaps, very effective for sure. We were having a grandstand finish, I stood up and had a chat to the aforementioned Burscough bod, he was loving it and we both expected a sting in the tail to come. A coming together in midfield saw the B's No 4 (Rex Kimona-Puissance) get clattered, pause and then fall. The pause was costly, Irlam played on with hunger, a cross came and up stepped Connor Martin to tap in, steal some precious points and celebrate like a lottery winner with a bladder problem - and why not? The opposing team members were livid, it was a bitter pill to swallow, after hanging in for so long only to receive a knock-out blow whilst hanging on the ropes! It happens though, and when the ref called full time, on reflection, I think Irlam deserved the win. We packed up and pissed off, I pondered the Man of the Match and am going for the Burscough No 3 (Alexander Parkes) who, despite being on the losing side, put in an absolutely brilliant defensive stint, counteracted pace with quick thinking and read each and every move with accuracy and tackled like a trooper - take pride in your efforts sir, a win will come another day.
FINAL THOUGHT - So, at the end of a topsy-turvy 90 minutes it is Irlam who take the main prize and Burscough who go home pondering what could have been. I think both teams should be proud of their efforts and to be bloody honest, I saw many great performances out there that perhaps will get overlooked in the big scheme of things. We must never forget, these guys are putting their arses through the motions because they love the game, the officials are out there on a hiding to nothing so that these events can go ahead and the fans are turning up because they understand what a glorious beast this non-league sport can be. Brilliant hey! I am convinced that Irlam will not get relegated and reckon this could be a moment in time that points the pecker at the recent run of form and squirts out some golden glory that will see them safe come season end. Burscough look safe, but they have played a lot of games and somehow managed to lose points when they shouldn't. I like this team, hence the reason I have travelled up their end a few times this season to watch them play. There is a bit of turmoil at the club, primarily off the pitch that will lead to problems on it - I for one hope this gets sorted. The club has a good history, has a ground loaded with character and charm and needs to be part of this great underdog sporting package - here's to a few good wins and a thoroughly deserved escape from the drop zone!
The first onslaught came via the guest team, No 7 (Terry Cummings) being a nuisance and feeding No 2 (Daniel Brady) who crossed low with pace. The keeper read the early danger and was down to gather - good work. Another Burscough attack came but Irlam used it to counterpunch, alas the end shot lacked any pace and was easily dealt with. Burscough were having the better of things early on with Cummings and No 9 (Chad Whyte) both problematic players and ones to watch closely. A brace of back-to-back corners were had, nothing came of them but a follow up cross found the crust of the rising No 5 (Luke Gibson) and in truth, the ball should have been buried. Burscough came once more after a somewhat settled period. A ball was nudged through, Whyte was way offside but play was allowed to continue. A cross went forth, the mittman punched and Cummings tried a cheeky lob toward the goal. A defensive bonse did enough and a follow-up shot was well blocked, Irlam were hanging on here. Soon after Cummings threaded through a group of 3 players. He turned on the pace, left the trio in his wake and crossed with total ease. Whyte pounced like a blow fly on a recently passed turd, he slipped the ball home without fuss and got his team their just reward for a very eager start.
A claggy patch followed, an Irlam injury knocked the flow out of the game but The Green Army found impetus first and Whyte broke and passed to No 10 (Dylan Hodkinson) who let go a stunning shot that just missed the far top corner - it was worthy of a goal, unlucky brother. A touch of Deja vu next when Whyte was once again in an offside role, given free rein to run on and allowed to pick his shot. Luckily for the home 'erberts their No 1 (Lee White) produced a ruddy good block and kept his side right in the mix. From off the back foot Irlam cultivated a rare thrust forth. No 7 (Daniel Greene) put in some fine work, laid the ball off to super-sub No 15 (Isaac Illidge) who thumped like a donkey on steroids and rippled the net with power - 1 - 1 - a perfect response to much pressure. A free-kick for the Ambitek Army soon after saw the head of No 6 (Ryan Ledson) get duly glanced, it caused no problems but indicated that the fight back was fully underway. A more balanced game followed, Irlam were willing to do much dirty work, Burscough were looking to produce something worthwhile for their efforts. Whyte and Hodkinson for Burscough combined in the box towards the back end of the half with the latter player hitting the side netting although a few in the crowd thought he had actually scored. Cummings came next, he was having a good half this lad, but No 3 (Joel Amado) was now reading the play and defended well and quelled all threat. A scrappy end to the first 45 was played out but, in truth, Irlam could have pilfered the lead when a close in shot was finely blocked by a very alert and agile keeper. We stayed at 1 -1 when the referee blew, I think Irlam were happiest with the scoreline and Burscough were rueing several missed chances. That's football, especially at the gloriously real and unpredictable level.
Tea was slurped at half-time, a ginger biscuit consumed and a pootle to have a piddle. I could have thrashed another tray of chips but I am being good at the moment and trying to shed a few pounds - besides I never did want to play for Fat Bastard Utd and Blubber Bollocks City could never afford my wage demands. I have standards don't ya know!
Half two, the Silver Street residents were out quickest with some good mithering play finalised by a hefty shot from Illidge. Alas the bugger was leaning back a little too much and the shot wouldn't stay down - I may send him a girdle so that his back can stay more upright! The visitors bounced back, No 12 (Tom Croughan) was hopeful with his effort and yet was disappointed to see the globe swing wide. This was all to play for, a real touch and go game, with the ball going one way and back the other, each time panic rising and some marvellous defending being exhibited. No 5 (Steven Mills) had the next pop at the mesh but his crown was too firm and the header he produced was knocked over the bar. Suddenly Irlam caught fire, a blazing attack saw No 9 (Jordan Icely) receive and look to shoot. No 3 (Alexander Parkes) of Burscough was strong and resolute and doused the danger with efficient waters of cultured talent - a noteworthy effort sir. A corner was knocked in, the ball went all ways and it was a shame that No 8's (Liam Morrison) shot was tame and easily gathered. Another flashing Shack Shaker followed, Icely was the last man again and boy this was a lousy miss - would this be costly, would confidence be the deciding factor in this tumultuous game?
The home side were now primarily controlling matters with several more lightning breaks forcing the Burscough rear guard to be on their hard worked toes. Greene and Icely combined next, the latter bod burning with passion and mightily unlucky only to get a corner for his exertions. The resultant ball in was choice, the header just off target - the thumbscrew was getting tighter. A shot a few minutes later by the hosts No 11 (Matthew Boland) was tame but it proved that the team were still baring their teeth and eager to bite hard and grab a much needed win. From the rising tide the Green Army won a corner and when the ball went in the box mayhem ensued. A penalty shout was had, tempers became slightly frayed, collars were heated, the referee was having none of it. A dinking chip by Cummings put Whyte in soon after, he was pipped at the post by an advancing keeper - who the hell was gonna win this was anyone's guess. No 17 (Marcus Perry) was a main source of release for Irlam and when he threatened to break several times it was only the measured quality of Burscough's Parkes that saved the day for a team clinging on for dear life. A corner was awarded to Irlam, the ball was put in and a great chance was squandered, who was that guilty man? I was getting carried away by the mania - what a fine finish! Perry was at it again, he crossed and a mis-kick was had, Burscough broke, a last gasp tackle was made and then Amado for Irlam flashed down the flank and covered nearly the full length of the pitch. He grabbed a seemingly lost ball, cracked it in and saw Connor strike with force. No 5 (Luke Gibson) of the travelling team threw his carcass in the way and blocked like a good un' - unsubtle perhaps, very effective for sure. We were having a grandstand finish, I stood up and had a chat to the aforementioned Burscough bod, he was loving it and we both expected a sting in the tail to come. A coming together in midfield saw the B's No 4 (Rex Kimona-Puissance) get clattered, pause and then fall. The pause was costly, Irlam played on with hunger, a cross came and up stepped Connor Martin to tap in, steal some precious points and celebrate like a lottery winner with a bladder problem - and why not? The opposing team members were livid, it was a bitter pill to swallow, after hanging in for so long only to receive a knock-out blow whilst hanging on the ropes! It happens though, and when the ref called full time, on reflection, I think Irlam deserved the win. We packed up and pissed off, I pondered the Man of the Match and am going for the Burscough No 3 (Alexander Parkes) who, despite being on the losing side, put in an absolutely brilliant defensive stint, counteracted pace with quick thinking and read each and every move with accuracy and tackled like a trooper - take pride in your efforts sir, a win will come another day.
