17th March 2018 - Abbey Hulton 1 v 1 Atherton LR - The backlog of tasks I eternally sink beneath is getting out of hand and this Non-League football lark is a time consuming business. To be passionless must be a blessing but alas it is not the way I am and so when Saturday comes around I am sniffing out a ball-booting fix and a chance to escape the madness for at least 90 minutes. Like an ant of a nervous disposition I scurry from A to B, from B to A and quite regularly dash around F, U, C and K. I need to adopt the stance of a sunbathing Shieldbug and pick a leaf of life, settle down and relax, review and recharge - roll on the summer, here's to trying! As for now, the weather had turned slightly desperate once more, the open-arsed shorts and skimpy breast bikini had to go back in the wardrobe, it was back to several layers, thick socks and tea swilling mania. So, the morn was muddled through, my missus was my escort (again, she is a belter) and we ended up at Drayton Beaumont Park. This is the 75th match of the season and whilst holding down a job, doing many CD reviews, trying to write 4 books, gigging, recording wildlife and trying to visit 1000 wildlife locations I have managed to do a report for all. Tis nice to give something back and along the way I have met some right diamond folk in it for the right reasons, that is nice to know! So, parked up, bladders evacuated, chips and tea purchased, places found, notebook at the ready and, as in the words of Billy Shakespeare 'Yon players of sinew and globe-pursuing desire, oh adopt thy place on the expectant baize of emerald fire...and play' - what a twit!
The Oranges (Abbey Hulton) and Lemons (Atherton LR) got to battle, St Clements was nowhere to be seen, you can't blame him with the snow falling like the dandruff from a Vitamin B12 deficient George Berry and the temperature cooler than the inside of the Hilda Ogden's knickers - this was a game only the most disturbed stalwart would entertain. The start was scrapyard stuff, mistakes were frequent, the teams took time to adjust to the minimal thermals and sweeping flakes. The Hulton lads pushed against the wind, a throw in and a ball to No 11 (Joe Wooliscroft) saw the player with an abundance of space only a few yards from goal. The chance was blatant, the shot reckless, a wild miss indeed. The next action came via a young nipper sat near us, he pootled at pitch side, picked up a dog turd and proudly boasted to mum 'I have found a poo'. Mum asked him if he had touched it and he proudly came back with a firm 'yes'. He was duly led away to cleanse his mitts, ooh the young scamp! Back to the game, an Abbey Hulton corner was played in with great accuracy, a handball claim was turned down, only another corner was given. Another fine delivery found the crust of the rising No 6 (Joshua Tune) who failed to make net rippling music but did raise a sub-rhythmic groan. The ball skimmed his nugget and went wide of the far post...just! Seconds later the Laburnum Rovers No 11 (Callum Scott) made severe headway but was stopped at the last by the home No 2 (Joshua Buxton) who was stout and timed his tackle mightily well. A free kick came the way of the yellow clad guests. In, out and back in off the bonse of No 10 (David Moore), the ball was pinged about and a deflection meant an angled kick would put more peril in the host's box. The ball flew, it was headed clear, a foul and a free-kick followed and a weak effort by the No 7 (Nathan Randall). It was another opportunity gone, were we heading for one of those games?
From here the ALR crew came on strong, their No 2 (Kyle Tomlinson) had a dash down the flank, slipped a pass to No 6 (Bradley Aspinall) who forced a save from the mitter. From the corner kick No 8 (Dominic Butler) had the ball at his feet with time to release. Alas the player dawdled, the chance was suppressed and it was time to rebuild the momentum. A free-kick saw No 9 (Theodore Kidd) put one inches over, and an effort from the halfway line was a desperate response from the home chaps but it did dampen the persuasion of the visiting flow. The snow now blew with vigour, a blanket effect meant visibility dropped, the game crawled on and was then terminated and all dashed indoors to warm the old cockles (and other parts that I suspect had turned blue). We stayed put, there was no way we were nipping out in the blizzard, the Double Decker I had in my bag was a real treat.
The snow was relentless during the break, we feared an abandonment, good on the players, officials and ground staff for making sure this one carried on, respect for sure!
The teams came out, this time they were with a yellow ball and The Abbey Hulton boys were quick to go at it with 3 quick touches in and around the box allowing No 9 (Joshua Graham) a punt close-in that was denied by a sturdy save. Another shot came soon after but went wide and then the third effort in a row failed to gain goal glory but who took it was anyone's guess as I was temporarily blinded by a sun and snow combo - ooh me peepers! As ALR tried to force themselves back, they were caught on the hop by a quick AH move. Some neat feet and perky passing cut a road through the defensive pack and No 8 (Joe Lewis) tapped home and brought elation to the home supporters. From here Atherton strove with strength, they started to pass the ball well and looked highly purposeful. A few efforts and a corner all caused uncertainty in their opponents set-up but a resilience was shown and the Hulton stubbornness held true. Out of something and nothing The Rovers won a corner and when the ball came in and was knocked home by Moore one couldn't help feeling justice had been done. The conditions now deteriorated further, the viewing was like a TV on the blink, the white noise contributed to something akin to the love life of Marty Feldman and Mollie Sugden, an ugly affair indeed. Both teams ploughed on (snow ploughed that is) and struggled to make any real progress on this dire day. Whilst the teams played a local bod marked out the lines on the pitch with a brush, he was the day's hero, what commitment hey, what dedication to the cause - there is hope after all!
We were into the back stretch, the mere dog ends of a game under pressure. A late Abbey Hulton free-kick, 3 Atherton corners all kept the dice in the air, but alas they would not fall with any sign of victory and we were soon hearing the final peeps of the whistle and watching both snow covered teams trundle off. 1 -1 was a fair result, no one deserved to lose this one and thanks must go to all who partook and made it possible. Man of the Match today goes to the Abbey Hulton No 6 (Joshua Tune) who was a reliable figure at the heart of the pack, he defended with vigour and read situations far in advance of any trouble arising. It was a good effort and I hope the hot water bottle tonight is extra warm and filled with Brandy! We bought a cuppa on the way out, cleared the windows of the car and set off for home - it had been an adventure that is for sure and one worth the effort!
FINAL THOUGHT - The only way to close this latest report is with verbal applause, applause laden with sincerity and appreciation. To the ground staff, to the officials, to the players, to the punters and to the people on the gate, behind the bar, in the cafe and trying to keep this entire shebang going - thank you and the only advice I can offer is quite simple - do not give up and enjoy what you do! The Abbey Hulton set-up is spot on, the team have a good commitment to the cause and today played out a draw in stubborn style. They have a few teaks and twangs to make here and there, a bit more pace being one of the main ingredients to work on but hey, who am I to criticise and complain, we all know the score and as long as the effort is 100% that will do for me. Atherton Laburnum Rovers are a side I always enjoy and their ground is a real treat to visit, it must be a shock to them when they travel away from home and are faced with the prospect of playing on a flat pitch. Again a touch more pace here and there would be helpful but they have a unit with a resilience and are learning to grind out a result when up against the wall or when luck is not rolling their way. I shall be up at their place very soon I hope and of course back at this ground too. I am not a groundhopper as such, but flit around the North West Counties Leagues and throw in the odd one here and there when the chance arises - and I'll tell ya something, I enjoy it to the max and anyone doubting my sanity needs to check it out themselves - there are many converts, a few more wouldn't go amiss.
Saturday, 17 March 2018
Thursday, 15 March 2018
THE TRICKIES TRICKLE ON (JUST)
14th March 2018 - Cheadle Town 1 v 1 Northwich Victoria - Back to Park Road, tis a mere cock stride and with the season galloping to its final one has to get one's fix as much as possible before the summer months are here. Today I had been busy at work, had wandered home and seen a Smooth Newt, some Ring Necked Parakeets and Butterbur attempting to flower and then updated the sightings lists, did the dishes exercised and proof read a little more of the book I am writing (one of 4, don't ask). The good lady came home, tea was had and I was dropped off at the ground and left to absorb some more footy action. I took up my position by the side of that genial gent Rob York, the assistant secretary for Stockport Town and chatted about recent touchline adventures and the inner riggots of the footballing scene. We both agreed that if it was a choice of stopping in watching a bunch of overpaid tossers ponse about in a tournament called The Champions League or get wind-blown and chilled on the ground of a club that needs support and is involved in a very real and approachable contest known as the Macron Cup then we know where we will be. The decision to watch this stuff is not based on perversity or awkwardness, but is based on the fact that it fits in with my DIY punk rock ethics and is there for the bloke in the street and is still a reasonable sense of escapism. That capitalist crap at the top is a sincere waste of my time and it would be an insult to my beliefs to give it any credence of value in my day to day roamings. Underdog noise, non-league football, am-dram theatre, the natural world and my good lasses - all real, all keep me motivated.
So the draught increased and reached Savillian proportions (reaching parts best left untouched) and made sure we stayed alert and took in the action as it unfolded. The Vics had the first attack, No 9 (Brian Matthews) was part of a fine passage of play that saw him fire the first shot across the bows. The save from the home No 1 (Daniel Whiting) was of A+ standard and made sure no early leaks were found in the Cheadle rear ranks. The NV lads had a spring in their step and were passing well and trying to spread the ball around on a surface that was a trifle tricky. From another sharp and patient move No 3 (Daniel Johnson) stepped forth and belted an effort mere inches over the crossbar. It was another range finder and sent warning that The Town needed to be like those invited to spend the night in the house of Peter Stringfellow (the oily git), constantly on guard! The home army bustled in the breeze, their No 8 (Daniel Wood) was working like a Trojan and helped to earn a free-kick that was duly tossed forth and grazed the ascending bonse of No 5 (Joseph Shaw) who nutted wide - where there is hope, there is a way! Cheadle built on this moment, a laser attack held threat but was quelled with the Northwich chaps responding via No 10 (Oliver Walker) tiptoeing through the defensive tulips and trying to defoliate the defending bloom of the hosts. He shot from only a few feet out, the gloved protector spread himself quicker than butter on toast and blocked well, albeit with a touch of luck, which in fact he thoroughly deserved. At the other end the green clad No 9 (Luke Cotton) tore one, alas it was straight at the keeper and No 2 (Joseph Neild) had a similar attempt although this one strayed off target.
Northwich Victoria now started to assert themselves, Matthews having another pop at the netting with the shot deflected and gathered at the second attempt by the Town mitter. The Vics ticked on, they pilfered the ball, a quite eye-catching attack saw No 7 (Oscar Durnin) lay the globe off to Matthews who tried to execute an impish chip rather that let fly with a full-blooded ripper - the end result was an effort too high. As the half passed by Cheadle made a dogged effort and certainly clawed themselves back into matters. They won a corner, when the ball game in the lipstick-pink clad keeper missed his punch, it looked a fatal mistake, thankfully his comrades were there to help and a late sucker punch was blocked. Little else happened of note and when the first 45 was called to a halt I suspect not many could complain although the guests did have the upperhand and should have been at least one goal to the good.
Half-time and further mandible wagging with the aforementioned non-league doofer. The weather was not as warm as predicted but it is all good for the soul so they say - who 'they' are is beyond me but they must be a right bunch of weather beaten buggers.
