RIDERS OF THE STORM

11th August 2026 - Denton Town 2 v 1 Broadheath Central - The day had been spent at work after a ruddy hectic weekend.  I could have fallen asleep at the desk if the truth be told - it was too hot and I was very demotivated.  The tick-box world rattles on, people waffling on, creating huge clouds of hot air and all the while heading 'nowhere'.  Scorched Earth Society - this is what we seem to want, this is what we'll get - bah them there fuckers!  

 

Cycling home was sweaty and hard going but a bloke was fishing on the local river and my timing was spot on as I saw him bring from the depths a quite magnificent Brown Trout.  He was overjoyed, asked me to use his phone and take a picture - it reminded me yet again how the simple things in life are the best.  I left the guy after he gently returned the fish to weave its way through the liquid, I noted a Red Admiral further along and then got the head down and raced home.  Once home I sorted the moth trap and released the scale-winged gems after recording all, the best of the bunch I thought was a Rosy Rustic, the first of the year too.  A natter, a read, a tidy and myself and my good lady got ready, set out and arrived at the ground for tonight's footy in good time. The usual fine folk were there, we had the odd natter and picked a viewing spot where we sat down and had a rest.  In truth I could have dozed off, what an old wanker.  Prior to the game I asked local Denton stalwart Rob Nicholson to get me pictures of the teamsheets and was duly bombarded with scrotal close-ups and vile information regarding testicle rashes and pubic lice - why do I fuckin' bother!  Thankfully I asked George Shaw (a fine Denton doofer) to get me a backup list which I duly received after the game with several glamour shots of the local Bin-Man modelling crew - who knew that the council insisted that all refuse collectors wear anally open shorts in this heat - fascinating.  Note must be had that the aforementioned Rob Nicholson did send teamsheets my way too - they seemed to be covered in chip fat and tomato sauce - I dread to think!

 

And to the game, the good early possession came via the guests with some sharp passing and good movement keeping the Town on the back foot and not allowing them to settle. No 3 (Archie Rowlands) made the first major advancement with some flank flashing ending in a really jittery moment for the hosts.  Broadheath came on again, No 6 (Dylan Kelly) put in a choice shot that went across goal with No 7 (Shack Depeiaza) mere millimetres away from burying.  Denton looked to cultivate some hope, the best they could summon was a cross that was headed by their No 8 (Theo Harwood) but power and real direction were lacking. 

 

The home lads seemed a little flat during the opening gambits with most 50/50 balls lost.  Eventually though the game became more balanced but it was the visitors who had the next punt at goal.  A careful attack saw Denton dither, No 9 (Ben Mensah) found himself in possession and finding a little room to fire forth a dandelion decapitator.  The ball had pace and was on target but the home No 1 (Ethan Handley) was down quickly and made a quite choice one handed save.  The corner bore no fruit!  Denton needed to get to grips with the gonads of the game as soon as possible and this they did with a sweeping move that resulted in an angled gift.  The ball was played in, a bonce connected and No 5 (Adam Farrand) walloped over the bar.  Close but no cookies this time.

 

A few close shaves ensued, the Denton keeper nearly committed a blooper when kicking straight onto the cranium of the opposing No 10 (Josh Harper).  Thankfully the ball went dead.  Denton had a break soon after with a ruddy good delivery let down by the absence of end marksmen - this was a goalless affair so far but I thought it was a fascinating contest.  Both units were trying to play good football, the defensive set-ups of both teams were solid throughout and if ever a game looked to be heading for a goal free- grinder this was it. 

 

The half was winding down, Denton's No 7 (Finley Hampson) worked well, won a ball, put in a delivery that hit the bonce of No 11 (Tyreel Henry) and pinged off at a tangent that surely signified a noggin with many lumps, bumps and obscure angles.  By crikey I am sure the Frankenstein monster could have made a better attempt on goal.  From here great endeavour came, the onion bags were left un-bulged.

 

Half-time and we sprawled and nearly dozed off.  I was mighty pleased with the game thus far and stated this to a local ball-gatherer who had been on a ten-pin bowling bender.  He was walking rather oddly and put it down to too much running, alas my warped brain put it down to the use of rectal ten-pins and the abuse thereof - I must increase the medication.

 

Period two began, Denton's Hampson flew away, shot and forced the keeper to save.  Denton again, No 10 (Harvey Fitzsimmons) to Hampson back to Fitzsimmons - shot over - now this was promising stuff.  We now had a chat to another fine gent who does more than his bit for Denton, namely James Pelosi esq.  A good guy this and always nice to chat to.  It was a shame Mr Pelosi was annoyed by the English netting and stated that he would have preferred a more Scottish theme.  I suggested maybe a silhouette of Andy Stewart with his kilt raised and glorious globes dangling.  Jimmy said this may put off the more kinked attackers when facing goal and result in a paucity of goals - I thought it was a point well made.

