AND BEFORE THE BLIP

4th November 2020 - Cheadle Town 3 v 1 Cheadle Heath Nomads - The last match for a while, the reason, because we have fucked up the planet, fallen victim to idiocy and proved, in many ways, we deserve nowt less.  Harsh, think about it, a twat at the helm at No 10, a couple of twats battling it out in America for more control and a world full of people making heroes, chasing the coin and just going with a flow of utter wankery.   In between the lockdown lunacy litter has been dropped, people have consumed like nutcases and no real lesson has been learned - get back to zero ya buggers.

 As per, simplicity dictates this end, I seek out things DIY and approachable and do what I do.  If football, for instance, was best likened to many countenances then the premier league would be a flimsy glamour pageant with mugs on show comparable to the likes of Rylan Clark-Neal, Tom Jones and Donatella Versace - utterly unreal, affected and drastically processed.  The Non-League game is more like a Butlins's Beauty Contest with an array of fizzogs comparable to Hilda Baker, Mo Moreland of the Roly Poly's and Bella Emberg - far more real, natural and a trifle warted - do ya get my drift?

So, after a day of patchwork labour I had a chill at home and then headed out for a date with Lowbrow Linda the Footballing Lady of Honesty.  The temptress of hoofing promised me a good kick about and much mesh bulging action (hot damn brother). I am a faithful man but this soccer siren has a strong pull and so I was a willing victim for another 90 minutes of red hot action.  On the touchline was STP Stu, another hopeless pervert to the golden game, please give us and many others your sympathy, yanking the plank over old copies 'Match' and 'Hotspur' is not the same.

So worked up and ready, positions taken and at 7.45pm the moves were made and this is how things panned out.

The Nomads opened their night's account with some steady passing primarily within the rear ranks.  Several crosses were had at the opposite end of the pitch with several Town players having to put bonse on ball to ease any potential danger.  No 11 (Jack McConnell) had an early pop deflected over with the corner about as threatening as a man with a gun-shaped blancmange.  The hosts eventually grew into the game and as ever, No 9 (Pat Davin) was a notable menace.  The said player did have a dig, the shot was low and firm but the visiting No 1 (Joel Torrance) spread his legs quicker than Joan Collins in a stud farm and saved well.   This was a good lively game.

A free-kick for the hosts followed, the mittman rose, dropped and caused a moments panic.  The Nomads survived by the skin of their scrotums and tried to recompose themselves by striking the ball this way and that.  Soon after the aforementioned scrotal sacs were withering in fear once more as Davin probed in the angle, neatly negotiated space, beat two players and laid the ball on a plate for No 11 (Enock Amankwaa) to slap home.  The shot, from all of 3 feet out, was ballooned into the misted night sky - it was, what is known in the trade as, 'a shock laden shitter'.  

The game rolled on, Davin was slipped through next, the guest keeper slipped on to his arse, a shot was released with the gloved gent somehow regaining his feet and making a more than adequate stop.  From the resultant corner bugger all was had and the Nomads quickly released the escape valve.  McConnell scampered as though there was a plate of fish and chips awaiting at the other end of the pitch.  Alas the player was distracted by the imaginary delicacies and duly over-salivated and saw his shot deflected wide.  Again the angled kick was poor - work on the training ground needed methinks (and a bit more salt on the chips please).

With 5 minutes left on the timepiece the Nomads cultivated one last flourish.  McConnell had another pop with the globe skewing well away from the target zone.   As luck would have it the spinning sphere landed at the feet of No 6 (Ashley Crank) who buried without fuss - now where did that come from?

The final sequences of the period were ragged in the extreme and as both teams wandered off for the break we wondered which way this one would finish with the guests somehow in the position of ascendancy.

Myself and Stu stayed put for half-time and chatted with the Nomad's ex-manager Andy Gray.  Andy was still as keen as ever, supportive of his side but not eager to plunge back into the managerial position as yet.  Myself and Stu are thinking of setting up a new team called Covid Utd where all player's will be riddled with viruses and other ailments therefore guaranteeing opponents will socially distance and allow us to bag many goals.  If we can make sure our leprosy suffering frontman Carl Crumble can stay in one piece before the season starts Mr Gray may be appointed as the new manager (rubber gloves will be provided and of course a needle and thread in case Mr Crumble's nob falls off).

And back to the game.  A tepid start was eventually warmed up with a Town advancement.  Davin flicked on with his glabrous belfry, a pass saw the player receive once more, put in a sharp cross that saw an upending in the box.  A lifeline was dangled, the home team were given a spot kick which Davin drilled down the middle to level the score - was this the start of the comeback trail?

Next action and a Town free-kick entered the box, chaos ensued, pinball was played out, the Nomads were lucky to get out of a very tricky situation.  Again the home lads progressed, No 8 (Matthew Russell) who had been given space aplenty all night came on, put a cross in that resulted in a superb defensive header but the ball dropped into a position of peril and was pounced upon by No 14 (Max Greenhalgh) who gave his side a deserved lead.  This was the turn-around complete, now Nomads what have ye got?

In the squint of a psychopaths leery eye the guests were soon racing away.  A placed pass saw No 7 (Kyle Foley) appear and be in a position to level the score.  The keeper left his line and spread himself well, the save was better than perhaps initially deemed.   The Town now had to indulge in a spot of net-protection, they did it well and eventually latched on to a stray ball,  One pass, two pass and bang, Amankwaa had brought up the home team's third out of nothing, I felt as though that was that and it proved to be the case.  The Nomads struggled and strained like a constipated Hippo, one cross came and caused a terse episode of havoc but the front players reacted as quick as dung beetles stuck in some rather tacky defecation - the chance went begging.  The game dissolved, the hosts killed time, the referee decided enough was enough.  Man of the Match goes to Cheadle Town's No 8 (Matthew Russell) who was a dynamic force of encouragement, as steady as a rock and a man who was always in space and being an eternal option.  Enjoy the break fella.

And homewards, into the mist for a time to catch up on other fronts - it will happen, tis no time to be idle and contemplate one's arse-crack although the old posterial pubes do need a trim.