Half two, The Tics out sharply, a wind-assisted free kick swung just wide and then Matthews fed Durnin who could only offer a quite disappointing shot that failed to find the target. Another NV free-kick, a gust helped it on its way, Whiting sprung like a flea on a trampoline, he tipped away quite tidily and did his job well. The ensuing corner was nothing less than crap, it happens. Walker followed up this disappointing moment with a long range thump that wasn't that far over the bar and indicated the team were keen to break this aggravating deadlock. The impetus set was high, a looping ball into the Cheadle danger zone was had, Whiting was alert once again, he was having a good game for sure. Suddenly Cheadle erupted into action, a great ball found No 7 (James Dunn). This was a Golden Gordon moment, a chance to upset the scales and piddle in the face of the flow - alas he blazed too high, the groan that went up from the home fans was sincere! Northwich Victoria took heed of this ominous advance, they heaved up front but were caught with their trousers down and a break of troublesome tempo came. No 10 (Richard Whyatt) powered forth, had a chance to pass but chose to weave and unload instead. 'Bang' - the ball blew home, the game was on its head, Cheadle Town had defied, denied and found gold in the rivers of kerfuffle - well taken lad, well taken. I scribbled my observations, looked up and saw The Tics with the ball on the edge of the box and then a low thump soar homeward and bring the scoreline back to all square. The effective Walker was the assassin, it was a kidney punch to the home bods who had worked so hard to gain the advantage, but it was also justice done and throughout the annals of footballing history how many times do we see a team take the lead only to concede from the following attack?
The Northwich Victorians had their tails up, a cross from the far side flashed across the face of goal, the merest touch was needed, it never came, Cheadle gulped air of relief. The hosts had a push, a fine move saw Cotton and Whyatt link up with the latter player just flashing one wide - now that was unlucky! The Vics reacted, No 7 bent one, Whiting came to the rescue - it was hectic stuff for sure. A Cheadle foray into the wind, No 14 (Callum Collinson) let Cotton finalise matters with a hard kick that propelled the ball onto the crossbar - it was a savage strike, perhaps deserved of more! The clock was now the enemy, no team could take the bull by the horns (or horn if you so prefer) and there was only time for one real chance that saw Neild receive the ball from a short corner and loft to the far post. Shaw was lurking, he swung the shank, the ball hurtled skyward and the referee blew. Penalties it was folks, time to park the rump on the edge of the seat and nibble the finger nails to nowt. I was due to be picked up at this point so dashed out, told my good lady of the situation and scampered back in to witness the gun-slinging shoot-out! She is a patient soul!
Northwich Victoria had the honours, No 4, and Captain, Anthony Shinks showed a fine example, stepped up and fired home. His opposite number (Liam Delaney) paid back in kind and when Durnin for The Vics and Neild for The Town executed with ease it was a case of 4 down, no advantage had! No 9 (Adam Robinson) of the travellers fired next, the home mitter got his extended digits on the ball but it wasn't enough, the pressure was back on the hosts. Collinson stepped up, he looked sanguine, he blasted and boomed the crossbar - tragedy indeed. Matthews for The Vics followed suit with a shabby miss and then Whyatt got us all level again with a lovely placement. One penalty each was left, the scenario of sink or swim was upon us - crikey. The visiting sub No 14 (Allen Weston) was chilled to the core and slid home with little effort, it was all now down to the Cheadle extra, No 16 (Rob Brocklehurst), to keep this one alive. He pulled the arm of the single limbed soccer bandit, the ball flew and the goalkeeper (Michael Donlon) sprawled. Contact between carcass and globe was made, a save had been had, the glory was leaving Town, many a peregrinating punter would be travelling home happy tonight. I headed homeward myself, I chose my Man of the Match, it was No 10 (Oliver Walker) of Northwich Victoria for a sturdy effort on a difficult night and despite missing a penalty I thought he did enough throughout to pose persistent problems and showcase his individual talent.
FINAL THOUGHT - So blown through with the nipping breeze, slightly fagged and in need of a quick cuppa I headed home after a midweek cup tussle that saw two teams indulge and struggle to actually get matters done and dusted in normal time. The penalty shoot-out was needed, it punctuated a soccerised sentence that had intrigue but lacked that killer flair. The pitch was stickier than Rik Waller's top lip in a cake factory (where the fuck did he end up) and the wind was blowing more unpredictably than Bobby Charlton's hair on a Waltzer. Cheadle did well to hang in here, Northwich put together some good moves and a lot of credit needs to fall on the shoulders of the home keeper for making some tip-top saves and being alert at all times. For the winners it is another fixture in a busy schedule, for the losers it is a long trip up to Holker Old Boys on a weekend that is set to be a ruddy cold one. One stick, one end shitty, the other sharp - tis a tough life on the heap - but we are all passionate perverts and wouldn't have it any other way! Now pass me the whip, I can feel a good flagellation coming on!
So the draught increased and reached Savillian proportions (reaching parts best left untouched) and made sure we stayed alert and took in the action as it unfolded. The Vics had the first attack, No 9 (Brian Matthews) was part of a fine passage of play that saw him fire the first shot across the bows. The save from the home No 1 (Daniel Whiting) was of A+ standard and made sure no early leaks were found in the Cheadle rear ranks. The NV lads had a spring in their step and were passing well and trying to spread the ball around on a surface that was a trifle tricky. From another sharp and patient move No 3 (Daniel Johnson) stepped forth and belted an effort mere inches over the crossbar. It was another range finder and sent warning that The Town needed to be like those invited to spend the night in the house of Peter Stringfellow (the oily git), constantly on guard! The home army bustled in the breeze, their No 8 (Daniel Wood) was working like a Trojan and helped to earn a free-kick that was duly tossed forth and grazed the ascending bonse of No 5 (Joseph Shaw) who nutted wide - where there is hope, there is a way! Cheadle built on this moment, a laser attack held threat but was quelled with the Northwich chaps responding via No 10 (Oliver Walker) tiptoeing through the defensive tulips and trying to defoliate the defending bloom of the hosts. He shot from only a few feet out, the gloved protector spread himself quicker than butter on toast and blocked well, albeit with a touch of luck, which in fact he thoroughly deserved. At the other end the green clad No 9 (Luke Cotton) tore one, alas it was straight at the keeper and No 2 (Joseph Neild) had a similar attempt although this one strayed off target.
Northwich Victoria now started to assert themselves, Matthews having another pop at the netting with the shot deflected and gathered at the second attempt by the Town mitter. The Vics ticked on, they pilfered the ball, a quite eye-catching attack saw No 7 (Oscar Durnin) lay the globe off to Matthews who tried to execute an impish chip rather that let fly with a full-blooded ripper - the end result was an effort too high. As the half passed by Cheadle made a dogged effort and certainly clawed themselves back into matters. They won a corner, when the ball game in the lipstick-pink clad keeper missed his punch, it looked a fatal mistake, thankfully his comrades were there to help and a late sucker punch was blocked. Little else happened of note and when the first 45 was called to a halt I suspect not many could complain although the guests did have the upperhand and should have been at least one goal to the good.
Half-time and further mandible wagging with the aforementioned non-league doofer. The weather was not as warm as predicted but it is all good for the soul so they say - who 'they' are is beyond me but they must be a right bunch of weather beaten buggers.
Half two, The Tics out sharply, a wind-assisted free kick swung just wide and then Matthews fed Durnin who could only offer a quite disappointing shot that failed to find the target. Another NV free-kick, a gust helped it on its way, Whiting sprung like a flea on a trampoline, he tipped away quite tidily and did his job well. The ensuing corner was nothing less than crap, it happens. Walker followed up this disappointing moment with a long range thump that wasn't that far over the bar and indicated the team were keen to break this aggravating deadlock. The impetus set was high, a looping ball into the Cheadle danger zone was had, Whiting was alert once again, he was having a good game for sure. Suddenly Cheadle erupted into action, a great ball found No 7 (James Dunn). This was a Golden Gordon moment, a chance to upset the scales and piddle in the face of the flow - alas he blazed too high, the groan that went up from the home fans was sincere! Northwich Victoria took heed of this ominous advance, they heaved up front but were caught with their trousers down and a break of troublesome tempo came. No 10 (Richard Whyatt) powered forth, had a chance to pass but chose to weave and unload instead. 'Bang' - the ball blew home, the game was on its head, Cheadle Town had defied, denied and found gold in the rivers of kerfuffle - well taken lad, well taken. I scribbled my observations, looked up and saw The Tics with the ball on the edge of the box and then a low thump soar homeward and bring the scoreline back to all square. The effective Walker was the assassin, it was a kidney punch to the home bods who had worked so hard to gain the advantage, but it was also justice done and throughout the annals of footballing history how many times do we see a team take the lead only to concede from the following attack?
The Northwich Victorians had their tails up, a cross from the far side flashed across the face of goal, the merest touch was needed, it never came, Cheadle gulped air of relief. The hosts had a push, a fine move saw Cotton and Whyatt link up with the latter player just flashing one wide - now that was unlucky! The Vics reacted, No 7 bent one, Whiting came to the rescue - it was hectic stuff for sure. A Cheadle foray into the wind, No 14 (Callum Collinson) let Cotton finalise matters with a hard kick that propelled the ball onto the crossbar - it was a savage strike, perhaps deserved of more! The clock was now the enemy, no team could take the bull by the horns (or horn if you so prefer) and there was only time for one real chance that saw Neild receive the ball from a short corner and loft to the far post. Shaw was lurking, he swung the shank, the ball hurtled skyward and the referee blew. Penalties it was folks, time to park the rump on the edge of the seat and nibble the finger nails to nowt. I was due to be picked up at this point so dashed out, told my good lady of the situation and scampered back in to witness the gun-slinging shoot-out! She is a patient soul!
Northwich Victoria had the honours, No 4, and Captain, Anthony Shinks showed a fine example, stepped up and fired home. His opposite number (Liam Delaney) paid back in kind and when Durnin for The Vics and Neild for The Town executed with ease it was a case of 4 down, no advantage had! No 9 (Adam Robinson) of the travellers fired next, the home mitter got his extended digits on the ball but it wasn't enough, the pressure was back on the hosts. Collinson stepped up, he looked sanguine, he blasted and boomed the crossbar - tragedy indeed. Matthews for The Vics followed suit with a shabby miss and then Whyatt got us all level again with a lovely placement. One penalty each was left, the scenario of sink or swim was upon us - crikey. The visiting sub No 14 (Allen Weston) was chilled to the core and slid home with little effort, it was all now down to the Cheadle extra, No 16 (Rob Brocklehurst), to keep this one alive. He pulled the arm of the single limbed soccer bandit, the ball flew and the goalkeeper (Michael Donlon) sprawled. Contact between carcass and globe was made, a save had been had, the glory was leaving Town, many a peregrinating punter would be travelling home happy tonight. I headed homeward myself, I chose my Man of the Match, it was No 10 (Oliver Walker) of Northwich Victoria for a sturdy effort on a difficult night and despite missing a penalty I thought he did enough throughout to pose persistent problems and showcase his individual talent.
FINAL THOUGHT - So blown through with the nipping breeze, slightly fagged and in need of a quick cuppa I headed home after a midweek cup tussle that saw two teams indulge and struggle to actually get matters done and dusted in normal time. The penalty shoot-out was needed, it punctuated a soccerised sentence that had intrigue but lacked that killer flair. The pitch was stickier than Rik Waller's top lip in a cake factory (where the fuck did he end up) and the wind was blowing more unpredictably than Bobby Charlton's hair on a Waltzer. Cheadle did well to hang in here, Northwich put together some good moves and a lot of credit needs to fall on the shoulders of the home keeper for making some tip-top saves and being alert at all times. For the winners it is another fixture in a busy schedule, for the losers it is a long trip up to Holker Old Boys on a weekend that is set to be a ruddy cold one. One stick, one end shitty, the other sharp - tis a tough life on the heap - but we are all passionate perverts and wouldn't have it any other way! Now pass me the whip, I can feel a good flagellation coming on!