FINAL THOUGHT - So, at the end of a topsy-turvy 90 minutes it is Irlam who take the main prize and Burscough who go home pondering what could have been. I think both teams should be proud of their efforts and to be bloody honest, I saw many great performances out there that perhaps will get overlooked in the big scheme of things. We must never forget, these guys are putting their arses through the motions because they love the game, the officials are out there on a hiding to nothing so that these events can go ahead and the fans are turning up because they understand what a glorious beast this non-league sport can be. Brilliant hey! I am convinced that Irlam will not get relegated and reckon this could be a moment in time that points the pecker at the recent run of form and squirts out some golden glory that will see them safe come season end. Burscough look safe, but they have played a lot of games and somehow managed to lose points when they shouldn't. I like this team, hence the reason I have travelled up their end a few times this season to watch them play. There is a bit of turmoil at the club, primarily off the pitch that will lead to problems on it - I for one hope this gets sorted. The club has a good history, has a ground loaded with character and charm and needs to be part of this great underdog sporting package - here's to a few good wins and a thoroughly deserved escape from the drop zone!
Friday, 12 January 2018
AT BLOODY LAST
11th January 2018 - Abbey Hey 5 v 3 New Mills - We are now into the second half of the season and yet here appears a game from the first half that has been on and off more times than the underpants of Kenneth Williams in a Monastery (oooh me cassocks). The first match ended after 14 seconds of play when the floodlights went twang and we were left in darkness. I was hoping the romantic situation may help me getting to know the lines-man better but a scuffle and a court appearance have proven that touchline love is not a thing everyone wants to indulge in. Anyway the fixture was duly rearranged several times but fell foul of the climactic conditions we Northern gits are endlessly tormented by. After a day of work and with the weather set fair I arrived at the ground looking forward to actually putting a line under this game and seeing what the outcome would be. I carried with me a bag of 50p pieces in case the electric meter ran out again plus a copy of 'Marks and Sparks' - a glossy magazine about electricians called Mark (it is amazing what small markets these publications cater for). And so to the match - the result was anyone's guess, in fact would there be a result at all or would a minor earthquake halt proceedings, would there be an alien invasion at halftime or would a flock of Giant Night Owls descend during player and carry off several team members back to their nests on the mountains of Twattolacia. Either way, if these pills don't kick in soon this report may veer off course and end up in the Fortean Times as an example of delusional roaming, I crack on and reveal what happened on this intriguing night!
The early pace setters to this match were Abbey Hey and after a quick ball was played through, No 11 (George Noon) gained control and stayed as cool as a Jeremy Kyle guest on the lie detector and slid home to bring up the first strike on only the second minute. In the same amount of time the home lads came again, a ball flew in from the angle and the easiest of headers was executed as Noon grabbed his own, and his team's, second goal of the night - what a start. After a little more of the early home-bred mania the visiting squad eventually found their feet and started to knock together one or two passing sequences. As The Millers started to push Abbey Hey broke with rapidity that led to an on the goal line tackle that saw the ball squeeze out and roll behind for a corner. The ball came in, the ball went out, the ball came in once more. 2 goal line clearances were made and I was to left to ponder what madness was unfolding before my disbelieving peepers. The next attack came soon after and involved a midfield pass to an overlapping runner, a low hard cross in and a simple tap home for No 10 (Daniel Heffernan). 3 - 0 to the home team, only 14 minutes on the clock, the Millers defence had sprung a leak and a pair of footballing incontinence pants needed to be hitched up pretty ruddy soon. Abbey Hey came once more, a great free-kick was flung in and a great save was executed but a corner was given. The ball flew into the box, a home head rose and nutted goalward but the attempt lacked power and we stayed as we were.
As things progressed The Hey had another chance denied at the last by the mitter's legs and then a weak shot that was easily hoofed clear but maintained the flow of the one way traffic. A slack period followed, a chance for the guests to attain some parity perhaps? Not so, the hosts shot forth on a counter break, No 8 (Sam Freakes) found himself in the clear and with the goalkeeper to beat. The travelling No 1 (Liam Flynn) spread himself thinner than diluted margarine and made a good block to keep his team just within sniffing distance. Abbey Hey were getting carried away by the flow and out of the promise land a rebound ball was punted and No 9 (Dennis Sherriff) for the guests semi-chipped the outrushing home keeper and notched up a strike back on the score cards. It was a neatly taken goal and in different circumstances may have raised more than the subdued ripple donated. What followed was a reckless period of play with the NM boys playing a shit or bust game with a high backline catching several Abbey Hey runners in the offside web. The ref blew for halftime soon after a few half chances, I reckoned this one was far from over.
Some Vimto, a few Yoghurt Raisins and the reception of the crushing news that I hadn't won the night's raffle. I exchanged thoughts on the game with a lovely couple of New Mills fans and the teams came back out and treated us to a few more goals.
Back and forth the ball went during the opening part of the second period with The Millers having slightly more ownership of the pinging sphere. The visitors produced a striking break from the ping-pong patch and when a rash challenge flew in and the referee pointed to the spot one wondered if this was the start of a comeback bigger than that of Liberace at The London Palladium. Up stepped Sherriff again and shot home as accurately as that wild west gunfighter Bat Masterson - ooh me rubber bullets. So 3 goals to 2, game now on for sure and it was obvious to all that The Millers new found determination was having a profound effect on proceeding and throwing the end result right up in the mizzled air. Frantic play followed, a game loaded with heavily pregnant urgency - but when would the next baby of glory drop? As New Mills charged Abbey Hey threw a suckerpunch and when a long pass was laid off, No 9 (Peter Watling) had time to eye up his chance and fire home a tidy goal. From the next scrappy segment Hey came again with No 7 (Jack Tinning) playing a delicious over-the-top ball to the substitute who ran out from the angle but still managed to crack a shot that duly quivered the crossbar.
The chill now grew, misted breath rose from the ardent's cakeholes, the dampened surface of the pitch was getting worn by the warriors and as a delay came due to a crook home bod I wondered if New Mills could get themselves back into this one after putting in so much vim and vigour and yet still trail by a brace. The next player to glimpse glory was Watling of Hey who made good space to shoot but delayed the trigger pull and after being tackled only got a corner for his troubles. The ball was cracked in, a visiting player made contact and it needed a quality reaction block on the line to spare any blushes. A follow up crack was had millimetres out - the net was completely missed and a red face retreated hoping to go unnoticed. A goal kick followed, the ball came straight back, Watling was in and the final nail in the coffin was struck - 5 -2. From here one could be forgiven for predicting a New Mills collapse but a three pass move saw a final shot fly over and prove there was still some nip in the knackered dog yet. Another chance came soon after, the Sherriff shot (not what Bob Marley expected hey) but was resisted by a comfortable save. The corner was put in, this time the law man would not be denied and bagged his hat-trick and his sides worthy third. In the last 5 minutes a swivel and a shot for the Hey Brigade was stopped by a still alert keeper and No 6 (Warren Gaskin) had a crack that was decent but shy of the actual target. The referee blew soon after, it had been a ruddy funny game if you ask me with sporadic bursts of excellence amid much lunatic fringe attacking and some real disregard for organisation. Man of the Match tonight goes to the home team's No 8 (Sam Freakes), a controlled customer amid much chaos and a player who kept his head down and tried to make the best from a manic situation - good work chap.