FINAL THOUGHTS - a good night out again, fine company and a decent match viewed and by heck, the weather was fine and dandy.  Cheadle Heath Nomads have had a decent run and yet have come unstuck during their last two matches.  The reasons - well, from my touchline perspective there is too much time spent dawdling at the back, limited options when surging and just a little lack of mithering when the opponents are on the ball.  Before the season started things were not looking great for the Nomads, now they are a whole lot brighter, the recent two blips are best forgotten, there is time now to reflect and crack on.  Cheadle Town looked to have better prospects before the campaign began, in fairness they have still not got fully flowing and have struggled to find true balance.  They have some good components in the mix though but need to push on when the league recommences.  Ambition is still high but they are in a tough league and could be the ultimate underachievers.  They deserved the win tonight and this could be the start of a good roll - tis a ruddy shame things are on hold again but there ya go, the titties are tough and if we don't crack on with a bit more sense they will be mighty rough too.  As per, tis onwards, sidewards and a few angles thrown in here - until next time - up the underdogs!

WIN WIN AND A WIND IN THE WILLYS

31st October 2020 - Winnington Avenue 94 6 v 2 Newton Athletic - We may be facing another lockdown due to that fat lump of lard who has been given the role of PM (how the Hell did that happen)?  I am not going to get down by this impending bout of insanity, you see in the main people reap what they sow and I am making sure I sow wildflowers and positive vibes instead of ego claptrap and self-indulgent spores of shittery - here is my latest report.  The weather turned foul during the morn, as windy as the bean-eating cowboys whose Saddles were Blazing and as damp as the brow of Donald Trump when asked to decipher the meaning of 'truth'.  Undeterred we cracked the whip and did our chores, prepared for the football fix and headed out with brollies packed and in my case, a pair or Larry Luvlumps Latex Undies protecting the nether regions.  We arrived nearly 2 hours before kick-off, anyone turning up wearing a syrup or with an allergic reaction to enthusiasm had my deepest sympathy - this wasn't the place for such folk. There was a breeze whipping early on whilst we had a wander and found several species of fungi, it was good to see Lactarius blennius still holding on.

Back at the car park we met STP Stu, entered the main ground and spent an idle hour nattering and watching the teams get set up.  The referee kindly provided me with teamsheets and I was set to scribble a report.  This is the textual twaddle I came up with.

The home team made the greater proportion of early running with much urgency and pressurising passing the result.  No 11 (Steven Warburton) was a constant release valve and provided many crosses at the end of his scampering runs.  One early delivery found the cranium of No 10 (Thomas Sneyd) who could only nut wide - it was a chance.  The guests certainly needed to relax and get a grip on the game and this was reemphasised when WA94 came forth again with No 8 (Joshua Mainwaring) firing firmly, the keeper blocking but allowing No 9 (Joseph Lanceley) to waltz in and tap home to bag the all important first goal.  

The home team remained in total command, almost like a teenage Hitler playing with his set of toy soldiers - 'Zee vill submit you Schweinhunds'.  A free-kick came next, surprise, surprise it was for the resident team.  The delivery was decent, No 4 (Ben Lambert) appeared with the ball on the line and pulled off the impossible by completely missing the target zone, as in the words of Paul Daniels when he actually cut a woman in half by mistake 'now that's tragic'.

From nothing Newton Athletic advanced with the apex of the move coming via No 11 (Ben Woodman) who fired and made the keeper earn his crust.  Two corners followed, the first saw the hosts lucky to survive, the second needed nutting off the line and clearing.  The ball was soon redelivered, No 6 (Adam Pownall) was clattered, the outcome, a penalty kick.  No 9 (Dan Christian) stepped up, stroked the  ball home with consummate ease - the game was now all square, what a ruddy shocker!

The restart came, WA94 strung together several passes, Lanceley provided a swift cross, Sneyd put in a header, 2 - 1 - one could almost here Newton Athetic's erections of success immediately deflate - it wasn't a pleasant sound - flaccid-tastic!

The game now settled, both teams battled well until Lambert for the home lads struck a beauty of a pass with the outside of his foot, Warburton crossed first time and No 14 (Joel Hind) put the ball into the net - a superb example of keeping things simple, effective and stunning.  Newton Athletic stuttered along trying to snatch a goal back, a high ball saw No 10 (Lewis Davenport) collect and release but the kinetic energy transmitted to the globe was minimal. The keeper easily held whilst scratching his arse with one hand and contemplating what he was having for tea following this kick-about.  Newton remained undeterred, 2 corners and 2 shots came, no joy was had but this was better. Suddenly Davenport for the visitors had a pop from distance, the ball flew straight and true and disappointingly rattled the underside of the bar, the player deserved so much more.

The last gasps saw a corner for Newton, the ball entered the box, much panic ensued.  Within the melee of sweating bods and swinging legs was the Athletic's No 5 (Sam Morgan) who stayed composed and slotted home - what a good way to finish the half.

The break was brief, I took a quick wander to expel liquid gold and returned to the viewing spot to have a drink from the flask and snaffle a choccy bar.  Initially this game looked as though it would be one way traffic, full marks to the travelling pack for making this a contest.

Half two commenced.  Lanceley for the Avenue had a weak header, the Atheltic came close when a cross nearly caused an own goal, this game was still up for grabs.  As Newton dashed and darted a defensive error came and Warburton profited and neatly rounded the keeper.  The goal gaped like the rear orifice of a bloke awaiting a prostate inspection, all the striker had to do was penetrate and feel the gland of triumph - alas is was not to be, the target zone remained unpenetrated, the upright was clattered, any doctor carrying out the same mistake would surely be jailed, the player needs a talking to.

The competition was still tight, the next goal could lead to so much excitement.  Newton's Christian had an attempt on goal but the shot lacked 'oomph'. Winnington responded, No 7 (Sam Didsbury) blazed a cross across the face of goal and soon after Warburton had a decent dig that needed pushing behind for the corner.  The angled kick came, the keeper was left flapping like a cockerel with a 3-pin plug up its jacksie, No 5 (Liam Baker) was at the back post and bumbled the ball home in unorthodox fashion -  4 - 2 - the exact score I had predicted before the game.