Wednesday, 14 March 2018
FROM MADNESS COMES BALANCE
13th March 2018 - West Didsbury & Chorlton 3 v 3 Hanley Town - The tumble of time keeps on gathering momentum and my head is left in a sheer mush as I do a bit of this, a bit of that and of course, a bit of t'other! There is warmth in the air and Spring is about to be sprung and my output will be further flung. The weekend had flitted by, a coastal wander saw many birds noted, a few bugs observed and some tea and cake partaken of. A theatre trip was enjoyed and a bonus nob was seen as the lead actor paraded himself before the spectators wearing nothing more than a curly barnet. I don't normally keep a genital list but I may well have a go this year and submit all sightings to the secretaries of the Private Parts Observational Society, namely John Thomas and Jenny Tulls. My subscription to 'Undercarriage UK' ran out last year, I may have to sign up again. After a day at work and with these thoughts rolling around the addled swede I arrived at the ground and met up with STP Stu and discussed the noise-laden pit, forthcoming gigs whilst enjoying the tea we had acquired at the bar - football tea, never underestimate its powers. Another local punk pirate (hello Pat) turned up and we headed out chatting away and taking up our positions for the nights entertainment. The players warmed up and pissed off to prepare, I produced quill and parchment and scribbled down some textual twaddle later to be deciphered as thus:-
The action was immediate, early corners came at both ends, danger was minimal but each unit was keen to set out their intention. Hanley began to push with purpose, the home lads held their own even though the opposition's movement was taking in a good spread of the playing surface. The Blues advanced, there was a threat rising and when their No 8 (Michael Conlon) cut in and laid the ball off to the ever perilous No 10 (Theo Stair) one could sense a punt at goal was going to be had. Stair cut in, had the briefest of ganders and duly bent the ball and watched it curve forth, kiss the inside of the post and bring a roar or triumph from the travelling fans. The last time I saw a bender like this was on the Danny La Rue show, this was a solid strike and the catalyst for a period of lunacy that took us all by surprise. The West pushed back, a something and nothing advance seemed to be dealt with when the ball fell to the No 10 (Ashley Woods) who thumped forth a murderous shot that nearly set the netting aflame. What a strike and it was just as well the mittman made no contact as seeing the amputation of a limb via a thunderbolt ball is not what I would like to witness, although if the head of Jacob Rees-Mog was in the way that would be more like it (what a twat hey). Hanley immediately responded, they earned a free-kick but this led to a WDC laser breakaway. The visiting players lunged in, the home players moved with scything speed, No 9 (Thomas Bailey) executed a crippling pass which No 7 (Ben Steer) tookin his stride before firing in a low drive with comfortable control that gave his team a 2 - 1 lead. I scribbled my observations, Hanley kicked off and were on a charge, Conlon was racing away, WDC's No 3 (Prince Banya) chased. The box was entered by both scampering competitors, contact was made and a penalty given, it seemed harsh but the cookie can crumble any way when situations like this arise. No 9 (Daniel Cope) brushed off the crumbs of the clash, stepped up, belted home and brought matters back to a level footing.
The Hanley bench were now getting heated, the liner offered soothing words but they seemed to fall on deaf ears. Both teams were playing with loose abandon and when a mini-lull came it must have been welcome to all concerned. Suddenly a pass from the midfield was borne, Theo Stair was into space and finished with smooth ease, the mark of a cultured craftsman at one with his trade. From the kick off The West put together a three pass move and finalised matters with a twatted shot that gave the keeper little chance. We were once again well balanced, the taker of triumph this time was No 11 (Scott Mason) - it was well deserved to say the least. With all square Hanley tried once more to pass and play their way to an advantage, WDC attempted to pay back in kind but no team was able to grasp the gonads of the game and hold on for any length of time. Conlon and Stair were a constant menace for Hanley, they linked up, won a corner from which a header was boomed over. WDC were caught napping again, Cope had an effort fly just off target - things needed to tighten up at The West's rear, they were walking on egg-shells with naked feet, it wasn't good for the nerves that was for sure. The half was nearly done, a mistimed tackle brought a coming together and some touchline invective before Bailey for the hosts cracked a beautiful shot at goal that dipped a little too late and went inches over. That was that folks, we went in search of refreshments, it had been a grand half for sure!
Tea was had, it were reet grand lad, we returned to our hot-spot. Pat couldn't keep his eyes off his phone, the hazards of being a long-term Ipswich fan and paying over the odds for shite football. The fact he has an Eric Gates tattoo on his todger and spends his weekends dressed as Paul Mariner is testament to his mental degeneration - sad indeed! He needs to wake up and remember the wise words of Jimmy Hill - 'show me the nob of an aroused Mick Mills and I'll show thee a defender of delectable zeniths' - or something like that!
The game continued, a vitality laden start was had by the hosts, some lovely balls were manipulated (gosh) and the effort exposed was not lost on the many onlookers. Hanley remained secure at the back and then sprung from the defensive trap like a Buddhist from a brothel. 2 rapid passes came, Conlon clouted one against the vertical - now that was close baby! A delay came whilst a West Didsbury bod got treatment, when he was restored a corner was won soon after. The ball went in, was cleared and picked up by Bailey who played out to Steer who in turn fed Woods in the box who touched the globe disappointingly wide. Hanley won a corner of their own, it was a decent delivery but the home keeper did enough and helped his side apply further pressure. No matter how much WDC peppered their opponents a head or a foot was always in the way. Hanley halted the tide with another angled kick, one that was put in with accuracy and found Conlon at the far post who thumped over! It was a hectic match, end to end stuff with only the killer punch lacking. The pace was sizzling, the urgency incessant and when Bailey raced away, unselfishly passed to No 12 (Georgi Whyment) the next goal seemed a certainty. Contact was made, the ball was pushed forth, it was disappointing to see it trickle off target.
We were galloping on to the final tape, the WDC sub No 17 (Chappy Massamba) was full of gusto and chased a lost ball as though his life depended on it. He got there, just, and was duly clattered from behind by a stampeding No 3 (Joshua Bristow). It was a clumsy tackle but when travelling at pace it is hard to pull out at the last minute. The red card given was unlucky but the right decision, The West had a chance to bag a full-on win, by heck, pass me the Mogadon. The free-kick that came was nicely delivered, Woods rose and beat the keeper but he put too much bonse on the ball and it flew above the horizontal. The Dids men came yet gain, the Hanley keeper had a surge of adrenaline and missed the globe but was blessed with a kind bounce that helped him recover and spare his blushes. He owes the Devil a drink, a pint of life with a soul on the side no doubt! The final stretch, Massamba led the way, he had a shot but drove too high, several other shots came seconds later, carcasses flew, blocks were made, a penalty shout the other end made sure the madness reigned until the last and then, in the flurry of action the game was done, the whistle had halted matters and all concerned had to settle for a share of the spoils. Man of the Match is a tough one but that No 5 (Joshua Thorpe) of Hanley Town held is own throughout, helped stave off times of pressure and contributed to a stubborn second half performance that earned his side that prized point.
FINAL THOUGHT - If ones pecker had as much action in it as what was on show in the first 30 minutes of this match then it would surely drop off! It was an animated and thrilling start that is for sure and one that threw everyone off balance and had them wondering what the end result would actually be. It all sounds well and good for we neutrals and touchline tootlers which indeed it is but for the management staff it was a period that was causing untold discombobulation and bonse scratching disbelief. It was a lunatic fringe period but note must be made that at half-time the managers must have done something right as no further goals were had and each unit displayed a trifle more discipline. It was all set up beforehand I suppose, West Didsbury are always fluent at home and Hanley are a mightily effective team with one or two players liable to explode into high profitable action at any time. I am due back at The Recreation Ground next week, more of the same may be asking too much and perhaps is unfair on the nervous system of the coaching crew - either way, I am hoping for a cracker.
The action was immediate, early corners came at both ends, danger was minimal but each unit was keen to set out their intention. Hanley began to push with purpose, the home lads held their own even though the opposition's movement was taking in a good spread of the playing surface. The Blues advanced, there was a threat rising and when their No 8 (Michael Conlon) cut in and laid the ball off to the ever perilous No 10 (Theo Stair) one could sense a punt at goal was going to be had. Stair cut in, had the briefest of ganders and duly bent the ball and watched it curve forth, kiss the inside of the post and bring a roar or triumph from the travelling fans. The last time I saw a bender like this was on the Danny La Rue show, this was a solid strike and the catalyst for a period of lunacy that took us all by surprise. The West pushed back, a something and nothing advance seemed to be dealt with when the ball fell to the No 10 (Ashley Woods) who thumped forth a murderous shot that nearly set the netting aflame. What a strike and it was just as well the mittman made no contact as seeing the amputation of a limb via a thunderbolt ball is not what I would like to witness, although if the head of Jacob Rees-Mog was in the way that would be more like it (what a twat hey). Hanley immediately responded, they earned a free-kick but this led to a WDC laser breakaway. The visiting players lunged in, the home players moved with scything speed, No 9 (Thomas Bailey) executed a crippling pass which No 7 (Ben Steer) tookin his stride before firing in a low drive with comfortable control that gave his team a 2 - 1 lead. I scribbled my observations, Hanley kicked off and were on a charge, Conlon was racing away, WDC's No 3 (Prince Banya) chased. The box was entered by both scampering competitors, contact was made and a penalty given, it seemed harsh but the cookie can crumble any way when situations like this arise. No 9 (Daniel Cope) brushed off the crumbs of the clash, stepped up, belted home and brought matters back to a level footing.
The Hanley bench were now getting heated, the liner offered soothing words but they seemed to fall on deaf ears. Both teams were playing with loose abandon and when a mini-lull came it must have been welcome to all concerned. Suddenly a pass from the midfield was borne, Theo Stair was into space and finished with smooth ease, the mark of a cultured craftsman at one with his trade. From the kick off The West put together a three pass move and finalised matters with a twatted shot that gave the keeper little chance. We were once again well balanced, the taker of triumph this time was No 11 (Scott Mason) - it was well deserved to say the least. With all square Hanley tried once more to pass and play their way to an advantage, WDC attempted to pay back in kind but no team was able to grasp the gonads of the game and hold on for any length of time. Conlon and Stair were a constant menace for Hanley, they linked up, won a corner from which a header was boomed over. WDC were caught napping again, Cope had an effort fly just off target - things needed to tighten up at The West's rear, they were walking on egg-shells with naked feet, it wasn't good for the nerves that was for sure. The half was nearly done, a mistimed tackle brought a coming together and some touchline invective before Bailey for the hosts cracked a beautiful shot at goal that dipped a little too late and went inches over. That was that folks, we went in search of refreshments, it had been a grand half for sure!
Tea was had, it were reet grand lad, we returned to our hot-spot. Pat couldn't keep his eyes off his phone, the hazards of being a long-term Ipswich fan and paying over the odds for shite football. The fact he has an Eric Gates tattoo on his todger and spends his weekends dressed as Paul Mariner is testament to his mental degeneration - sad indeed! He needs to wake up and remember the wise words of Jimmy Hill - 'show me the nob of an aroused Mick Mills and I'll show thee a defender of delectable zeniths' - or something like that!
