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.

CLASH AT THE ASH

14th September 2024 - Ashville FC 2 v 2 Shawbury United - A day out again, one of those mix and match affairs me and the missus enjoy so much.  Birkenhead Park was the first port of call - we had a good mooch, a coffee and breakfast bap and enjoy some exceptional sun.  We recorded 126 species which were made up of galls, birds, flowers, fungi and a few other oddments.  I did meet a 3-legged lesbian known as Clitorina but couldn't decipher what category to record her under - nay bother though, many flavours are welcome to the great universal fruitcake.  Having said this, I think the guy using his todger as a dibbler in the communal gardens does need talking to.  We also met a womble - a fine gent who was doing some volunteer litter picking - a man enjoying the sun and doing something far more productive and selfless tha most people would achieve all week - splendid work methinks.  From here we had a short visit to Bidston Moss, a rather tucked away and neglected site with only 2 people present - one was a photographer who gave us a quick rundown on the lay of the land and the other was a man and his dog with a box of beer to get through.  He was a fine fellow of rubicund countenance and with a plan to get back home after a few more slurps and watch the racing and the footy - talking of footy, I think we had a match to attend - cripes.

A short drive, parked up and a chat with two friendly officials.  A brew, a choccy bar and a sit in the shade - we were ready for a good game, and a snooze if the truth be told, where are the ruddy matchsticks when you need em'.

After the whistle had been blown on this clement, but slightly soporific afternoon, the first advancement of any import was made by the resident ranks with a kick from the corner resulting in a disappointingly limp effort.  From here the travellers responded with immediate focus and a throw in saw the ball bumbled forth and No 8 (Joseph Drakeley) gather.  From mid-distance the shank was swung and the globe struck with the sweetest and noiseless contact possible.  The projected orb flew low across the emerald baize before nestling itself in the bottom corner of the meshing - a sweet strike and a shocker for the much fancied hosts.

Ashville were electrocuted into action with a quick movement leading to a ball into the perilous quarters, No 8 (Joel Kelly) receiving and having an initial look at the strike zone.  The first thoughts at glory were passed by, a step over and then another chance was taken and the ball was duly buried.  1 - 1 - parity restored - this was looking like a classic in the making and when Shawbury were soon striding forth and winning a corner I was hoping the goals would keep on coming.  Alas the delivery was as weak as Larry Grayson's handshake and the lofted shot by No 11 (Brendon Price) was about as accurate as one of Donald Trumps aims at the truth.

The game eventually settled, Ashville were next to foray forth with threat.  The move was simple but effective and culminated in a dig by No 7 (Thomas Hewlett) who was only denied by an outstretched shank from the guest No 1 (Ashley Rawlins).  Moments later the home No 10 (Mark Madden) had a pop of his own but the mittman was there again to collect with unflustered ease. Shawbury answered these dangers with a  corner but Ashville defended as a strong unit and dulled any threat, the ruddy spoilsports.

As we paid for a go on the raffle and were confronted by a wannabe Bamber Gascoigne (who duly gave us three posers to contemplate during the rest of the game) I spied the hosts going forth and nearly sneaking a lead goal with the ball landing on top of the netting (I missed the player who had the punt, I was too busy having pot shots at the questions put my way).  The game continued with good pace and endeavour with both teams always looking to play forward thinking football. 

As my pen took a slight break from the paper molesting, the nib was soon exposed again and soon forced to ejaculate ink (ooh cripes, I must stop taking these hormone pills) and Ashville were breezing forth via their No 9 (Joseph Dulson).  The flank flyer negotiated a marker, raced the wing, supplied Madden who had a fair strike at goal with the opposing mitted man doing mighty well to tip over for a corner.  The hoof from the angle was shaky and bore no fruit.

As the half delved into its nether regions the away team looked to hold most promise.  No 9 (Danar Saber) put in a shot that was easily gathered by the keeper, and a few other sorties seemed to hold potential but ended with no further strikes.  When all was looking settled and both teams could ponder the break with a share of the spoils Shawbury's Rawlin's was guilty of holding on to the ball a little too long and when he released to his No 6 (Emmanuel Williams) a similar dilly-dally crime was committed.  The ball was pilfered by No 11 (Peter Morgan). aA one on one situation arose which saw the striker win the day and put his side 2 - 1 up - this was a turn up for the tattered books and when the half ended the scoreline did seem a trifle unfair.

For the break we nattered with some nearby folk, rolled many probable answers to the aforementioned questions around our weary noggins and shared a choccy bar whilst considering shifting our arses to a different position.  We decided to stay put - idle buggers we be.

The first opportunity of half two came for the hosts with Kelly having a chance to strike but leaving it for Madden to connect with. The shot went over the horizontal and from here we entered something of a quiet period.  Ashville did add the odd spark with Dulson probing, finding Madden who laid off for Morgan.  The shot that came was saved for a corner which was duly kicked straight into the side netting - ooh bugger. A few minutes later another corner came and this time the keeper punched with authority and then Ashville came once more with No 16 (Luka Gian-Salvatore) crossing to Kelly who nutted over the bar.