FINAL THOUGHT - And yes 'at bloody last' we had got this tie under our belts and witnessed a quite strange affair that saw both teams have a sort of 'tally ho and fuck it' similar to that time Princess Anne had hormonal trouble and went into the stables all hot under the collar with an attachable love device. Like tonight the end result was akin to unpredictability and it was more than just a few nets that got rippled I can tell ye. I enjoyed this one nonetheless but reckon both squads need to tighten their structural belts and keep certain stray gonads from popping out and giving any predatory teams a chance to molest and gain some kind of dominance. I am sure Abbey Hey were just happy to get the win but there is still work to be done, hence their precarious position in the premiership table. New Mills must be gutted with their performance and especially at giving away two soft goals early on. Their league position seems to be safe enough but I wouldn't get too settled and make sure that the priority is working on those defensive duties. It may sound simple but as Alan Hansen used to say 'If you let nothing in, you don't lose the match', and if a Scotsman doesn't want to give anything away it must be right - Och aye Jimmy.
The early pace setters to this match were Abbey Hey and after a quick ball was played through, No 11 (George Noon) gained control and stayed as cool as a Jeremy Kyle guest on the lie detector and slid home to bring up the first strike on only the second minute. In the same amount of time the home lads came again, a ball flew in from the angle and the easiest of headers was executed as Noon grabbed his own, and his team's, second goal of the night - what a start. After a little more of the early home-bred mania the visiting squad eventually found their feet and started to knock together one or two passing sequences. As The Millers started to push Abbey Hey broke with rapidity that led to an on the goal line tackle that saw the ball squeeze out and roll behind for a corner. The ball came in, the ball went out, the ball came in once more. 2 goal line clearances were made and I was to left to ponder what madness was unfolding before my disbelieving peepers. The next attack came soon after and involved a midfield pass to an overlapping runner, a low hard cross in and a simple tap home for No 10 (Daniel Heffernan). 3 - 0 to the home team, only 14 minutes on the clock, the Millers defence had sprung a leak and a pair of footballing incontinence pants needed to be hitched up pretty ruddy soon. Abbey Hey came once more, a great free-kick was flung in and a great save was executed but a corner was given. The ball flew into the box, a home head rose and nutted goalward but the attempt lacked power and we stayed as we were.
As things progressed The Hey had another chance denied at the last by the mitter's legs and then a weak shot that was easily hoofed clear but maintained the flow of the one way traffic. A slack period followed, a chance for the guests to attain some parity perhaps? Not so, the hosts shot forth on a counter break, No 8 (Sam Freakes) found himself in the clear and with the goalkeeper to beat. The travelling No 1 (Liam Flynn) spread himself thinner than diluted margarine and made a good block to keep his team just within sniffing distance. Abbey Hey were getting carried away by the flow and out of the promise land a rebound ball was punted and No 9 (Dennis Sherriff) for the guests semi-chipped the outrushing home keeper and notched up a strike back on the score cards. It was a neatly taken goal and in different circumstances may have raised more than the subdued ripple donated. What followed was a reckless period of play with the NM boys playing a shit or bust game with a high backline catching several Abbey Hey runners in the offside web. The ref blew for halftime soon after a few half chances, I reckoned this one was far from over.
Some Vimto, a few Yoghurt Raisins and the reception of the crushing news that I hadn't won the night's raffle. I exchanged thoughts on the game with a lovely couple of New Mills fans and the teams came back out and treated us to a few more goals.
Back and forth the ball went during the opening part of the second period with The Millers having slightly more ownership of the pinging sphere. The visitors produced a striking break from the ping-pong patch and when a rash challenge flew in and the referee pointed to the spot one wondered if this was the start of a comeback bigger than that of Liberace at The London Palladium. Up stepped Sherriff again and shot home as accurately as that wild west gunfighter Bat Masterson - ooh me rubber bullets. So 3 goals to 2, game now on for sure and it was obvious to all that The Millers new found determination was having a profound effect on proceeding and throwing the end result right up in the mizzled air. Frantic play followed, a game loaded with heavily pregnant urgency - but when would the next baby of glory drop? As New Mills charged Abbey Hey threw a suckerpunch and when a long pass was laid off, No 9 (Peter Watling) had time to eye up his chance and fire home a tidy goal. From the next scrappy segment Hey came again with No 7 (Jack Tinning) playing a delicious over-the-top ball to the substitute who ran out from the angle but still managed to crack a shot that duly quivered the crossbar.
The chill now grew, misted breath rose from the ardent's cakeholes, the dampened surface of the pitch was getting worn by the warriors and as a delay came due to a crook home bod I wondered if New Mills could get themselves back into this one after putting in so much vim and vigour and yet still trail by a brace. The next player to glimpse glory was Watling of Hey who made good space to shoot but delayed the trigger pull and after being tackled only got a corner for his troubles. The ball was cracked in, a visiting player made contact and it needed a quality reaction block on the line to spare any blushes. A follow up crack was had millimetres out - the net was completely missed and a red face retreated hoping to go unnoticed. A goal kick followed, the ball came straight back, Watling was in and the final nail in the coffin was struck - 5 -2. From here one could be forgiven for predicting a New Mills collapse but a three pass move saw a final shot fly over and prove there was still some nip in the knackered dog yet. Another chance came soon after, the Sherriff shot (not what Bob Marley expected hey) but was resisted by a comfortable save. The corner was put in, this time the law man would not be denied and bagged his hat-trick and his sides worthy third. In the last 5 minutes a swivel and a shot for the Hey Brigade was stopped by a still alert keeper and No 6 (Warren Gaskin) had a crack that was decent but shy of the actual target. The referee blew soon after, it had been a ruddy funny game if you ask me with sporadic bursts of excellence amid much lunatic fringe attacking and some real disregard for organisation. Man of the Match tonight goes to the home team's No 8 (Sam Freakes), a controlled customer amid much chaos and a player who kept his head down and tried to make the best from a manic situation - good work chap.
FINAL THOUGHT - And yes 'at bloody last' we had got this tie under our belts and witnessed a quite strange affair that saw both teams have a sort of 'tally ho and fuck it' similar to that time Princess Anne had hormonal trouble and went into the stables all hot under the collar with an attachable love device. Like tonight the end result was akin to unpredictability and it was more than just a few nets that got rippled I can tell ye. I enjoyed this one nonetheless but reckon both squads need to tighten their structural belts and keep certain stray gonads from popping out and giving any predatory teams a chance to molest and gain some kind of dominance. I am sure Abbey Hey were just happy to get the win but there is still work to be done, hence their precarious position in the premiership table. New Mills must be gutted with their performance and especially at giving away two soft goals early on. Their league position seems to be safe enough but I wouldn't get too settled and make sure that the priority is working on those defensive duties. It may sound simple but as Alan Hansen used to say 'If you let nothing in, you don't lose the match', and if a Scotsman doesn't want to give anything away it must be right - Och aye Jimmy.
Wednesday, 10 January 2018
PILFERING, PESTERING PURPS
9th January 2018 - Ashton Athletic 1 v 2 City of Liverpool - And back again to Brocstedes Park for a midweek tussle featuring two capable units. It had been my first day back at work today after having time off to start the wildlife wanderings and tie up many loose ends from the previous 12 months. I needed an end of day treat and this game looked to have all the prospects of being a darn belter. We set off in good time to try and beat The Purple helmeted Army who, as ever, were bound to attend in good numbers and kick up a good racket in support of their reliable squadron of ball booting buggers. The thermals were lacking as usual at this time of year and I wondered if, at the end of 90 minutes, we wouldn't all be sporting more than just the aforementioned violet-flushed crowns. My fur-lined jockstrap was pulled tight, my recently acquired knitted nipple-cups tied in place and I settled down beside my good lady to view matters as they unfolded. Over the course of the match I scribbled and after deciphering the shiver-induced scrawls I ended with a tale that goes as follows.