The game continued, a vitality laden start was had by the hosts, some lovely balls were manipulated (gosh) and the effort exposed was not lost on the many onlookers. Hanley remained secure at the back and then sprung from the defensive trap like a Buddhist from a brothel. 2 rapid passes came, Conlon clouted one against the vertical - now that was close baby! A delay came whilst a West Didsbury bod got treatment, when he was restored a corner was won soon after. The ball went in, was cleared and picked up by Bailey who played out to Steer who in turn fed Woods in the box who touched the globe disappointingly wide. Hanley won a corner of their own, it was a decent delivery but the home keeper did enough and helped his side apply further pressure. No matter how much WDC peppered their opponents a head or a foot was always in the way. Hanley halted the tide with another angled kick, one that was put in with accuracy and found Conlon at the far post who thumped over! It was a hectic match, end to end stuff with only the killer punch lacking. The pace was sizzling, the urgency incessant and when Bailey raced away, unselfishly passed to No 12 (Georgi Whyment) the next goal seemed a certainty. Contact was made, the ball was pushed forth, it was disappointing to see it trickle off target.
We were galloping on to the final tape, the WDC sub No 17 (Chappy Massamba) was full of gusto and chased a lost ball as though his life depended on it. He got there, just, and was duly clattered from behind by a stampeding No 3 (Joshua Bristow). It was a clumsy tackle but when travelling at pace it is hard to pull out at the last minute. The red card given was unlucky but the right decision, The West had a chance to bag a full-on win, by heck, pass me the Mogadon. The free-kick that came was nicely delivered, Woods rose and beat the keeper but he put too much bonse on the ball and it flew above the horizontal. The Dids men came yet gain, the Hanley keeper had a surge of adrenaline and missed the globe but was blessed with a kind bounce that helped him recover and spare his blushes. He owes the Devil a drink, a pint of life with a soul on the side no doubt! The final stretch, Massamba led the way, he had a shot but drove too high, several other shots came seconds later, carcasses flew, blocks were made, a penalty shout the other end made sure the madness reigned until the last and then, in the flurry of action the game was done, the whistle had halted matters and all concerned had to settle for a share of the spoils. Man of the Match is a tough one but that No 5 (Joshua Thorpe) of Hanley Town held is own throughout, helped stave off times of pressure and contributed to a stubborn second half performance that earned his side that prized point.
FINAL THOUGHT - If ones pecker had as much action in it as what was on show in the first 30 minutes of this match then it would surely drop off! It was an animated and thrilling start that is for sure and one that threw everyone off balance and had them wondering what the end result would actually be. It all sounds well and good for we neutrals and touchline tootlers which indeed it is but for the management staff it was a period that was causing untold discombobulation and bonse scratching disbelief. It was a lunatic fringe period but note must be made that at half-time the managers must have done something right as no further goals were had and each unit displayed a trifle more discipline. It was all set up beforehand I suppose, West Didsbury are always fluent at home and Hanley are a mightily effective team with one or two players liable to explode into high profitable action at any time. I am due back at The Recreation Ground next week, more of the same may be asking too much and perhaps is unfair on the nervous system of the coaching crew - either way, I am hoping for a cracker.
Saturday, 10 March 2018
TIS NEVER TO L'EIGHT FOR A COMEBACK
10th March 2018 - Chadderton FC 4 v 4 Litherland Remyca - So another weekend and another non-league football match. I was lucky to be here, yesterday I rode my bike to work and had a nasty skid on a frozen puddle thus catching my right love-bulb and causing myself some crippling pain. I rode on, did a full days work, went home and dangled my injured plum in a cup of Bovril. It made no difference but next door's Jack Russell was at the door all night and the local butcher did give me some nasty looks next day! On the day of the game I was free of testicular twinges (God bless the Bovril blenders) and it was a case of the usual - the missus took her mother shopping, I tidied up and dabbled with the eternal pile (no, not an immovable Haemorrhoid but the many tasks I take on) and had a swift bite to eat with the lady of my life. Our planned trip to Knutsford was off, we set out to watch Royton Town but ended up at Avro's ground and then decided to stick to what we know and went 10 minutes down the road to Chadderton. We parked up, the ruddy clouds were leaking, we tried to ignore the precipitation and had a cup of tea whilst I partook of the home-made pie (nice) and my wife stuck to a chocolate bar (not literally of course). A decent place this, one we usually enjoy, we hoped the game would be better than the shitty weather, it wouldn't take much.
Out into the murk, seats taken and the ball got moving (the one on the pitch, not the injured one in my pants, now that would be just scary). A good Remyca move and a choice save started matters with the offside rule being a mere wart on the arse of the action. The Chaddy No 9 (Leon Iluobe) responded with a searching run that culminated in a deserved corner. The ball was pumped in, No 8 (Jack Snape) was over-eager and let fly with a wayward shot - it was a frisky start, the corpuscles of intrigue were racing around the veins like streakers on heat - I was getting hot under the collar, and other places you dare not imagine! A free-kick for the home bods came next, it was whipped in, the bonse of the hirsute No 6 (Reece Lyndon) boomed the ball over the bar, he seemed a trifle annoyed. Litherland seemed on the back peg when No 8 (Anthony Cato) won the ball in the middle of the park with subtle skill. Several passes came, a push out wide and a cross was whipped in onto the noggin of No 7 (Paul Foy) who glanced home with ease and brought up the first notch on the scoresheet that was truly against the grain. A tight midfield battle ensued, there was nothing in the game only that unexpected goal. Remyca exploded from the ruck, a great ball in by No 3 (Rory Middleton) saw Foy collect, turn quicker than The Incredible Hulk on a caffeine overdose and place a quite sweet shot. The save by the home No 1 (Jordan Latham) was agile and spot on. A corner came, the ball went in and out before being drilled at a tight angle by No 10 (Colin Quirk). Another save came, a break was constructed, Iluobe bobbed and weaved, he progressed into the box and was upended, the referee pointed to the spot before issuing a yellow card. Up stepped Chadderton's No 4 (Connor Naughton), belted the ball and put it several feet above the horizontal - what a waste.
From here Chadderton dug deep, No 10 (Jack Turnball) was proving to be a handful and was brought down just outside the box. What followed was yet more wastage, perhaps we needed to call the local recycling plant! The battle in the muck advanced, Chadderton pushed, No 2 (Ryan Shenton) went on a run, the ball ended up at Iluobe's feet who merely touched off and saw a pass got executed by Turnball inside the near post. It was a golden move, we were back all square folks. A head-clash held up play, some magic dust was sprinkled, all involved were restored. Chadderton were gaining an upper hand, and when their sub No 14 (Aaron Scholes) entered the fray and with his first touch drove like a demon with a hard-on (not nice let me tell you) and laid the ball off to Iluobe the lively silky turn and shot looked destined for glory untold. Alas the ball was shy of the upright (just like Mary Whitehouse I hear) and went behind for a goal kick. The half fizzled, nothing of note happened and the weather stayed wretched, the lads had earned the half-time break so the whistle was more than welcome.
Me and my good lady stayed put for half-time, we could have thrashed another cuppa but the raindrops weren't falling on our heads so we made do with a bag of mini-eggs. They were ruddy lovely, and comparisons were made to the oval expulsions of the Chaffinch, Greenfinch and House Sparrow - alas no Reed Buntings were found, oh ye secretive scribbler.
Half two began with good tempo, both teams getting down and dirty, one or ptwo layers getting a little bit shirty. The visitors did ripple the net early on only to be ruled offside and as they tried to rebuild a home substitute impeded their impetus. The game eventually got flowing with Quirk hard at work for Remyca and moving inwards with purpose. He threatened to let one fly, a gap appeared so he swung the shank, the Chadderton defence were off the pace and watched the ball fly homeward - great strike, 2 - 1 it was. A dip followed, no chances fwere orthcoming until No 14 (Connor Murphy) and Foy linked up with the latter player sending in a floater that came off the bar and dropped too quickly onto the legs of Murphy who could only bumble it wide. A foolish free-kick was given away by Chadderton next and when the ball was swung in and No 11 (Oscar Billington) nutted home without any mither it seemed from here the scoreline was settled. How the hell could Chadderton get back into this one?
The home lads looked down and out, that is until Shenton skipped onwards, exhibited some neat footwork and put in a delicious ball for Turnball to tup home. Crikey, only one goal in it, was this the comeback of comebacks? Only a minute or so had passed, The Remyca raiders won a free-punt again, it was taken quickly, the home lads were caught napping. The ball was played, crossed with precision and Murphy slotted home, The 2 goal lead was restored, 3 points were destined to be taken on the road. Another lull came, a sludgefest occurred, too many fouls and bookings weren't helping the host's cause! Suddenly the Chad lads had possession, Iluobe put in a quite simple cross and Turnbull had bagged his hat-trick, by heck man, who could have scripted this one? 13 minutes were left on the clock, a dangerous free-kick for Chadderton dropped into their opponents danger zone, alas for the home chaps it was eventually dealt with and a rebuild had to take place. They battled on, a flashing shot brought a roar of celebration but the ball went wide of the post and nerves remained shredded. The last minutes were upon us, No 16 (Joseph Richards) for Chaddy found himself with the ball and raced forth, He made it into the box (just) and his shirt was pulled. The referee, with eyes like carrot-addicted rabbit. saw the incident, a penalty was given, a yellow card brandished. Responsibility fell to the flame haired player Scholes who stepped up, remained calm and thwacked home with authority - 4 goals each, what a finale! There was no time left for anyone to grab a crippler although Turnbull of the hosts was very close but was ruled offside at the very last. The referee eventually brought a halt to matters, it had been a value for money day and the pick of the pack and the Man of the Match for me goes to the robust and fair-battling No 4 (Marvin Molyneux) of Chadderton for a strong, irrepressible performance that was a cornerstone on which his side built and forced their way back into this one. A concrete effort in a tough game on a very tricky pitch - have beer sir and keep working hard!
FINAL THOUGHT - The pitch was stickier than the fingers of Neil Shipperley in a cake factory, and the air was damper than the armpits of Cyril Smith on a lie detector but both teams added a ray of hopeful sunshine today and played out a match with gusto, commitment and entertaining persistence. For £15 me and my wife got an 8 goal thriller, 2 choccie bars, 2 cups of tea and a home-made pie, I mean, how the Hell can anyone gripe about that? The teams on show have many fine points, Chadderton had some good individual artists who put in a good work rate and produced some quite sweet passages of play. Their only drawback I would say is consistency and movement off the ball to give a variety of options when in possession. They never fail to entertain though and, as a neutral, value is always had. Litherland are a tough nut to crack and despite a first half off their game, they soon corrected matters and were back in the groove. They are perhaps 10% shy of being a real formidable team, where that 10% will come from is anyone's guess as they have no glaring cracks in the entire crew. I think a draw was a fair end result, and if you are going to share the points then why not do it with a flurry of goals. Not great for the blood pressure of the touchline staff but for we fans, wonderful!
Out into the murk, seats taken and the ball got moving (the one on the pitch, not the injured one in my pants, now that would be just scary). A good Remyca move and a choice save started matters with the offside rule being a mere wart on the arse of the action. The Chaddy No 9 (Leon Iluobe) responded with a searching run that culminated in a deserved corner. The ball was pumped in, No 8 (Jack Snape) was over-eager and let fly with a wayward shot - it was a frisky start, the corpuscles of intrigue were racing around the veins like streakers on heat - I was getting hot under the collar, and other places you dare not imagine! A free-kick for the home bods came next, it was whipped in, the bonse of the hirsute No 6 (Reece Lyndon) boomed the ball over the bar, he seemed a trifle annoyed. Litherland seemed on the back peg when No 8 (Anthony Cato) won the ball in the middle of the park with subtle skill. Several passes came, a push out wide and a cross was whipped in onto the noggin of No 7 (Paul Foy) who glanced home with ease and brought up the first notch on the scoresheet that was truly against the grain. A tight midfield battle ensued, there was nothing in the game only that unexpected goal. Remyca exploded from the ruck, a great ball in by No 3 (Rory Middleton) saw Foy collect, turn quicker than The Incredible Hulk on a caffeine overdose and place a quite sweet shot. The save by the home No 1 (Jordan Latham) was agile and spot on. A corner came, the ball went in and out before being drilled at a tight angle by No 10 (Colin Quirk). Another save came, a break was constructed, Iluobe bobbed and weaved, he progressed into the box and was upended, the referee pointed to the spot before issuing a yellow card. Up stepped Chadderton's No 4 (Connor Naughton), belted the ball and put it several feet above the horizontal - what a waste.
