AND AFTER THE BLACK-OUT

16th December 2019 - Maine Road 2 v 0 Garstang - The wintry days are getting on my bristols, the on-going nightmares are sending me insane and the rear brakes of my bike are screaming like a phantom from Hades - it is all rather testing for one's nervous system.  I recorded the said howling brakes so that the bicycle repairman could make a judgement when I took it into the shop earlier in the day.  Alas, when playing the recording back I pressed the 'reverse' button and uncovered the most satanic messages imaginable, much to the disgust of the pedal-obsessed retailer.  I was told to go on a shoplifting spree whilst wearing a tartan jockstrap and get 'Enoch Powell is my Lover' tattooed on my forehead.  If this wasn't bad enough the main message was to write all future football reports using nothing more than a banana and the blood of virginal virtue.  Alas living in the Manchester area this is an impossible task as we all know - bananas need warm weather to fully fruit (crafty hey).  So with a whirring head I got through the day, stole 16 packets of disposable razors (ooh me smooth buttocks) and 12 lumps of lard (like I say, 'ooh me smooth buttocks) and arrived at the football in one flustered piece.  The game tonight was at a favoured ground, it featured two teams very much with a cup run on their minds and, if I may be so presumtuous, was certain to feature some net-busting goodness.  As per, tea and chin-wagging was done with STP Stu and then viewing points were chosen.  When leaving the clubhouse I had an attack of the nefarious klepto-vapours and considered stealing a pie - I resisted the urge because I have the deepest respect for these clubs but if my arse breaks out in boils I will blame it on the dark one instead of the recently pilfered lard (I am a considerate soul at times).

So arse parked, banana and squid ink at the ready (well I did say certain requests were impossible to meet) and here we go again with Abbey Hey Pete joining us for the evening's entertainment.  We had a delay at the start as the floodlights were playing up and one half of the pitch was left in semi-darkness.  Several bods in the distance fiddled with the electrics and after some uncertainty and several 50p pieces had been put into the appropriate slot we were eventually blessed with a fully radiated ground...and to the game we go!

Maine Road came out with their usual high energy with their opponents showing equal spunk and making for a quite hectic start.  The first attempt on goal came for the home team, their No 9 (Jack Coop) sent in a purposeful driller that missed the target but closer than one first deemed.  The blue clad pack advanced again, some choice and acute passing was terminated when No 3 (Paul Earlam) was allowed to cut in and pull the trigger.  The shot was deflected wide, the corner led to a break away but the apex of the move lacked confidence and we stayed as we were.

The activity levels remained elevated, the guests won a free-kick that was delivered and dealt with.  A return shot came, the ball bounced quite harshly before the gloved guardian who did well to turn it onto the post and eventually behind for an angled hoof.  The corner may have posed no threat but the pressure from the Garstang mob kept on growing.  A header nearly found the net and then, against the grain, The Road broke, No 6 (Oscar Campbell) threaded a fine ball through the smallest of gaps and the ball was neatly tapped into the net - it was with disgust that I noted the liner's flag waving for offside.

From here the contest became more balanced, No 8 (Ben Mooney) for the hosts stung the keepers mitts with a robust punt and then No 10 (Owen Pollitt) had a middling dig that the man between the sticks found a little less hurtful on the hands.  From here, and quite unexpectedly, Garstang seemed to drop deeper than the voice of Frank Bruno and really created some unnecessary mither for themselves.  It was a complete contrast to how they started,  a Jekyll and Hyde moment that got the home teams hooters of hope twitching (not to mention their prongs of potential).  Eventually the resident ranks moved with purpose, the ball was passed with razor accuracy, the Garstang defense was opened up like a tin of Bartlett Pears, Pollitt was in the right place at the most opportune time and put the ball into the net to break a rather awkward deadlock.  1 - 0 we were, the away team's manager did sound a trifle irate.

From here, up to the interval, the hosts shaded all areas.  Coop had a couple more pops, one at the keeper, one into the chilled night air and then a quite sumptuous move saw the swift passing end with No 2 (Ryan Smith) nipping in and shooting at close range and bringing out a stunning save from the quick and agile visiting No 1 (William Kitchen).  From the corner the ball was knocked down and played across the face of goal.  A gasp went up from the crowd, sphincter muscles were squeezed, a buzz of anticipation invaded areas best not mentioned but alas, no assassin's toes appeared and soon after the break came and we all headed for warming liquids.

A quick wander, tea purchased, and back to see what the second half would offer.  The crowd looked rather chilled, they needed something to stir the blood - here's hoping.

As is usually the case, The Road came out quick but Garstang were showing good pluck and more than holding their own.  A close in header for the traveller's was unfortunate to enter the keeper's awaiting arms and then from a bout of midfield muddling Road's No 7 (Jamie Roe) played a tidy ball to Pollitt who released a howitzer that just had too much uplift.  Coop had a dig the same way soon after but blazed wide and then we entered a rather constipated period where the bowels of the midfield clammed up and refused to shit forth any decisive droppings of success and not even the odd fart of promise.  From the unyielding discomfort the laxatives of optimism eventually kicked in, Garstang came on strong, a long ball found their ever-industrious No 9 (Richard Coar) who had a swing on the turn but was foiled by some last ditch defending.  In return to this minor fright Roe for the hosts played another simple but mightily effective ball that Campbell latched onto and bent forth towards the strike zone.  The curl was decent but not quite enough and a few feet wide of the mark the globe flew.

