Saturday, 10 November 2018

SKY HIGH RY

10th November 2018 - Rylands FC 5 v 0 Cheadle Heath Nomads - The week had been long, a shed load of work had been got through at my place of labour and one day, when cycling home, I came off my bike and went with a wallop.  My legs and back are aching, my upper right arm quite sore too and the side of my buttocks are bruised but, my private parts are still in one piece and my date with the photographer from 'Conkers Internationale' is still on.  The photo shoot will be based in Perspiring Pamela's North Yorkshire garden were I will pose in rather candid positions whilst trying to bring the spotlight on the History of the Rolling Pin and the plight of the Nipple Ant - one has to put back.  So a usual Saturday morn was spent, we hit the road with enough time to avoid any pesky road works and arrived looking forward to a meeting between two teams new to the North West Counties fiasco.  This Macron Cup encounter could be a very close one, closer than the inner thigh's of Mick McManus, tighter than one Bertie Wooster after a night at The Drones.  Having said this it could go one way or the other, hence the reason I was on the edge of my seat, well that and the aforementioned sore arse.  Before kick of the players, fans and officials all stood in memory of the fallen, the victims of war where wasted lives are there to be learned from and bravery duly respected - the silence was spot on and the fact that all today's takings on the gate were to be donated to the Royal British Legion says so much about both teams. 

The object without corners was kicked on the surface with corners and my peepers were peeled and as keen as ever.  Rylands were immediately on it, 2 crosses were whipped in, the second of these needing attention from the visiting No 4 (Ashley Crank) who put behind without delay.   The corner in had decent accuracy but an infringement was spotted and the chance negated.  The hosts galloped forth once again, pace was used as well as many angles, with a cross eventually coming that allowed No 9 (Jamie White) to slide the ball home beneath the keeper's tangerine clad carcass.  Soon after and Rylands came forth with a stunning pass finding No 2 (Carl Lownsborough) who moved in from the angle and hammered a low pile-driver that the away mitter (Aaron Tyrer) did well to palm behind.  2 corners followed, the first was rattled behind, the second comfortably dealt with.  Cheadle eventually pushed themselves back into the game, a few steaming tackles were won that fed No 11 (Stephen Kirby) who put one onto the bonse of No 9 (Richard Tindall).   The header was loaded but from a wayward barrel and the target zone remained untroubled.  Rylands hit back with more crosses, one of these was lofted high and dropped from the sky like a heavenly testicle, perhaps the Angel of Hitler (oxymoron) had dropped.   The home No 11 (Steven Boothman) picked up on what the defenders failed to deal with and after one bounce belted forth a shot with much gumption.  Alas the beef added was overly done, the ball flew over into the nearby gypsy settlement!  

Cheadle now looked like a side re-energised and had a great 10 minute spell of pressure that exhibited some rapid passing sequences and a screaming thunderbolt from No 2 (Jack Warren) that shook the upright down to its foundations.  As the ball came out it was soon won back and Tindall put in a straight drive that warmed the mittmans digits and no doubt sent tremors to parts best left unmentioned.  At the other end No 10 (Liam Moran) was put in and in truth should have nailed home the 2nd strike of the game but the end touch was rather gentle to say the least.  The Nomads bounced back, No 8 (Phillip Yuille) worked away in the corner and found enough space to cross and graze the globe of Tindall who sent the ball onwards just off the mark.   The response was urgent and effective with Lownsborough charging forth and creating time to shoot.   Instead he unselfishly laid one off for Moran to tap home.  Now 2 goals down Cheadle had to work hard and it was Tindall again who forced an error and sent in a graceful chip that was blocked by a decent one-handed save.  As time ticked Rylands remained on top and could have gone 3 up when a free-kick by Boothman was slammed toward the goal and needed the attention of the keeper who just managed to tip over.  The corner came, it went long and was picked up by a Ryland's bod who almost turned hopelessness into unadulterated magic with a run in the box that was struck from the acutest angle and trembled the far post.  The last blast came from Cheadle with an overly-elevated free-kick - and we were done.