From here Chadderton dug deep, No 10 (Jack Turnball) was proving to be a handful and was brought down just outside the box. What followed was yet more wastage, perhaps we needed to call the local recycling plant! The battle in the muck advanced, Chadderton pushed, No 2 (Ryan Shenton) went on a run, the ball ended up at Iluobe's feet who merely touched off and saw a pass got executed by Turnball inside the near post. It was a golden move, we were back all square folks. A head-clash held up play, some magic dust was sprinkled, all involved were restored. Chadderton were gaining an upper hand, and when their sub No 14 (Aaron Scholes) entered the fray and with his first touch drove like a demon with a hard-on (not nice let me tell you) and laid the ball off to Iluobe the lively silky turn and shot looked destined for glory untold. Alas the ball was shy of the upright (just like Mary Whitehouse I hear) and went behind for a goal kick. The half fizzled, nothing of note happened and the weather stayed wretched, the lads had earned the half-time break so the whistle was more than welcome.
Me and my good lady stayed put for half-time, we could have thrashed another cuppa but the raindrops weren't falling on our heads so we made do with a bag of mini-eggs. They were ruddy lovely, and comparisons were made to the oval expulsions of the Chaffinch, Greenfinch and House Sparrow - alas no Reed Buntings were found, oh ye secretive scribbler.
Half two began with good tempo, both teams getting down and dirty, one or ptwo layers getting a little bit shirty. The visitors did ripple the net early on only to be ruled offside and as they tried to rebuild a home substitute impeded their impetus. The game eventually got flowing with Quirk hard at work for Remyca and moving inwards with purpose. He threatened to let one fly, a gap appeared so he swung the shank, the Chadderton defence were off the pace and watched the ball fly homeward - great strike, 2 - 1 it was. A dip followed, no chances fwere orthcoming until No 14 (Connor Murphy) and Foy linked up with the latter player sending in a floater that came off the bar and dropped too quickly onto the legs of Murphy who could only bumble it wide. A foolish free-kick was given away by Chadderton next and when the ball was swung in and No 11 (Oscar Billington) nutted home without any mither it seemed from here the scoreline was settled. How the hell could Chadderton get back into this one?
The home lads looked down and out, that is until Shenton skipped onwards, exhibited some neat footwork and put in a delicious ball for Turnball to tup home. Crikey, only one goal in it, was this the comeback of comebacks? Only a minute or so had passed, The Remyca raiders won a free-punt again, it was taken quickly, the home lads were caught napping. The ball was played, crossed with precision and Murphy slotted home, The 2 goal lead was restored, 3 points were destined to be taken on the road. Another lull came, a sludgefest occurred, too many fouls and bookings weren't helping the host's cause! Suddenly the Chad lads had possession, Iluobe put in a quite simple cross and Turnbull had bagged his hat-trick, by heck man, who could have scripted this one? 13 minutes were left on the clock, a dangerous free-kick for Chadderton dropped into their opponents danger zone, alas for the home chaps it was eventually dealt with and a rebuild had to take place. They battled on, a flashing shot brought a roar of celebration but the ball went wide of the post and nerves remained shredded. The last minutes were upon us, No 16 (Joseph Richards) for Chaddy found himself with the ball and raced forth, He made it into the box (just) and his shirt was pulled. The referee, with eyes like carrot-addicted rabbit. saw the incident, a penalty was given, a yellow card brandished. Responsibility fell to the flame haired player Scholes who stepped up, remained calm and thwacked home with authority - 4 goals each, what a finale! There was no time left for anyone to grab a crippler although Turnbull of the hosts was very close but was ruled offside at the very last. The referee eventually brought a halt to matters, it had been a value for money day and the pick of the pack and the Man of the Match for me goes to the robust and fair-battling No 4 (Marvin Molyneux) of Chadderton for a strong, irrepressible performance that was a cornerstone on which his side built and forced their way back into this one. A concrete effort in a tough game on a very tricky pitch - have beer sir and keep working hard!
FINAL THOUGHT - The pitch was stickier than the fingers of Neil Shipperley in a cake factory, and the air was damper than the armpits of Cyril Smith on a lie detector but both teams added a ray of hopeful sunshine today and played out a match with gusto, commitment and entertaining persistence. For £15 me and my wife got an 8 goal thriller, 2 choccie bars, 2 cups of tea and a home-made pie, I mean, how the Hell can anyone gripe about that? The teams on show have many fine points, Chadderton had some good individual artists who put in a good work rate and produced some quite sweet passages of play. Their only drawback I would say is consistency and movement off the ball to give a variety of options when in possession. They never fail to entertain though and, as a neutral, value is always had. Litherland are a tough nut to crack and despite a first half off their game, they soon corrected matters and were back in the groove. They are perhaps 10% shy of being a real formidable team, where that 10% will come from is anyone's guess as they have no glaring cracks in the entire crew. I think a draw was a fair end result, and if you are going to share the points then why not do it with a flurry of goals. Not great for the blood pressure of the touchline staff but for we fans, wonderful!
Friday, 9 March 2018
TOWN TRIUMPH
7th March 2018 - Cheadle Town 4 v 1 Bacup Borough - My third night of football on the bounce, I need to catch up in many other areas, as in William Cowper's poem The Task 'variety is the spice of life' and I for one like variety - wildlife wandering, gigging, family time, theatre and numerous other interests keep me on my toes 365 days a year so I must remember not to get too carried away with this globe-kicking lark. The day had been fruitful and after catching up at work, noting the year's first hoverflies (Eristalis tenax take a bow) and sorting out the ever-rammed diary, I chomped tea with the good lady and arrived at the ground in fine fettle. I chose a seat, sat alone and perused a tome about 'Ground Beetles' and immersed myself in reading about their habits, environment and the difficulty of identifying the said beasties. The teams took to the emerald parade ground, shook hands and set about their nightly task, so I hunkered down against the chill and watched events unfold. Report 72 of the season, 12 over-schedule, I must behave!
Early play was primarily dictated by the home squad who, as is the norm, ran like rectally-loose Camels in a quite torrid sandstorm. The Town's No 9 (Luke Cotton) grabbed an early thread, raced through and was met by a vigilant mitter who dashed and duly blocked. The ball trickled behind, an angled wallop came, an offside rule tempered the rising trouble and Cheadle were forced to rebuild. Initial impressions were of a match with much space to be had and room to express oneself there to be taken. The Greens continued to make most of the running before suddenly finding themselves 1 goal to the good after a quality cross from the right came via the feet of No 4 (Liam Delaney) and found the crust of No 10 (Richard Whyatt) who nodded home with sanguinity and finalised a quite liquid move. Cheadle pushed on, several more balls were put into Bacup's rear zone, confusion reigned, Whyatt was being a constant pain in the plums, the guests were in for a long night it seemed. The travelling pack, like that lunatic King Canute, eventually quelled the tide and fought against the stress-inducing spume. They splashed and crashed their way forth, a few tame attempts were there to be improved upon, a hand-ball decision drowned the impetus. The black and white clad lads were undeterred, came on with No 7 (Ewan Cooper) putting through an exquisitely timed pass to No 10 (Matthew Bryan) who thumped a close-in shot but was met by a sturdy goalkeeping block. The ball however tried to trickle on, it needed a defensive thwack clear and that is what it got, peril squashed. The referee now started to get 'peep' happy, like having sellotape over one's oriental eye, it was impeding the flow - could this help Bacup I wondered?
Cheadle fought through the patchy period, a drilled shot by No 2 (Joseph Neild) was deflected and fell to the feet of Cotton. He shot but a block at the last kept that second strike at bay. A Cheadle free-kick followed, the ball went in, No 5 (Joseph Shaw) had time to fire the trigger, but like a virginal Bantam, it remained uncocked and the chance disappeared into the now nipping night air. No 3 (Thomas Ratican) of the hosts was put in, he fluffed his chance and the keeper saved. Moments later a replica move was had, Ratican surely couldn't have believed his good fortune and this time he made no mistake and deftly struck the ball with the outside of his foot and watched it fly inside the far post. Sweetly taken, a sign of soaring confidence. A lull followed, I caught sight of a moth near the floodlights, I admired its hardiness, I wondered what species it was, I shall be mothing again very soon (ooh aye). Ratican was the first to break from the bleak spell, he raced forth and won a free-kick. Ball in, a mittman fumble (ooh heck) and a kick wide of the mark. The final throw of the first half dice, Cheadle with some fine interplay with No 4 (Liam Delaney) letting loose a thunderbolt. The save that came was economical and solid but Bacup were right on the back foot and not given a moment to stretch their toes. With the half nearly done a ball came through the Bacup pack and found Whyatt. The bounce was favourable, a leg was swung and a fine dipping goal was the result. It was quite a looper, not quite as impressive as members of the Geometridae complex but I am biased. It was still a good strike though and sent the home team into the changing rooms 3 goals to the good.
Half-time - a read and a handful of Jelly Babies followed by a short chill. Sometimes it is good to sit quietly and ponder one's navel.
And back at it we went with The Borough putting up a good fight and showing some urgency but Cheadle were the first to cause consternation when No 11 (Christopher Sherrington) slapped a cross in and found the rising bonse of Cotton who, from mere inches out and with the goal gaping, could only hit the crossbar - a terrible miss for sure! A free-kick followed, this time at the opposite end of the park. No 15 (Joshua Walne) of Bacup put in a firm crack and was met by a reliable regulation save from the home No 1 (Daniel Whiting). Bacup advanced straight away, a swift cross finding the head of No 6 (Charles Collinge) who could only nut wide and not salvage any hope for his team to build on. The good Bacup spirit was nearly shat upon when Cotton for Cheadle had a shot go wide and Whyatt had an effort fly over - The Borough had best be warned and the impetus that they had built was not allowed to slip away. Having said this, a cross saw No 9 (Wayne Morrison) have a chance to tap home but he somehow managed the impossible and put the ball wide - now that was a howler and maybe the last chance of getting anything from a game going AWOL. Another lull arose, a cross from Sherrington needed the slightest touch to kill the game stone dead but was missed and a close in header for Bacup was blocked and Cheadle countered. The move was a delicious treat, a final ball was played and Ratican pounced and slid home with precision - 4 - 0 to the hosts, call the undertaker, an order is going in for many walking dead.
From here we went into the dregs, Cheadle became wasteful and somewhat lax, Bacup, to their credit, would not lie down and ultimately die and when a surge came in the 81st minute and No 10 (Matthew Bryan) poked home I felt it was thoroughly deserved for a team still digging deep on what was an obvious off night. A late Bacup free-kick could have doubled their tally but Morrison blazed over and Ratican at the other end followed suit rather than adding icing to a quite well-baked cake. The game was called to a halt soon after, I am giving the Man of the Match nod to Cheadle's No 3 (Thomas Ratican) for a quite convincing performance, some quick feet and a couple of well-taken goals that exuded much potential. He was part of a team who put on a good show, the question is, can this continue and are Cheadle, like Dale Winton's hairdresser, on the turn?