 

Broadheath Central tried to make some headway, Denton are assured masters in the art of resistance.  The guests' cause wasn't helped by a refusal to pull the trigger when having a sneak sighting at goal.  Denton came on, handball shout was waved away and the ball forced back.  No 6 (Euan Melia) collected, had a look and swung the leg.  The ball headed to goal with good impetus and a slow rise, the keeper was a little late in reacting and allowed the ball to pass by and bulge the inside of the netting - 1 - 0 - now matters were a trifle more intriguing.

 

Broadheath looked mighty rattled here, the fluidity of their play was getting impeded, Denton had their tails up. No 14 (Andrew Kwao) raced away, a cross came and Hampson had his shot deflected.  No 12 (Harry Payne) was waiting to pick up the pieces, 2 - 0  it was. This was a bigger transformation than the one that saw Dr Henry Jekyll mix up his chemical compounds with an hormone drink and end up as Hilda Hyde. She was a right nasty bint too!

 

From here we had one team gasping for a break, the other taking care not to give a ray of hope.  The BHC No 2 (Archie Rowlans) had a pop from range that the gloved one did well to tip over.  A corner followed, was dealt with and a repeat came with the ball choicely put in from the other angle,  No 8 (Harwood) eventually found possession, from mid-range the goal was spied and a first rate strike of majestic quality was had - what a great way to pull a goal back and put the end result up in the air.

 

Time was of the essence, Broadheath pushed forth, a ball in, No 9 (Emmett Davin) chested down, No 16 (Callum Issitt) executed a firm strike and the home stick protector saved well with the ball hitting the bar.  Substitutions came, some shabby balls were played by both units who were now looking more than a little jaded and Issitt for Broadheath continued to show promise with one effort at goal just coming to late and another just flying too high.

 

A feverish finish, the visiting No 6 (Dylan Kelly) let fly but the mittman was right behind it and then as the light faded, and the referee prepared to call a halt to matters, a few half glimpses of goal came for the guests but were a million miles away from bearing fruit.  Game done, Man of the Match was a simple choice, Denton Town's No 5 (Adam Farrand) led from the back, kept his fellow teammates encouraged (and occasionally roasted) and was an aerial general par excellence, snuffing out any chance of Broadheath Central high ball glory.

 

We ambled off, saw Rob N coming back from a chippy visit and duly understood why he wears a girdle.  

 

FINAL THOUGHTS - Well, I thought this was a real absorbing game, the first half being an aficionados chess match with both teams probing and looking to check the opposition whereas the second half was a more liberal affair with more space on the playing area and all pieces of the game allowed room to manoeuvre.  Broadheath Central are a good unit and easy on the eye.  I like their style, they have some good thinking going on and I reckon, if they continue to play this style, have belief and a rub of the green (or dirty yellow in these arid conditions)  they will more than hold their own.  Denton Town are now the tough nut to crack, they are the buttocks of the Cheshire league that are difficult to part and teams up against this lot may have to bring their sexual shoe-horns to prise out a victory.  Defensively sound, they resist pressure well and are willing to gallop with many threats looming throughout a game. Surely this lot must be in the mix come season end.  In fact I wouldn't be surprised if these 2 finished side by side on the same points and the next time they meet up will be another compelling battle.  

MANY FINISHING WORS FOR WEAR

9th August 2026 - Worsborough Bridge 0 v 2 Trafford FC - Back over to Barnsley we headed after last weeks jaunt to Old Moor RSPB and then Wombwell Town FC.  We used to frequent this place quite a bit and watched bands at The Arches and Panama Joes. Many a fine punky unit played there with the X-Rippers usually up and at it too. Grand times for sure. Gareth and Sandra whom we know from many a touchline jaunt joined us last week and again were keen to have a wildlife wander and a footy fix.  Grand company, crazy weather as per and a good walk was had.  We clocked up 140 species with a brace of Narrow-Necked Grain Beetles (Anthicus floralis) new for us and helping towards the 180, 000 records submitted mark, a total I hope makes a difference.  It is all about walking with the senses alert, seeing, sharing and enjoying and most importantly, recording all.  A coffee was enjoyed, the time flashed and before we knew it we were in the local ground, perched in the shade and awaiting the teams for this FA Cup Extra Preliminary Round.  The ground looked parched, the slight slope perhaps liable to make for some capricious moments and all 4 of us were hoping for a game of great endeavour and of course, quality.  3pm came, the crowd was decent enough, and away we go (again).

Trafford were quickly out and at it with a ball out wide gathered by the pace-riddled No 3 (Lewis Jacklin).  A cross came, was pushed behind, the corner was decent with No 5 (Harry Norris) making cranial contact and a follow-on header going wide.  Worsborough broke next, No 10 (Smith) was on it, cut in and walloped.  The keeper made sure his hands were strong and the ball went behind with the angled offering easily dealt with.  This was a lively start, a proper good cup contest seemed on the cards.