The colour clash began, the Yellows against the Purps, a garish escapade that would put the fashion sense of Lady Gaga to shame (emphasis on the 'gag'). I donned my negating spectacles of neutrality and witnessed the first thrust to come via the humping loins of the predatory purple pack. It was a simple ball over the top, No 9 (Thomas Peterson) chased and released a fierce shot that was met with a firm impenetrable blockage. The game though was in a decent state of equilibrium early on although the COL crew were just shading matters and were remarkably industrious early on and offered their opponents no time to relax on the much sought after ball. It was the COL's Peterson again who was to cultivate the next peril when he executed a sublime sub-dummy swivel, lost his marker and put the ball across the face of the goal. It was unfortunate to see no takers for the flashing sphere.
Some dubious defending by Ashton now made the home sides task harder than it should have been and a lack of tight marking allowed the visitors to knock the ball around with swift ease and have time to choose their options. Eventually a 3 pass move was quicksilver smooth and was terminated by a sharp low shot that went searing across goal and into the far side of the net. No 3 (Franny Foy) was the man of the moment, a tremor of fear passed through the souls of the nearby Ashton Athletic fans - was this the start of a deluge? The home lads now called upon reserves of resistance, they scavenged for scraps but when the guests put together an 8 pass manoeuvre and the waspish Peterson was shouldered off the ball in the box it must have been some relief to the home 'erberts to concede only a corner and have a few seconds to re-organise the ranks. The corner was dealt with, the following attack culminated in a header that forced a tip-top save, what a beauty it was and only the offside flag dampened the true delight of the talent. The Purps came once more, a shot, deflection and side-netting and Ashton were now definitely under the cosh. Credit must be given where credit is due though and the hosts dug in, won a corner and were somehow only inches away from snatching an equaliser. The corner was tame but somehow a sense of parity was beginning to be felt. City of Liverpool had the next chance when a free-kick was won after a very clumsy challenge. The ball in was world class, again all it needed was the merest touch but all bodies were absent. Ashton pushed, No 6 (Jamie Harrison) was getting into the thick of the action and making a nuisance of himself and causing a certain irritation in the opposing defence. I am sure you know the kind of irritation I mean, a bit like when ones good lady insists on wearing a Ken Dodd mask whilst you are in the mood for love - quite aggravating don't ya think!
Towards the latter end of the half, after riding a small vessel of luck to shores of safety and seeing Peterson sneak in and fire wide Ashton paid back COL's intensity and awareness with some balls-out grit and determination. Suddenly, when the visiting No 5 (Daniel Dalton) was put under some serious pressure, made a crucial blip and was robbed he could only watch as the ball was hammered into the danger zone and slapped home by the awaiting No 7 (Daniel Regan). With only 2 minutes left of the first half there was little time for a reaction to this surprise equaliser and when the referee halted the frenetic action we knew we had a match on our hands.
Half-time, me and my good lady purchased a cuppa and wandered from the crowded seating area to the opposite side of the pitch to watch the second half. There we enjoyed the company of a keen non-league fan who chatted about this and that and enthused about his love of the game. As it turned out he was the son of that great Liverpool legend Ronnie Moran, no wonder he likes the game, tis in the blood it seems.
Onto the second period, a quick start was had with both teams working harder than Lisa Tarbuck in a sausage factory. A corner to the hosts was swung in fast but the mittman's hands were as safe as houses and a break was had. That pesky purple Peterson was at the helm, bearing fruit in the form of a free-kick which was punched clear and kept trouble at bay. The graft level was high, Foy of the visiting mob was pinging the ball, working like a trooper and making some good overlapping runs. At the other end, No 10 (Daniel Smith) and No 11 (Joshua Nicholson) were perspiring passion with the former player hustling hard and gaining a loose ball. Unfortunately what followed was a wild shot that was off the radar, a vital chance gone I reckon. City of Liverpool pushed back, a whipped in cross came from seemingly that void known as 'nowhere', a toe poked out and by crikey a 2 - 1 lead was had. No 8 (Michael Roberts) had bagged the goal, like a thief in the night, he came, he pilfered, he left the victim rankled.
The next animated point came after a Yellow breakaway charge. A free-kick won, Smith cracking it and landing only inches away from a finishing toe - there is still life in the old dog yet it seems. A Purple replacement came, No 14 (Jack Kelleher) was straight into the fray and involved himself in some action that led to a corner kick. The ball went in, a break came, Nicholson released and it was Regan who fired wide. Ashton continued to push, The Purple Pack took on a role similar to Errol Flynn on rabbit-based hormones - they played the field, looked to penetrate and used full width (ooh heck). The sub, Kelleher had a punt, the target was missed but into the dying embers we went with the home team denied any true chance of goal due to their opponents tireless work. The clock eventually ticked away, time had run out and left an away win to be recorded in the footballing annals of yore. Many good performances where witnessed but that No 3 of City of Liverpool (Francis Foy) caught the eye with a performance that had a touch of quality about it, was injected with a bold passion and etched through with a good understanding of the inner machinations of the contest. One to watch methinks!
FINAL THOUGHT - My take on the two teams on show tonight is as thus:- Ashton Athletic are a tough squad with a good work rate, a 'never say die' attitude and an ability to bounce back even after the lowest of blows. For me they play a little too narrow and don't spread themselves enough, as a pack that is. They will always hold their own though as they are a tough cookie to crack and one would be better off trying to get your hands on a nude photograph of Tony Gubba than score 3 goals against this lot - and that's tough! City of Liverpool have pace, alertness, a fine inner engine and just seem to prowl across the park as one hungry mutt. They are capable of squeezing out the narrowest of victories or slamming a side for six provided how fortune favours their opponents. In a year or so they will be vying for promotion and no doubt their support will increase and they will go on to bigger things. The last time anything purple was seen sporting any degree of success in the Liverpool area was Tommy Smith's nose after a winter bender with that sexual goalkeeping double and boozing legend Gordon Wanks. It takes all sorts but my advice is - keep on eye on this colourful pack, there be great things afoot (perhaps).
The colour clash began, the Yellows against the Purps, a garish escapade that would put the fashion sense of Lady Gaga to shame (emphasis on the 'gag'). I donned my negating spectacles of neutrality and witnessed the first thrust to come via the humping loins of the predatory purple pack. It was a simple ball over the top, No 9 (Thomas Peterson) chased and released a fierce shot that was met with a firm impenetrable blockage. The game though was in a decent state of equilibrium early on although the COL crew were just shading matters and were remarkably industrious early on and offered their opponents no time to relax on the much sought after ball. It was the COL's Peterson again who was to cultivate the next peril when he executed a sublime sub-dummy swivel, lost his marker and put the ball across the face of the goal. It was unfortunate to see no takers for the flashing sphere.
Some dubious defending by Ashton now made the home sides task harder than it should have been and a lack of tight marking allowed the visitors to knock the ball around with swift ease and have time to choose their options. Eventually a 3 pass move was quicksilver smooth and was terminated by a sharp low shot that went searing across goal and into the far side of the net. No 3 (Franny Foy) was the man of the moment, a tremor of fear passed through the souls of the nearby Ashton Athletic fans - was this the start of a deluge? The home lads now called upon reserves of resistance, they scavenged for scraps but when the guests put together an 8 pass manoeuvre and the waspish Peterson was shouldered off the ball in the box it must have been some relief to the home 'erberts to concede only a corner and have a few seconds to re-organise the ranks. The corner was dealt with, the following attack culminated in a header that forced a tip-top save, what a beauty it was and only the offside flag dampened the true delight of the talent. The Purps came once more, a shot, deflection and side-netting and Ashton were now definitely under the cosh. Credit must be given where credit is due though and the hosts dug in, won a corner and were somehow only inches away from snatching an equaliser. The corner was tame but somehow a sense of parity was beginning to be felt. City of Liverpool had the next chance when a free-kick was won after a very clumsy challenge. The ball in was world class, again all it needed was the merest touch but all bodies were absent. Ashton pushed, No 6 (Jamie Harrison) was getting into the thick of the action and making a nuisance of himself and causing a certain irritation in the opposing defence. I am sure you know the kind of irritation I mean, a bit like when ones good lady insists on wearing a Ken Dodd mask whilst you are in the mood for love - quite aggravating don't ya think!