With a prediction on the line the minutes passed away but Winnington were hungry for more with several shots coming and a bullet header needed gloved assistance to see it over the bar.  Newton were still looking to get back into this one.  A low ball came, No 17 (Ross Kelman) swivelled quicker than the eyes of a porn addict when confronted with a 4-tittied woman.  The release that followed was on target, the save was spot on.  With the scoreline looking set the hosts dashed, a delivery came and Duffy finished without fuss. My prediction was pissed on, the game was finished as a contest and a few droplets of rain now started to fall from the sky.  Soon after Warburton had a other chance to increase the lead and bag a goal, the keeper produced a fine save.  Didsbury was the next player to progress, the ball was played to Duffy, a severe twatting followed, 6 - 2 it was - icing on the cake methinks.

The game now wound down, no team came close to further bulging of the net, the referee duly blew, what complaints could we have.  8 goals, plenty of action, a few fungi and a couple of Buzzards came and said hello too.  Man of the Match was a tricky choice, I thought No 16 (Ross Collins) was very effective for the Winny Warriors  and exuded loads of energy, displayed a quick footballing brain and was forever in the action.  For the time allowed the stint was effective, that is all one can ask.

As we drove home the Heavens opened and we listened to some obscure DIY music.  We like to keep all things earthy and real - you know the script - Non-League, Nature and Noise - simple.

FINAL THOUGHT - A new ground visited in the Cheshire League and some fine action had.  To be fair a place to get a brew and some snacks wouldn't have gone amiss and somewhere to rest the tired buttocks is always a nice option.  These minor niggles shouldn't detract from a decent trip out that saw Newton Athletic get turned over but still produce enough to give them hope for the future.  They battled 'til the end, fed on the odd scrap dropped and showed some good movement at times.  Their No 11 (Ben Woodman) was a tricky player and their No 14 (Tom Lane) ran his conkers into the ground and was deserved of something better - I hope to catch this lot again mighty soon.  Winnington today though, were very much the better team and played with great authority and much silky smooth attention.  From a critical standpoint many chances were wasted, they had a period when they seemed to switch off and at times they were a bit loose on the ball but hey, overall this was an impressive performance that could have attained a goal tally of double figures.  The next time I see these guys will be hopefully when they play my local team Denton Town - this should be a real test for both units - I may need to dose up on Bromide to keep the excitement levels down!

DULL DRAW ON A DULLER NIGHT

28th October 2020 - Cheadle Town 1 v 1 Alsager Town - Two nights of footy on the bounce making sure we get the games in before Old Mother Climate parts her nebulous privates and pisses on the weekends fixtures and, the shroomage.  Today I had had a long day at work tidying up loose ends and catching up in many areas.  I wandered home and recorded a few fungi before the skies darkened, then, when home, topped up and finished the recent Arley Hall list to 113 species.  The species added were two Brittlegills, which had me wondering which team tonight would be showing their fragile nature and crumbling under any applied pressure.  Who would be the first team to spread their hyphal strands and feed on the root system of their opponents and duly spread spores of success via their productive ball booting basidia.  I may be overdoing it on the fungal front, my willy is looking decidedly like a Pestle-Shaped Puffball, my anus is sporting a nice circular troop of the aptly named Fairy Ring Champignon and my nipples are lactating like mad, with the milk turning yellow when applied to an handkerchief.  Not good is it!  Despite these complaints and a touch of Hairy Curtain Crust between the toes I hobbled down to tonight's ground and arrived in good time to natter and catch up with the fine gent on the gate, and of course, with STP Stu.  Tea and choccy were a certainty and after acquiring both we marched to the far side of the ground and were joined by Gareth and Sandra, 2 more keen onlookers.  We were all armed with brollies thus guaranteeing the night to be droplet free - let us hope goals would be more free in raining forth.

The game began with little in the way of hair-raising action and if the truth be told, set the script for the rest of the night.  A mis-kick by the Alsager keeper nearly resulted in a goal but a recovery was had and blushes were spared.  Alsager made most of the early running and were making sure the home ranks never truly settled.  The Town eventually summoned a break with No 9 (Pat Davin) breaking, shaking off his marker and squaring the ball to No 11 (Max Greenhalgh) whose shot was dragged disappointingly wide.  

Some end to end action came with many raised voices and claims for this, that and t'other.  Several surges came each way, some solid last ditch tackles were witnessed with the hosts ruffled by the visitors generous helpings of gumption and gusto.  The game raced on, there was little need for my pen to waltz across the paper until a blazing shot came from the Bullets pack only for their own No 8 (Jordan Stafford) to be in the way and perhaps deny a sure opening goal.  From here the home lads progressed with real spunk in their stride, Davin provided a cross which No 10 (Enock Amankwaa) missed but clattered into the keeper and came off second best.   The referee pointed to the spot, it seemed a strange decision from where we were stood but the Alsager lads accepted it and watched as Davin stepped up to wallop home the ball and give his side the lead against the run of play.

Matters now ground on, Cheadle looked to take charge, Alsager became ragged but still battled with good zest and gave the opposing force little room to create.  To be fair, The A's were the better side toward the break but just the final touches at the latter end let them down - a recurring theme with many teams this season it seems.

For the break me and Stu went for a brew, on cold dark night it is what we do.  Alas for us, there was a queue, and we only made it back in time, to view, half 2.  Up yours Lord Byron!

The chasing period followed on from where its predecessor left off.  A couple of substitutions came for each team and then, as Alsager pressed, Cheadle Town countered with a glorious ball from No 7 (Limpitshi Bongwanga) finding Davin who rounded the keeper but was pushed out wide.  Still the quick-thinking striker managed to cross the ball, with Amankwaa striding up and hitting the bar with his effort. No 8 (Matty Russell) had a pop seconds later but found the keeper quick to react and save.  