As we progressed into the latter stages of the game the outcome was still uncertain.  Shots came each end, both mittmen did their bit, albeit in rather unorthodox styles.   Into the last 10 minutes we were propelled, Mooney for the hosts worked inward and let fly, again a deflection saw the ball go behind.  A corner came, Garstang stood firm and duly broke with No 12 (Joe Melling) out wide putting in a sweet cross that Coar met with the crust at very close range.  The keeper's peeper's never left the danger-laden sphere and he produced a more than adequate point-blank save - now that was a chance if ever I saw one.  With only a brace of minutes left the home team gave one last concerted push, Mooney cracked one from a middling distance, the keeper palmed rather than gathered, it offered the chance to Pollitt to react, make contact and grab the second and decisive killer goal - 2 - 0 and seconds later that was indeed...that!  A grinding affair was over, there was little in it and the Man of the Match was a tough call but Maine Road's No 1 (Conrad Betton) must surely get the nod because when it mattered most he produced the necessary saves and made sure his team kept their noses in front whilst always having something to fight for.  It takes great concentration between the sticks, this was a fine show of how to keep your mind on matters and of how to be alert at all times - good stuff.

So that was that, the first of 3 games on the bounce, onwards we go.

FINAL THOUGHT - This was not a classic, at times it was a cagey affair, now and again it became eggbound.  Throughout though we had intrigue and a precarious balance with two eggs of success laid and the Blues advancing into the quarter final stages and Garstang returning to league duties with a right old battle on their hands.  The visiting team seemed to have many promising components and an array of options but today seemed to contribute a schizoid performance that, for certain periods, appeared ambitious and then now and again seemed to lack that killer confidence.  They need to take stock, realise they are better than they think and start to go at matches with a Gung-ho forthrightness - I reckon they may be surprised.  The Blues showed me tonight that when not fully fluent that can remain disciplined, stick to their principles and come out of a dogfight with a win.  In the past I have seen the team get drawn into a mucky and messy affair and end up in disarray and on the end of a beating that really shouldn't have happened.  Tonight they weren't at their best but at times moved the ball with swift precision and problem creating decisiveness.  Who is to say they can't win this cup, they are certainly a team to be reckoned with when at their best and now, with this new found grit and grind style they could indeed go all the way.  It would be a lovely thing to witness but we are still only at the quarter final stage and their next match is a real tester with 1874 Northwich undoubted favourites.  The game will take place on 15th February 2020 - you have a choice - get it in your diary now or stop in and watch another repeat showing of 'Columbo and the Riddle of the Sexual Satsuma' - ooh decisions, decisions.

ELEMENTARY DEAR HOLMES, ELEMENTARY

14th December 2019 - Holmes Chapel Hurricanes 0 v 3 Knowsley South -Today, me and my good lady jumped into our reliable soccerised diving bell and plunged deeper into the life-laden depths of hoofing reality to watch 2 teams battle it out in the Cheshire League Division 2.  The only worries we had were if it would rain or not, if the football would be up to scratch and if, when rising back up a couple of levels, we would be struck down with the dreaded 'bends'.  I had suffered from 'aerobullosis' on only one previous occasion where I had foolishly bent down to scratch the annoying scrotum of an armless midget who really seemed troubled by his undercarriage irritation.  I thought this was a fine, considerate Christian act, alas little did I know his nuts were infected with Yellow Jack and when noting the lemon-coloured globes and swiftly adopting an upright stance I was duly struck by a dose of Divers Disease as well as the aforementioned fever.  Thankfully I learned my lesson and now, when faced with the same problematical situation am duly armed with a set strategy and am wise enough to let niggling nut-sacs go 'unscratched'.

So, after a morn of doofing, a quick dinner and a change into thermal safety we headed out and arrived at a new ground approximately 40 minutes later.  We chose our viewing spot with care and had an overpriced brew from the centres coffee-machine - it was far from tasty but like a fart in a sauna, it was wet and warm.  Wild predictions were made, I had been starved of goals of late and needed some net-busting nutrients - as per, this is what we got.

Knowsley were the team with the early spring in the step with a corner won soon after the ball first got rolling.  No 7 (Kurtis Pearson) posted a sound ball that was neatly nutted away.  The same attacking force were soon advancing again this time with a lengthy ball that No 2 (Liam Riley) did well to chase down and deliver.  Again the globe was watched and the home No 5 (Matt Haynes) produced some efficient defensive work that led to a bout of good football from the hosts terminated by a shot that lacked any real spunk.  In return to this minor threat the visiting team played a long ball that allowed No 10 (Peter Silcock) to dash through and have only the keeper to beat.  Alas the first touch was clumsy, the danger dissipated but the same predatory pack just kept on coming, the hosts needed to get their act together and get it together...now!

Further into the game we delved, Pearson for The South dinked and dribbled and was unlucky not to see his cross fall into the net and then, from off the back foot, Holmes Chapel won a free-punt in the middle of the park which was booted forth without fuss and nearly buried by the quick reacting No 8 (Tom Fagan-Hall) who must have been rueing a good chance missed.  It wasn't long before the guests were building again though.  A good, solid cross was met by the bonse of Silcock who nutted wide but was surely giving hint at a soon-to-be strike on target.

A bit of thermality invaded the game next, it came from some heated verbals that saw a sin-bin ordered as well as the Holmes Chapel coach given a warning.  A scabby period was scrubbed away as Knowsley pushed with another long ball played.  Silcock was the recipient, he moved deep into the perilous zone and despite being surrounded by 4 markers and having a keeper to beat he managed to bang the ball into the net.  It was a well taken goal but man, the defending was lacking in many areas.  Moments later, the taker of the goal was laying one into the path of No 8 (Juno Cahill) who let fly from distance hoping to quickly double the lead - the ball however rose into the darkening skies and Holmes Chapel counted their blessings and kissed the rear end of Lady Fortune.

