THE FAT BAG SINGS THE CHEADLE BLUES

14th December 2024 - Cheadle Town 1 v 1 Litherland Remyca - After a quick rise and swill, myself and my gem of a lady were out feeding the birds at Poynton Pool and of course, recording a few species and noting the odd fungus.  This may be regarded by the mush as crank behaviour, with the future of kids in peril I wonder what the verdict will be in a few years.  We go forth, we see, we appreciate reality and do our bit - and all without thought of show, sheen and flimsy shittery - punk DIY ethics held high - kaboom.  Soon after the walk we were in a fine eatery in Poynton, indulging in some quite excellent nosh that was rather pricey but worth it.  It was good to be the scruffiest bastard in town with the loveliest woman on my arm.  I bet I was the only one who pissed behind the church, noted 5 Redwings and a few lovely fungi.  

After a mooch in a few shops we headed to the footy where I was dropped off whilst the punky music blared from the car.  My missus headed home, she was off out with my daughter and her friend, a ruddy Panto was their choice of viewing, however the thought of kicking Widow Twanky in the twat and shoving Jack's beanstalk up his arse was very tempting.  I entered the ground, had a natter with the guy on the gate, this time about fishing.  I had recently seen a 33lb 6oz Pike and the fellow communicator was getting back into fishing - the jaw wagging content made sense.  Soon after my perch (see what I did there) was chosen, I was sipping coffee and scribbling notes regarding a game that unfolded like this:-

A lowly crowd had all eyes on the ball at 3pm as matters got underway on another mild winter's day (global warming, hold on tight folks).  Cheadle Town opened proceedings with a sanguine flourish that earned plenty of up-field possession that was only marred by one pass too many.  A corner was eventually earned, a high ball was posted, a header borne but a guest player had been nobbled - goal kick.  Cheadle Town came again, No 4 (Sean Moscrop) put in a solid dash, the cross that followed was a trifle too long.  The ball eventually was played back, No 10 (Daniel Byrnes) worked space and dug out a pop that was straight into the meat of the keeper's carcass.  No 7 (George Lewis) for the hosts helped maintain the early pressure with some good battling gusto.  A free-kick and a corner produced piss-all though - Remyca were holding firm.

More advances came via the way of the Town, little in the way of trouble was made for the travelling tribe although one header at goal should have brought the first goal I felt.  A drab period came, this allowed the Litherland lads to worm their way back into matters but all they could brandish as threat was a long shot from their No 11 (James Hammill) that was straight at the host No 1 (James Hodges). Cheadle began to reassert their presence but all the while, up-front creativity was blatantly lacking.  A corner for Cheadle came, entered the box that was a right old befuddling mush, full marks were given to the Remyca for standing their ground and remaining watertight.

The half progressed with tidy pace, a suggestion of ill-tempered spice crept in that the referee did well to subdue.  The main area of action was in the middle of the playing arena, the closest we came to a goal was when the home keeper nearly made a hash of a back pass but somehow managed to save his bacon and not put himself up for the 'Twat of the Weekend' award.  From here we saw one more Town advance with a corner coming after a great run by No 11 (Kaleb Parkinson). The ball entered the mush, a near post flick of impudent intent by No 6 (Matthew Smyth) saw the ball squeeze through a pack of pegs and nestle in the meshing - the game needed this and the half time break came soon after and left us set up nicely for period 2.

I stayed put for the break, on my lonesome in a lofted corner contemplating the skies and the sounds.  25 Starlings kept me company, chattering away in fluty tones whilst a Lesser Black Backed Gull flew over and a Wood Pigeon cut a dash through the air like it had a date with Deirdre the Dirty Dove - phwoar what a nasty vent she has.  

The teams eventually came back out and halted my cerebral roamings into avian porn. I was further distracted by an early CT corner that bore bugger all but set an early tempo.  After another fruitless angled humping a good build up followed with some quick, slick football culminating in a delivery by Parkinson and No 8 (Darren McKnight) sadly mis-controlling and letting the ball go dead - boo, that could have been a real peach of a moment. Town had their peckers up, several shots at the Remyca goal were blocked, a break came and the guest No 8 (Elliot Toner) let fly from range but failed to send the ball around the awaiting mesh protector.

The half progressed, again the main bulk of play was in the central area with both teams huffing and puffing but making little in the way of serious headway. The LR brigade were working up a noticeable lather and looking to get this game back to all square.  The quality touch was lacking but I had a feeling in my waters that an equaliser was on the cards.  From the treacle pudding of midfield mither I hoped a few feisty thrusts would add flavour afresh.  It seemed a forlorn hope as the game became a grind and grew quite stale. 

The hosts eventually won a corner, from the melee the ball was buried, it looked to be a game settler, the liner however had other ideas, he waved his flag like a stationmaster on whizz - ooh the rotter.  A rare LR corner followed (was this the first of the game) and was played to the near post where a flick header went inches wide.  If ever there was a warning for the leading team, this was it.  Suddenly, as Cheadle advanced the ball was lost, a pass found Hammill who beat his marker, sent in a low grass grazing shot and found the sought after bag of glory.  This goal had been coming, it was well deserved too.