A nip for a gypsy's kiss, a cuppa and a chat with a groundhopping gent who hadn't missed a sporting event on a Saturday all year.   Rugby League, Rugby Union and Football were his fix, I am happy to stick with those playing with normal shaped balls. 

Back to our seats, The Nomads were out with great purpose ('getting stuck in' I think the term is in more vulgar circles) but Rylands were resolute and found ground to put in a free-kick that was punched out without conviction with a close-in shot somehow getting deflected behind.  The corner was wasted but the hosts soon came again, undeterred and like a Jack Russell I used to own who frequently tried to impregnate my lower leg, full of rabid desire!  Cheadle were akin to a man with the shits and floundered in the rear, the resultant mess was exposed. White for Rylands held the ball up and laid off for Boothman to drill directly home.  At 3 goals down, Cheadle were up against it with their opponents a very hot property with many options available when in possession.  A few subs followed, Cheadle once more dillied and dallied at the back and allowed the ball to be gained, a cross to come and Moran to find the ball at his feet with room to spare.  The keeper advanced. the striker remained cool and picked his spot - 4 - 0 may seem a harsh scoreline but in brutal truth, it was deserved.

From here Moran had a chance following more industrious pressure.  His shot this time was negated by an outstretched shank and the keeper was glad to gather.  Cheadle dug deep, Tindall turned and slapped one off the peg but again elevation was high and the green clad guardian between the sticks was left unflustered.  Despite Rylands being comfortable they could have added a few more strikes if they would have avoided a very obvious offside trap although their No 8 (Stephen Wolhuter) did managed a low drive that just missed the far stick. Into the home run we went, Tindall again offered the only hope for the visitors and a cute touch deserved a goal but was duly tipped over for an angled kick.  The ball came in, was cleared and followed by a tackle that many deemed dangerous - the referee saw otherwise and waved play on.  With a couple of minutes left The Nomads once again pissed about at the back, Wolhuter gained the ball and pulled the one legged bandit of fortune.   The globe took to the air, the curve was subtle and as the keeper back-pedaled he was lacking in pace as the net was found and a gilt edge was added to the final score.  At the death a goal-line clearance saved further blushes and the the whistle was blown.  The Man of the Match goes to Ryland's No 8 (Stephen Wolhuter) for some magnificent running, some great on and off the ball movement and a final goal of true quality - it capped a good stint by himself and his comrades.   We wandered off astounded by the scoreline here, I think Rylands may be on to something rather good.

FINAL THOUGHT - Cheadle Heath Nomads came today perhaps with hopes high but reality firmly held.   They tried their best but they were pressured throughout, were out-thought in many areas and were put in a position early on where they were chasing a very elusive game. To add to this they were running out a few new faces and looked like a team who need a short rest to recharge the batteries and get back on form and in the veritable mix.  Highs and lows are part and parcel of the season, it is all a question of how you ride them and how much unity within the ranks you can show - I am sure they will be back to winning ways soon.   Today however they were up against a very choice unit who seem to have all areas covered and have no real weaknesses.   What was the deciding factor though was the strength on and off the ball and the eagerness to chase down everything and duly force errors.  They play with nice width, they communicate well and they have several players who could easily move to the next level.  If this squad stays together they will certainly jump to the next grade, but remember the road is long, the road is hard, there are many miles to travel before the pot of gold is attained.  I will certainly be back to this pure Non-League ground this season, a bit more of the same will do very nicely thank you.

Thursday, 8 November 2018

FROM THE SHITE TO THE SHINY

6th November 2018 - West Didsbury & Chorlton 0 v 5 Ashton Athletic - A very busy day at work but tis time to catch up before the pre-Christmas flush.  The fungus season is over and has been a success and I have managed to keep up a consistent run of football matches during a quite hectic diarised run.   This was my first viewing of these two sides this time around with both teams, surprisingly, floundering in the bottom 5 and in desperate need of some points and confidence.   Alas this was the 2nd Round of the Lancashire Challenge Trophy so it was a situation of two predicaments.  Do the teams go for a solid cup run and risk all or do they take the foot off the gas and save all efforts for the league and the long term haul?   It all comes down to depth of quality, the inner belief and of course, how big the carrot is that is dangled before the doofers.  Tonight it was chilly enough not to ponder on dangled vegetables (plus the police may be close by) so I turned up, met up with my good chum STP Stu and nattered along until the teams appeared.   Predictions were made, we have still to get one right this year although my good lady did predict the recent 0 - 0 draw at Llandudno.  I had opted for an away win, Stu had gone the same way - one could almost hear the gambling fraternity run for cover.