FINAL THOUGHT - Done, dusted and the witnessing of a fine Cheadle Town performance against a team who seemed a little out of sorts and with an increasing back-log of matches that must certainly be a distraction. Cheadle impressed tonight, the stint they put in was more than efficient with several players showing a good turn of pace and an alertness as to what is happening around them whilst they are in possession of the ball. Bacup are better than they were tonight, they are a solid looking team with some hefty chaps in their midst who just needed a bit of luck during the 90 minutes observed. They have a long run in, it will test the resolve but I am sure they will be OK and will live to fight another day in these highly competitive leagues. I am due a pop back up to Bacup's ground, last time was a right adventure, I have only just recovered, go on get the kettle on lads and sithee soon.
Early play was primarily dictated by the home squad who, as is the norm, ran like rectally-loose Camels in a quite torrid sandstorm. The Town's No 9 (Luke Cotton) grabbed an early thread, raced through and was met by a vigilant mitter who dashed and duly blocked. The ball trickled behind, an angled wallop came, an offside rule tempered the rising trouble and Cheadle were forced to rebuild. Initial impressions were of a match with much space to be had and room to express oneself there to be taken. The Greens continued to make most of the running before suddenly finding themselves 1 goal to the good after a quality cross from the right came via the feet of No 4 (Liam Delaney) and found the crust of No 10 (Richard Whyatt) who nodded home with sanguinity and finalised a quite liquid move. Cheadle pushed on, several more balls were put into Bacup's rear zone, confusion reigned, Whyatt was being a constant pain in the plums, the guests were in for a long night it seemed. The travelling pack, like that lunatic King Canute, eventually quelled the tide and fought against the stress-inducing spume. They splashed and crashed their way forth, a few tame attempts were there to be improved upon, a hand-ball decision drowned the impetus. The black and white clad lads were undeterred, came on with No 7 (Ewan Cooper) putting through an exquisitely timed pass to No 10 (Matthew Bryan) who thumped a close-in shot but was met by a sturdy goalkeeping block. The ball however tried to trickle on, it needed a defensive thwack clear and that is what it got, peril squashed. The referee now started to get 'peep' happy, like having sellotape over one's oriental eye, it was impeding the flow - could this help Bacup I wondered?
Cheadle fought through the patchy period, a drilled shot by No 2 (Joseph Neild) was deflected and fell to the feet of Cotton. He shot but a block at the last kept that second strike at bay. A Cheadle free-kick followed, the ball went in, No 5 (Joseph Shaw) had time to fire the trigger, but like a virginal Bantam, it remained uncocked and the chance disappeared into the now nipping night air. No 3 (Thomas Ratican) of the hosts was put in, he fluffed his chance and the keeper saved. Moments later a replica move was had, Ratican surely couldn't have believed his good fortune and this time he made no mistake and deftly struck the ball with the outside of his foot and watched it fly inside the far post. Sweetly taken, a sign of soaring confidence. A lull followed, I caught sight of a moth near the floodlights, I admired its hardiness, I wondered what species it was, I shall be mothing again very soon (ooh aye). Ratican was the first to break from the bleak spell, he raced forth and won a free-kick. Ball in, a mittman fumble (ooh heck) and a kick wide of the mark. The final throw of the first half dice, Cheadle with some fine interplay with No 4 (Liam Delaney) letting loose a thunderbolt. The save that came was economical and solid but Bacup were right on the back foot and not given a moment to stretch their toes. With the half nearly done a ball came through the Bacup pack and found Whyatt. The bounce was favourable, a leg was swung and a fine dipping goal was the result. It was quite a looper, not quite as impressive as members of the Geometridae complex but I am biased. It was still a good strike though and sent the home team into the changing rooms 3 goals to the good.
Half-time - a read and a handful of Jelly Babies followed by a short chill. Sometimes it is good to sit quietly and ponder one's navel.
And back at it we went with The Borough putting up a good fight and showing some urgency but Cheadle were the first to cause consternation when No 11 (Christopher Sherrington) slapped a cross in and found the rising bonse of Cotton who, from mere inches out and with the goal gaping, could only hit the crossbar - a terrible miss for sure! A free-kick followed, this time at the opposite end of the park. No 15 (Joshua Walne) of Bacup put in a firm crack and was met by a reliable regulation save from the home No 1 (Daniel Whiting). Bacup advanced straight away, a swift cross finding the head of No 6 (Charles Collinge) who could only nut wide and not salvage any hope for his team to build on. The good Bacup spirit was nearly shat upon when Cotton for Cheadle had a shot go wide and Whyatt had an effort fly over - The Borough had best be warned and the impetus that they had built was not allowed to slip away. Having said this, a cross saw No 9 (Wayne Morrison) have a chance to tap home but he somehow managed the impossible and put the ball wide - now that was a howler and maybe the last chance of getting anything from a game going AWOL. Another lull arose, a cross from Sherrington needed the slightest touch to kill the game stone dead but was missed and a close in header for Bacup was blocked and Cheadle countered. The move was a delicious treat, a final ball was played and Ratican pounced and slid home with precision - 4 - 0 to the hosts, call the undertaker, an order is going in for many walking dead.
From here we went into the dregs, Cheadle became wasteful and somewhat lax, Bacup, to their credit, would not lie down and ultimately die and when a surge came in the 81st minute and No 10 (Matthew Bryan) poked home I felt it was thoroughly deserved for a team still digging deep on what was an obvious off night. A late Bacup free-kick could have doubled their tally but Morrison blazed over and Ratican at the other end followed suit rather than adding icing to a quite well-baked cake. The game was called to a halt soon after, I am giving the Man of the Match nod to Cheadle's No 3 (Thomas Ratican) for a quite convincing performance, some quick feet and a couple of well-taken goals that exuded much potential. He was part of a team who put on a good show, the question is, can this continue and are Cheadle, like Dale Winton's hairdresser, on the turn?
FINAL THOUGHT - Done, dusted and the witnessing of a fine Cheadle Town performance against a team who seemed a little out of sorts and with an increasing back-log of matches that must certainly be a distraction. Cheadle impressed tonight, the stint they put in was more than efficient with several players showing a good turn of pace and an alertness as to what is happening around them whilst they are in possession of the ball. Bacup are better than they were tonight, they are a solid looking team with some hefty chaps in their midst who just needed a bit of luck during the 90 minutes observed. They have a long run in, it will test the resolve but I am sure they will be OK and will live to fight another day in these highly competitive leagues. I am due a pop back up to Bacup's ground, last time was a right adventure, I have only just recovered, go on get the kettle on lads and sithee soon.
Thursday, 8 March 2018
THE MARCH GOES ON
6th March 2018 - Ashton Athletic 0 v 2 1874 Northwich - Two nights out on the trot, the neighbours will be talking and the curtains of Dirty Desmond will no doubt be twitching as we get back after another footballing excursion. 'Oooh the dirty stops outs' he will be muttering as he fiddles with the elastic of his winter woolly knickers and squints his mascaraed eyes whilst peering around his frequently washed nets. No doubt his live-in lover, Larry Lumploins the 4th will 'tut, tut' as way of acknowledgement and suggested agreement and they will have something to tittle-tattle over during the late-night Cocoa - I just knew I should never have sent him those photo's of Elton Welsby. Anyway the day at work was done, tea missed and sandwiches made, the road trip was taken, we arrived in one-piece and sipped a good cup of cha'. We had a chat to local photographic bod and programme compiler Pete about the game in general both reality based and digitalised (ooh good old Sensible Soccer) and reckoned it is time well spent. I reckoned this would be a really gripping affair, akin to putting one's head between the butt cheeks of a randy hippo - loads of tension, a thrill a minute and liable to go off at any given moment - I really must stop buying Zoo Keepers weekly although that centre spread of Johnny Morris really is a peach. We chose our seating, the game was delayed by 5 minutes, the teams then appeared and this is another Fungalised report!
The 74 fans began with good gobbage accompanied by a tympanic terror who tub thumped away. The initial tempo of the game was impressive, an early free-kick was the first action, it came the way of the home lads but when No 7 (Samuel Hind) struck there was too much air beneath the ball and the elevation saw promise end with a miss. A midfield battle ensued, no quarter was given, it was hard to say where the first break would come with both units indulging in a flurry of animation. Ashton, if truth be told, had the upper hand and when a 1874 error was forced the hosts surged forth with desire. A ball was flung out wide, a cross executed and Hind shot once more. A fine defensive block led to a corner, the ball was belted in and the move ended in an ambitious shot that was closer to the dangling goolies of the linesman rather than the netted framework (you must wear tighter trollies sir). The men of salt now started to shake matters up and sprinkle forth a mound of promise. A certain madness pervaded the match, passes were rushed, the ball was flying in many directions bar the right one, it needed a cool head to intervene. Another 74 push, a reckless tackle on the edge of the home box led to a penalty shout. The referee kept cool, a free-punt was awarded and a pause in play was had. Time stood still, the ball was placed and then struck by the tricky dicky No 11 (Taylor Kennerley). The shot kept low, a slight deflection occurred, the spiteful globe spun through the keepers legs, the first goal was had, albeit one laden with cruelty and misfortune - alas they all count!
Ashton Athletic now tried to force the issue, the guests however were like an hungry Testicle Fly, always quickest to the ball. The Latics had the next shot on goal, it was a tame tickler, but a follow-up effort by No 10 (Joel Brownhill) was a lot better although he just couldn't wrap himself around the shot quick enough and didn't get the required 'oomph'. A late flourish by the residents, No 9 (Dale Korie-Butler) nearly dispossessed the keeper, luckily the mitted man kept his head, as did his defensive comrades, and the danger was dealt with. Next and a stunning ball for 74 found No 10 (Jake Parker) who swivelled on a pinhead and fired with keen pace. The save that followed was applauded, the corner that came frowned upon. The last action came, a clash between 74's No 9 (Scott McGowan) and the home keeper (Martin Pearson) held up matters but it was nice to see no malicious intent and a hug of respect after treatment had been doled out. The keeper was mended, the game commenced and then the referee's bladder gave out or he perhaps thought it was time for a break - either way he blew his whistle and we had 15 minutes to kill.
A cuppa, a sandwich and stretch of the legs - not a bad first 45 and all set up for a good second half.
The start to half two was scrappy but from the mess the Double-A boys won a promising free-kick on the edge of the box, bang centre. A firm thump was had, a firmer block came, a mis-kick saw the ball fly towards the corner flag - shabby for sure and I am sure local horse-riding enthusiast Bow-Legged Betty could have done much better. A couple of end to end breaks brought little arousal and I did wonder if the scoreline for the night was set in stone. Korie-Butler for the hosts had a wayward crack and then was in the mix for a penalty shout - nowt given. No 6 (Christopher Webster) had another blast but matters were dealt with and the 1874 brigade remained impermeable. In response to the AA pep, McGowan of the 74 led a zeal-laden foray. He laid the ball off to Parker who shot with malice. A very attractive save came, 2 corners ensued, both causing in-box chaos but both eventually dealt with. McGowan however was triggered and after latching onto an Ashton mistake he put the ball in low and hard across the box. There were no takers, that mithering No 9 deserved more. A few subs came, a superfluity of sweated action arose, a shot for Ashton tore homeward, 74's No 2 (Paul Connor) produced a cracking off the line clearance - marvellous stuff.