The final splutterings were soon upon us, it was a hectic session of soccerised mania.  End to end fervour was borne, the key of composure was lacking.  Litherland Remyca advanced, Hammill had a first time dig, by heck it were ruddy close and one could almost see the home manager swoon in shock.  Another punt at the goal by the guests flew over soon after and then Cheadle summoned a surge with a sub supplying McKnight whose final touch was awful.

More flurries came, a few offside decisions, a couple of wayward shots and before we knew it, the referee had called for a finish.  The Man of the Match choice for me was a darn tricky affair,  There were several to consider but I reckon that Cheadle Town's No 2 (Matthew Cook) was worthy of a nod due to the sheer tenacious work-rate, an encompassing awareness and relentless eagerness to try and create.  Always good value this chap, he perhaps deserved to be on the winning side but the tits of fortune can be rather tough at times.

I wandered forth after the game into the darkened realms.  I put a spurt on and arrived home to witness my lasses getting ready to head to the panto - ooh the silly sods.

FINAL THOUGHTS - Well, 2 teams were on show today and both were spluttering along into the festive period with work to do.  The league positions were reflective of the plight of both teams with inconsistency a major facet of their seasons so far. Litherland must start games more quickly than this and make sure they play with a more sanguine and attacking focus with no fear of conceding but a great belief in scoring.  As for Cheadle Town, well they are still in the Premier League, still finding their feet and are very hit and miss that is for sure.  They have some good players, a few who just need to work a little harder and a fine manager who will look after all and stick to his values.  Sometimes, in fact a lot of times, a move is overcomplicated and a chance squandered whereas a more intrinsically basic pass, boot, wallop would pay greater dividends.  The team will be OK though, and like Litherland, they will nestle into the mid-table pack and have to rethink for next season.

RAMMED UP THE REAR (OOH HECK)

13th December 2024 - Prestwich Heys 0 v 5 Ramsbottom United - The fungus season is done, I am doing no more fungus walks, I am sticking to leading general nature walks.  Too many are hellbent on taking from a struggling natural world, fungi are trendy, I hate trends - awkward to the core.  I have led 501 walks and my target of 500 is done, I wanted to see and record 5000 species, this has been achieved, the good lady and myself wanted to visit 1000 places in the UK and record wildlife, we have done it. I also wanted to put on and promote 200 Nights of DIY noise - hey, done that too - fuck the fashion merchants. The next targets, to input 150,000 wildlife records, to review 2000 CD's, to do 500 Non-League match reports - I am fuckin' on it.  It is good to have targets as long as one is putting back - here is my latest effort dealing with some Friday night footy, Friday the 13th in fact, if I get a football in the knackers, they turn black and roll away into the misty evening, I will know the devil is not on my side.

After a long day at work, my good lady and my griping self headed out after a brief tea.  The run down to the ground was as smooth Kojak's posterior and we were soon in the ground, perched up and sipping coffee.  Predictions were for an away win, a big win at that and come full time, we were proven right but with neither of us bagging the bang on score.  Fix, fix, fix!

The round bag of wind was soon rolling, from a rather placid commencement a burst of liquid fluidity saw the guests advance with No 3 (Harvey Hayhurst) finalising matters with a punt from a slight angle.  The ball had good 'oomph' factor but was a trifle eager in its elevation and so flew over the horizontal timber - it was the first salting of promise and my pen was poised to scribble with greater fervour.  No 11 (Thomas Hoyle) was soon darting forth but the home No 1 (Louis Hood) was quick to react, halted matters but gave away a corner.  The ball from the angle was played long, No 4 (Andrew Teague) connected but an infringement was called and the dangled todge of excitement was duly tucked back in.  

Ramsbottom were already looking to be the superior outfit despite being in the embryonic stages of the game.  Movement, energy and general slickness gave suggestion that Prestwich Heys were in for a long night of bollock-bursting labour.  The guests were soon progressing again, a throw was flicked on, some weak defending allowed Hoyle to collect and slide the ball under the carcass of the keeper - I repeat - this was looking to be a long night for the resident pack.

For a temporary period the Heys lads gained some territorial advantage but the final balls into areas marked 'danger' were lacking in quality and were slightly rushed.  A free-kick came and a lengthy injury break.  The ball was posted, the header weak and then a forced substitution was made.  From the restart the Rammy No 2 (Oscar Radcliffe) found space, slammed in a low, hard cross and was mighty miffed that no players were there to poke the ball home.  Persistent Ramsbottom pressure followed (cripes that sounds like a real farmyard complaint) with the host defence all over the place and looking very disorganised.  A penalty was eventually won, No 10 (Harvey Whyte) took responsibility and thumped with purpose. The keeper dove the right way, the ball had too much wallop - 0 - 2 it was.

From here the guests pounced again, a slick move saw a free-kick awarded that No 6 (Maine Walder) whipped in with grass-cutting swerve that the mitter did well to save.  The corner that followed was bilge and a header from a high cross failed to add to the Heys woes.  Rammy were soon weaving forth again, No 9 (Rhys Turner) shrugged off several markers before crossing the ball which saw Hoyle guide home.  This was a game in danger of becoming a farce, I was hoping the hosts could dust down, take stock and get a grip. Alas another surge of blue came, a shot was deflected onto the bar, a follow-up blocked on the line and then a third crack at the onion bag was pinged off a defender for a corner.  2 corners ensued, the latter was punctuated by a shot from Radcliffe that was went into the mucky leaking sky.