Another sin-binning came, Silcock was sent for a break after he galloped after a loose ball.  Why he was sent off was anyone's guess, was the referee doing a Hitler-stint in the local Panto and getting some pre-stage practice in - he was certainly taking no prisoners.  The half ended with digs at both ends of the pitch, No 9 (Ben Susca) had the best chance after some in-box fannying about but again couldn't keep the ball down.

The break came, I had a piddle behind a tree, felt pity for my withered conkers and then, after tucking up, had a Topic Bar with my good lady.  The teams wasted no time in returning, it was just as well as we, and the 16 others in attendance, were all getting a trifle chilled.

The second half began with Holmes Chapel rising high like a gang of Born-Again Christians hepped up on Holy Water.  No 6 (Kyle Maddocks) was sent through and placed a shot wide and then, moments later, the same player had a header which just had a little too much elevation.  Although the hosts were scrapping hard their opponents were still a dangerous commodity,  a fact proven when No 2 (Liam Riley) had a shot blocked at the last and the follow-up driller just flying wide.

As hope rose for the resident ranks Knowsley's Pearson knocked a choice ball down the flank that was collected and delivered onto the rising dome of No 9 (Scott Dunning).  The header was placed, the keeper's flapping hand was avoided, the second goal had been had.  The game continued, again some intriguing tenacity was had in the centre of the park until Knowsley won a gratis boot which Pearson struck with authority and found the back of the net with ease.  0 - 3 - that was indeed that it seemed, this was a severe off day for the home team, was there time left for a consolation?

The next goal never did come although The Chapel's keeper was forced to breathe a sigh of relief when leaving his line and getting lobbed his colleague No 3 (Sam Eves) produced a stunning on-the-line clearance - great work chap.  Into the darkened depths and with the minutes running out Silcock sent in a low daisy cutter that the home mitter did well to turn away and then No 16 (Jack MacConnell) had a fine run for the hosts that covered much ground only to be terminated by a rather diluted shot - and that was that.

A grinding game with the hosts not on it at all and the guests just doing enough.  Man of the Match goes to Knowsley South's No 4 (Tommy Armstrong) for a strong and controlled performance that picked up on any early danger signs, cleared the ball when necessary and, more often than not, picked out a colleague in the process - well done that man.  Me and the missus buggered off home perished, I think we shall return here, next time in the sun though.

FINAL THOUGHT - I like a good day out to a new ground, this was a treat and even though the home team were below par and the weather dithered the dumplings we were happy to come, support and hopefully spread the word via this report.  Holmes Chapel Hurricanes never whipped up great gusts of threat today and just couldn't build up any impetus.  As an external viewer and the eternal unbiased neutral I thought they played well in the rear, battled in midfield but just lacked that extra spark up front.  When in possession in an advanced position off the ball movement was lacking, sometimes support slow in arriving and so, options just lacking.  This should be an area given extra attention, I saw enough though today to see a team with much promise to build on, it is just a case of dealing with some elementary facets.  Knowsley South, came, did what they had to do and went away with 3 points in the bag.  They have some good controlled performers in their mix and play with an eye on always looking to play the long ball.  Several times today they were nearly in and away, the fact that the opposing defence kept plucking away surely kept the scoreline down to just 3.  The style they play will always pose difficulties against smaller sides, it will be interesting to see how they do when faced with a defense of 6 foot plus hoofers.  As per, it is all posing questions and seeking answers, I think that's why we love it.  Next stop is the heady heights of Maine Road FC - ooh the heady zeniths. 

RESERVOIRS OF DEFIANCE

7th December 2019 - Penistone Church FC 0 v 0 Handsworth FC - Another trip to Yorkshire for the start of the weekend, we'll be getting a bad reputation if we don't watch it.  Today we spent 4 hours roaming around Scout Dike (sounds like a very dubious career to me) and Royd Moor Reservoirs - it was a fresh and frisky do with 527 birds of 32 species counted and 33 species of fungi noted.  A Brown Hare and a few Galls and Lichens were added to the list and I only piddled outdoors 3 times.  We arrived at the ground too early to enter so had a lunch of Revels and Satsumas with a couple of games of 'Who Want's To Be A Millionaire' played on my good lady's phone - I didn't know Mickey Rooney had 3 anal openings and that Zsa Zsa Gabor was once married to Enoch Powell - the mind boggles, she must have had a thing for swastika's on the buttocks - the silly old bag!  Eventually we entered the home of the Penis and hoped to be celebrating with many seeds of success as well as a few goals.  First port of call was the warming confines of the clubhouse where we indulged in some chips and tea, caught up with the club twitterer and a fellow punk promoter from near Dewsbury - both lovely blokes and helping us feel settled at a new ground for us.  Eventually we had to head out into the bracing wind, picked a spot, changed our minds and settled for an area that was slightly shielded from the invasive tendrils of the wintry puffer.  On paper, a home win looked guaranteed but, this is non-league football, only a fool would part with his hard earned cash and place a wager, mind you, only a fool would place his dongler in a plug socket in the hope of increasing his virility and I do know a few wayward rapscallions that have done just that - I'll stick with the asparagus tips and rectal onions thank you very much.

And to the game!