Madden for Ashville had a golden opportunity to add another goal when he was released and only had the keeper to beat.  Full credit to the No 1 though, he stood firm and kept his onion bag unpenetrated.  The pressure still rolled the same way albeit in little ripples rather than big crashing waves. Madden remained a major component in the mix, his assassins boots though were just lacking a little of that killer shine.

A break for an injury, No 3 (Jeffrey Agyeman) for Shawbury hobbled off which was a real shame as so far, he had been the Man of the Match for me.  From here Ashville kept on pushing and squandering any chance off sealing the game. With time ticking away I turned to my good lady and said it looked as though there would be a sting in the tail for the home lads if they didn't put this one to bed mighty soon.  Madden had another shot, a save was made, a follow up effort cleared off the line.  A few more half chances came for the team with their tails up but with the shooting sights just off-line.  Suddenly Shawbury summoned one last hoof, a long ball came, time stood still and the upright was trembled and the free ball was tucked home by No 10 (Jack Howse) - it was the 97^th minute - it was a case of a side hanging in by the skin of their teeth and getting due reward for their efforts.  The game ended soon after - was a draw a justifiable end result - on reflection I thought so.  Man of the Match - a tough one to call but I am sticking with the aforementioned Shawbury United No 3 (Jeffrey Agyeman) - I think that he kept his side very much in this game with some stubborn and controlled defending that was done with head down composure and solid control.  The fact that he had to leave early should not detract from a fine stint.

FINAL THOUGHTS - What a fine set-up it is at Ashville, a welcoming ground with a good feel to it and one we were long overdue visiting.  The game was a strange affair and started with a great burst of activity which led to an absorbing first period of play with the second half being more one sided before being finalised with a surprise suckerpunch from a team who refused to curl up and take a kicking.  Ashville are good value team and after underachieving last year now look to be on the right track.  There is a caveat here though and if they fail to bury teams when they have the upper hand they will be punished over and over again and end up missing out on a play-off spot if not, something a little more attractive.  This is a sticky, tricky league with each and every weekend throwing up many capricious results - be warned Ashville, get thy shooting boots sharpened.  As for Shawbury United - a new team to the league and so, something of an unknown commodity. They are sitting just above the relegation zone but on today's evidence, for the first half at least, looked like a mid-table team.  The second half perfomance was obviously lacking but they hung on in there and snaffled a point that was due reward for the resistance and graft. If they work as a unit, don't get on each other's cases and enjoy this new journey they will be OK - they must play for the full 90 minutes though and maintain the attacking style that was more obvious in the first half.  Hopefully we can get down to their ground at some point and I shall do another report - digits crossed.

So, a good day done, we pootled off home well pleased.  Oh - the answers to the questions eluded us but the quizmaster collared us before we left and enlightened our puzzled noggins  - the answers were:- A - Jimmy Saville's Arse, B - Pubic Lice and C - Double Diamond Pale Ale - I really should have known that last one - bah.

DAISY DEADHEADED

18th August 2024 - Maghull FC 3 v 2 Daisy Hill - Match report 418, that leaves 82 to go and then I shall call it a pointless job well done.  Let us face it, putting back is what it is all about but from a sober perspective, the difference made is minimal.  We live in a world of self-serving, 'take, take' shittery, the media dictates, the rebels are either stone-thick or too beaten down to even fart.  Hey ho, they ain't having me, that's for sure.  PS - I am a grumpy bastard today - what's new I hear many say!

The morn was choice, my superb missus and I went to Southport Botanical Gardens where we had a coffee, recording 52 wildlife species, pondered the blooms and the squawking caged birds as well as the general ambience.  From here we had a grand walk around Southport Marine Lake, clocked up another 67 wildlife records, enjoyed the sun and natural beauty and duly rose above the half-wit who threw his empty beer can down, the many folk who wandered on the phone with eyes wide shut and those missing the micro and macro beauty of a place worthy of respect.  From here we had a fine lunch and brew, and of course, a look in a book shop which is always essential behaviour wherever we are.

A 25 minute drive saw us arrive safe and sound at the ground sought, the arses were parked and we had a read in the sun - my good lady is ploughing through several series of books like a drugged up bookworm, I was catching up on some letters written by the Impressionists, an area of the art world I am particularly interested in due to its closeness and appreciation of matters natural.

Time flew by like a wasp with a splinter up its jacksie, we were soon upright and ready to watch the next game unfold at a ground we hadn't visited before - here is my take on matters.