Prestwich Heys were clutching at straws (broken straws at that) but somehow managed a sortie forth.  The cross had good pace but, as is the case when things are not going to plan, all noggins were missed and any chance went begging.  This moment was soon punished as the visitors put together a simplistic move which saw Hoyle bag an hat-trick and put the outcome of tonight's contest beyond doubt.

As the half wound down, Prestwich had a period of decent play with a free-kick, a header and then a shot by No 10 (Lewis Ayres) saved.  The team should have had a goal here - it just wasn't going to happen and so my pre-match prediction of 1-6 was looking in jeopardy.

The final dregs of period one came, Rammy continued to dictate the play when a hopeful push saw a ball whipped in and Hayhurst arrive to tap home and seal a good 45 minute stint.  The Heys had one last push, No 11 (Marcus Perry) supplied a decent cross but no takers were found and the half ended seconds later.

The rears were parked and we were in no mood to move.  Me and the good lady shared a choccy bar and pondered.  This was a spectacle that the home team could now use as a practice session so as to prepare for more important league fixtures.  If I was the Heys manager I would have sent my team out stark bollock naked with Christmas crackers on each player's todge.  The supporting fans may not get the right result but the entertainment would be high and pulling the crackers after the match would surely appeal to those of a more homo-erotic stance.  

Half two began, Christmas adornments were not to be seen although the bauble I had stuffed up my arse prior to the game still felt good.  The start to the second period was tame, Rammy had a pop from a cut back but no further penetration was had.  Prestwich Heys returned matters with a flourish of their own, a free-kick found No 3 (Louie Hutchinson) at the far post, the defending pack stood firm.  

The game from here dissolved into something of a dead-zone, little in the way of scribble-enthusing action came as a glutinous porridge was hit.  From the relative gloopy tedium the Heys had a pop that went over but, other than that, we had a paucity of excitement.  Eventually a flourish of Prestwich action came, a hat-trick of corners, several shots blocked and good general industry was shown but... no breakthrough had, such is this shitty footballing life.

The home No 10 (Lewis Ayres) sent a shot over soon after the pressure points were pressed and in return a Rammy's sub let fly from distance but the mitter was on it.  As the rain fell, matters folded in on themselves and a shabby half of football was brought to a close.  Prior to shifting the arse I chose Ramsbottom United's No 4 (Andrew Teague) for Man of the Match - what a concrete component who read the game well at all times and was utterly on it from start to finish.  

We headed home, the drizzle fell, the chill started to creep in - one half was enthralling, the other drab, we still enjoyed ourselves though.

FINAL THOUGHTS - These cup games are hard to judge at times and when one team is flying high in the league and the other is down in the doldrums it is hard to figure who is putting in the greatest commitment.  Priorities are what it is all about and Ramsbottom could go all the way in this one and could easily win the league.  A well-oiled machine but, a bad spell of weather, a few injuries and all chances of success could be lost - a case of watch yer steps chaps.  Nonetheless this is a very good side, watch their progress closely folks.  Prestwich Heys are up against the wall with their arses bared and the great Big Boy Buggery looking to shaft their season (and other parts) good and proper.  A tightening up in all areas, a bit of luck and some non-stop work will help but things are looking mighty dire and the drop looms.  I hope the team have an upswing in fortunes and I am sending good vibes, Fungal power and 22 arse corks just for good measure.  On we all go!

A SILVER STREAK SET FOR GOLD

23rd October 2024 - Irlam FC 5 v 0 Litherland Remyca - As a busy bastard with his genitals of productivity always spilling seeds it is ruddy difficult to impregnate each and every area of interest due to the lack of time and the aging private parts.  As I flit hither and tither and prod and poke at many passions, I find the weeks passing by, the head ending up as an eternal mush of befuddlement and the carcass struggling to keep up.  I am trying, as is my lovely lady, we operate in unison and do what we do, but how on earth had we left it so long for a return trip to one of our favored grounds? It beggars belief.

So, after a day working, an early evening exercising, recording some fungi and having a quick tea, we made the 30 minute trip to Silver Street whilst listening to a retro Fear on Four regarding a possessed woman cutting the heart out of her still living husband. I have spent 59 years immersed in horror - I ruddy love the escapism, the textual art of degenerate minds and the ghostly fantasy that keeps one... guessing.

We arrived in good time with goose-pimples aplenty and were greeted by three familiar bods in such a style that it only felt like 5 minutes since we were in attendance.  The natters and welcomes reminded me why Non-League is most precious with its greatest assets off the pitch, not on it.  With jaws wagged, and news that Warren Dodd's buttock hernia is still growing,  we took up our usual spots (with chips in hand) and watched the following game unfold.

The home team started with great earnest endeavor and more than a modicum of pace.  No 7 (Jack Mitchell) galloped and made room to pull the trigger, the shot was right into the keeper's awaiting limbs.  A corner soon followed, Mitchell was making a menace of himself again.  The ball that was posted was of a decent standard, the guests cleared but the pressure remained until an infringement pissed on the potential peril.