And away we went, the ball flying over the baize and the players legs pumping like pistons.  The start was well matched with No 11 (Ryan Crowther) for the hosts having an early drill with too much uplift and so hit leafage rather than mesh.  The guests hit back with a rapier cross that needed defending.  A ball came from the angle, it found a crust at the far stick that produced a pseudo-attempt on goal.  The keeper leapt and fumbled and up popped No 9 (Adam Gilcrest) to tap home.  From here a nip and tuck session ensued with Ashton's No 11 (Adam Howard) bursting in from nowhere and looking to charge forth and bury.  The first touch was sweet, the second awful, the lads on the bench groaned in disgusted agony.  Ashton came again moments later, No 2 (Saul Guffogg) advanced and blazed in a concrete cross that found the head of Gilcrest who could only nut wide - the pace was just a little too harsh.  The WDC lads were struggling to get into this one, they were unsettled and kept in check by a very busy opposition.   The few crosses the hosts did put in exhibited little threat and the first signs of an uphill struggle were apparent.  From a constant onslaught Ashton drilled in two firm pops that rattled against well flung body flesh but when the ball rebounded out and No 3 (Charlie Munro) found himself in control he decided to chance the shank and see what the outcome would be. The result - a fine distance strike that doubled his side's lead and had the resident supporters hold their heads in their hands.

The dictation of the game came via the guests, a repetitive bombardment of incoming doodlebugs was had, each one looking to blow  the hopes of the WDC brigade further into the great murky yonder.  A free-kick came for The Yellows, the ball in was a stunner and needed touching wide for a corner.  The kick forth produced panic, a shot was cleared off the line, this was getting quite ridiculous.   Nearly every 50/50 ball Ashton came out victorious, each time displaying a greater hunger and determination.  No 7 (Joshua Nicholson) and Gilcrest were two effective elements in a fully functioning machine of desire (a bit like the batteries in Larry Grayson's Rectal Vibrator) and did their bit with unquestionable focus.  The Dids lads did cultivate the odd foray forward, a free kick one such example but the execution was rushed and no real pressure was put on the dominating force.  A late flourish by the resident team was viewed from the far end of the ground as me and Stu wandered for a piddle and a cuppa (I did remember to wash my hands after the said willy-based leakage).  A corner came, a touch on, the keeper was there to gather - the half ended in utter disappointment for those clad in black and white.

A brew and a stroll to the opposite side of the ground with a chew of the cud.  There was no way we could see a turnaround here, evidence was being witnessed as to why The West were struggling this time around.  No sooner had we found our new spot and the teams took to the park - was this a half that could spare blushes or rub salt in some very delicate wounds?

The second period saw matters proceed where they left off, Ashton were in charge, this time wind assisted.  The travelling pack marched onward, a cross was defended behind by an uncertain noggin but the short corner that came was dealt with and the hosts had time to rebuild.  A sharp passing movement from the WDC lads saw No 10 (Matthew Kay) find space to have a snap shot but the attempt was low and without zest and so easily gobbled up by the virtually untroubled keeper.  From a drab period an Ashton corner was achieved, the ball in was swung with accuracy and at the back post Gilcrest popped up and bagged his second of the night and confirmed the outcome of this game.  The home lads now took on the role of tip-dwelling shithawks and with ruffled feathers they looked for any scraps going.  A few subs followed, a brace of WDC free-kicks were won, the first was ruddy shabby, the second saw Kay produce a glancing header only to find the keeper in the right place at the right time.  As the play continued the Ashton lads ran like dogs on heat and trapped their opponents in the corner, refusing to let them clear the ball and eventually running them down to win a free-kick.  From this exemplary work the punt that came was disappointingly wide but should not detract from the effort that made the chance - great work all round I reckon.