The early feeling out process was akin to a visit to a dubious Doctor which saw both teams exploring each others set-up and making their initial assessment before going for some invasive treatment. An early yellow card kept things on the right side of that deemed 'fair' although the tackle lacked spite and was merely a mistimed moment due to over-enthusiasm.  During the early period Handsworth were defying their lowly position and shading the exchanges with their No 7 (Ehsan Mohammed) providing one or two neat touches.  The Penistone Pack however produced the first hint of threat with No 11 (Andy Ring) making a great move and pass that saw No 9 (Nathan Keightley) receive and provide a low neat cross that No 10 (Shaun Mundy) simply had to bury from a couple of feet out.  The keeper dropped like a sack of gravity defying dumplings (well we are in Yorkshire) and put in a solid save.  The corner came, Ring rose, the keeper fisted, the danger passed which was quite unexpected as the last time I used 'ring' and 'fisted' in the same sentence I ended up before the judge of decency. 

A corner for Penistone followed, the delivery was sharp, the near post flick header by Ring was off-line and from here the guest team dug in and really put up a fight with the odd corner and free-kick holding potential but just lacking that killer investment.  The next assault on a netted danger zone came via the hosts, Ring showed great intelligence, a choice lay off saw a colleague cross, the guest keeper was alert once more and gathered with little fuss.  A long ball came for Handsworth, No 6 (Josh Dacre) gathered and lashed without hesitation.  The home No 2 (Tom Charlesworth) reacted to the red light warning and produced an exemplary tackle that helped quell some obvious rising peril.  Handsworth however were on a roll, they advanced once more, a free-kick was well-deserved but clattered into the stubborn wall.  The loose ball was returned with interest, the horizontal was hammered, this was becoming a very absorbing contest.

Touch and go things remained, the Church progressed, Mundy was in the mix, havoc briefly reared it's mischievous head but the guests remained stolid and by hook or crook, refused to buckle.  From here both defensives dictated with Penistone striving for ultimate penetration but falling short at the apical moment.  Handsworth continued to battle well but just lacked the critical end decision and necessary sharp surge.  As the half wound down it started to appear that the home team had cracked their opponents code and as we headed for a half-time break one expected a breakthrough to come soon after the restart.

The break was brief, a brew was a gratifying thermal treat to victim's of the meteorological ill-will, the inner confines were briefly warmed, the flesh however was far from sated, perhaps a goal or two would suffice. 

Half-two, a new viewing point, some more Revels were digested to feed the soccer soul, Penistone flew swiftly, a corner was the opening reward, the near post header went wide - oh bugger.  Handsworth raced down the other end, No 11 (Grant Marley) exhibited mercurial feet that won a corner from which the same player boomed over.  Penistone counterpunched, a cross-ball saw Ring poke to Mundy, the shot was pressured by the gloved guardian, the outcome was another effort off target.  Handsworth tried to break, the host No 4 (Ash Ellis) put in a resounding tackle, went on a drive and released. The keeper was asked a question, his hand-assisted answer was up to the mark, a corner was conceded.   The ball from the angle was delivered, the lofty No 6 (Brett Lovell) put dome on leather, again the keeper was 100% reliable.

As we progressed deeper into the dingly-dell of these wintry goings-on I did wonder where the first goal would spring from.  Penistone nearly gave a sound reply when a breakaway saw Ring put in another choice touch, Mundy deliver and Keightley pop up to slap home.  The striker was inches out, how he knocked it over left one ball-boy claiming to be 'speechless' - I think that kind of summed up the feelings of the many.  Straight down the other end of the park we went, Mohammed was wriggling away like a worm on a hotplate, he was being closely marshalled but still managed to get a shot away - alas it was laden with uplift and went over the bar.

Handsworth, to their credit, were still in this and had a sound period of possession and attacking enterprise but their opponents remained a watertight unit and in a Scrooge-esque manner, gave very little away.  Eventually the home team doused the opposing fires, came on and won another gratis gift on the edge of the box.  The ball entered the push and shove fray, Lovell's cranium was called into action and thumped the ball against the bar, it was a good job the ball didn't go into the net as an infringement had been seen by the kestrel-eyed official - now that would have been controversial!

Shots now came each way, none had true direction or clinical accuracy with any attacking players given very little in the way of space and time to fully set their sights.  The final throes were hectic, the battling from both packs noteworthy but, defiance was the key ingredient and come what may, no team was prepared to give an inch with all components giving their all and making for a fascinating goalless draw.  The referee eventually called a halt, we were all left impressed by the resolute rigidity of two mighty stubborn units.  Out of the mix I chose Handsworth's No 5 (Alex Varley) for the Man of the Match, who stood tall, marked with efficiency, was vocally enthusiastic throughout and who didn't mind doing the dirty work when required and putting in a real sinew stretching and muscle mangling stint - I like heads down grafters!

FINAL THOUGHT - A fine visit to a new ground this with a welcoming atmosphere and some real keen support proffered without being nasty, vulgar and blindly idiotic.  The away team came today with a game plan that had much thought and, in truth, they could easily have snatched all 3 points with a little luck in the nap of the dampened green.  They were very disciplined in the rear, battling at the fore and for me, the only thing lacking in today's performance was that finishing touch, that laser strike on target with focused power.  The team, on this evidence, should rise higher in the league, I am hoping when we visit they are battling just as hard and showcasing many fine efforts.  Penistone Church played efficiently today and had 3 glaring chances that should have been buried to keep up the teams fantastic momentum.  As per, they were as tight as Franny Lee's underpants at the back, as keen to flow forth as the urinal stream of George Best after a serious bender and as cute on the ball as a testicle dancing Betty Boop.  They are worthy of their place in the mix but have some raring teams hot on their tail which will undoubtedly make for a thrilling second half to the season.  We will hopefully catch a bit more of this White Rose football before the campaign is out and partake of a little more Penis based hoofing within the folds of our roaming efforts - so far, despite no goals today, I have seen no reasons why not to!