Alsager continued to stay afloat, their No 10 (Ryan Hibbert) had an effort but the power was lacking - other than this no major threat was being brandished.  The hosts continued to compete, No 2 (Thomas Hendley) had a pop straight at the keeper and then No 4 (Andrew Lunt) was threaded through but the opposing No 4 (William Aldred) read the danger and executed a stunning tackle to negate the peril.  Lunt came again soon after, a shot was deflected, the guest No 1 (Eric Merner) produced a choice save and made sure this game was going to the wire.  

We now peregrinated further into the chilly night, the result still looked touch and go when The Bullets' No 11 (Maximillian Lonsdale) ran for a hopeless ball in the corner, somehow managed to collar the globe, elude his close markers, make it into the box and get unceremoniously tumbled.  The penalty awarded was great reward for his troubles and No 16 (Callum Collinson) rattled home the spot kick to get matters back to all square.

The short stretch to the finishing line saw Alsager push for the win and Cheadle scamper.   Davin for the hosts produced a superb cross ball that saw a wayward cross come instead of a shot and then a Cheadle break was denied by a superb tackle and the resultant corner saw Davin flick over with the head.  The final whistle was welcome, a share of the spoils extremely fair.

This was not a classic, a stodgy game in part with much rough and tumble.  One player who deserves the Man of the Match choice was Cheadle Town's No 3 (Miles Vare) who had one of the busiest nights, kept his head and composure and ended up muddy, fagged out but with a good stint under his grubby belt. Get the Daz Automatic out lad, that kit needs a good rinse through.

FINAL THOUGHT - And so another game that exposed 2 teams not fully firing on all cylinders and just lacking that fluidity to take them on to better things.   Alsager came and worked hard,  they set out to disrupt and try and win the game, this was an admirable effort from a team who would not be anyone's first choice to be in the upper echelons of the league come the end of the season.  Again the key is to get those shooting boots sharpened up, too many teams I am seeing of late are lacking that killer touch and one or two are going to pay a heavy price for it.  Cheadle Town didn't get into any sort of stride tonight and had random patches of play that promised much but which ultimately failed to deliver.  They got embroiled in a patchwork contest and made to dig deep to get any sighting of goal.  The plans are big I hear at this local ground, there is still a lot of work to be done to make things come to fruition and waiting down the line are many teams who will be more lethal in front of goal.  Next weeks local Derby is all set up to be a choice affair - I just hope the recent dose of Fungal Elbow doesn't flair up before hand - someone has to do these wanky reports!

ALL SQUARE, ALL FAIR

27th October 2020 - Cheadle Heath Nomads 1 v 1 New Mills - The year has cracked on whilst many have cracked up.  The key is to ignore propaganda, exaggeration, the doubters and down-shouters and much verbal masturbation.  Rolling onwards like the veritable stone trying to shake off the cloying mundane moss I have been snowed under of late but have remained as productive as ever.  These dark nights will test the mettle but I have good company in my home, many interests and a collection of 'Invisible Man' films to watch as well as some books on art to study.  I once knew a man who constructed abstract art work using nothing more than anally propelled substances - he was a 'fartist'.  Some of his pictures were ace, some just pure shit, I never could get my head around his work known as 'Marrow Eating Man With A Spanner' - apparently it was a pictorial slogan against the protests of fat-arsed women libbers - and here's me thinking it was a portrait of Napoleon.  It wasn't long after this I stopped taking Fly Agaric Fungi - suddenly everything became a little more clearer.  Now this digression may seem to have nothing to do with tonight's match but to make such a verdict would be wrong.  You see prior to the match I tried to predict the scoreline using satanic fartism and when checking the pebble-dashed canvas noted that a 1 - 1 draw was the outcome.  I also kicked a heavily buttocked feminist up the posterior on the way to the ground and saw the aforementioned fungi earlier in the day - see, there is a reason to the madness.

So, I arrived, nattered, found a pie-hawking position and felt confident of the defecated draw predicted.  Read on, I may be holding aloft the tell-tale turd art in triumph or sticking a marrow up my whizzway to avoid any further idiot forecasts - surely by this point you are already aroused or are reaching for the shut-down button on your computer - success comes in many forms.

The start to the game was rather tepid but the hosts did warm things up a little with 2 quality crosses into their opponent's perilous zones although the incoming assassins were lacking in loftiness to make the critical contact.  2 angled kicks followed, the first was played short before a solid shot was nutted wide, the second was finalised by a decent volley wide by No 10 (Charlie Mulgrew).  The Nomads continued to press, several piercing balls came but just strayed too far from the attackers feet.  The travelling team were being rushed and kept on the edge but all the while they were keeping the scoresheet blank and making sure they remained a valid threat.

The half progressed with much effort but with little coming in the way of chances.  The Millers did cultivate several rapid raids with No 9 (Bed Edgson) and No 10 (Michael Connor) obvious target men.  From the rear ranks though No 2 (Jack Wray) hammered forth under good steam and was unlucky to run out of playing surface before the ball went dead.  Soon after the same scampering blighter came forth, passed to Edgson who posted a decent cross only for the globe to be plucked out of the air by the rising keeper who hung like an Hummingbird about to take a sip of nectar - graceful man, graceful.  

From here to the break New Mills became the better team, Wray continued to be an option, No 11 (Shelton Payne) exposed swift feet and became a problem and the Nomads did well not to concede at the death.  A free-kick was had by the guests and swerved towards goal only for the keeper to save with relative comfort.  The half ended soon after, this was a middling contest with two well-matched teams.  My prediction for 1 - 1 was still in the mix, the 2 pints of blood I have offered up to Beelzebub after the foul artwork was created were doing the trick.

The break was spent nattering to folk, comparing views on Fray Bentos Pies and considering what footy is up and coming.  The weather was set to turn utterly foul, the fixture list will have to be consulted day by day and my box-set of Joe 90 episodes prepared for back-up - ooh the speccy bastard.