Litherland worked their arses off trying to get back into this but all they could muster was a rather tame shot from their huffing and puffing No 7 (Jordan Monthe).  A fortuitous corner was had but, from the ball in, a foul was borne and so we remained as per.

The guests continued to scamper around like mice in a cheese famine but Irlam were passing well and any squeaks at goal that the visitors were allowed were few and far between.  No 11 (James Hammill) had a low pop that was well-struck and heading for the bottom corner but the home No 1 (Jack Buckley) was down to save with relative ease.  Suddenly the blue clad Mitchell was away, a ball was swiftly played to No 2 (Joe Rothwell) who dug out a pop that sweetly glided into the top corner - what a golden strike indeed.

Litherland looked to respond, No 19 (whoever the fuck that was) had a crack but the ball was deflected over and from the corner a couple of extra shots were blocked by a very resolute defence.  A breakaway came, 2 more shots were blocked until No 9 (Declan Daniels) pounced on the loose ball like a testicle-loving pervert fly, the globe was duly knocked home - 2 - 0 - I considered the game, as a contest, to be almost over.

Hopeful punts from range were all that the Remyca chaps could muster.  Irlam came close again when No 11 (Takura Sambizi) from out wide, dinked inward, put in a cross that Daniels nutted from close in but couldn't find the target.  Soon after the marksman turned supplier for No 8 (Mason Everton) who swung the shank and sent the orb over.  The half wound down and it seemed one more goal from the hosts would surely settle the deal.  It came moments later when the quick and eye-catching (nothing sexual tha' knows) Sambizi received on the flank, nipped into a shooting position and twatted home the third of the night - it was a pearler and we were soon heading to the clubhouse for a coffee and wondering how the travelling tribe could turn this around.

The purchased brew warmed the cockles, we supped and caught up with the aforementioned Irlam secretary.  He was so impressed by the way his team were playing I could visibly see the posterior hernia throb in ecstasy - it was all a little too much if I am honest as I have always preferred these kind of bulges on a camel.  We cut the conversation short when Mr Dodd tried to sell us signed hernia pics - we are sober people and recognise the work of the devil when we see it.

Half-two, once again matters began with the home team making the running.  I was still slurping my coffee when a crack at goal came and the keeper was forced to drop like a bag of Maris Pipers and duly hold.  Within the gulp and glug of more bean-based liquid Irlam's Sambizi was negotiating several markers, entering the box and swinging the shank with purpose.  The ball was propelled forth to Daniels who remained calm and made the scoreline 4 goals to fuck all.

Sambizi had a shot of his own soon after, the ball had too much elevation and then followed a spat, a bit of nonsensical argybargy and a booking or two.  Litherland tried to mix matters up and add a touch of spice, it worked to some extent and they were unlucky not to bag a goal when a header from a corner just went over the horizontal timber.

Little more came to report although Irlam had a few more attempts that just failed to add some icing on an already satisfying cake.  Within a few moments of madness Litherland lost 2 players to red cards, it summed up the teams night and brought great joy to the more spiteful of home fans who sang away as the players left with heads down.

During the final gasps Irlam pushed on, and eventually it was No 15 (John J A Main) who neatly bagged a fifth goal and made sure this was a night to remember.  The referee called proceedings to a halt soon after, my Man of the Match choice went to Irlam's No 11 (Takura Sambizi), a quick footed talent who really put the willies up the travelling pack and I am sure sent home a few prematurely balding defenders too.  A good player and a good head down approach - keep it rolling man and make sure Irlam keep on rising.

Me and the missus buggered off happy with our return visit and with little traffic to negotiate - smashing.

FINAL THOUGHTS - Two teams looking to be a gulf apart but in truth, both units left me with little in the way of a true judgement.  I don't believe for one moment Litherland Remyca are as bad as they looked tonight and just reckoned they were caught on the hop here and were just lacking in pace in all areas.  This happens, I am sure they will pick up points here and there but discipline must be solid and they do need to play as a complete unit all over the park.  Irlam looked mighty slick tonight and really will be a threat to the upper echelons of the league table if they keep on with this style.  They are not going to get things so easy though and I did note that when the opposition added a bit of fire the Irlam pack didn't look as composed or as smooth running.  If they do keep their heads, do not get rattled and ride the lows to create many highs I wouldn't be surprised if they end up in a play off spot.  Prior to that happening though I can see a swelling getting bigger and a balding man being led away with an over-engorged arse area that will need some serious sexual therapy - Warren Dodd - take care my good fellow.

MAINELY GOOD STUFF

12th October 2024 - Maine Road FC 2 v 0 Euxton Villa - The lasses were off out shopping today, I was kissed goodbye and duly did the dishes and tidied the kitchen.  I could have washed my underpants and done the windows but I got sorted and went out on the bike.  8 miles down the road and I was in Chorlton's Costa Coffee sipping a brew and reading a comedic yarn about marriage, the hatred of lawyers and general tomfoolery.  Booked packed up, coffee swilled and legs turning the pedals again I ended up at Chorlton Park where I recorded some fungi, soaked up some splendid rays and gastronomically invested in a superb meal from the Tibetan Cafe - by heck it were grand, I was just hoping I wouldn't need a rectal replacement after passing out the over-indulgence.  The cycling had twanged my hernia, a prolapsed ring-piece would be the last thing I need.