IT ONLY TAKES A MOMENT

3rd December 2019 - Cheadle Heath Nomads 0 v 1 Cammell Laird 1907 - Old Father Football has now bent fully over, spread his all-consuming chuff-cheeks and sucked us all up in the inescapable anus of ball-booting intrigued.  We have entered the darkened depths of the campaign, we are deep within the chilly orifice of competitive action - the only thing I ask is to be shat out at the end with a glut of goals and excitement rather than get overly-digested and become part of a constipated concern.  Things are looking good for many teams so far, some struggle to gain any real motion, others are in a snagging mire and fighting for their lives - pass me the arse paper folks, tonight's match may get mucky.  Cheadle Heath Nomads scatter-farted along with hit and miss performances during the early part of the season but are now on a quite impressive flush, Cammell Laird 1907 are dropping the odd logs of disappointment but also intermixing their strainings with many turds of triumph, all both sides need are some extra laxatives of luck and who knows where they will end up.  I predicted a 5 goal game tonight, the new drugs I am on are mighty strong but hey, one has to be positive.  After a day of work where I took a break to catch up with the Stockport Town chairman Rob York I got home, did the usual chores and headed out.   It goes without saying there were many familiar faces to catch up with, they know who they are, they know their company is always appreciated, they know I will be invoicing them for writing these kind words - have it!

And so, 7.45pm came around, all tender areas were tucked in and the game was there to be viewed. The chill in the air was akin to the emotions of Dr Crippen, void of warmth and causing one to be wary, we were hoping the game would keep the mind distracted.

The early symphony of soccer was played out, the Nomads indulged in some smooth and effective football with the ball stroked around the pitch with considered practice.  An early free-kick was won, the Laird defended in a pack and were unlucky not to make the most of a potentially perilous break.  As the hosts continued to push the ball around the opposing team got to grips with the task at hand with a midfield muddle seeing the No 9 (Joshua Donnelly) produce a delectable flick that released No 10 (Luke Blondel) who could only hammer the ball over the horizontal.  The Laird now advanced once more, a free-kick in their own half saw Donnelly released and in a rather testing position.  No 4 (Ryan Eiselt) read the danger and put in a tackle that was straight out of the drawer of defending excellence.  Now the response began, No 6 (Ashley Crank) led the way with a long ball that set the alarm bells ringing for the travelling pack.  The move progressed, No 9 (Ashley Stott) finalised matters with a hoofing that, once again, like the brassierre of Mo Moreland of Roly Poly fame, had too much uplift.

Again, the home unit indulged in some lovely possession play with their No 3 (Jake Wright) an industrious unit at the back and straining his scrotum to keep the momentum going.  Cammell Laird were being forced to work up a sweat, this they did and had two half chances but shots from Donnelly and Blondel could only find the meat of the waiting keeper's carcass.  The hosts won a corner next, all heads were scalped but no serious contact was made and then No 11 (Kyle Foley) chanced his shank with the ball still refusing to stay below the bar.  From a free-kick another shot hit the Heavens and then Stott sent a thumper into the gently misted night - was the globe filled with helium or were the Satanic Circle of the the Lunatic Laird casting their nefarious spells again - I remained highly dubious.

The last staggerings of a captivating first half came, we were rewarded with a stalemate that seemed tighter than the lock on Ena Sharples' Chastity Belt - there was no way through to the hidden realms of success, penetration was snubbed, a half-time breather was needed to reconsider matters.  My advice would be to contact Albert Twatlock via a greased up Ouija Board - the answers to all problems were surely be found...then again!

The break was used to stretch the shanks, ingest some warm liquid and chomp on a Mars Bar - The Undertones were right, the choccy picked me and Stu up no end.

The follow-up period began with the home team whizzing like ferrets on the prowl for a flatulent rabbit - they had a scent of success tickling their hooters, I was mighty impressed by the passion shown and equally taken by Cammell Lairds non-stop 'off the ball' work rate.  A free-kick for the hosts was shabby, a flick header on target too weak, the assassins edge was being all too easily blunted, this could be a real problem come the later stages of this close encounter not of the 'turd kind'.

From here, incessant purple waves clashed over a substrate of frosted green and against sturdy rocks of tangerine tones.  Hooves swung, leather was clattered, the erosion process was denied as the travelling defending boulders refused to buckle.  Foley found space, the release was neither a cross nor a shot and then The Laird's No 6 (Paul Bathgate) cracked in a dig, again that target zone couldn't be found.  

Substitutes came each way, it was going to take something outrageous, unexpected and rather unpredictable to scar the scoresheet, and that is just what we got moments later when the Cammell replacement, No 16 (Cameron McGregor) found the ball at his feet approximately 32.5 yards from goal (we had a touchline debate, this was the figure agreed on, we are not just football fans we are anally retentive too).  The home No 1 (Aaron Tyrer) was seen to be roaming, the ball was booted first time, went up, hovered and dropped into the awaiting net with assisted groans from one dug out and shouts of triumph from the other.  It was a wonderful strike, it was a kick in the glowing globes for the hosts - shit happens, we now entered the home stretch with the whole design of the game changed.