Half-two - a quick start by the guests with a swift move seeing Payne get the ball in the clear, fire and be denied by a quick thinking mittman.  Up the other end we traversed, No 2 (Craig Coates) pushed on, a ball was posted, played out and then knocked back in.  Count Confusion decided to make a cameo appearance and bewildered many bonses as the ball pinged here and there and wouldn't play by the mathematical script.  Suddenly No 7 (Kyle Foley) was on it, had a pop and a wicked deflection sent the ball looping over the keeper and into the awaiting squared-off non-festive stocking. It was against the run of play but they all count!

The game now became more spacious, players were having a lot more room.  No 11 (Kieren Herbert) had the next punt at goal and was unlucky not to bag a strike with an unexpected looper.  The Nomads were now upping the ante and looking a better prospect but New Mills sprung, Payne darted, delivered and No 12 (Benito Lowe) looked destined to bury but somehow the ball flew over the bar.  The action returned to the opposite end of the pitch.  A free-kick in the corner saw No 9 (Richard Tindall) eventually collect, protect and propel.  The shot went behind from a corner which gave birth to a suckling of no hope.  The Millers advanced next and won a free-kick of their own with the ball booming the wall and then being blazed back and saved, yet again, by a very alert mitter.

This was now more like it, with 2 teams going for the end glory with greater expression.  Herbert for the Nomads was putting in his usual honest stint and provided the final cross from another swift onslaught.  The defending pack survived...just, but the same marauder was soon at it again and upended for his troubles.   The gratis hoofing saw the ball enter the box, get cleared and then volleyed back on the side-foot.  This would have been a choice strike if the ball had decided to stay below the horizontal.  Having said that, I am sure Nomad's Club Secretary Neville Pearson would be a bit of a looker if he had blue eyes, long flowing locks and a pair of 44DD bristol cities (you see it is all about what might have been).

Away from this soul-shuddering vision and back to the match with New Mills now a growing force and looking to get back on equal terms.  As soon as these thoughts were put to paper I looked up to see another Miller's attack, No 17 (Samual Amankwaa) was on the ball some distance out and at a slight angle.  This didn't seem to deter the advancing menace from having a crack at goal.  The ball flew, had good energy and a slight bend and duly found the back of the net - that was some strike and now the game was looking to be...anyone's.

The pace of the contest never let up and both teams worked up a lather trying to secure another win.  Amankwaa nearly doubled his tally soon after whilst picking up the ball and prodding goalward.  The goal-line clearance was crucial, this was now a game on a knife-edge.   Free-kicks came at each end, Tindall for the Nomads finalised the first with a header straight at the keeper and at the other end some head-football was halted when the gloved gent caught the ball and quelled any rising panic.

The last 10 minutes saw the action continue as a 'next goal wins' scenario took hold.  New Mills came close when a low drilling shot from No 7 (Darren McKnight) whistled mere inches wide and then a free-kick the same way saw the resident goalie miss the flight of the ball but recover on the second delivery and punch clear with great authority.  2 shots came at the same target zone soon after, both were close but not close enough. Just prior to the final peeps Amankwaa had space in front of goal to truly seal the deal but rolled a poor effort straight at the man between the uprights.   This was the final chance, the game ended with honours shared and I was left to ponder the Man of the Match.  For me the Cheadle Heath Nomad's No 1 (Bruno De Silva) did more than his fair share of work, kept his eyes on the ball throughout and made some saves look easier than they may have been,  At certain points, when required, he kept his team in it and made sure the defence were filled with confidence knowing they had a reliable stickman behind them.  A 'Silva' lining to a decent night's work methinks!

FINAL THOUGHT - New Mills look a decent prospect this time around with a tight defensive unit, some industrious midfield components and plenty of options up front.  They came on strong during the second half and in truth, should have perhaps pilfered the win but this was a close contest throughout and it is battles like this that will answer more questions rather than a routine win.  If I was a gambling man I would put my money on a mid table finish but wouldn't be surprised if they penetrate the upper reaches provided they can maintain team consistency and have a bit of good fortune along the way - remember this is a ruddy tough league. The Nomads are a decent team at the moment, are working with great zeal and being encouraging to one another all over the pitch.  Pre-season things were looking tough, at the moment there is a rosy hue to the forecast and if the same attitude is had by all players for the full 90 minutes of each and every game the outcome will be far better than many first deemed. Of course the odd result will not go their way and there are some teams in this league that have money to spend and therefore will carry greater weight onto the pitch but The Nomads are no push-overs and many a team is going to be in for a rude wake up call if they don't take this lot seriously.  Again as a gambling man I would go for a mid-table finish and again, I wouldn't be surprised if they did a little better.

To add, to celebrate my pre-match prediction I was going to sacrifice a hedgehog to the Dark One but I like all wildlife so instead I sent a death threat to my local MP and crapped on my neighbour's doorstep - the horned bugger will just have to make do, my next prediction however may now not be as accurate.

DAMP DUDS AND SWOLLEN NETTING

24th October 2020 - Partington Village FC 1 v 3 Denton Town - What a dreary day, those dishrag skies leaking grotty rain, the wind disrobing arboreal monoliths with uncaring abandon, the air holding a chill that pervades the marrow and just the general ambience of another year winding down and heading into those testing wintry months. By heck, tis enough to make one strip off, run down to the nearest butchers and perform indecencies with the cut-price giblets!  To stay on the right side of sanity I make sure I keep busy and pop the necessary pills.  The morn was spent updating the wildlife databases, cleaning the kitchen, knocking sweet merry Hell out of the punchbag and getting together a 'To Do' list for the coming week.  As I peered through the window my initial plans didn't look to promising and an alternative option even less inspiring.  In truth I could have easily crawled back in bed and snuggled up with an old Dickie Davies erotic novel - 'There's a Pipe in my arse with David Bryant' was tempting, 'Ping Pong Love with Desmond Douglas' equally so but if I did end up in a heap on the mattress 'Speedway Saddle Sores with Ivan Mauger' was looking especially enticing.  Thankfully I avoided the lure of 70's sporting sex and headed out to football, were the nob would have to be tickled by some Non-League reality and the trousers would be dampened by rain instead of the other stuff that I leave to your rather sinister imaginations.