After the scran and another quick pootle that saw me cut and bruise my thigh after walking into a gate (the language used was beyond the spectrum of blue) I headed forth and arrived at the footballing destination. A can of pop and chocolate was grabbed after paying my dues and then I headed for a sit down where I was soon joined by a fine footy mate, John D ('D' for deviant in case you are wondering).  Those of you who read these ramblings may remember that John was involved in selling sexual prosthetic limbs before it went bust. I was eager to see what John was now up to and unsurprised to find that he had moved into the world of Pornographic Jewellery.  The catalogue he passed my way was really well presented with Nipple Necklaces, Breast-Based Ear Muffs and Foreskin Bracelets not my thing but appreciated for the craftsmanship.  I may consider the Buttock-Skin Snood though, especially for those winter months - I just hope it comes with a zip-up anal fastener as a press stud option would look a little cheap - I shall have to await to see if there are any Christmas deals. 

And to the game, John went for a 2-3 score, I fancied 1-1 - this is what went on.  

As pen touched paper, a Fox nipped into the undergrowth and John donned his pubic-lined mittens. Euxton bounded forth with No 10 (Joel Darley) going on a weaving meander like a Salmon with an arse full of roe.  A pass came, No 11 (Vaughn Green) was the recipient, the end shot was weaker than Russell's Brands claims to be a Christian.  Euxton continued to force the pace and work with zealous industry.  From the advancing waves however, only No 7 (George Davies) had a headed pop at goal which was lacking in quality and so failed to bulge the netting.

Matters moved on, the guests continued to dictate the midfield areas whilst Maine Road still sought to find their studded tootsies. Eventually the hosts cultivated an attack with No 8 (Ben Mooney) feeding No 2 (Jake Pogson) who sent in a decent looking cross that just lacked that extra 'whip and bend' factor.  We were soon watching matters unfold up the other end as Davies was chasing a long ball and only denied by a quickly advancing keeper who did enough to snuff out any serious peril.

Green for Euxton was the next bod to chance the shank.  A short run, a punt at goal, the home No 1 (Oliver Brockbank) earned his bacon yet again (unless he was going for the veggie option) and got down and held onto  the ball with relative ease.  Euxton followed up this minor chance with some delicious football that resulted in two attempts being cleared off the goal line.  A free-kick soon followed, the ball went in, out, back in with No 2 (Jack Wyers-Roebuck) finalising matters with a cranial attempt off target.  No 9 (Dan Singleton) had a crack soon after, this one was all too easy for the fellow between the timber.

2 corners for Euxton bore the Fruit of the Fuck All Tree and I was left wondering how on earth the away team weren't leading this game.

Maine Road hung on, displayed resiliency and then were away.  No 10 (Alex Panter) went on a steaming sortie, the keeper was there to be beaten but a selfless pass found No 7 (Jean Jacques-Kirongozi) who stunned the visiting tribe and slapped home the opening goal of the contest. This came seconds after I said to my mate John that I wouldn't be surprised if the hosts bagged the first strike and threw this game upside down.  Maine Road won a free-kick next, the delivery was tidy but the keeper grabbed just in time to thwart the threat by several incoming assassins.  The game was now more balanced, both teams were offering threats.  As the minutes ticked by, and the half-time break loomed, the EV No 3 (Finnley Kent) went on a fine run with a low cross met by Davies who had a decent strike but was denied glory by the outstretched leg of the home mitter,  

The half ended with a booking, a shit free kick and much leg whirring and lather - it had been a decent do for sure.

The break saw me take a leak, eventually crack under John's pressure and see me order a pair of Scrotal Skin Ear-Muffs.  I was told they are all the rage in the backstreets of Blythe - I just hope they keep my lugs warm and don't attract those pesky Testicle Midgies.  I also did a video interview for 2 grand lads - I seem to be always getting roped into these things - hey ho, it is good to do one's bit.  The video can be viewed here - Manchester City IN NON LEAGUE?! (youtube.com) - top work I reckon.

Half two, the home tribe won a quick corner, the ball was delivered and up popped Mooney to double his side's advantage.  This was the perfect start and I was lucky to catch the goal as the aforementioned video duties nearly had me distracted.  Within a spasm of a springtail's rear the hosts came again, Panter quickly supplied Yousif Yousif with the goal there to be bagged.  The outcome - a miss (was this a turning point).

Euxton were now working hard, a free-kick was won and the ball was neatly delivered.  A player rose from the pack and the ball was buried, the goal looked good, a discrepancy was seen and 'no goal' was the verdict - I have no idea why!  The Road were quick to respond, No 17 (Gold Badmus) had a shot parried by the keeper and Kirongozi pounced but blazed over the horizontal.  Euxton strove to get back in to this one, several shots were blocked, corners snuffed out and a few duly wasted.  The away lads were playing some good football, No 6 (Cameron Ross) gathered from a back-heel with a whipping cross seeing the home No 4 (Adam Stuart) breathe a sigh of relief when his defending didn't result in an own goal.  Road were soon racing forward again, Badmus had a chance to kill the game, the keeper produced a quality drenched stop.  Kirongozi was there to follow-up, once again the lad lashed high into the Heavens.