The wind down saw a visiting player sent off for time wasting, a real bout of in-box madness arise in the Cammell Laird box with a concoction of swinging shanks all looking to make contact, in some cases seeking a net-rippler, in others trying to deny a late equalising insult.  As it turned out the team with the upperhand survived to the final whistle albeit somewhat on the ropes!

And so, a moment of inspiration separated these two sides who got stuck in, remained disciplined and created a match that was one for the connoiseurs.  I enjoyed it, several strong stints were had amid the 22 labouring bods but man of the Match for me goes to Cammell Lairds No 6 (Paul Bathgate) who was a frenetic workhorse in the middle of the park, never allowing his opponents to settle, enthusing his comrades and forever in the mix when it mattered - a tireless performance from a night when great energy was expended - phew!  

FINAL THOUGHT - And so, the tightly clenched sphincter was forced to give way via an ingenious moment that was akin to a finger up the arse on a night when a blank was looking to be drawn.  Cammell Laird 1907 must be applauded for their dedication to the cause, for times when the ball was chased here and there with little success and for being highly protective of the clean sheet they very much deserved. The smash and grab goal was perhaps due reward for the incessant effort and the steaming desire to make this one a real close shave for all concerned.  Cheadle Heath Nomads need to take stock of their progress so far and be real proud of where they were a few seasons back and where they are now.  The football at times tonight was bang on the mark and if the apex of the assaults was on form then this game could have been an entirely different matter.  The work on the ball and the passing was of an admirable standard, for me, the only flaw in the fluent machine is in the final third when off the ball movement is perhaps not what it should be thus limiting options for the player in possession.  Tonight, with the play made and the effort thrown in they should have bagged a couple of goals, the fact they didn't is a cause for concern which cost them dear - I am sure this will be corrected and there is still great promise left in the current campaign.

THE PENIS STANDS PROUD

30th November 2019 - Knaresborough Town 1 v 3 Penistone Church - After 3 days in Yorkshire we decided to finalise matters with some Non-League footy.  Option one had fallen victim to the upper phalanges of Jackson Frost as had option two.  We had spent the morn in Haworth and after a good breakfast, a pleasant stroll and pootle in the shops we had a decsion to make.  Thankfully Knaresborough Town posted that the pitch inspection had been passed and so, with time aplenty, we set off along, many concrete arteries and weaving byways and followed the on-line instructions emitted by the monotone man programmed into my good lady's phone.  We arrived without fuss, entered the bracing air and paid our dues whereupon, when buying a warm drink, I had found I had lost a fiver.  I went outside and informed the lady on the gate, she had found it, how ruddy kind and honest!  The same lass provided me with a  handwritten teamsheet soon after, I was impressed and it is small touches like this that make this Non-League lark the joy it is!  We supped up, chomped some orange fudge we had acquired in Hawworth and pondered the outcome of the game.  Predictions were made, I was close, my good lady was spot on, darn those all-seeing Elton Welsby underpants of prediction!  The initial viewing point was taken in the warming sun, we had to move as we couldn't see a thing, we chose to watch the game between the dugouts, the air may have been colder but it was warmed by the touchline verbals and rising passion - it was good to witness.

The game began, the hosts earned an early gratis-punt, No 11 (Brad Walker) was the apical component of the move and duly cut in and let fly - the outcome was higher than the salary of Jimmy Tarbuck at a Charity Dinner (ooh the twisting twat).  From here corners were won at each end of the pitch, a pitch that, in some areas, squelched like a fat woman's fart and, in others, resounded like the hooves of many aroused equines - the going was definitely soft to hard and somewhere in between as well.  The men between each set of sticks did enough to stifle any success with a midfield contest taking the initial reins.  From the combat, the Penistone No 9 (Nathan Keithley) detonated himself into driving action and kicked up the turf like a consternated cow in a field of anal-obsessed gnats.  The feet were nearly lost due to some close defensive attention, somehow a delivery of the ball was made, No 8 (Jordan Corduri) was the man of the moment and tapped home to grab the oh so important first strike of the game.

The onus was now on the hosts to dig in deep, an almost immediate free-kick was posted with pace and fair precision, the rearguard nut away was sound and epitomised the organisational set-up of the visiting tribe.  Penistone were always a dangerous commodity, Keithley raced away from another midfield mush, he was duly tumbled and was awarded yet another bonus boot.  The ball came, No 5 (Ryan Johnson) rose and knocked in a fine header which was met by a choice one handed save.  The player who had just used his noggin now opted for a touch with the feet and quickly tucked the ball into the awaiting mesh - 0 - 2 - was this going to be a really one sided affair?  I had my fears!

Knaresborough, to their credit, refused to sit back and duly won several free-kicks, corners and throw-in's.  The Church of the Penis remained upright and immovable, stone solid in fact, the hosts were going to have to produce something mighty special to make a breakthrough.  Eventually that something special did come, No 5 (Gregg Anderson) flew the flank, Walker chased, receved and played a sweet cross that No 9 (Will Lenehen) received and prepared to shoot.  This looked like a real glaring chance, the tackle from the travelling No 6 (Brett Lovell) however was world class and stomped on the threat in sure-fire style - note to Knaresborough, please start all over again.

As the half ground down my good lady nipped for a warming brew whilst I scribbled, she was perhaps fortunate to miss seeing the ball fly out of play and slam into the chilled conkers a the bloke nearby.  He writhed and wriggled and clutched his throbbing globes, at least he would be warmer for the second half.  The final stages of this first period saw Penistone play some lovely touch and go football, they were unlucky not to grab a third.