On we went, Norris for Trafford punted forth a delectable long ball that No 9 (Ryan Brooke) gratefully gathered.  A nip inside, a shot well hit and equally well saved with Jacklin's follow up header wide - that should have been the first goal.  Both teams continued to operate well, all that was lacking was that killer thru-ball with many attempts quickly read and dealt with.  Trafford were soon roaming forth with purpose. No 10 (Luke Sephton) was hassling and  passing and put Jacklin in a position to bury.  The ball however bobbled slightly on the uneven surface and the chance was missed. Worsborough seemed to be piqued into action by this scare and after much mither and muscle won a free-boot.  The ball was lofted into the box, No 7 (Grist) was at the back post and put in a header that went up and down with the bar struck.  Play was then stopped as we had a man down.  

From the restart and amid much flurry and hurry, Trafford won a gratis kick which was sent away with all players ball watching and allowing No 4 (Scott Sephton) to saunter up at the back post and fire home with middling power.  This goal had been coming and Worsborough were in need of a quick counter for sure.  Alas the hosts were guilty of playing too many long balls and making things a trifle obvious.  Trafford continued to work well in the rear which was not helping the home lads make any serious inroads.  

A smattering of argy-bargy came, a yellow card for a player from each team was given and despite some hard work, attempts at a killer ball and much running, any further sightings of goal were minimal.  Worsborough had a weak penalty shout, Trafford showed the greater promise and their No 11 (Bile Ahmed) was a real menace for sure.  Half done, not a bad do at all.

Our friends needed a stretch, we stayed put and watched folk ogle their phones.  These devices are now almost part of the human anatomy and I am sure if they were taken away some people would fall apart and die.  One day the crash of the systems will come, perhaps before then though people will be so digitalised their privates will be pixelated and their offspring will be borne with wires hanging out of the ears and the arseholes will be shaped so as to receive recharge cables.  I am baffled, mentally buggered but by heck, digging the heels in.  

The second half began with an early Trafford corner which the keeper easily dealt with and almost immediately we saw a flourish from the hosts with No 9 (Marvin) providing for Gris who entered the box with time to pick out a wannabe striker. Alas only a corner was won which turned out to be a cracking delivery that Grist made meaty cranial contact with only to batter the underside of the bar.  Panic briefly reared its capricious head but the ball was cleared and Trafford could regroup.  Instantaneously No 14 (Squires) for the hosts came on, a shot followed with a handball shout waved away.  

Corners and weak efforts came at both ends of the pitch, several subs came for both teams and the odd free-kick was awarded with quality nowhere to be seen.  Trafford won a corner after some splendid work by one of the new bods.  Alas the delivery was decent but no real threat ensued.  This was a game in the balance and it needed a real kick up the arse.  Trafford were soon coming again, a choice cross and Brooke put in a fair header but the keeper answered all questions and saved.  Up the other end we immediately went with Grist finalising matters with a volley dragged wide - things were getting rather rushed.  Worsborough pushed again and were caught on the break with No 14 (Dillon Edmundson)  away, into the danger zone and having a quick look before indulging in a punt that clattered the crossbar.  Trafford came on, a free kick was sent in with S. Sephton volleying wide - the next goal looked on the cards!

More shots and shouts, handball claims and near misses but no more strikes.  I was thinking that this would be it when Trafford earned a free-kick, the ball was kicked and No 5 (Harry Norris) rose, put head on ball, a defensive touch came but the goal was had.  0 - 2 - I reckon that was the game done and dusted for sure.

The game fizzled out, Trafford had a couple of chances that looked harder to miss than score but somehow the goal went untroubled.  Edmundson had a good shot saved well and just before the end, a coming together saw the home No 7 sent for an early date with the flannel and lux flakes.  The referee blew soon after, the win was going the right way and for me, Man of the Match must be Trafford FC's solid and reliable No 5 (Harry Norris).  He helped keep his team watertight, defended like a mature trooper in the ranks and read the game with an erudite vision.  A concrete shift that indicates a crucial role for the season ahead and a goal too - nifty!

We left the ground, somehow lost our friends and managed to add a couple of extra species to the day's tally, courtesy of the country park's car park.  Not a bad day all round, although we were a trifle knackered now, heat blown and sporting some sore arses after the ribbed seating in the stands had taken its toll - I felt like the discarded lover of Bob O Duffelbag the great Barnsley love-machine.

FINAL THOUGHTS - Despite the rippled buttocks and another full day of heat that was now reducing my conkers to the size of peas (Petit Pois at that) this was another good outing rounded off at a decent ground with 2 teams striving to play some decent football.  The pitch was unforgiving, the game more balanced than the final scorecard suggests and I think both teams will more than hold their own in their respective leagues.  Worsborough have a good set up here, seem well supported and play a game that is fluid, thoughtful and of a good standard - the only gyp - stay calm, and do not rely on a single option - variety is the spice of the footballing life.  Trafford FC looked a darn fine prospect today and I reckon. on their day, can give any team at this level a run for their money.  I think they have many qualities all over the pitch and reckon they will dish out a few healthy wallopings over the course of the season.  They are in a tough league though and will need 100% focus and commitment throughout each and every game.  For now though they are through to the next round of the cup, I wonder if time will allow and we can follow their run - here's hoping!  I must get my reared ironed out first though and see if the local bicycle shop will pump up my balls back to normal size (or maybe a little bit bigger as a treat for the missus - oh sweaty billiard balls, no thanks).