Towards the latter end of the half, after riding a small vessel of luck to shores of safety and seeing Peterson sneak in and fire wide Ashton paid back COL's intensity and awareness with some balls-out grit and determination. Suddenly, when the visiting No 5 (Daniel Dalton) was put under some serious pressure, made a crucial blip and was robbed he could only watch as the ball was hammered into the danger zone and slapped home by the awaiting No 7 (Daniel Regan). With only 2 minutes left of the first half there was little time for a reaction to this surprise equaliser and when the referee halted the frenetic action we knew we had a match on our hands.
Half-time, me and my good lady purchased a cuppa and wandered from the crowded seating area to the opposite side of the pitch to watch the second half. There we enjoyed the company of a keen non-league fan who chatted about this and that and enthused about his love of the game. As it turned out he was the son of that great Liverpool legend Ronnie Moran, no wonder he likes the game, tis in the blood it seems.
Onto the second period, a quick start was had with both teams working harder than Lisa Tarbuck in a sausage factory. A corner to the hosts was swung in fast but the mittman's hands were as safe as houses and a break was had. That pesky purple Peterson was at the helm, bearing fruit in the form of a free-kick which was punched clear and kept trouble at bay. The graft level was high, Foy of the visiting mob was pinging the ball, working like a trooper and making some good overlapping runs. At the other end, No 10 (Daniel Smith) and No 11 (Joshua Nicholson) were perspiring passion with the former player hustling hard and gaining a loose ball. Unfortunately what followed was a wild shot that was off the radar, a vital chance gone I reckon. City of Liverpool pushed back, a whipped in cross came from seemingly that void known as 'nowhere', a toe poked out and by crikey a 2 - 1 lead was had. No 8 (Michael Roberts) had bagged the goal, like a thief in the night, he came, he pilfered, he left the victim rankled.
The next animated point came after a Yellow breakaway charge. A free-kick won, Smith cracking it and landing only inches away from a finishing toe - there is still life in the old dog yet it seems. A Purple replacement came, No 14 (Jack Kelleher) was straight into the fray and involved himself in some action that led to a corner kick. The ball went in, a break came, Nicholson released and it was Regan who fired wide. Ashton continued to push, The Purple Pack took on a role similar to Errol Flynn on rabbit-based hormones - they played the field, looked to penetrate and used full width (ooh heck). The sub, Kelleher had a punt, the target was missed but into the dying embers we went with the home team denied any true chance of goal due to their opponents tireless work. The clock eventually ticked away, time had run out and left an away win to be recorded in the footballing annals of yore. Many good performances where witnessed but that No 3 of City of Liverpool (Francis Foy) caught the eye with a performance that had a touch of quality about it, was injected with a bold passion and etched through with a good understanding of the inner machinations of the contest. One to watch methinks!
FINAL THOUGHT - My take on the two teams on show tonight is as thus:- Ashton Athletic are a tough squad with a good work rate, a 'never say die' attitude and an ability to bounce back even after the lowest of blows. For me they play a little too narrow and don't spread themselves enough, as a pack that is. They will always hold their own though as they are a tough cookie to crack and one would be better off trying to get your hands on a nude photograph of Tony Gubba than score 3 goals against this lot - and that's tough! City of Liverpool have pace, alertness, a fine inner engine and just seem to prowl across the park as one hungry mutt. They are capable of squeezing out the narrowest of victories or slamming a side for six provided how fortune favours their opponents. In a year or so they will be vying for promotion and no doubt their support will increase and they will go on to bigger things. The last time anything purple was seen sporting any degree of success in the Liverpool area was Tommy Smith's nose after a winter bender with that sexual goalkeeping double and boozing legend Gordon Wanks. It takes all sorts but my advice is - keep on eye on this colourful pack, there be great things afoot (perhaps).
Saturday, 6 January 2018
PECKED AT THE POST
6th January 2018 - Ashton Athletic 2 v 0 Padiham FC - My punk streak is all about DIY and putting back, hence these reports and why I decided to take out an advertisement in a Non-League Programme and put a few quid in the coffers. Ashton Athletic took up the offer with Irlam also in the mix, I proposed to do 12 months in the Ashton programme and then 12 months in Irlam's and, if no others enter the fray, repeat the looping process. I am a poor DIY doofer and wish I could help all but doing a bit here and bit there for the many things I enjoy is better than a poke in the arse with a donkey's dong (unless of course you are into that kind of thing or are looking for new alternatives to self-flagellation). After a morn of cycling, catching up with loose ends and a good dinner me and my good lady set out, arrived, paid our dues and took up our viewpoints. This was set to be a very unpredictable encounter as both teams were of the same cut, doing decent in the league and keen to improve their standing. At the start of play Padiham were 3 points to the good but Ashton had 5 games in hand which, along with home advantage, made them slight favourites. I fancied a 3-2 home win, this is what happened, and proves sweet FA about my footballing powers of prediction and makes a mockery of the Nostradamus tattoo I had had scrawled across my buttocks - sometimes we all do foolish things!
The early session of the match saw no quarter given at either end with Padiham's No 8 (Christopher Anderson) the early bright spark that won a free-kick that duly led to a corner after a poor defensive header. The ball was swung in, No 6 (Mark Ayres) provided a flick header that was cleared off the line whereupon The Ticks scrambled the ball free and tried to gain some semblance of order at the rear. Padiham were having the better of the early stages and looking for a feeder ball on which a predatory striker could pounce and hopefully go on to draw blood. Ashton eventually warmed to the challenge, A choice free kick from No 10 (Daniel Smith) needed the merest touch to surely strike gold but alas, all assassins were absent and the deadlock remained. No 8 (Charlie Munro) was next to surge, he threaded the ball to No 9 (Dale Korie-Butler) who looked set to burst mesh but was thwarted at the last by a busy back bod. One felt that if Ashton did a bit more running off the ball and offered wider options the chances that were coming would have much more potential - 'tis easy to say from the sidelines though, a different matter when in the midst of the kerfuffle. Moments later the always controlled but effective No 2 (Jacob Jones) broke down the flank, put in a cross and found the nugget of Smith who made contact but saw the ball fall agonisingly at the wrong side of the upright! Padiham responded and won a corner. The ball went in, was knocked clear but No 4 (Benjamin Hositin) of the guests was casual and produced a picture perfect volley that struck the post. It was a sweet strike, it really deserved to end in a goal, sometimes luck can be tougher than the skin on Judith Chalmer's arse. No 7 (Joshua Nicholson) came next for the double A's and exhibited a lovely run and sugar sweet cross. Smith was just denied.
Next animation came via No 7 (Dominic Craig) of the visitors who marauded forth with purposeful intent. Ashton backed off, a pass came and luckily for the home lads the shot that came was weaker than Harold Bennett's bladder (type in Young Mr Grace of Are You Being Served and you will see why I make this comparison - ooh me prostate). Padiham offered a shot back in return, No 10 (Daniel Boyle) punting and only finding sky - worth a dig though methinks. Ashton, for all their efforts, were just making the wrong decisions at the wrong time, primarily when in the last 3rd of the field and options were available. An example of this was when Korie-Butler went on a fine streaking run (no, not with his todger out) and instead of crossing to his awaiting colleagues he chose to shoot from an acute angle and find only the side netting. These small errors can, in the great scheme of things, cause much misery and when Padiham began to push towards the latter half of the first period one half expected a sucker punch to come. Their No 9 (Kieron Pickup) had a looping header but the ball failed to drop in good time and soon after a corner was won, a shot was pinged in at fairly close range and it was only down to the mittman (Martin Pearson) that the score sheet remained unmolested. The ball came instantly back across goal, the uncertain defending somehow quelled the rising peril. Ashton had two late pushes, one that saw a hard cross get nutted downwards at close range and miss the target, another that saw an untidy challenge, a minor fuss and two bookings - soon after we were done.