We arrived in good time, had a quick wander, saw a couple of fungi and then nailed the Express Cryptic Crossword in 20 minutes.  Out for the game and the rain began with earnest persistence and teamsheets were kindly acquired from the amiable referee (take a bow Ian Cliff) who duly took a photo and e-mailed my way after the game - cheers mate.

The game eventually got rolling, albeit about 5 minutes late. 2 early corners for Denton saw a brace of headers follow and the home team act like a swarm of pubic lice when a certain powder is applied - they scurried and survived.  Another ball was tossed forth by the visiting tribe, No 9 (Brad McLaughlin) used good strength and balance, beat his marker and got a shot away.  The keeper stood his ground and made a solid save but soon after the home stickman was called into action again as No 10 (Shaq Lewys) let fly with an effort that lacked direction and was easily dealt with by the mitted man.  The Partington pack were under early pressure and were being rushed.  This situation led to the first goal as No 6 (Lewis Cooper) pilfered a Partington defender, played a cool ball to No 11 (Mauro Mendez) who touched, darted and sweetly slid the ball into the net.

With the opening goal in the bag Denton now played with exceptional impetus and rained forth.  The Village lads were on the back foot looking for scraps and had a dig via their No 12 (Reece Thompson) who couldn't keep the ball below the horizontal.  An angled kick for the guests was the next.  No 5 (Cole McGrath) was at the back post, nutted and claimed handball. The man in black was having none of it and ordered another corner kick from which bugger all was had.  As the travelling unit maintained ascendancy the fact remained that they were only 1 goal to the good and that is always a precarious position to be in.  The situation was soon proven to be unstable as the hosts pushed, No 9 (Josh McVety) was in a cornered position of little hope but still somehow managed to squeeze in a cross.  From a small snippet of space No 2 (Dean Ashford) popped up and buried in the bottom corner with little fuss.  What a bonus for a team striving for a foothold.

The half raced on, this was a decent contest despite the somewhat shite conditions.  From the midst of the murk Denton's Lewys bounded on, carved his way through the defence like an electric sausage through a gathering of addled eggs and sent forth a low, well struck shot.  The keeper saved his side's bacon but seconds later the same frontman was trying to upset the beans again with another shot that duly bulged the netting.  It looked like a further splash of sauce had been added to a tasty game but the man in the middle said offside and threw forth a dollop of sobering salt (apologies for these breakfast-based comparisons, the weather was making me peckish) and the goal was ruled out.

The Villagers still worked away, 3 shots on the bounce came, the best of which was by Thompson who wasn't too far off target.  The Town were quick to counter, Mendez provided a dazzling pass, McLaughlin darted in with the keeper to beat, the save that came was brilliant.  In the blink of an eye the saviour was sent into the bin of sin due to some overexcited dissent - oh the silly bugger.

The final action saw Denton progress, McLaughlin and Lewys linked up, the move was polished, the ball in oozing pace.  The defence stood firm and made sure matters stayed as they were for the interval - we were seemingly on for a very close contest.

The break saw myself and my good lady invade my soggy bag (now, now) and partake of the flasks of warming liquid.  It was ruddy needed and a wise pre-match move to bring these vessels of thermal salvation.  Alas we forgot a change of clothes, a hot water-bottle and a DIY inflatable dug-out to keep us dry - bastard!

Half-two saw Partington come out fast and with a glow in their legs.  Some swift passing was finalised when No 7 (Ryan Mellor) walloped over - it was worth a punt.  Denton began to turn a screw but they failed to benefit from the one man advantage.  When the home keeper did come back on the Town won a throw in, the ball entered the box and some tossing about resulted in an overhead kick by No 6 (Lewis Cooper) - the ball went straight into the recently returned mittman's arms - he looked quite grateful.  

The hosts now grew in confidence, this game was a real battle in the growing murk - the end result was far from certain.

Next action, Mendez for the guests weaved and remained as elusive as a freshly buttered eel with a bare electric wire up its arse.  The defenders were left looking on, it was a shame the end pop at goal was ruddy crap.  Soon after a move of effective simplicity came the same way as No 8 (Aaron Clayton) pushed the ball out wise, Cooper provided a cross and Lewys devoured the ground and arrived in time to strike the ball home - now that's good football.

The onus was now on the Partington pack to make the running.  No 13 (Mike Dolan) gathered and played a pass to Mellor who put in a flick header.  The keeper kept his orbs on the ball and saved well.  A free-kick came at the same target zone minutes later but the effort was tame and the hosts had to rebuild once more.  Alas the ball was soon out of play and it was Denton who had won the throw-in in an advanced position.  The globe was tossed forth, Lewys collected and became instantly possessed.  His eyes grew wide, his legs propelled him on a diagonal across the goal.  The angle was just right for an outside-of-the-foot attempt which was executed with relative ease - this was a fine one man strike from nothing and put the game to bed.

The last minutes saw the rain belt down in an avalanche of liquid javelins and no matter how much the home ranks huffed and puffed Denton Town were always in control.  The game eventually ended, one lot were drenched with delight, the other lot were just drenched.  Man of the Match goes to Denton Town's No 8 (Aaron Clayton) and even though he got substituted late on when he was part of the game he displayed great alertness, played some sweet passes, was never afraid to jump in the trenches and get stuck in and provide a constant source of communication and encouragement - t'was grand to see.

We two neutrals soon pootled off slightly dampened but pleased with a fair game seen, next time we visit though we will check the ruddy forecast.

FINAL THOUGHT - Partington Village FC were placed under the billy-club from early doors and in truth never really seemed to get into their stride.  Days like this happen and next time they need to make sure they leave the traps like whippets with a dose of the shits.  Saying this the positives came via the 'never-say-die' attitude, the ability to squeeze in a chance from nothing and the fact that they kept the bonses down and stayed focused.  Sometimes the ball doesn't run the way you want it and the team you are playing are just better on the day - tis how you bounce back that matters.   Denton Town are looking a complete unit now and, to be fair, should have scored more than they did today.  The team has a good balance of flair, solidity, head down focus and willing runners.  All that is needed is consistency and for players to fully gel into one working pack.  I can see the improvement with each and every viewing, this lot can be in the final shake-up come the end of the season, they just need to roll with the dips and make sure they ride the highs as long as possible.  I think Denton Town are guaranteed top 4 finish (at least).  Oh bugger it, my neck has been extended and is on the line.  Take note though - Non-League Football has a great knack of making one look a right pillock - tis a feeling one has to get used to.