BUGS, A BURNT BONCE AND SOME BALL BOOTING

8th August 2026 - Wilmslow Albion 2 v 3 Uppermill Res - The day started with this Fungalised git getting up early and cycling from Stockport to Earlam's Tea Rooms in Styal.  A chill, a brekkie bap and a coffee - it were ruddy needed, I already had a sweat on.  A Painted Lady Butterfly was nice to see, a brace of Mint Moths and a few other species were logged, tha' gotta do tha' bit rather than staring into space scratching one's clammy conkers. A short cycle and the morn was spent in a small area of the local country park, away from the mush and mooching in the undergrowth.  I got a few strange looks from folks marching along, looking at their phones, missing real life and perhaps wondering what a bare-bellied blighter was doing with a net in the long grass.  Well, I was admiring many species and clocking up a small list before grabbing another coffee and beetling about in a farmer's field on my lonesome - it were ruddy grand.  Long Winged Coneheads; Lesser Marsh Grasshoppers; Common Field Grasshopper; Common Green Grasshopper and Roesel's Bush Cricket's kept me company (as well as a few other critters) and got me so absorbed that when the farmer arrived to close the gate I had misplaced my T-shirt.  Thankfully the ragged garment was found, I had a quick natter with the polite man of the fields and ambled on.  'Old McDonald had a farm, E-I-E-I-O, and on that farm there was a twat, E-I-E-I-O etc etc. I was soon at the ground for today's game, fagged out, a trifle burnt and in need of a sprawl, with a 'fuck, fuck here, a bugger, bugger there, a fuck, fuck, bugger, bugger fuck.... well you get there drift, I blame sun-stroke.

20+ species were recorded  before I stretched the carcass and had a read.  A few chapters, a walk around the pitch where I had a quick gasbag with the home team Manager before grabbing a coffee and a can of cider from the lovely lady in the vehicle of victuals. I soon found my chosen ogling spot and got the pen and paper ready.  The liner was an Uppermill bod whose son was playing, a ruddy decent bloke who nattered throughout the first half rather than attend to his flag waving duties - such is this Non-League game at this glorious level.

I counted 35 peeps in attendance, a shame because this is a grand set up - but I was there, enjoying the game and here is what I saw.

A Brown Hawker whizzed by, the ball got moving. The first sortie forth and a long Uppermill ball came, No 11 (Ellis Racz) was galloping but the globe had too much impetus and pinged from the yellowing baked surface thus negating a true crack on goal.  The game's opening throes were rather fractured to say the least with the hosts not fully settled and the guests working darn hard off the ball.  The home No 10 nearly snuck in but the visiting No 1 (Jack Darnbrough) was alert and quelled the threat.

 

A lack of high end action was noted, it duly saved me using ink I suppose.  Eventually the game took on a pattern and became more composed.  The guest No 3 (Kyran Rees) was looking a very relaxed customer and knocked a quite accurate ball down the line from which a cross was made, No 9 (Oscar Newton) arrived and set the sights before firing home.  This was a simple, effective and crucial goal highlighting how the game can be played with great effect.

 

Wilmslow now tried to respond, a corner was delivered with eye-catching accuracy but the keeper was fist-ready and punched away.  A player was felled, the ball somehow ended in the net, alas no goal was given.  Another angled hoof came the same way and again the postal service was first class but unfortunately the mittman had been practicing his fisting skills (ooh the nasty perisher) and thumped clear. The resident ranks continued to push, got rather carried away and were caught on the hop.  Uppermill darted away, Newton had a shot, the keeper saved, the sphere was loose and the same attacking blighter stepped up and doubled the lead.  

 

The half had absolutely blazed on, I continued to make notes, natter with the liner and take in this early season spectacle.  Wilmslow needed a response, Uppermill continued to push, Rees put in a fine cross, the keeper pushed away and Racz pounced, struck first time and bagged himself a quite lovely goal.  By fuckin' crikey, 0 - 3 already and the game looked to be turning into something even Mystic Meg couldn't have predicted.  I wondered where the hosts could grab a life line from when a free-kick from distance was awarded.  The ball was humped into the box, the rising bonce made no contact, the keeper seemed confused and the ball bounced once and ended up in the back of the net - a bonus and a shocker in one twitch of a turtle's todge. It seemed Tom Long was given credit for the strike.

 

With mere minutes of the first half left I suggested to the liner that another goal was coming, I have seen this kind of occurrence so many times when a team looks to be heading into the break without a hope only to be given a lease of life through a bit of luck and a late goal.  Uppermill nearly bagged another when the home keeper was caught wandering but the danger was cleared and then a Wilmslow ball was hammered forth, a shot at the back post came and the ball was blocked and there for the taking.  No 7 (Jacob Moores) for the Albion was quickest to react and tapped it home - suddenly it was 2-3 and the end result was anyone's guess.  