The game now moved into the latter stages, a time to be decisive, who would make the ultimate commitment and contribution? The Northwich players were always posing a threat, they won a corner, the ball went in and out and Hind let fly with a sizzler. The save that came, via the palms of Pearson was delectable to say the least. The Athletic dug in, McGowan prowled and pilfered and played the ball to Hind. A great cross was flashed in, Jake Parker tapped in - it was a cutting move, it encapsulated the permanent danger found in the ranks of the 1874 set-up, it was indeed a fine goal. Into the back stretch and the hosts pushed, the guests came forth yet again, Hind running across the park, dinking a pass, No 13 (Ryan Jackson) blazing one with pace - just wide. Ashton paid back in kind with a free-kick that went too high, then McGowan for 74 pick-pocketed a defender, crossed and saw Hind belt over. A late on shot by No 11 (Joshua Nicholson) was easily saved and brought Ashton no reward and then Jackson had another attempt at the other end but dragged his effort wide. Only seconds were left, 1874 Northwich looked for a 3rd, a cross, a close in toe poke, saved and game done - phew, what a finale. This had been a zipping game, many a player had worked up a good lather and earned his crust. The Man of the Match for me though goes to the flame-haired No 7 (Samuel Hind) of 1874 Northwich who took the game to the opponents, worked tirelessly, put in several neat touches and showed a commitment to the cause that exemplified the team throughout - excellent indeed.
FINAL THOUGHT - Like a vagabond in a bread shop, 1874 are on a roll. Like Gerald Sinstadt in a Fantasy (allegedly) Cinema Ashton Athletic are somewhat unpredictable. Both squads though put in a good effort, the difference tonight was the away teams ability to get to the ball first and their constant recognition of a colleague in space. They work like pit ponies on steroids, they have eyes everywhere and that ability to gain possession, play a quick pass to a partner in crime is always going to be a test for any opposing outfit. Add to this a sound support network and an all-round good vibe and this lot are destined for many happy days. I did tip them to win the league at the start of the year but congestion has hindered progress but who know's - strange things do happen. The Brocstedes Stadium is always a pleasure to visit, a good welcoming place and the team they put on show are always competitive, keen and worthy of support. For me they are like the teats of a non-lactating cow - only a few tweaks away from refreshing success. What these minor dabblings may be is anyone's guess, they are close to a finished product that is for sure - it will be interesting to see where they are this time next season. So we headed home, and prepared for the following night's fix - Ooh Dirty Desmond, whatever will you think?
The 74 fans began with good gobbage accompanied by a tympanic terror who tub thumped away. The initial tempo of the game was impressive, an early free-kick was the first action, it came the way of the home lads but when No 7 (Samuel Hind) struck there was too much air beneath the ball and the elevation saw promise end with a miss. A midfield battle ensued, no quarter was given, it was hard to say where the first break would come with both units indulging in a flurry of animation. Ashton, if truth be told, had the upper hand and when a 1874 error was forced the hosts surged forth with desire. A ball was flung out wide, a cross executed and Hind shot once more. A fine defensive block led to a corner, the ball was belted in and the move ended in an ambitious shot that was closer to the dangling goolies of the linesman rather than the netted framework (you must wear tighter trollies sir). The men of salt now started to shake matters up and sprinkle forth a mound of promise. A certain madness pervaded the match, passes were rushed, the ball was flying in many directions bar the right one, it needed a cool head to intervene. Another 74 push, a reckless tackle on the edge of the home box led to a penalty shout. The referee kept cool, a free-punt was awarded and a pause in play was had. Time stood still, the ball was placed and then struck by the tricky dicky No 11 (Taylor Kennerley). The shot kept low, a slight deflection occurred, the spiteful globe spun through the keepers legs, the first goal was had, albeit one laden with cruelty and misfortune - alas they all count!
Ashton Athletic now tried to force the issue, the guests however were like an hungry Testicle Fly, always quickest to the ball. The Latics had the next shot on goal, it was a tame tickler, but a follow-up effort by No 10 (Joel Brownhill) was a lot better although he just couldn't wrap himself around the shot quick enough and didn't get the required 'oomph'. A late flourish by the residents, No 9 (Dale Korie-Butler) nearly dispossessed the keeper, luckily the mitted man kept his head, as did his defensive comrades, and the danger was dealt with. Next and a stunning ball for 74 found No 10 (Jake Parker) who swivelled on a pinhead and fired with keen pace. The save that followed was applauded, the corner that came frowned upon. The last action came, a clash between 74's No 9 (Scott McGowan) and the home keeper (Martin Pearson) held up matters but it was nice to see no malicious intent and a hug of respect after treatment had been doled out. The keeper was mended, the game commenced and then the referee's bladder gave out or he perhaps thought it was time for a break - either way he blew his whistle and we had 15 minutes to kill.
A cuppa, a sandwich and stretch of the legs - not a bad first 45 and all set up for a good second half.
The start to half two was scrappy but from the mess the Double-A boys won a promising free-kick on the edge of the box, bang centre. A firm thump was had, a firmer block came, a mis-kick saw the ball fly towards the corner flag - shabby for sure and I am sure local horse-riding enthusiast Bow-Legged Betty could have done much better. A couple of end to end breaks brought little arousal and I did wonder if the scoreline for the night was set in stone. Korie-Butler for the hosts had a wayward crack and then was in the mix for a penalty shout - nowt given. No 6 (Christopher Webster) had another blast but matters were dealt with and the 1874 brigade remained impermeable. In response to the AA pep, McGowan of the 74 led a zeal-laden foray. He laid the ball off to Parker who shot with malice. A very attractive save came, 2 corners ensued, both causing in-box chaos but both eventually dealt with. McGowan however was triggered and after latching onto an Ashton mistake he put the ball in low and hard across the box. There were no takers, that mithering No 9 deserved more. A few subs came, a superfluity of sweated action arose, a shot for Ashton tore homeward, 74's No 2 (Paul Connor) produced a cracking off the line clearance - marvellous stuff.
The game now moved into the latter stages, a time to be decisive, who would make the ultimate commitment and contribution? The Northwich players were always posing a threat, they won a corner, the ball went in and out and Hind let fly with a sizzler. The save that came, via the palms of Pearson was delectable to say the least. The Athletic dug in, McGowan prowled and pilfered and played the ball to Hind. A great cross was flashed in, Jake Parker tapped in - it was a cutting move, it encapsulated the permanent danger found in the ranks of the 1874 set-up, it was indeed a fine goal. Into the back stretch and the hosts pushed, the guests came forth yet again, Hind running across the park, dinking a pass, No 13 (Ryan Jackson) blazing one with pace - just wide. Ashton paid back in kind with a free-kick that went too high, then McGowan for 74 pick-pocketed a defender, crossed and saw Hind belt over. A late on shot by No 11 (Joshua Nicholson) was easily saved and brought Ashton no reward and then Jackson had another attempt at the other end but dragged his effort wide. Only seconds were left, 1874 Northwich looked for a 3rd, a cross, a close in toe poke, saved and game done - phew, what a finale. This had been a zipping game, many a player had worked up a good lather and earned his crust. The Man of the Match for me though goes to the flame-haired No 7 (Samuel Hind) of 1874 Northwich who took the game to the opponents, worked tirelessly, put in several neat touches and showed a commitment to the cause that exemplified the team throughout - excellent indeed.
FINAL THOUGHT - Like a vagabond in a bread shop, 1874 are on a roll. Like Gerald Sinstadt in a Fantasy (allegedly) Cinema Ashton Athletic are somewhat unpredictable. Both squads though put in a good effort, the difference tonight was the away teams ability to get to the ball first and their constant recognition of a colleague in space. They work like pit ponies on steroids, they have eyes everywhere and that ability to gain possession, play a quick pass to a partner in crime is always going to be a test for any opposing outfit. Add to this a sound support network and an all-round good vibe and this lot are destined for many happy days. I did tip them to win the league at the start of the year but congestion has hindered progress but who know's - strange things do happen. The Brocstedes Stadium is always a pleasure to visit, a good welcoming place and the team they put on show are always competitive, keen and worthy of support. For me they are like the teats of a non-lactating cow - only a few tweaks away from refreshing success. What these minor dabblings may be is anyone's guess, they are close to a finished product that is for sure - it will be interesting to see where they are this time next season. So we headed home, and prepared for the following night's fix - Ooh Dirty Desmond, whatever will you think?
Wednesday, 7 March 2018
A DRAW IN THE DRIZZLE
5th March 2018 - Winsford Utd 2 v 2 City of Liverpool - Well the Beast from the East had buggered off and I had duly been out for my first bike ride in a week. Fieldfare, Sparrowhawk; Goldcrest; Little Grebe and Ring Necked Parakeet were amongst some of the birds I saw and I came back blacker than the arse of Sammy Davies Junior...but a little less sweaty. I checked the night's fixtures, it seemed all systems were go so I cracked on, tidied up, exercised, had a read of The Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy Book 3 and waited for my good lady to get home from work. I am a mere 4 day a week man, Monday is my day off, I am hardly still though and tonight's match was a welcome break and a chance to get back into the Non-League groove before the season end is upon us. The drive down was fine, the chips and tea slipped down easier than an eel in a U-bend and we chose our seats and awaited the action. This had all the makings of a keen contest, I expected some frisky action not experienced since the local Vicar received his back-order of Razzle mags and a tub of Love Lurpak - he is a very excitable man, hence the troubled look on the choir boys faces and the teeth marks on many a pew. The teams entered the night air, the local church should have rung out the time as 7.45pm - alas it seemed another man of the cloth was otherwise engaged.
The globe rolled, the feet flung, the perspiration started to flow. The Blues brought about the first promise of goal glory with 2 delectable balls sharply followed by a cross that put a visiting defender in the mesmeric Land of Indecision. He made contact, the ball pinged off the post and the danger somehow passed - the Purple Pirates had had a warning shot put across their bows - come on me hearties. In return the guests immediately pounced, the blade of the attack however was blunted before a killing cut was made, Winsford seemed to be aware of their individual roles - this was an intriguing factor to note. The home lads were impressing early on with their passing and pace which was keeping the COL pack flustered and unable to settle. Out of the mither the Purps won a free kick which No 8 (Francis Smith) duly took. In the ball went, No 6 (Craig Robinson) managed to get his bonse involved with the loose globe eventually falling to the feet of No 5 (Anthony Brown) who cracked one first time and just missed the top corner. From here the game fell to pieces, in fact Humpty Dumpty's nob after his great fall was in better condition but thankfully this fractured period didn't last long and all the King's horses and all the King's men soon got the match back on a watchable footing. Whatever the King was up to with all those equine creatures and all those rugged men is anyone's guess - I am opting for something underhand and involving Bob Martin Tablets - shocking!
The next action saw the COL crew win a free-kick after No 9 (John Connolly) had been nobbled. The punt was decent enough, the header that came was not even close - cripes. The match struggled onwards, from the underpants of misery COL's No 3 (Francis Foy) tried to produce a todger of triumph with a speculative chip. The ball floated and if the mittman had been perhaps a few more feet off his line we may have seen the scorecard penetrated and the first strike gained, alas it was not to be and the gloved one grabbed with ease. Suddenly Winsford reactivated themselves, a dazzling cross-field pass was executed and found the ever busy No 11 (Callum Gardner) who picked his moment to thread forth to No 9 (Michael Koral) who slid home with seasoned aplomb. It was a brilliant goal, a decisive cutting move, it was certainly needed. The City of Liverpool beast was now stung but surprisingly it was the hosts who advanced on some more. A shot from their No 8 (Ryan Hopper) was blocked at the last before the visitor's dug in and started to up the ante. A COL corner was had, all heads were missed and a repeat kick was taken. No joy came, the pressure rose with No 11 (Jack Hazelhurst) having a crack but only finding night air. Frustrations spilled, sequinned handbags were swung after a moment that seemed blatantly tepid. Towards the arse end of the half the Purps pushed on but all the while Winsford seemed to have that extra man on the pitch and were dealing with any potential threat. Winsford dealt with the hazardous situation well and finished the first half with the upper hand. They were using their width well (ooh me bottom) and moving the ball across all areas of the pitch. One such moment saw Connolly sneak in and just miss, he was ruled offside anyway so it was all academic - the referee blew soon after.