WHEN TWO TOWNS GO TO WAR

20th October 2020 - Congleton Town 1 v 0 Hanley Town - It seems like an age since myself and my wonderful wife were last at this chosen ground tonight and we were very much looking forward to settling in and watching 2 teams battle out, what looked on paper, a very competitive contest.  This is one of our favourite haunts with the chips and tea a most important part of the visit due to them being, as stated on several occasions, the best in the NWCFL.  We indulged once more, picked a nice sitting point, scoffed and slurped and nattered about art, the upcoming game and our daughter who is a busy bee and, just like her parents, trying to be decent, put back and pootle on.  The teams warmed up, a crowd gathered and then prior to kick-off we are requested to don a mask to watch the game.  We duly moved to a standing point rather than smother ourselves and so hoped that the rain would stay away and most of the match would be battled out near to our new viewing position - we don't ask for much in life!

So the game got underway, Hanley attired in dashing grey were the first unit to trespass into territory labelled danger as a 3 pass sequence was finalised by No 11 (Daniel Needham) who, despite having a space, could only place his shot into the abdomen of the awaiting keeper.  The Congleton response took a few minutes to fully brew and eventually came via No 9 (Aaron Johns) who darted, let fly with great impetus and forced the mittman to make a quite smart save.  The game grew in pace and, may it be said, tetchiness, which was far from conducive in making for a free-flowing and attractive game.  Hanley managed to garner 3 corners on the bounce, each one was efficiently dealt with by the home pack and a breakthrough didn't look like coming any time soon.

Hanley came once again, a superb crossball found Needham who dashed, hammered the ball across the face of goal only for the two incoming belfries to arrive just a fraction of a second too late.  True chances now became like a first edition copy of Arthur Runcibles 'The History of the Spoon' - a rare thing indeed with Hanley shading matters and looking the most likely to score but with Congleton rigid in defence and keeping matters tight.  Despite the home team's close marshalling Hanley came again, No 8 (Callum Feeney) dashed and ended up on the floor inside the box.  A penalty shout was had, it seemed to be given and then taken away - one set of players were livid, the other offered great applause to the officials - can you guess which was which?  Ooh the twisted buggers.  

The affair now became a little too feisty for its own good with many players using their gobs rather than their feet and not helping the flow of the contest.  The hosts eventually had a flourish, a shot blazed from the midst of the action but the save that followed was more than adequate.  Again the reborn home pack came, some brisk passing resulted in No 9 (Aaron Johns) walloping from fairly close in, again the No 1 (Adam Lawrence) did enough and tipped neatly over.  A corner followed, all heads were missed once more - were we destined for another lowly scoring game.

The half ended with more niggles and a lack of expression on the globe, I was hoping the second period would see the noggins get more zoned in and both teams go for the full-on win.

It was too far to get a brew for half-time, we suspected there would be a queue and besides we couldn't be arsed to move.  To add, of late I had been starved of goals, my footballing gut was rumbling and I needed a feast from the onion bag - surely this wasn't going to be a strike free bullet, no wonder I didn't have enough energy to purchase a liquid dipped bag.

The teams came out for period two, the home lads had a renewed vitality and went about their work more quietly (it was good to see). A corner was earned, No 8 (Jonathan Beaumont) had the ball at his feet, the shot failed to come quick enough and when it did a firm block was made.  Another shot came, another body got in the way - the action was building, hold on tight ya buggers,

Hanley pounced next, the move was sweet, No 7 (Tom Ashton) led a break, a cut back was cleared with No 8 (Callum Feeney) sending forth a howler that went inches over the bar.  The game was on a 50/50 tightrope, one goal would certainly win this one but who the Hell would bag it.  Congo burst a scrotal sac next, a low ball into the box met the cranium of No 5 (Richard Duffy) but his neck lacked the multi-jointed assets of a Barn Owl and the ball was sent wide.  Hanley looked a trifle rattled but kept their heads on the job and looked to sneak a poke at goal.  Ashton did have a punt but the effort was weak and never in danger of bulging the meshing.

Flying forth next were the hosts, No 10 (Jordan Johnson) lashed over and then No 8 Beaumont executed a cute dummy, Johnson was on it and his cross was unfortunate not to be touched home by the incoming No 12 (Daniel Cope).  Soon after this close call a coming together in the corner saw No 3 (Jonathan Swale) get sent off for the hosts.  It was a moment of embarrassing madness - if Congleton ended up losing this, this was the man to blame.  

This was now a good game of football, there was little in it with a penalty shout for Congleton waved away and a Hanley header from a free kick not finding the target area.  Soon after and a corner was won by the resident pack due to impeccable work by Beaumont.  The ball was sent from the angle, the keeper grabbed with ease and then seemingly clobbered an opposing player and was given his marching orders.  As per, the only virus to be truly afraid of is 'insanity' - tonight we witnessed two folk who were truly struck down with it.  To rub salt in a gaping wound a penalty was given and in the 94th minute at that.  If the ball was buried that would be it and after the previous night's last minute 1 - 0 penalty win I had a strong sense of Deja Vu to say the least. So, up stepped No 17 (Aaron Bott), the man between the sticks was now the Hanley Sub Joseph Thomspon - who would be the end of game hero.  The answer, Bott, who stroked the ball home with good pace and brought great joy to his teammates and the home fans.  A few kicks later the game was over - by heck The Bears had left it late.  Man of the Match was a tough choice but I thought Congleton Town's No 8 (Jonathan Beaumont) had a solid game, put himself about, had good ground coverage and made one or two select runs in the midst of some quick action.  Job done.

We nipped off sharpish after the game, a slight chill had set in and we were fagged.  We had avoided a goalless draw again...just.  Things are getting too close for comfort.