 

The half ended with a few scurries here and there, this had been an entertaining 45 minutes for sure.  As the liner went for a break and to have a rest on the other side of the pitch, a chainsaw wielding maniac came and gave me visions of those 80's video nasties where limbs were severed and blood was spilled.  Thankfully he was a nice bloke just trimming a bit of vegetation.  Personally, as a nature lover, I would leave the greenery for the struggling bugs and set up a pitchside circumcision business.  Anyone having a bit of foreskin trouble could watch some fine football, get the nob-flesh seen to for a small fee and help keep the club going forward, whilst keeping the tip of the todger healthy and this trim-happy chap employed - win, win and skin methinks.

 

And to half two.  I was feeling rather heated, I was hoping this would be another bout of intriguing capriciousness.  Wilmslow advanced via a cool build up that culminated in a shot deflected behind.  The corner was dealt with and Uppermill responded and won a corner of their own that the keeper punched clear.  Wilmslow however were now looking the better prospect and just needed some up-front composure, quicker balls from the back and a smattering of good fortune.  The travelling tribe won another kick from the corner, the ball in was of decent standard but the keeper was solid with his adhesive 'Evo-Stik' hands - ah the good old glue-sniffing days.

 

The game now became tighter than the governments environmental budget but Uppermill came close to snatching another goal when Newton chased a seemingly lost ball. The globe was delivered with a shot coming from a bod I missed the number of and a defensive block helping snuff out the peril.  Substitutions came, a few shots each way also followed, the game however remained as it was with many a player looking rinsed out and ready for the final whistle.  The home No 10 had a pop via a free-kick earned following a very tidy passing sequence - the shot however was low and poor, just like a poverty stricken depressive.  Uppermill were now getting pushed back and playing a dicey game, Wilmslow Albion though were hitting too many inaccurate balls forth to put the shits up the opposing ranks.

 

10 minutes were now left, a cool composed head was needed, in this heat it seemed a forlorn hope.  The hosts pressed, No 17 found himself close in with the equaliser to grab but somehow the ball was blocked.  A decent pop by the same player followed, alas it was straight at the awaiting mitter.  From here all we got was a desperate handball shout, a few skirmishes and that was that - how we had 5 goals in the first half and sweet FA in the second is beyond me but perhaps credit to the defenders must be given.  Man of the Match for me goes to Uppermill's No 3 (Kyran Rees) a player who plays at his own pace, keeps the noggin down, avoids any nonsense and seems to find space and provide many a good ball.  It was a fair stint, I hope the after match champagne was kept out of the sun and nicely chilled.

 

I was soon back on the bike heading home, a good trip out and a ground I should visit more often, I will see what I can do as the season develops.

 

FINAL THOUGHTS - Well, we are in the embryonic stages of the campaign, both teams have a lot of work to do it seems but there is a lot of promise too.  Uppermill for me won this game due to working mighty hard off the ball and not getting overly rushed into making hasty plays.  In this day and age the art of football is sometimes marred by a frenetic pace that destroys the fundamentals and ruins the full potential of many teams.  Even though this was apparent today, at times the visitors had composure and worked well as a unit.  The only blip I would suggest is to not get pushed back when the other team are fighting to get back into the contest and to make sure that when 3 goals ahead, the game is put to bed with its nightcap on.  Wilmslow Albion blew this in the first half due to a slow start.  To add to their problems too many balls from the back were late arriving I thought and the runs of many eager beavers at the front were thus wasted.  To be fair though the team did well to take advantage of a snippet of good favour and work their way back in and make the second period a really well-balanced affair.  I can't see the team struggling and reckon they have good potential but, if the potential is not tapped and their first points of the season not bagged fairly soon, then things could easily slip into the land of despair.  My diary is laden with walks, gigs, trips and many games, I am seeking a fixture list as I type as I want to try and get back here several times this season, I may even do another report unless the Buzzsaw Badman cuts my fingers off - crikey - I think I need a Driller Killer fix.

 

NB: - the home teamsheet never transpired, I apologise for missing names out, I may rectify if details this way come!

EARLY DAYS, WASTEFUL WAYS

3rd August 2026 - Cheadle Heath Nomads 2 v 2 Widnes Town FC - The dictates of time were ruling the roost at the moment with the diary laden with dates, scribbles and re-arrangements.  The day was spent having a quick cycle, recording a few insects in a local meadow (that was now drier than the skin of Imhotep and as pale as the countenance of Count Yorga after a going on a vegetarian diet).  Once home I sorted the latest sightings, had a read and did a few chores.  The game planned for tonight had to be changed as I was due to speak at a local Columbo Convention but again plans were changed due to the recently ordered glass eye and corpse-skin cigars having been lost in the post.  So a very local game it was, and after a good curry for tea which left my anal areas in a state of thermally heightened agitation, I cycled the few local streets and arrived at the Nomads with pen and paper ready. I am trying to go on a short roll with these reports before I start to lead a load of wildlife walks which will leave me little in the way of 'extra time'.  So, ogling spot chosen, coffee sipped and pants lowered so as to ease the duffelbag temperatures and the game went something like this:-