Tea and a chat and a play on a Word Game on my wife's phone. I am 52 and still don't own a mobile, I am proud of that - punk and awkward forever - bugger the techno twattery.
The teams came back out, the Blue pack were making the early play and keeping things tighter than Nookie Bear's arsehole after Roger De-Corsey had been on the razzle. Their No 2 had an unexpected effort with a low heatseeker that just missed the far post before the Liverpool lads raced away, led by the ever-willing and persistent No 10 (Thomas Peterson) who chased a seemingly lost ball, played a simple but effective pass that saw a shot eventually come. The effort was blocked, a follow up crack was had, No 11 (Jack Hazelhurst) had equalised - the litmus paper had been re-dipped, we were back at state 'neutral'. Soon after this strike the travelling team had a penalty shout. Several punters seemed convinced, the referee gave a corner, the correct decision I thought. From the angled kick sweet FA came, perhaps proving justice had been done! Winsford were trying to resist the increasing tide, Hopper came and leathered one, only a corner was given. From here the COL tribe broke, a free-kick was swiftly taken after a clumsy collision. The defending was stout, a counter-attack took in both sides of the playing surface, two crosses followed before Gardner got the ball, jinked in and fizzed one forth. The outside of the post was left glowing, unlucky squire!
We now went into the back stretch, Winsford were hassling and had a few tame efforts dealt with whilst City of Liverpool were calling upon battling reserves and looking to pinch the lead. The home lads had the next effort, Koral crossed one, a defensive boot made contact, the ball found the head of the Blue No 3 (Lee Duckworth) and rebounded only inches over. From a COL attack Winsford broke, Koral had a chance to bury it, he was highly reckless and was in danger of killing a roosting owl rather than rupturing the net. Soon after the Blue Bods were marauding with menace, a striker was clobbered, it looked like something and nothing, the referee had a sniff of ill-will and awarded the penalty. Was this the right decision or a crazed Christian gesture from a man doused in guilt - I know not but up stepped Callum Gardener and twanged the ball home with chilled authority. There was now only 10 minutes left, a Purple heave ho came, Winsford were adopting the role of a sponge, attempting to soak all activity up and release in one all-conquering splash. A late COL free-kick was given, was hoofed forth and met by the outstretched noggin of Thomas Peterson. A bulge appeared in the net (and no doubt in the trouser department of a few COL supporters - deviant buggers), a goal had been bagged, we were like the head of Herman Munster - all square! It looked as though matters were settled as both teams doused each others efforts, that is until a COL ball saw Peterson charge through and have the match at his mercy. He fired, was met with a solid save by the home No 1 (Matthew Green) and then a follow up shot came via No 14 (Thomas Spearitt). Arses left seats, celebrations looked to be underway - until a stunning defensive block was had and the 2 - 2 scoreline stayed in tact. The man in the middle halted proceedings soon after, I think the result was fair, a few seemed to disagree, hey ho, football and opinions hey! Man of the Match was a tricky affair tonight but I thought No 5 (Logan Jeffs) of Winsford Town was quite convincing at the back and is one of those back pack players who oozes discipline, is always aware of his position and who gives any onrushing attacker a real headachetrying to achieve the smallest of spaces. The stint is best describe as 'solid' - tis always a good thing.
FINAL THOUGHT - After a week of postponements this was a welcome tonic although the first half was far from fluent the second was a frisky affair and exposed many facets of two teams who are always value for money. For me Winsford have a great pass and play game that uses the full pitch, has much variety and is always destined to keep opponents thinking. This is a half-decent squad, a test for anyone in the league and, if given a kiss on the arse by Ms Fanny Fortune, they could go on a real damaging run and cause many a team severe trouble. City of Liverpool are eternal value and have a thirst and desire not to be underestimated. In fact the last time I witnessed anything like this was when I was stranded on a desert island with Barbara Cartland - frightening to say the least and I never knew the sun could have such a detrimental effect on an old lady's bristols. A prime example of the COL ethos is Thomas Peterson, a player who runs himself ragged, always appears to be the muckiest man on the pitch and who puts his conkers on the line come what may - a spirit that flows throughout the team - good bloody stuff indeed. So a grand visit to The Barton Stadium, 4 goals, some stupendous chips and a drive home in the rain listening to The Chrysalids by John Wyndham - beltin' stuff all round!
The globe rolled, the feet flung, the perspiration started to flow. The Blues brought about the first promise of goal glory with 2 delectable balls sharply followed by a cross that put a visiting defender in the mesmeric Land of Indecision. He made contact, the ball pinged off the post and the danger somehow passed - the Purple Pirates had had a warning shot put across their bows - come on me hearties. In return the guests immediately pounced, the blade of the attack however was blunted before a killing cut was made, Winsford seemed to be aware of their individual roles - this was an intriguing factor to note. The home lads were impressing early on with their passing and pace which was keeping the COL pack flustered and unable to settle. Out of the mither the Purps won a free kick which No 8 (Francis Smith) duly took. In the ball went, No 6 (Craig Robinson) managed to get his bonse involved with the loose globe eventually falling to the feet of No 5 (Anthony Brown) who cracked one first time and just missed the top corner. From here the game fell to pieces, in fact Humpty Dumpty's nob after his great fall was in better condition but thankfully this fractured period didn't last long and all the King's horses and all the King's men soon got the match back on a watchable footing. Whatever the King was up to with all those equine creatures and all those rugged men is anyone's guess - I am opting for something underhand and involving Bob Martin Tablets - shocking!
The next action saw the COL crew win a free-kick after No 9 (John Connolly) had been nobbled. The punt was decent enough, the header that came was not even close - cripes. The match struggled onwards, from the underpants of misery COL's No 3 (Francis Foy) tried to produce a todger of triumph with a speculative chip. The ball floated and if the mittman had been perhaps a few more feet off his line we may have seen the scorecard penetrated and the first strike gained, alas it was not to be and the gloved one grabbed with ease. Suddenly Winsford reactivated themselves, a dazzling cross-field pass was executed and found the ever busy No 11 (Callum Gardner) who picked his moment to thread forth to No 9 (Michael Koral) who slid home with seasoned aplomb. It was a brilliant goal, a decisive cutting move, it was certainly needed. The City of Liverpool beast was now stung but surprisingly it was the hosts who advanced on some more. A shot from their No 8 (Ryan Hopper) was blocked at the last before the visitor's dug in and started to up the ante. A COL corner was had, all heads were missed and a repeat kick was taken. No joy came, the pressure rose with No 11 (Jack Hazelhurst) having a crack but only finding night air. Frustrations spilled, sequinned handbags were swung after a moment that seemed blatantly tepid. Towards the arse end of the half the Purps pushed on but all the while Winsford seemed to have that extra man on the pitch and were dealing with any potential threat. Winsford dealt with the hazardous situation well and finished the first half with the upper hand. They were using their width well (ooh me bottom) and moving the ball across all areas of the pitch. One such moment saw Connolly sneak in and just miss, he was ruled offside anyway so it was all academic - the referee blew soon after.
Tea and a chat and a play on a Word Game on my wife's phone. I am 52 and still don't own a mobile, I am proud of that - punk and awkward forever - bugger the techno twattery.
The teams came back out, the Blue pack were making the early play and keeping things tighter than Nookie Bear's arsehole after Roger De-Corsey had been on the razzle. Their No 2 had an unexpected effort with a low heatseeker that just missed the far post before the Liverpool lads raced away, led by the ever-willing and persistent No 10 (Thomas Peterson) who chased a seemingly lost ball, played a simple but effective pass that saw a shot eventually come. The effort was blocked, a follow up crack was had, No 11 (Jack Hazelhurst) had equalised - the litmus paper had been re-dipped, we were back at state 'neutral'. Soon after this strike the travelling team had a penalty shout. Several punters seemed convinced, the referee gave a corner, the correct decision I thought. From the angled kick sweet FA came, perhaps proving justice had been done! Winsford were trying to resist the increasing tide, Hopper came and leathered one, only a corner was given. From here the COL tribe broke, a free-kick was swiftly taken after a clumsy collision. The defending was stout, a counter-attack took in both sides of the playing surface, two crosses followed before Gardner got the ball, jinked in and fizzed one forth. The outside of the post was left glowing, unlucky squire!
We now went into the back stretch, Winsford were hassling and had a few tame efforts dealt with whilst City of Liverpool were calling upon battling reserves and looking to pinch the lead. The home lads had the next effort, Koral crossed one, a defensive boot made contact, the ball found the head of the Blue No 3 (Lee Duckworth) and rebounded only inches over. From a COL attack Winsford broke, Koral had a chance to bury it, he was highly reckless and was in danger of killing a roosting owl rather than rupturing the net. Soon after the Blue Bods were marauding with menace, a striker was clobbered, it looked like something and nothing, the referee had a sniff of ill-will and awarded the penalty. Was this the right decision or a crazed Christian gesture from a man doused in guilt - I know not but up stepped Callum Gardener and twanged the ball home with chilled authority. There was now only 10 minutes left, a Purple heave ho came, Winsford were adopting the role of a sponge, attempting to soak all activity up and release in one all-conquering splash. A late COL free-kick was given, was hoofed forth and met by the outstretched noggin of Thomas Peterson. A bulge appeared in the net (and no doubt in the trouser department of a few COL supporters - deviant buggers), a goal had been bagged, we were like the head of Herman Munster - all square! It looked as though matters were settled as both teams doused each others efforts, that is until a COL ball saw Peterson charge through and have the match at his mercy. He fired, was met with a solid save by the home No 1 (Matthew Green) and then a follow up shot came via No 14 (Thomas Spearitt). Arses left seats, celebrations looked to be underway - until a stunning defensive block was had and the 2 - 2 scoreline stayed in tact. The man in the middle halted proceedings soon after, I think the result was fair, a few seemed to disagree, hey ho, football and opinions hey! Man of the Match was a tricky affair tonight but I thought No 5 (Logan Jeffs) of Winsford Town was quite convincing at the back and is one of those back pack players who oozes discipline, is always aware of his position and who gives any onrushing attacker a real headachetrying to achieve the smallest of spaces. The stint is best describe as 'solid' - tis always a good thing.
FINAL THOUGHT - After a week of postponements this was a welcome tonic although the first half was far from fluent the second was a frisky affair and exposed many facets of two teams who are always value for money. For me Winsford have a great pass and play game that uses the full pitch, has much variety and is always destined to keep opponents thinking. This is a half-decent squad, a test for anyone in the league and, if given a kiss on the arse by Ms Fanny Fortune, they could go on a real damaging run and cause many a team severe trouble. City of Liverpool are eternal value and have a thirst and desire not to be underestimated. In fact the last time I witnessed anything like this was when I was stranded on a desert island with Barbara Cartland - frightening to say the least and I never knew the sun could have such a detrimental effect on an old lady's bristols. A prime example of the COL ethos is Thomas Peterson, a player who runs himself ragged, always appears to be the muckiest man on the pitch and who puts his conkers on the line come what may - a spirit that flows throughout the team - good bloody stuff indeed. So a grand visit to The Barton Stadium, 4 goals, some stupendous chips and a drive home in the rain listening to The Chrysalids by John Wyndham - beltin' stuff all round!
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