From here on in matters settled with the greatest threat coming from the skies as a hailstorm eruption peppered the playing surface and those exposed.  During the last dregs we saw a few yellow cards issued, a late shot from the Road's Panter that lacked direction and a corner that was nothing less than abyssmal.

The whistle was blown, the Man of the Match for me was an easy choice with Maine Road's No 10 (Alex Panter) excellent value.  The work rate was sterling, the movement on and off the ball eye-catching and in truth, he deserved a couple of goals for his efforts.  Alas for winning the Fungalised MOM Award you get a rubber mushroom up yer arse and a one year subscription to Spore Dropping Shits UK - it is a tough world out there.

FINAL THOUGHTS - Well, a good day indeed, a good cycle, a few fungi recorded, a gutful of fine food, a cafe visit and then this touchline tickler that was a darn decent match for sure.  Euxton Villa were worthy of a few goals today, I am still baffled by the fact that they didn't bag a brace (at least).  They are a good organised unit with many strong players and an ethos that seems aimed at playing sound football.  I cannot see why they won't maintain their lofty position as long as they keep the squad they have and have a fair rub of the green throughout the campaign.  I have only visited their ground once, it was a tucked away delight - will I get back there this season - we shall see!  One ground I will be returning to is the home of Maine Road FC.  They are within peddling distance, are a favoured team I have watched for many a moon and at the moment, look to have a real choice squad that are working with a certain harmony.  The players look settled, have a sound on-field awareness and appear to be enjoying their football.  They are in a tough but somewhat unpredictable league, there is potential to put together a good run, there is potential to implode and fall apart at the soccerised seams, if you were a gambler where would you place your hard-earned dosh? 

BACH TO WINNING FORM

28th September 2024 - Foley Meir 0 v 1 Sandbach Utd - Art and abart once more, with the combo of good company, a couple of cafe visits, a dose of nature and some Non-League Football the order of the day. Longton Park was the first destination and we did just fine with brews and grub from the fine place of refreshment helping to sustain our energy levels.  This the 1061st place in the UK that we had been to and had recorded natural species at.  Today we saw a few blooms and birds, the odd bug and of course, 94 different fungi - all named and recorded on the national database.  

After a short drive we were soon at the ground and welcomed by an amiable gent on the gate.  We were charged £10 each for entry an when I questioned this the guy admitted it to being only£6 but he was trying to get some money together to feed his ‘retro porn’ addiction.  We paid the regular £6 but I did give him a signed photograph of my left testicle so as to keep his warped needs temporarily sated. 

A pie was soon ordered, the lasses had no clue as to their content, a lucky dip it was, I was just hoping it wasn't a Sweeney Todd special as nipple gristle really plays havoc with my digestion.  My good lady, as a vegetarian, played it safe and went for chips.  The pie was grand, the chips equally so and the service noted as charming – we went and found our seats for the day and nailed a cryptic crossword – smashing work. And then the players entered the fray. 

Game on, and with my Dickie Davies appreciation underpants on I began to scribble and consider myself a true sport reporter. 

As my nib was readied I was soon forced to scribble as a glorious early chance came for Foley's No 10 (Thomas Wakefield) who accepted a ball and found himself with only the keeper to beat.  A lob was attempted, I considered the end result as the ball flew way over the timber - I consigned it to the lower drawer of the filing cabinet labelled 'shite'.  Foley were soon parading forth once more, No 9 (Ben Hewitt) began a meandering sortie following a throw in.  I awaited a shot and it soon came - it was a weak, grass caressing effort with no direction - a bit like a down and out demon-possessed lawn mower methinks (scary things tha' knows, especially when on acid). 

Sandbach worked up a good splash of sweat, a shot from No 9 (Joseph Bevan) was all they could muster though and this was off target.  The hosts responded with a promise-laden move ended with No 8 (Jay Finney) galloping forth and unlucky not to find a striker on the end of his pass after a quite sterling run.  In reaction to this, Sandbach advanced with No 11 (Callum Speed) eyeing up the strike zone.  The player in possession was unceremoniously tumbled, the resultant free-kick hoofed by No 8 (Stanley Tatters) which resulted in a sweet passing sequence but bugger all else.  A corner soon ensued, the header that followed was not even close - cripes and conkers I say. Within seconds a whipping cross came the same way, the guest No 5 (James Askey) put pate on ball mere feet away from the netting but the resident keeper stood firm and produced a cracking save. 

This was a decent game despite the lack of net bulging arousals, both teams were attempting to play attacking football and my applause were duly given for the style.  Foley Meir were soon ploughing forth, No 7 (Finlay Pattison) was the end component and had a pop at burying a bender - alas the ball would not obey the orders of the trotter and flew shy of the mark.   The same player was involved in the action again with a good tackle-riding run that ended with a nudge on to Wakefield who could only wallop over.  Hewitt for the hosts went on a gallop next, he looked like a man with the shits with the khasis in sight,  The ball was loose, the keeper came and got accidently clobbered - no ill-intent was meant and the only shit spilled was from a few biased onlookers. 