The air was kissed by a cooling breeze, the play began with Widnes earning an early free-hoof after some very slick passing.  No 9 (Adam Palfrey) applied the executioners touch with a low grass-grazer lacking in gumption and allowing the keeper to get down and smother. This was as close as we got to any high end action during the early throes but Nomads were noticeably industrious and fizzing with eagerness.  The guests dashed hither and tither and worked up a good foam but could only manage to win another free-kick that No 10 (Josh Quarless) took and nearly brought down the local aircraft. By heck, was he looking to earn a place in his Town's local rugby side - surely his balls are not that misshapen.

 

It looked as though a goal was a mere dream when a long ball saw the Widnes No 3 (Jack Hont) nut the said sphere over his own keeper.  The ball was heading forth, all it needed was the slightest touch to guide it into the netting but the chasing striker was just too late to apply the assassins touch.  The corner came, in and out the ball went with No 10 (George Colville) having a punt that went over the bar. Back and forth matters went and a goal was beckoning when the Nomads burst forth from a midfield gathering like a wrestlers testicle from a pair of overstrained shorts (oh Shirley Crabtree ya sexed up bastard).  A touch and No 9 (Daniel Lewis) crossed first time with No 11 (Chigozie Ewelike) reacting as quick as The Flash with a 3 prong plug up his arse.  No messing, no thought for any unnecessary intricacy - a shot, a bulge of the net and 1- 0 it was and a fine goal built on rapidity and alertness had.

 

The touch paper had now been finally lit, Widnes needed to be careful or they would be severely burnt.  Time galloped on, little in the way of a response came, despite the away team putting in some good movement.  Nomads came closest to bagging a second when a ball was won due to nothing more than ardent desire.  No 7 (Dylan Woods) was at the apex of the move, the shot that came though was just off target. The home lads earned a gratis-punt soon after, Colville dinked one, Lewis arrived and buried the ball - a neatly executed move with a quite simplistic finish - as simple as A, B and C.  A few spicy tackles came, a bit of niggling and some minor glimpses of goal at both ends and then we were done.

 

I stayed put for half-time, was joined by local togger Mark Torbitt who was keen to relate a tale about a recent sexual conquest.  Apparently the man with the lens had been stalking a Joe Gladwin look-a-like in the hope of having a long-term relationship and giving rise to an army of 'Speccy Twats'.  It transpired that a meeting in a back street doss house had been arranged and Mark had satisfied his bodily needs only to find out that the article of his attention was the actual resurrected body of Mr Gladwin himself . As one can imagine Mark was overjoyed by this revelation, indulged in several more fumblings and even invested in his own pair of jam-jar glasses.  News of a tribe of cretinous living dead will no doubt be all over social media soon, I remained amused and yet a trifle disgusted - I hope none of these halfwits will be living near me.  

 

And to half two!  I swallowed more anti-psychotic pills, breathed deeply and banished the visions borne from the half-time yarn.  Widnes came forth with a new found relish, No 8 (Jordan Deer) charged in, had a dig and won a corner from the deflected shot.  The ball was posted, a break was building with the Nomadic No 8 (Collins Tanor) on it and clattered - the referee did well to just give a free-kick.  No success was had from this dead ball and a few others bore the same end result as the game became mightily fractured with one team looking for a goal and the other trying to protect what they had.  I was joined by Nomads Director of Football, namely Andy Gray.  We assessed the game and nattered on when Andy asked me if I was interested in purchasing a Scottish Sex Weeble.  I examined an egg shaped article and admired the smooth finish and tartan colouring - I was convinced and acquired a half dozen - my arse may be tingling with pleasure very soon - I just hope the one holding bagpipes doesn't irritate my prostate.  

 

As Andy bagged the payment we looked up to see the Nomads get their defensive knickers in a twist and allow No 11 (Xenon Bahula) to sneak in and bumble the globe homeward - what a gift, what a faux pas, what a fuckin' cock-up.  Widnes were now given renewed hope and started to play with an unquenchable desire.  Bahula was in the midst of the next noteworthy move with a fine cross put in across the face of goal that was begging for the killers toe-kiss.  No contact was made but the pressure remained on the home rear end.  No 15 (Carl Rogers) was the opening pawn in the next move and delivered a fine long throw right onto the bonce of Quarless.  The cranial flick on was delicate, No 6 (Eoim Hogan) arrived and the touch home was delivered - 2 - 2 - talk about blowing a potential 3 points.  The home side looked bewildered.

 

Nah then, my pre-match prediction of 2-2 was looking good but the previous Saturday I was all set for a bang-on score when late goals blew any chance of success.  As per, I prefer to be way out of sync as long as there are goals aplenty.  This game was up for grabs, The Chemics looked highly likely to take the final 3 point prize but were just lacking composure and a bit of luck.  Rogers had a low shot though and the post was clattered, this could have been a real turning point (I wonder if Buck could have done any better)?