Prior to the match a kind bod had thanked us for our advertisement in the Ashton programme and invited us for free tea in the clubhouse. It was a thoroughly nice gesture but we are not piss-takers and prefer to give so we stayed put and chomped a few ginger biscuits - the thanks we send though are very sincere. The cold nipped at the tootsies, what we needed was a few goals to see off the chill - come on ya set of buggers, ripple the mesh!
Period two and a pace-riddled start! Nicholson of The Ticks was clattered and a bonus boot was awarded. Smith stepped up and assessed his options. He chose to crack one low and hard, the swing was too severe, the post was missed by the finest of margins. Mistakes started to creep into the game, a lack of pattern was had, no team was making any inroads into the game. The home bench were getting hot under the collar (and maybe elsewhere but I certainly wasn't calling the Elton John Hot Pants Hotline). Padiham won a corner ball, it was duly pumped in and the crust of Craig was a mere hairs-breadth away from making contact and surely pissing on a few home made chips (or adding golden gravy to the angled potatoes to those of a more educated and less crude frame of mind). Ashton came next, Korie-Butler was fast and weaved away like Rumpelstiltskin on whizz. A toe-poke was the end result, again it was off target - oh come now, am I ever going to see my first goal of the year? From this moment Ashton started to make most of the running but Padiham seemed always ready to strike quicker than a Kleptomaniac in Morrisons (ooh get yer hands off me marrow young man). A sub for each side was had and looked to hopefully see fresh legs play merry hell with tired ones. The Padiham sub was the first to shine, he swivelled on a sixpence, provided a pass which was crossed with venom and allowed Boyle to connect with on the line. If anyone can provide an answer as to how he missed please send me a postcard because I am bloody clueless. What a shocker!
Ashton were now nudged awake, a laser cross was put in, the keeper fumbled but the ball dropped kindly and the No 1 was spared blushes. The Storks flew back, No 11 (Alex Wood) worked inward and shot, the save was sweat free! Padiham pushed again but were caught on the hop, Ashton broke, a ball was threaded and No 14 (Joel Brownhill) latched on to the globe and fired low. Joy was borne, the first goal was had, with only 3 minutes left on the clock Ashton Athletic had pinched this intriguing contest. No sooner had the game kicked back off than Ashton attacked again, a shot from an angle came but the cool defending allowed the ball to run across goal before being cleared. Seconds later Brownhill slapped home his second, but was denied a second celebration by an offside call. Padiham now pushed but a fast counter was the result with Korie-Butler spearheading matters and thumping home to double his sides lead and seal a hard-earned victory. The referee halted matters soon after, from what looked a bang on draw, the home lads had gathered the spoils of war! For Man of the Match I had several bods in mind and am, in a controversial manner, opting for Padihams No 5 (Michael Morrison) who, despite being on the losing side put in a real eye-catching effort that oozed solidity, cool thinking and a keen eye for a release ball. The home team had many good work-horses today but as for a good all-round performance I think this visiting dude deserves the nod.
FINAL THOUGHT - An enthralling game this one going the way I thought it would but lacking in the amount of goals I initially predicted. For me both units are well-versed and play as a complete package rather than a bunch of disjointed individuals - this is always a positive thing that can lead to many successes. A few moments with added fortune could have turned the result on its head but that is the name of the game, strike whilst the iron is hot, take your opportunities and never give in. I plan a return to the Brocstedes Park this Tuesday when the Purple Helmets and Co. pay a visit to spread their respectable word. That will be a tough one and test the rigidity of this reliable side - here's to a stunner. I am also due to nip back up to Padiham and enjoy some fine football there and appreciate that grand set-up they have as well as, if I remember rightly, their ruddy choice hot-dogs. I reckon it will be another grand day out and until then I wish them all the best in their endeavours and reckon they will maintain the decent form and be hopefully pecking at a top 6 finish - tha' never knows tha' know!
The early session of the match saw no quarter given at either end with Padiham's No 8 (Christopher Anderson) the early bright spark that won a free-kick that duly led to a corner after a poor defensive header. The ball was swung in, No 6 (Mark Ayres) provided a flick header that was cleared off the line whereupon The Ticks scrambled the ball free and tried to gain some semblance of order at the rear. Padiham were having the better of the early stages and looking for a feeder ball on which a predatory striker could pounce and hopefully go on to draw blood. Ashton eventually warmed to the challenge, A choice free kick from No 10 (Daniel Smith) needed the merest touch to surely strike gold but alas, all assassins were absent and the deadlock remained. No 8 (Charlie Munro) was next to surge, he threaded the ball to No 9 (Dale Korie-Butler) who looked set to burst mesh but was thwarted at the last by a busy back bod. One felt that if Ashton did a bit more running off the ball and offered wider options the chances that were coming would have much more potential - 'tis easy to say from the sidelines though, a different matter when in the midst of the kerfuffle. Moments later the always controlled but effective No 2 (Jacob Jones) broke down the flank, put in a cross and found the nugget of Smith who made contact but saw the ball fall agonisingly at the wrong side of the upright! Padiham responded and won a corner. The ball went in, was knocked clear but No 4 (Benjamin Hositin) of the guests was casual and produced a picture perfect volley that struck the post. It was a sweet strike, it really deserved to end in a goal, sometimes luck can be tougher than the skin on Judith Chalmer's arse. No 7 (Joshua Nicholson) came next for the double A's and exhibited a lovely run and sugar sweet cross. Smith was just denied.
Next animation came via No 7 (Dominic Craig) of the visitors who marauded forth with purposeful intent. Ashton backed off, a pass came and luckily for the home lads the shot that came was weaker than Harold Bennett's bladder (type in Young Mr Grace of Are You Being Served and you will see why I make this comparison - ooh me prostate). Padiham offered a shot back in return, No 10 (Daniel Boyle) punting and only finding sky - worth a dig though methinks. Ashton, for all their efforts, were just making the wrong decisions at the wrong time, primarily when in the last 3rd of the field and options were available. An example of this was when Korie-Butler went on a fine streaking run (no, not with his todger out) and instead of crossing to his awaiting colleagues he chose to shoot from an acute angle and find only the side netting. These small errors can, in the great scheme of things, cause much misery and when Padiham began to push towards the latter half of the first period one half expected a sucker punch to come. Their No 9 (Kieron Pickup) had a looping header but the ball failed to drop in good time and soon after a corner was won, a shot was pinged in at fairly close range and it was only down to the mittman (Martin Pearson) that the score sheet remained unmolested. The ball came instantly back across goal, the uncertain defending somehow quelled the rising peril. Ashton had two late pushes, one that saw a hard cross get nutted downwards at close range and miss the target, another that saw an untidy challenge, a minor fuss and two bookings - soon after we were done.
Prior to the match a kind bod had thanked us for our advertisement in the Ashton programme and invited us for free tea in the clubhouse. It was a thoroughly nice gesture but we are not piss-takers and prefer to give so we stayed put and chomped a few ginger biscuits - the thanks we send though are very sincere. The cold nipped at the tootsies, what we needed was a few goals to see off the chill - come on ya set of buggers, ripple the mesh!