The break was spent supping warmed liquids, nibbling the last bit of our orange fudge and moving from toe to toe trying to generate some thermal assistance - it was now officially a 'witherer' - mind you it was the eve of December, I suppose we were due a real icy snap.

The second half and from the off the visitors pushed with ardour with Knaresborough just lacking options when looking to break although the home No 10 (Andy Cooper) did nearly sneak in when a smart through ball was played.  The hosts were noticeably improved and determined now and from some persistent pressure No 7 (Rob Youhill) worked the wing, issued a tidy cross that was nodded back into the path of Cooper who buried without fuss - the game, as a contest, was now back on.

As Knaresborough sensed blood and applied themselves with renewed hope their opponents absorbed and broke.  Some lightning wing play saw the ball played, Corduri have a firm dig and get a slight deflection.  The ball flew into the netting, it was a cruel moment and ideally timed for the Church Boys, not so well timed for the hosts though.

Penistone now flowed, unlike stones of the penis of which I have had a few over the years as they made their way from my kidneys to the big wide world.  Against the troubling tide though Youhill played a mouth-watering ball that looked set up for a eye-catching coup de grace.  The striker's shot though lacked spite and may it be said, belief.  Penistone used this brief scare as a catalyst, they advanced and won a free-kick.  The delivery came, No 5 (Gregg Anderson) crept up and put cranium on leather, it was a shame to see the outside of the netting bulge inwards.

The time was passing and with it the hopes of the resident players.  An attack was had, some in-box cranial ping-pong only led to a corner that was lashed in and missed all wannabe executioners.  The Town soon surged again, Youhill was putting in a very worthwhile stint but just not getting the rub of the frosted green.  Lenehan connected from a corner but couldn't find the target and then Penistone put together a dazzling move that covered the full width of the pitch, involved a cute back-flick and ended in a shot that was mere inches wide - now that would have been some goal.  Into the dregs we went, Cooper for the home team stung the mittmans hands, the loose ball was cleared and then, after a gloved slip-up, No 12 (Luke Stewart) had a shot on the turn that the man between the sticks did well to deal with.  A final corner for Knaresborough was whistled in, No 6 (Sam Cook) produced a quite lovely header which was outshone by a picture-perfect save - and that was that!

My good lady had predicted a 1 - 3 victory for Penistone Church, the team had thoroughly deserved the win, a win which was built on a sound defensive performance led by my Man of the Match, namely No 6 (Brett Lovell).  A tall, robust gent who got his nut on every aerial ball, stayed calm when under pressure and who took a no-nonsense approach when the ball came his way - a simple ethos - keep your eye on the globe and get rid - it worked mighty well and the fact that he played the game in good spirit with a fair attitude was equally noticeable - well done chap.  We may have been perished watching this one, we had no gripes, 4 goals, a good winter's day game and some decent folk chatted with - Yorkshire we shall return.

FINAL THOUGHT - A thoroughly enjoyable excursion at a welcoming area that just needs the football on the pitch to do all and sundry justice.  The home team came up against a good squad today though and shouldn't be too downhearted with the defeat.  The first half was lacking, that goes without saying, but the team's second half efforts were utterly positive and if they can be played out over 90 minutes for the rest of the season (a tall order I know) then Knaresborough can only go on to better things.  The team never got ruffled and played with greater expression during the last 45 and given a touch of fortune could easily have got the game back to all square and put some real wind up their opponents high-flying jackies.  Penistone Church are a good unit though, I was mightily taken by the blend of style within the weft of the squad with grafters, dribblers, hoofers and doofers peppered up with a direct approach and a rearguard unit that will make things difficult for any team they meet.  They now top the league, I think that says it all, as I type this report I see they have posted online asking the age-old question - 'which is better, points in the bag or games in hand' - personally I would go for points and the three earned today were very much deserved.  I can feel a trip to Penistone coming on - I wonder if I can do a report without resorting to the obvious innuendo and I wonder if Penistone can provide me with another winning performance - well, I think the answer to one of the posers is obvious, can you guess which?

CHEADLE DOWN AS ABBEY SLAY

27th November 2019 - Cheadle Town 0 v 1 Abbey Hey - We are now getting into the winter months proper - that time of year when faces are wan, genital areas wither and ones spirits are lower than the morals of Prince Andrew (ooh the controversy).  Of late it seems I am in danger of developing 'Pit-Man's Squint' due to going to work in the dark and coming home beneath a heavy shade of grey.  I have tried to pick myself up by watching re-runs of El Dorado and Wish You Were Here but this has led to flashbacks regarding an incident with a transgender Judith Chalmers look-a-like - the sight of a bikini-line around a set of crown jewels is just not my bag (or should that be scrotal sac).  So, after a day of gloom and no solar goodness to ponder I did what I needed to do, had a word with myself in the mirror (nice nipples David) and set out for the football.  My fine lady dropped me off again, I met STP Stu as is becoming the norm as well as John D and Gareth and Sandra Evans (equally commonplace) and we all watched the night's events unfold.

The start to the game was more open than the legs of Joan Collins through the 1970’s golden age of gonad grinding (ooh err what a bag) with both teams adopting a Gung-Ho style not seen since Elton John visited the rubber anus factory in Denbigh Dale.   No 4 (Tyrone Turner) for The Hey was the first player to have a touch on goal but a last minute bromide-block quelled any hope for the rising erection of celebration.  The reply to this unexpected dig came via Town’s No 11 (Luca Navarro) who propelled forth a worthwhile pop that just had a little too much uplift.  The hosts perhaps shaded these opening stages, one move saw their opponents defending with a  touch of desperation and snuff out all danger until No 3 (Sikirulahli Hamzat) let loose a real rip-roarer that blazed mere inches wide.  From here our onlooking peepers were transported down the other end of the pitch with a quite sumptuous cross entering the box that was missed by the crown of a rising defender.  The ball fell, bounced off the awaiting carcass of No 11 (Dillon Kirkman) and went towards the goal.  I gave full marks to the mittman for his palm away, the move could easily have ended in disaster.