 

We entered the closing stages, Bahula for Widnes was felled in the box, no penalty was the verdict, I was in wholehearted agreement.  Hogan for the guests had a crack but the low shot flew wide and then we had a smattering of touchline trouble as gobs let off steam and all sorts of silly bollocks occurred.  In the midst of this the Bahula was sent for an early dip which I think slightly pissed on the chips of chance for the Widnes pack.  Play resumed and with over-enthusiastic desperation taking hold no further highs were had and we were done.  Man of the Match was contemplated again, it was a close affair but I think Cheadle Heath Nomads No 2 (Callum Graham) played a controlled game, had his hands full at times but stuck to his guns and made sure that things were re-steadied at the back after 2 startling leakages.  

 

Homeward I went, it had been an entertaining game for sure but one that left both teams with 2 points lacking - and Nomads with their second 2-2 draw in a row - oh and with this here Fungalised git with a bang on prediction - crikey, I may buy a few more of them Weebles as way of a treat!

 

FINAL THOUGHTS - Well what can one add at this early stage in the season.  I expected much from Widnes during this campaign and yet tonight they looked a team far from the finished article.  The first half I thought they were poor but the second half showed that they have a resilience and a belief and were on the good side of Lady Luck.  They dug deep and several players showed that they can help this side move on and get some fine results.  The team must remain disciplined though and make sure they work darn hard off the ball and keep their opponents unsettled.  We are only a couple of games in and perhaps at month's end we can judge where this lot will end up - I will no doubt be catching them again at some point!  Cheadle Heath Nomads were darn average during the pre-season friendlies I saw and gave me little in the way of hope for the season ahead.  Tonight they were a different kettle of fish with the first half showing a fine work rate and some really admirable desire both on and off the ball.  The main blip was allowing the opposing force back in and when under the cosh not finding enough in the way of an escape option to negate the threat.  Things are promising though and not as bleak as I initially deemed.  I hope they do OK, it is a good set-up and worthy of a competitive campaign.  Of course they are my local side so more visits will follow through the coming weeks, and perhaps a greater insight into the deviant lives of the folks who work at the club - for a lowly entrance fee it is all good ruddy value tha' knows and better than stopping in and contemplating how many processed peas one can fit in ones navel.

WELL, ER, NOT A BAD DO AT ALL

1st August 2026 - Wombwell Town 4 v 2 Brigg Town - The ravages of a thermally heightened summer continue with many places aflame and people sagging under the solar spite.  Some people had mental lapses and had indulged in wasting time on a thing called the World Cup?  I saw 20 minutes of it and had had enough - I hear it was as bent as a rubber man's nob, was awash with adverts and water breaks and lacked the mystery we used to enjoy back in the hey day. Donald Trump got involved I heard, the great soccerised sagacious one giving more dictates and dummy spit demands - and I hear people actually listened - you see, heatstroke does affect the mind! Anyway we had cracked on away from this cash-crippled piffle, striving to do our bit for the wildlife and the insects, birds, blooms and myriad wonders that say the planet is warming up and those in denial are the ones living with real fear.  Today we were up at the crack, out and about and arriving at RSPB Old Moor to have a wander, meet some fine folk and record what we saw.  In the car park and then to the cafe, our friends Gareth and Sandra  joined us and we duly set off for a pootle with the day's footy planned as a fine follow-up and added variation.  My music scene mate Rossi turned up with the good lass known as Pauline - we all set off and pondered many aspects of a fine world.

The outcome of the walk was 180+ species, some lovely weather (but we do need rain), a couple of fine cafe visits and the blood circulated, the noggin intrigued and some species listed and to be recorded.  From here we headed to the ground, paid our dues and took up the peeping positions.  The jaws wagged before the teams took centre stage and the new season proper got underway.  I had already squeezed in a couple of friendlies just to whet the appetite but they are mere asides as you can't beat proper Non-League competitive football.  As per, predictions were cast, and all hoped for a good hoofing contest.  Here we go again and this is the Fungalised take on matters that matter.

The spherical object (made of who knows what these days) was kissed by the tootsies of a boot-clad bod and the game was indeed, afoot (Ooh Mr Sherlock what mysteries the season doth hold).  The first incident of any import came from a frenetic start where both teams were laden with early season zeal.  A Wombwell flick header fell to the plates of No 7 (Josh Brown) who was just denied an early strike due to the alertness of the highly conscious guest keeper (Alfie Appleby).  Down at the other end of the pitch we went with a smooth passing sequence unfortunately pissed on by a poor apical grass grazer - the move was worthy of so much more.