Period two and a pace-riddled start! Nicholson of The Ticks was clattered and a bonus boot was awarded. Smith stepped up and assessed his options. He chose to crack one low and hard, the swing was too severe, the post was missed by the finest of margins. Mistakes started to creep into the game, a lack of pattern was had, no team was making any inroads into the game. The home bench were getting hot under the collar (and maybe elsewhere but I certainly wasn't calling the Elton John Hot Pants Hotline). Padiham won a corner ball, it was duly pumped in and the crust of Craig was a mere hairs-breadth away from making contact and surely pissing on a few home made chips (or adding golden gravy to the angled potatoes to those of a more educated and less crude frame of mind). Ashton came next, Korie-Butler was fast and weaved away like Rumpelstiltskin on whizz. A toe-poke was the end result, again it was off target - oh come now, am I ever going to see my first goal of the year? From this moment Ashton started to make most of the running but Padiham seemed always ready to strike quicker than a Kleptomaniac in Morrisons (ooh get yer hands off me marrow young man). A sub for each side was had and looked to hopefully see fresh legs play merry hell with tired ones. The Padiham sub was the first to shine, he swivelled on a sixpence, provided a pass which was crossed with venom and allowed Boyle to connect with on the line. If anyone can provide an answer as to how he missed please send me a postcard because I am bloody clueless. What a shocker!
Ashton were now nudged awake, a laser cross was put in, the keeper fumbled but the ball dropped kindly and the No 1 was spared blushes. The Storks flew back, No 11 (Alex Wood) worked inward and shot, the save was sweat free! Padiham pushed again but were caught on the hop, Ashton broke, a ball was threaded and No 14 (Joel Brownhill) latched on to the globe and fired low. Joy was borne, the first goal was had, with only 3 minutes left on the clock Ashton Athletic had pinched this intriguing contest. No sooner had the game kicked back off than Ashton attacked again, a shot from an angle came but the cool defending allowed the ball to run across goal before being cleared. Seconds later Brownhill slapped home his second, but was denied a second celebration by an offside call. Padiham now pushed but a fast counter was the result with Korie-Butler spearheading matters and thumping home to double his sides lead and seal a hard-earned victory. The referee halted matters soon after, from what looked a bang on draw, the home lads had gathered the spoils of war! For Man of the Match I had several bods in mind and am, in a controversial manner, opting for Padihams No 5 (Michael Morrison) who, despite being on the losing side put in a real eye-catching effort that oozed solidity, cool thinking and a keen eye for a release ball. The home team had many good work-horses today but as for a good all-round performance I think this visiting dude deserves the nod.
FINAL THOUGHT - An enthralling game this one going the way I thought it would but lacking in the amount of goals I initially predicted. For me both units are well-versed and play as a complete package rather than a bunch of disjointed individuals - this is always a positive thing that can lead to many successes. A few moments with added fortune could have turned the result on its head but that is the name of the game, strike whilst the iron is hot, take your opportunities and never give in. I plan a return to the Brocstedes Park this Tuesday when the Purple Helmets and Co. pay a visit to spread their respectable word. That will be a tough one and test the rigidity of this reliable side - here's to a stunner. I am also due to nip back up to Padiham and enjoy some fine football there and appreciate that grand set-up they have as well as, if I remember rightly, their ruddy choice hot-dogs. I reckon it will be another grand day out and until then I wish them all the best in their endeavours and reckon they will maintain the decent form and be hopefully pecking at a top 6 finish - tha' never knows tha' know!
Monday, 1 January 2018
ALL RAIN, NO GAIN
1st January 2018 - Mossley AFC 0 v 0 Droylsden - And into the New Year we go, starting off with a rare excursion into the Evo-Stik League. I have many a tale to tell about Evo-Stik, especially when I was a youthful punk with too much time on my hands and some nasal passages that needed clearing, ooh the ruddy wah-wah monster. But to today's game, and a local derby that promised much and had me contemplating a feisty affair with many goals. I was up at the crack today, went for a bike ride saw 50+ species of wildlife (primarily birds and fungi), came home, did a bit of shopping, threw down my dinner and was dropped off at the ground with an hour to spare. My lasses went shopping, I took up my position with tea and chips and had a good chat to a regular Mossley fan. A decent chap and clued in too, always good to get a bit of inside gen. The teams prepared, the Heavens started to leak, a wind threatened to turn spiteful - crikey, not another dose of Breeze-Blown-Bollocks, I had only just recovered from the last debilitating attack. Hey ho, needs must in this Non-League niche and as the teams came out I wished my globes all the best and hunkered down to watch this intriguing contest. Prior to the game a 1 minute session of applause was had in tribute to the ex-Mossley player Vinny Garmory who has recently passed away - a nice touch it was too.
So the teams took up their positions, the game commenced and it was a stable start with both units holding their own and trying to establish the crucial initial grip. No 7 (Luke Daly) looked an early menace and was orchestrating many moves that were just being quelled at the last by some stout rear work. The visiting keeper looked a trifle edgy early on and 3 balls in had him in a certain kerfuffle. The 1st of these was fumbled and many thought that the ball dropped across the line, it was disappointing to see the liner state the complete opposite with his flag of awkwardness. Droylsden struck back, a swift cross came to No 10 (Aaron Fleming) who had a dig but was found wanting in the power department and the mittman safely gathered. The next action came soon after, Droylsden cleared from their rear (too many satsumas over the festive period I expect), No 8 (Elliot Harrison) nutted straight back and No 2 (Adam Latham) was in and banging. The save that followed was very sharp but Mossley were seeming to slowly gain the upper boot. A touch of thermality crept into the game soon after, with tackles becoming firmer and passions rising (similar in fact to a gay romance given a boost of Viagra - firmer tackle, rising passion - oh come on, keep up). Droylsden rose from the heat, No 9 (Sefton Gonzales) with a cute lay off that allowed Daly to go on a marauding run. He eventually let loose a shot, the net rippled, fans of The Bloods let loose a roar of celebration - the ball however had only hit the side netting! Nice try you cheeky buggers.
The Mossey Men came straight back, buzzing hard and looking to sting. No 11 (Rio Ahmadi) finalised matters with a shooting wide from the edge of the area. Unlucky squire. The home heads came once again, this time No 9 (Liam Ellis) pulled the one legged bandit of fortune and hoped it would be fruits of glory that would tumble his way. Alas a bar was in the way, of the horizontal variety it was, but man, that was a mighty close effort. The visitors were by no means overwhelmed here and responded via their No 11 (Liam Caddick) who wove his way into the box and made time to shoot. The mittman was beat, the ball went goalwards, the carcass of the hosts No 3 (Keenan Quansah) was there to save the day - and here's me thinking he was just a good score at Scrabble (ooh me triple letter word). As the game went on, pace grew, a bout of pushing, shoving and comparing todger size was had and the heat was visibly rising. Late pressure came via The Lily Whites but when a counter punch came it was left to the crust of Daly to add the sickening blow. He missed and spat misery whilst the weather now heaved down and added to everyone's woes. The final action was again in the Mossley box with a sharp double strike producing two fine reaction saves that meant, at the interval, this one was as barren as the titties of Ena Sharples (circa 1968).
I stayed put for half-time, the falling water, the cold climate and the fact that I had my seat warm were all too much to risk just for a quick Gypsies Kiss and a cup of cha'. I had a chat with the aforementioned Lily Whites fan instead, that will do for me.