FINAL THOUGHT - The game tonight was of two halves I thought.  The first was marred by too much griping, name calling and a lack of focus which really affected both teams.   The second half was more like it with a well-fought tussle had between two units perfectly balanced.  Hanley look a fair bet to hold their own again this season and are pretty solid throughout.  I couldn't judge them too harshly on their sharpness in front of goal tonight as they were marked well and given little in the way of a direct opportunity.  It has been a while since I visited their ground, maybe I have an excuse to do so again and give a clearer verdict.  Congleton Town frustrate, one always expects them to do better than they do but they seem to fall short of the mark.  Tonight they spluttered in part, flowed like molten larva in others and, if they keep their heads on the game, stick to the basics and keep on galloping with belief they may have their best finish for a goodly while. A final minute penalty is perhaps the touch of luck needed to light the touchpaper and send the team on a good roll - I see they are playing Avro next - that will be a tough one, I will be watching mighty closely and in the meantime, look forward to my next trip down here and of course, to caning another tray of chips!

WASH-OUT

19th October 2020 - Stockport Town 1 v 0 Cammell Laird 1907 - A long fungalised walk was had the day before this game, we wandered 8 miles, clocked up many species and came home fagged out with a bundle of fungal specimens for microscope work.  I had booked three days off work and day one was spent looking at micro-intricacies and getting the myco-list up to 132 species.  This straining of the cranial juices had somehow twanged a cerebral wire and I ended up suffering from that rare disease known as 'Abstract Tourettes' (shit, twat, wank) - see what I mean.  I apologise if the following football report is invaded with such abnormalities (frog nobs) but at least I am still scribbling and trying to make the best of matters.  I arrived at the ground in good time, nattered with STP Stu and Gareth and Sandra Evans with only myself opting for an home win.  Just prior to kick off the weather started to turn (rubber nipples and arsecracks) and I was hoping the football could be a little more warming - it turned out I was a foolish imp hoping for the impossible.

The game began (tortoise turds), the action was tame and both teams looked to be snuffing one another out with the guests obviously coming with the game plan of 'soak and spring'.  A few lively tackles brought great uproar from both benches, in truth, there was nothing malicious to be seen.  The Town made most of the early running with the Laird happy to absorb.  The host's problem was the lack on inventiveness up front and that decisiveness when faced with a possible chance to have a pop.  Matters were not helped when the resident No 9 (Aaron Knight) limped off and the rain began to tumble with more urgency. 

Halfway through the first half and little was happening to speak of leaving me to consider sitting by the fireside, sipping tea and watching a re-run of Hawaii Five-O (Fuck em' Danno).   At last a shot on target came as the home No 2 (Chiek Thiam) propelled himself forth with great desire and let fly from a fair range.  The ball stayed at an adequate height for the keeper to make a good one-handed save which led to a corner.  The angled kick brought no further excitement and the game progressed to the break in a purely flatline and quite numbing manner (pubic piss-ants).  The guests seemed happier with the situation, they were utterly disciplined and suffocation their opponents ambition - the problem was, many on the sideline were becoming bored shitless.

The rain abated, we onlookers stood firm and hoped for a ray of sunshine - if not, the magic mushrooms I had recently found would have to suffice.

The second period came, The Town had a free-kick, it produced bugger all as did a corner and another 2 gratis-boots - what a crock this game was.  Eventually Thiam for the hosts produced a spark with a great run that earned his side another kick from the angle.  The ball was delivered, the guests were solid, No 9 (Luke Blondel) was at the apical part of a break, No 6 (Leighton Egan) was at the back and produced a quite exceptional tackle to quell the threat.  From the corner the ball was nutted out and boomed back, alas the shot flew with pace right over the crossbar.

Next action (by heck this was getting too much), Cammell Laird gained possession from nothing, No 12 (Jay Thomas) let rip a 35 yard howitzer that sizzled through the air and headed to the top corner.  The save by the home No 1 (Morgan Piper) was outrageously top class, what a great moment, a veritable explosion in a desert.  From here The Town tried to move up a gear, No 8 (Shakeel Jones-Griffiths) was tumbled on the edge of the box but the free-kick by No 12 (Rourke Neal) was disappointing (fart potatoes).  

The final stages of a quite indigestible game came, Laird had a corner delivered but was headed wide and then a last gasp flourish saw Stockport's Jones-Griffiths shoot on the turn, the keeper block and in-box havoc ensue.  In the midst of the mayhem a shout rent the air, pleading for a penalty - it seemed an infringement had occurred and the eagle-eyed referee had witnessed it.  A Cammell Laird player was sent walking, it was the last minute and No 15 (Max Dickov) shouldered the responsibility to bury the ball and bag three points.  The ball was placed and stroked home with aplomb - it turned out to be the last action and at 1 - 0 we finished the night's events (buttocks, bollocks and boiled eggs).  Man of the Match goes to Cammell Laird's No 5 (Callum Hulmston) who may have ended up in the showers earlier than expected but who I thought gave a cracking performance at the back, helped hold the ranks in position and who really worked up a good lather - I hope this mention is of some consolation.

FINAL THOUGHT - I am always upbeat about footy (conkers, toenails and botty thrush) but tonight there was little to be positive about.  Shitty weather, two teams blanking each other out and little in the way of chances.  My mate Gareth said there were only 4 real shots on goal - I reckon he could be in danger of exaggeration there.  Cammell Laird, to give them credit, came to stifle and stifle they did and on one or two occasions nearly pinched a victory.  The late penalty blow against them wasn't deserved but if you indulge in these tactics then you play with fire - lesson learned tonight I hope (sizzle, todge, ouch).  Stockport Town continued from where they left off last time I watched them and severely underwhelm.  Their play is quick, smooth and sharp at times but when it comes to carrying out the final assassination they just seem to be lacking and always in a state of utter indecision.  There will come a game when they will brush aside a team with a bundle of goals but if they continue to play like this then it will be a long old season that may get on one or two peoples tits.  I will be back come the next Monday night fixture - I hope I attend and return home in a more stable mental condition (belch, fanny, mallard shit)!