The lass in the middle peeped at just gone 3pm, the ball was pushed this way and that in what was a fairly hesitant and considered commencement.  Daisy Hill had the initial advancement with the ball skewing this way and that and appearing to be as greasy as one of Donald Trump's chat-up lines.  Matters soon calmed down, Maghull were able to cultivate an attack of their own via some sweet wing wriggling, a cross and a shot deflected wide.  An angle punt came, Daisy Hill were slack in their duties and No 11 (Jacob Till) was allowed to find space and slap the globe homeward. I was thrilled, every game should have an early goal, in fact it must be made law.

As Maghull fed on any spare scraps they eventually worked their way back in.  A nosebleed break was eventually sorted and when the whistle blew for play to continue the Maghull keeper seemed to be caught with his conkers dangling as a long Daisy Hill ball found the galloping No 2 (Kyle Whittaker) who knocked a delightful looper into the back of the onion bag.  This was a choice take and from here the guests looked to be the better side and duly capitalised on the early breakthrough.  Maghull worked hard, Till went on a decent run that saw matters finalised with a firm shot the visiting No 1 (Morgan Newns) did well to catch on the stretch.  

Maghull were soon parading forth again, some good industrious interplay saw a cross find No 2 (Joseph Doyle) whose first time shot had a little too much elevation.  The same team soon won a brace of corners with the second causing greatest threat as No 10 (Nathan Moffitt) executed a back flick that was just a little to easy for the keeper to deal with.  Another angled hoof came soon after, Till connected at the back post, the mittman was down and turned behind.  Several more corners came in quick succession, the deliveries were fairly decent but the end punishment was just not there.  Moffitt for the hosts had a couple of late digs that failed to raise perspiration and somehow the half was done.

The opening 45 had been a strange affair, both teams just seemed to be lacking a true cohesiveness and a clash of styles was impeding any major fluidity.  We stayed put for the break, we were feeling a trifle jaded to say the least, it had been a busy morn after a quite hectic few weeks, and my ruddy back and groin were tweaking with this nagging hernia - darn this aging process.

The second period started in subdued fashion with a free-kick not fulfilling the potential we so stupidly expected.  Maghull soon progressed with promise, a lightning cross was the apical component but the killer touch by Moffitt was akin to an assassin trying to slay a pygmy with a rubber knife - slightly embarrassing.  Several crosses followed in quick succession, each one was overloaded and Daisy Hill were allowed to breathe several sighs of relief.  Maghull soon won another corner from a spell of unadulterated crappery - no breakthrough was had as the defenders stood firm but moments later a rapid onslaught came, Daisy Hill had a chance to quell any threat but failed to do so, the ball was buried in the shabbiest of fashions by Moffitt but the goal stood and the hosts were somehow ahead.

A stale period of toing and froing came when out of nothing the visiting No 9 (Ryan Talbot) flew the flank, put in a cross that was touched on and bumbled home by No 10 (Kaiden Barlow).  These strikes were far from appealing to the orbs but it gave the game a bit of added zest that was very much needed.  

No sooner had my nib left the parchment than Maghull were away and my peepers were witness to Till knocking home his second goal and giving his side the much needed suckerpunch and lead goal.  I was left bewildered by how this game had given birth to 5 goals and how Daisy Hill had worked so hard to get matters all square only to throw it all away almost immediately.

The  latter stages saw the Daisy Dudes splutter along with no real threat and Maghull offer a few minor scares but nothing worthy of the ink in my pen.  The final whistle was eventually blown by the ref who had had a decent game.  I pondered the Man of the match and went for the less obvious with Maghull's No 4 (Levi Adebisi) getting the nod due to his quick reading of the game, quiet but effective shift and an all round defensive stint that was better than many may have noticed - a quality output if you ask me.

FINAL THOUGHTS - A new ground done after a good morning art and abart.  My thoughts on both teams are very similar with a great deal of hesitancy had as regards a full on opinion.  These are the early stages of a campaign and for me, the two units on show displayed little to convince me that they are the finished article.  As is the case with many teams, it is the width of play and the finishing that is the key and here, in both instances, I feel there is work to be done.  I do think there is great potential in many areas and several players caught my eye as regards commitment and that head down discipline.  One thing I would liken todays contest to though is when you get two boxers of fair quality going toe to toe and snuffing out the finer aspects of each others threat.  Several periods during this game saw a distinct lack of piercing potential and that was down to nothing less than the set-up's and the general rub of the green.  

As things stand, I may have witnessed two teams with mid-table potential but I do hope I am wrong and they both go on and have cracking campaigns.  This is a very tricky league to call and already, points are being lost and won in the most unexpected ways possible.  There will be twists and turns, a few flounderers will come good, a few high flyers will come unstuck, only time will tell how these two teams will fare.  I shall be watching Maghull play one of my favoured teams in a few days, namely Maine Road FC.  It may be a real test, I am taking the wisest course possible and shying away from a prediction - a few goals and good endeavour wouldn't go amiss though.