No 11 (Reece York) for the visiting tribe had a pop soon after but matters lacked power and direction and then No 7 (Adam Drury) indulged in an impudent first time lob that was a very cheeky attempt but remained just too lofted.  Wombwell worked back and probed away via some thoughtful sequences of play.  A handball shout was desperate and waved away just like another similar hollering at the other end.  Pressing came by both attacking forces, a breakthrough looked about as likely as a politician telling the truth when a Wombwell push came, a lost cause was chased by Brown who was enough of a menace to cause a defensive blip whereupon No 11 (Joshua Haigh) stepped up and bumbled the ball goalward and... over the line.  By heck, the first goal of the season proper - here we go, here we go etc. etc.

From here Wombwell were the better team of this first period and were soon advancing again with good pace. The end result of a move with much promise was a shot by No 10 (Nash Connelly), a shot in fact that was lower than the gonads of the famed octogenarian Humberto Slacksack and weaker than the comedy of a PC-riddled Les Dennis wannabe. The keeper's positioning was a little off, the ball bumbled along and was met by a hand but enough gumption in the globe was had to see it trickle into the onion bag and double the home lead.  

Brigg Town were now up against it, a shot finalised a move, the home No 1 (Sebastian Malkowski) stood firm and a free-kick soon after was headed goalward but alas over the horizontal timber.  A smattering of argy-bargy crept into the game after a dubious decision by the sable-clad judge and then York for The Zebras had a dig that was wonderfully defended. 2 more punts followed with more fine defending had and that was period one done, dusted and consigned to the vaults.

We went to the opposite side of the pitch for part two, shared a banana whilst our fellow onlookers went to have a splash and stretch the shanks or, if unfortunate, to have a stretch and splash the shanks.  The sun was strong, the teams were soon back out and I was keen for more goals.

An early corner was soon achieved by the Wellers, in and out, a robust, fair tackle and some gobbing off.  Brigg worked away, No 8 (Lewis Collins) sent forth a delicious shot, the save that came was of a fine quality and kept the proverbial Willy of the Weller's sticking out in front.  A hoof from the angle went to the back post, a nut connected and sent the ball goalward but again the keeper answered the questions asked. The visitors continued to work up a good lather and create some pressure but by heck Wombwell were well organised and disciplined at the back and afforded little in the way of any real chances.  York chanced his shank with a decent annelid sizzler but the attempt was deflected wide and the corner produced bugger all.

The game continued with things looking very balanced when a Brigg ball came and No 9 (Josh Batty) wasted no time in looping an effort right over the keeper and into the back of the net.  A really well taken goal and looking to inject new levels of intrigue into the game but, no sooner had the restart happened then Wombwell advanced, Haigh posted a sumptuous cross and No 9 (Ollie Fearon) applied a firm crust contact and the 2 goal cushion was restored.  What a ruddy sweet goal, sweeter in fact than the sugar-dipped nipples of Hilda Baker (so my mate Rossi had me believe).

Matters were racing on now, corners came each way, Fearon went close again and suddenly we were into the last 10 minute spell. The guests hammered away, another shot was superbly blocked by the home No 6 (Jack Wilson) and then a close in header by Batty was put over the bar with No 12 (Dayle Southwell) having a shot soon after that the keeper did well to fist away.  With the clock turning, the trailing ranks made a concerted effort and were  rewarded when a ball in was sent homeward by the fresh and lively Southwell - it was deserved for sure.

This late strike set things up for a final fling of uncertainty and one wondered if a stealing of a point could be had by the team with renewed belief.  Alas it was not to be as Brigg pushed and were caught with their trousers of confidence down.  A long hoof forth, a touch on and Wombwell's No 12 (Louis Hart) was in the right place at the right time and buried the game as a contest with a low shot that was too tasty for the mittman.  Soon after we were done, I think, on the balance of play, the result was highly fair.  Man of the Match was a difficult one but I thought Wombwell Town's No 6 (Jack Wilson) put in a quite concrete stint and led from the rear in a strong and unflustered way.  It is these kind of performances that sometimes get overlooked even though they are the key to a teams end victory - a good effort and here's to many more as the season unfolds.

So, farewells, a chat in the car park with Rossi (no, I didn't buy the Ms Baker nude snaps) and home.  A good early jaunt 'off-patch' - I think we may be back over the border very soon.

FINAL THOUGHTS - 2 teams awash with the joys and eager beaver hormones of early season promise.  All predictions bore no fruit although my 3 -1 win for the hosts was looking good until a couple of late strikes.  Brigg Town looked good but just ran out of ideas up front and failed to deal with Wombwell Town's rigid defending.  I can't see why The Zebras will lose any stripes this campaign, they just need to get a rub of the green, stay focused and work on the creativity factor.  I hope we can watch them again at some point during the season, I will keep an eye on the fixtures.  Wombwell Town look pretty close to being a complete unit and have pace, flair and a certain solidity.  With 3 points in the bag the first stone is laid on which to build a temple of Triumph - or indeed on which to disturb the foundations and make for a false promise and a Church of Chances lost - it is all about focus and discipline and there is a long, long way to go.  Again, my orbs shall be observing fixtures and a chance to see this lot in action again - they could be in for a very rewarding season indeed.