Half two, Droylsden out quickest, Daly denied at the last by a flung mittman. Out of the wild and torrential weather the visiting team found the net, alas in the distant murk the liner waved a no goal. A horrendous shower ensued, but Mossley denied the early pressure and the elements. A free-kick was won, a stunning punt in was had, how the hell did No 5 (Tom Dean) miss? The nut was too firm, the ball flew high, and from only a couple of feet out too - what a chance lost! On to the 61st minute, No 7 (Matty Crothers) put in a cross that was punched clear. Crothers collected and let fly, a good save was had by a very reliable last man - take a bow Ritchie Branagan. A messy period followed but the game was still loaded with fascination, end to end mania was the way things went, I was wondering who would break the deadlock. Droylsden were making some good moves but were frequently trigger shy and missing those odd glimpses of goal. Mossley were stout in defense and determined not to give their opponents a minutes rest on the ball. Despite the guests having more of the game the best move came when Ahmadi passed to the sub, No 16 (Ashley Leather) who whacked in a cross and found the bonse of Latham. The connection was true, the bar was struck, now that was a mighty moment and a stunning sequence that deserved more. Up the other end, a moment of hesitancy before Daly tried a cheeky chip - very close and worth a punt for sure. Within seconds Daly knocked a sweet dink to No 12 (Steve Hall) who shot but was denied by the digit tips of the home no 1 (Oliver Martin). We were in the dregs, Leather broke like a rat from a burning shithouse and chased the ball with legs ablaze. The opposing mittman left his line and somehow made the ball first - the anticipation of the cheering crowd was muted. The last burst came via The Bloods, a ball in and Gonzales was in open space. He put head on sphere, the accuracy was woeful and when the ref blew soon after I think we could all agree that a draw was the fairest result possible. With legs moving and bladder fit to burst I contemplated the Man of the match and opted for Droylsden's No 7 (Luke Daly) who exuded a touch of class, a quick footballing brain and a pair of tricky tootsies - on another day and with a stroke of luck he may have bagged a brace and set up a couple too. Still a noteworthy effort though.
FINAL THOUGHT - So, no goals and a ruddy good soaking for many but I still think this was a very entertaining game that hung on a knife edge right up until the very last kick of the ball. The weather was atrocious and if it continues like this I think Seel Park would be better known as Seal Park and the players should be issued with flippers before coming out. There was a good vibe going on today at the ground though and it seems as though Mossley are doing things utterly right as regards off the pitch activity. On the pitch they look a competitive side with plenty of decent players, maybe a bit more width wouldn't go amiss but the same was said about Peter Pencil Penis and look where he ended up. Droylsden are a compact side and play a strict game reliant on some neat players to open up defenses and cultivate many chances. Today the chances came, the only criticism I would have is of the killer instinct - one sight of the jugular and go for it lads, perhaps Count Dracula may be up for a resurrection and could be got on a free transfer - who knows, blood for The Bloods and all that. So, a nice excursion into a different zone and, as in the words of Neil Warnock to his Anger Management Counsellor 'I'll be back.'
So the teams took up their positions, the game commenced and it was a stable start with both units holding their own and trying to establish the crucial initial grip. No 7 (Luke Daly) looked an early menace and was orchestrating many moves that were just being quelled at the last by some stout rear work. The visiting keeper looked a trifle edgy early on and 3 balls in had him in a certain kerfuffle. The 1st of these was fumbled and many thought that the ball dropped across the line, it was disappointing to see the liner state the complete opposite with his flag of awkwardness. Droylsden struck back, a swift cross came to No 10 (Aaron Fleming) who had a dig but was found wanting in the power department and the mittman safely gathered. The next action came soon after, Droylsden cleared from their rear (too many satsumas over the festive period I expect), No 8 (Elliot Harrison) nutted straight back and No 2 (Adam Latham) was in and banging. The save that followed was very sharp but Mossley were seeming to slowly gain the upper boot. A touch of thermality crept into the game soon after, with tackles becoming firmer and passions rising (similar in fact to a gay romance given a boost of Viagra - firmer tackle, rising passion - oh come on, keep up). Droylsden rose from the heat, No 9 (Sefton Gonzales) with a cute lay off that allowed Daly to go on a marauding run. He eventually let loose a shot, the net rippled, fans of The Bloods let loose a roar of celebration - the ball however had only hit the side netting! Nice try you cheeky buggers.
The Mossey Men came straight back, buzzing hard and looking to sting. No 11 (Rio Ahmadi) finalised matters with a shooting wide from the edge of the area. Unlucky squire. The home heads came once again, this time No 9 (Liam Ellis) pulled the one legged bandit of fortune and hoped it would be fruits of glory that would tumble his way. Alas a bar was in the way, of the horizontal variety it was, but man, that was a mighty close effort. The visitors were by no means overwhelmed here and responded via their No 11 (Liam Caddick) who wove his way into the box and made time to shoot. The mittman was beat, the ball went goalwards, the carcass of the hosts No 3 (Keenan Quansah) was there to save the day - and here's me thinking he was just a good score at Scrabble (ooh me triple letter word). As the game went on, pace grew, a bout of pushing, shoving and comparing todger size was had and the heat was visibly rising. Late pressure came via The Lily Whites but when a counter punch came it was left to the crust of Daly to add the sickening blow. He missed and spat misery whilst the weather now heaved down and added to everyone's woes. The final action was again in the Mossley box with a sharp double strike producing two fine reaction saves that meant, at the interval, this one was as barren as the titties of Ena Sharples (circa 1968).
I stayed put for half-time, the falling water, the cold climate and the fact that I had my seat warm were all too much to risk just for a quick Gypsies Kiss and a cup of cha'. I had a chat with the aforementioned Lily Whites fan instead, that will do for me.
Half two, Droylsden out quickest, Daly denied at the last by a flung mittman. Out of the wild and torrential weather the visiting team found the net, alas in the distant murk the liner waved a no goal. A horrendous shower ensued, but Mossley denied the early pressure and the elements. A free-kick was won, a stunning punt in was had, how the hell did No 5 (Tom Dean) miss? The nut was too firm, the ball flew high, and from only a couple of feet out too - what a chance lost! On to the 61st minute, No 7 (Matty Crothers) put in a cross that was punched clear. Crothers collected and let fly, a good save was had by a very reliable last man - take a bow Ritchie Branagan. A messy period followed but the game was still loaded with fascination, end to end mania was the way things went, I was wondering who would break the deadlock. Droylsden were making some good moves but were frequently trigger shy and missing those odd glimpses of goal. Mossley were stout in defense and determined not to give their opponents a minutes rest on the ball. Despite the guests having more of the game the best move came when Ahmadi passed to the sub, No 16 (Ashley Leather) who whacked in a cross and found the bonse of Latham. The connection was true, the bar was struck, now that was a mighty moment and a stunning sequence that deserved more. Up the other end, a moment of hesitancy before Daly tried a cheeky chip - very close and worth a punt for sure. Within seconds Daly knocked a sweet dink to No 12 (Steve Hall) who shot but was denied by the digit tips of the home no 1 (Oliver Martin). We were in the dregs, Leather broke like a rat from a burning shithouse and chased the ball with legs ablaze. The opposing mittman left his line and somehow made the ball first - the anticipation of the cheering crowd was muted. The last burst came via The Bloods, a ball in and Gonzales was in open space. He put head on sphere, the accuracy was woeful and when the ref blew soon after I think we could all agree that a draw was the fairest result possible. With legs moving and bladder fit to burst I contemplated the Man of the match and opted for Droylsden's No 7 (Luke Daly) who exuded a touch of class, a quick footballing brain and a pair of tricky tootsies - on another day and with a stroke of luck he may have bagged a brace and set up a couple too. Still a noteworthy effort though.
FINAL THOUGHT - So, no goals and a ruddy good soaking for many but I still think this was a very entertaining game that hung on a knife edge right up until the very last kick of the ball. The weather was atrocious and if it continues like this I think Seel Park would be better known as Seal Park and the players should be issued with flippers before coming out. There was a good vibe going on today at the ground though and it seems as though Mossley are doing things utterly right as regards off the pitch activity. On the pitch they look a competitive side with plenty of decent players, maybe a bit more width wouldn't go amiss but the same was said about Peter Pencil Penis and look where he ended up. Droylsden are a compact side and play a strict game reliant on some neat players to open up defenses and cultivate many chances. Today the chances came, the only criticism I would have is of the killer instinct - one sight of the jugular and go for it lads, perhaps Count Dracula may be up for a resurrection and could be got on a free transfer - who knows, blood for The Bloods and all that. So, a nice excursion into a different zone and, as in the words of Neil Warnock to his Anger Management Counsellor 'I'll be back.'
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