A few more crappy efforts came from a contest of great industry with both teams working hard but just lacking the killer creativity.  Prior to the break the home No 11 (Aiden Lloyd) won a gratis hoofing after some stubborn surging, No 3 (Jake Lloyd) posted and Wakefield nutted and the guest No 1 (Andrew Jones) produced a lovely one-handed block - alas it was all irrelevant as the flag was waved for an infringement.  The half ended with the visiting No 10 (Ben Greenop) putting a header wide, we were now ready for some crisps and a brew. 

A brew for halftime was very much needed. The autumnal chill was sidling up the trouser leg and dithering the dumplings whilst the nipples were perking up at the icy peck of old Mother Parky. I need to get out my winter thermals methinks and get a few more T-shirts on me back. I think I'll buy a few retro ones, a comic fan 'Whizzer and Chips', a music appreciation 'Peters and Lee' and a TV  based one 'Bruce Forsyth Bummed My Dad' - tha' gotta keep it balanced tha' knows. 

And to half two - Sandbach came out with great urgency.  A good injection of wing pace, a cross found the awaiting Alley and the first goal was bagged - what a perfect start for the away side and we eternal neutrals.  The guests now had their tails up – Bevan  had a low shot straight at the keeper with a corner soon after safely gathered by the same mittman.  The goal kick was sent straight at a Sandbach player - the second goal looked a certainty with an open bag waiting - the shot that came was a real howler - I think Marty Feldman with his head up his arse could have done better.  

Sandbach kept up the pressure, Bevan had a pop over the bar, Greenop sent in a free-kick with Bevan putting another shot inches wide. Bevan was soon powering forth again whilst being molested by several overly keen defenders.  A penalty shout came and was awarded with Greenop stepping up to finalise the game once and for all.  I turned to my missus and said that a miss was on the cards due to the way the game was going.  Sure enough, the ball was struck and the keeper saved with little fuss. 

Foley Meir took heart from this escape,  put in a good period of graft and made gains in territorial coverage.  The only thing lacking was a touch of up-front composure.  The Meir bounded forth with great hope, the ball was lost and a counterattack saw another Sandbach player have a golden chance to sink the opposition - the target was not even found. A golden chance swapped for a golden shower methinks. 

The tail end of a game that could have been a goal fest produced no further penetrations, come the final whistle we were left to ponder a decent battle with only 1 strike separating the two units.  Man of the Match could have gone to quite a few players but I thought Sandbach Utd's No 9 (Joseph Bevan) had an exceptional attitude and approach, worked mighty well and failed to get ruffled when being man-handled on many occasions (he may need to do a pregnancy test).  Good timing, awareness and temperament are what will always win the day and it is always noted by this Fungalised git - good work fella. 

And another new ground done, we roamed homeward happy - rumour has it we shall return, get them pies sorted lasses.

FINAL THOUGHTS - A lovely day culminating in a visit to a good ground with many meritorious points.  Nice lasses serving the grub, good seating area, fine views and a team trying to play decent football.  Foley Meir were unlucky not to get a share of the spoils today and the only difference between the teams (for 45 minutes at least) was the finishing prowess in front of goal.  If Foley Meir get their shooting boots on, make sure they gallop like mares on monkey dust for the full 90 minutes, and of course keep cool under pressure they will more than hold their own, a little bit of luck along the way would be an added bonus.  Sandbach Utd I had down as one of the favourites for promotion.  Chatting with a few folk has shown that the team has lost a few players and is still looking to regain true balance.  I saw enough today though to realise they are not that far off the mark.  The fact that they were so wasteful today points to obvious failings but they play some neat football at times and with an abundance of good pace.  

CAMMELLS HUMPED

21st September 2024 - Cammell Laird 2 v 3 Ashville FC - Me and the missus were up and on the road for 7.50am prompt, we are always keen to make the most of the days out and we were soon out and about at Eastham Country Park, pondering a  few fungi, enjoying a quiet stroll and having a coffee in a lovely quirky cafe.  Time flew by like a Crane-Fly being chased by a net-brandishing insect pervert, we were soon back in the car, parked up and swanning around the glorious open-space of Port Sunlight River Park - here we met up with a fine couple we know from the music scene - creators of synthed, punky, goth vibes who are darn good company to boot.  We enjoyed the scenery, a few bugs, blooms and fungi and ended up in a cafe (it goes without saying).  From here we had a brew at the couples abode, were dropped back at our car from where we made headway to Cammell Laird FC.   

The last time we had visited this ground was about 10 years ago, we enjoyed it but could remember nothing.  We arrived with 20 minutes to spare before the ball got rolling. We grabbed some chips and pop and chose a quite suitable viewing spot.  During the jaunt we spied 40+ wildlife species - and a great hairy arsed punter who I am sure should be added to the British Ape List - I will call the correct authorities. 

So, after the food was swallowed, the pop swilled and the feet placed in position, the ball began to roll and I rattled out the following text-based observations. 