Abbey Hey now girded their loins (without the use of butter may I add) and started to alter the tempo of the game.  Several balls were posted first class into the Cheadle worry zone, the hosts did well to ride a passing shower but then the Hey Brigade came again, No 8 (Luke Hincks) executed a cute flick that released a dashing colleague who needed strong defensive attention and then the same player hammered in a lovely cross that was met by a rather weak header.  A free-kick the same way ensued with a  flick header by No 9 (Martin Pilkington) sweetly placed but disappointingly kissing the outside of the upright. 

From here the flow was mainly one way. More confusion reigned in the resident team’s box, a ball needed clearing off the line, Town it seemed were playing with fire and if they didn’t watch it – fingers would be burnt.  As pressure mounted the home No 4 (Andrew Fitzgerald) lost control of the ball, was immediately pounced upon but rode the tackle.  The defending bod tried to regain his feet, another tackle flew in and a collision came.  The player rolled and wriggled, the offending No 10 (Grant Spencer) for the guests pleaded innocence but was shown red – I think the tackle was without malicious intent but was lacking in control – the law can sometimes be an ass but here it was correctly applied.  

Every tackle that immediately followed this moment of controversy was met with gasps, groans and gripes, akin in fact to a Sunday Morning Sermon led by a very aroused pastor in front of a flock of 7 Day Wankers (make of this what you will).  The half drew to a close but before the whistle Kirkman of the Hey brought more vocal uprising with the execution of a right old bender (I could digress here, enough is enough for now).  The globe left the foot, curled towards the target but stayed shy of the mark, it was the closest we got to a goal before the break came – 0 – 0 – surely this was not to be a barren game!

Due to the healthy crowd, overpriced pies and an unwillingness to stand in a queue we stayed put for half-time and nattered away.  It was a shame Abbey Hey Pete wasn’t with us tonight but when the Satanic Circle of Ruptured Rodents holds a meeting, one misses it at their peril.  I did hear one member of the 4^th Withered Ring decided to go to a darts match rather than attend one such black gathering and ended up with a 20 stone arrer-thrower bumming him rigid in the pub car park and turning his eyes crossed for the whole of eternity – he never hit a double top again and was the only man in Tameside to eat peas with one peeper closed.

The second half began in a touch and go manner, there was a lack of composure and the first 10 minutes were, in truth, bloody horrible to witness.  The first excitement came when Abbey Hey won a corner that led to some in-box madness.   From the chaos Cheadle broke and earned a free-kick.  The ball flew forth, No 9 (Patrick Davin) dropped lower than a tenors balls and flick-headed on target.  The keeper was alert, saved well and when the corner came he provided enough gloved assistance to keep this game goalless.

Cheadle Town advanced next, a long ball was nudged on, No 7 (Justin Pickering) rifled a howitzer, the keeper produced a quite adequate save.  No further problems arose until Davin played a chance ball that the goalie just dealt with and then the same player had a crack at goal but the block by the visiting No 5 (Joseph Neild) was concrete.  From this moment on the back peg, the 10 men team sprang.  No 2 (Daryll Grant) gathered from a poor home pass, the ball was threaded to Pilkington who twatted a shot against the vertical.  The loose sphere fell into the path of No 12 (Elliott Fenton) who looked a trifle surprised but still managed to bungle the ball into the net – 0 – 1 – these things happen.

The game ground on, the closing stages were soon upon us, The Town stuttered like a Frankensteinian arthritic monster, a clash saw a pseudo-tussle with yellow cards issued each way, the game now had about as much excitement as a Catholic Porn Film starring Vera Lynn and David Niven – it was hard-viewing rather than hard-inducing.  Cheadle threw the last of their chipped dice, a lucky toss was not had, they were destined to roll the dreaded lone snake-eye.  At the very, very last a corner was given to the hosts, all players invaded the box, the ball was hoofed from the flag and went straight out of play – it kind of summed up the side’s fortunes – and that was that!   From a quite shabby game I was left pondering who would be the Man of the Match and went for Abbey Hey’s No 2 (Daryll Grant), a player who caught the eye with his tidy tootsies, quick-thinking and desire to protect and progress – it is players like this who are making sure Abbey Hey keep moving the right way.

FINAL THOUGHT – As happens more often than not, 10 men beat 11 and produced the goods when their backs were against the wall.  Abbey Hey are a decent squad, are winning ugly at times, winning convincingly at others but, are constantly progressing and are surely going to be in the end dogfight with both barrels blazing.  They are not  a scoring machine, they are not the most eye-catching team in the league but they are getting the results and say what you will, that is all that matters.  Cheadle Town are the perennial under-achievers, they play one good game, one bad one and the next time turn out something somewhere in the middle.  Consistency is the elusive bastard that needs achieving and for me, the full 90 minutes needs playing, a full-organisational plan needs sorting and sticking to and the whole area of the pitch needs using throughout each and every match.  Tonight they started with great promise, got dragged into the mire and lost focus and fluidity – they must zone-in on their own game and keep up the direct and swift approach.  They will avoid the drop but anything less than a top half finish will not be good enough – we can only wait and see.