The first examination of a defensive set-up came via the away team who pushed and probed but were met with firm resistance.  Cammell Laird responded with a move finalised by the cranial contact of their No 11 (Jack Darlington) whose pop at goal lacked the crucial 'oomph' factor.  The game had good pace, both teams were radiating an 'attack-minded' ethos and I looked forward to witnessing the initial breakthrough real soon. The hosts began to grow into the game and show more purpose, Ashville though were a threat and their No 11 (Peter Morgan) was soon released but the first touch was poor and the end shot somewhat weak.  Straight up the other end we went, a keeper error saw the ball go loose and roll into a position to be slapped home.  The chance was not taken, a cross followed, was only half dealt with and up stepped No 10 (Ben Glover) and bagged the opening strike. 

Ashville now needed to up the ante, No 10 (Mark Madden) could only manage a shabby shot and No 7 (Thomas Hewlett) had a pop soon after that was of similar quality. After a small break in play the Laird travelled forth again with Ashville not defending as a unit.  A shot was blocked, the loose ball was not cleared and on the scraps fed No 7 (Joseph Brandon) who doubled his teams tally.  This was a fair state of play, Ashville were guilty of not running off the ball enough when advanced flick-ons were being executed, a half-time talk was very much in order. 

Prior to the break a bit of argy-bargy saw a few sequinned purses dropped and a couple of bizarre bookings take place. With a thermally raised feel to the game the final minutes dwindled out and were left with the home team looking set for a 3-point prize. 

We had a wander for the break, looked at a bit of wildlife and swigged some refreshing pop.  The weather was delightful, the game was still nicely balanced despite the guests being behind, I expected a comeback and maybe a draw come the end, this is what transpired. 

A super quick start from the guests was just what the footballing gurus would have prescribed and that is exactly what happened. After a shot over the bar from the hosts Ashville responded with No 9 (Lewis Moynes) letting fly and forcing the keeper to save but not hold.  The free globe was pounced upon and Hewlett halved the deficit - now then, this was interesting indeed. Ashville continued to pile on the pressure, a free kick was posted, the keeper was static and No 17 (Joshua Maldon) watched as the ball left his foot and nestle in the awaiting netting.  It all seemed so simple, and now this game was anyone’s. 

Madness ensued, some touchline onlookers got worked up into a frenzy, it seemed as though there was something in the Wirral Water after all, no wonder my balls were throbbing and turning blue - cripes.  The clobbered Cammell lads looked to get to grips with matters at hand and avoid a looming disaster.  A corner was won and neatly delivered but the No 1 (Jamie Owen) punched well and snuffed out all threat.  A goal-kick soon followed, the home keeper made good contact but the ball was played straight back with the energy-saturated Moynes for Ashville chasing and having a poked shot that the mittman did well to save. 

This was getting a tense affair, the visiting bunch were well up for grabbing the win, Cammell Laird were hanging in with the odd chance missed.  Scrambling and surviving was the name of the game in both boxes as each team looked for the crucial lead goal.  Ashville though slowly gained a grip, a squeeze was on, the next attack was swift and cutting with an overlap, a cross and Madden in the box showing quick feet but only sending the ball into the meat of the mittman's carcass. 

The clock ticked forth, a few shots came at the Laird's goal, Moynes had a beautiful pop with the gloved guardian producing a glorious save.  It wasn't long before the team with their peckers up were marauding forth again. The ball entered the zone marked 'hazardous'. Hewlett arrived and put in a header that went over the keeper and looked destined to land in the string vest - somehow it bounced wide.  What a chance! 

A throw came, Ashville raced away like ferrets from the trouser leg of Russell Grant.  A shot came, it was scuffed but somehow found Hewlett who wasted no time in grabbing the lead goal.  Those on the touchline who were fans of the guests duly went cracked, I was an admirer of a great turnaround but was not one to count any chickens just yet.   

The closing stages galloped by, shots came either end, Cammell Laird had a penalty shout that saw a player booked for a Tom Daley impersonation.  The final chugs saw No 8 (Joel Kelly) for Ashville have a glorious chance to nail the coffin lid shut on the home teams hopes but the shot that was neatly placed around the keeper rolled mere centimetres wide of the vertical.  The referee halted play soon after - this had been some comeback and the Man of the Match must go to the man who played a great part in the footballing resurrection, namely No 9 (Lewis Moynes).  Eternally committed, a bag of zealous energy and a constant buzzing threat – this was an exhausting and quality laden stint even a whizzed up pitman would be proud of – keep eating yer greens lad.

We shuffled off soccer-sated and ready to get home after a long but productive day. 

FINAL THOUGHTS – Cammell Laird have a grand set-up here, much better than I remember and with a good feel to the place.  The team worked hard throughout and during the first half were defensively solid and very good value for their 2 goal lead.  The second half saw pressure build and get a little too much, for me a good hoofing of the ball out of play, a belief in getting a third goal and not sitting too deep would have saved much mither but these things happen and it must be a lesson learned.  Ashville though came on mighty strong and after the previous weeks disappointment did mighty well to show some character and resolute belief and turn this game completely around.  This comeback may just be the start of something special – it is these little nudges into the realms of utter conviction that can make for a successful season.  They do need to work their knackers off though from the off and make sure the running off the ball is consistent and in-tune – maybe they should consider the aforementioned ferret and the fear of having a stargazers todger up their rear – that is enough to make anyone gallop like buggery – ooh me Zodiac.