The game rolled on, Ashton buzzed about and earned a chance when a cross found Guffogg who, in truth, should have hammered home.  The shot was done in haste and cracked over into the rustling autumnal trees but it didn't really matter as within minutes a defensive mistake was forced, a couple of quick passes ensued and Nicholson knocked the ball through a crowd of players and brought up the 4th strike of the night.  Down the back stretch we went, there was no change in tactics or the tide, Gilcrest for Ashton went close with a lovely 20 yard drive that needed a firm tip over by a down-on-his-luck keeper.  The corner came, it was hoofed in, a near post touch followed by the alert No 6 (Callum Wilson) and that was that.  0 - 5, a veritable showing up for one side, a undoubted stroll in the park for the other - man, who would have dreamt it.   Man of the Match goes to the Ashton Athletic No 7 (Joshua Nicholson) for nothing more than sheer dedication to the cause, some fine footballing talent and an insatiable appetite to make his mark, help his team and keep the tempo high.  Goodbyes were had, homeward bound we went, this was a match to confound the prophets for sure, although we did manage to pick the winning team this time.

FINAL THOUGHT - I usually remain positive in my end summaries, I try to find even the smallest inkling of hope from the most manky of performances and keep matters upbeat but man, West Didsbury and Chorlton FC were ruddy shite tonight and played without cohesion, without any fluidity and like a team in transition and without any direction.  It happens of course, these are the ups and downs of Non-league, a place of unpredictability, ambiguous conundrums that defy solution and drive all and sundry to despair.   Tonight The West were outwitted, outbattled and outplayed in all areas.  They have some good players in their ranks and should come through this sticky spell but time will tell and if they don't correct matters soon the drop will beckon and a certain brown and sticky substance will hit the fan of fuckery and throw promise and hopes against defeat smeared walls of heaving disappointment.  Ashton Athletic on the other hand were on it tonight and looked like a team on form.  This could be a false image though as they were allowed to play, were given time to hustle and were against a unit walking the troublesome byways of Shitsville.   Even so, each and every player for the Yellows worked hard, displayed a belief and operated as part of a pack well drilled and disciplined.  Communication was sound throughout, always a good thing, and I look to get up to Brocstedes Park mighty soon and enjoy some more eager football.  Tis a busy time to be a neutral for sure, it is, as ever, a fascinating realm to ponder, I hope I have summed this one up as accurately as possible, I apologise for any untoward negativity, but one can only polish a turd so much!  

Saturday, 3 November 2018

BACUP BLOW HARDEST

3rd November 2018 - Bacup Borough 4 v 2 Daisy Hill - I am feeling wank again, the old body has failed to keep up and stress is attacking the framework.   I get these unneeded assaults, they are buggers indeed but, one has to take stock and crack on in a more moderated way.   So, up, some Nettle books picked up from the Post Office, some dropped off to kind purchasers, a 4 mile cycle and a quick sort.  My missus arrived home and the drive over to our destination was had.  Along the way I read some of The Chrysalids by John Wyndham and we listened to the latest CD by The Senton Bombs - what a good bunch of blokes, what a fine band!  We arrived, purchased refreshments, sat inside for a while and then picked our spot and pondered.  It was good to get back to The Brian Boys West View Stadium, the last time I was here was a couple of years back with my old mate Ged Murder.   On that occasion Ged ate himself into a coma during half-time and when he recovered claimed to be Buddah reborn.  The drive home was interesting to say the least and after 4 stop-offs to be repeatedly baptised I eventually found myself on my doorstep...shattered.  Since then Ged has done a stint in prison for nude shoplifting and I have converted to Islam - was the altitude of Bacup's ground the cause of this misdirected behaviour or was the mind of Elton Welsby paying us back for the slanderous literature myself and Ged donated to the Save a Pygmy cause - I do not know the answer.  So, in an utterly righteous way, with a footballing revelation to be exposed, here is the review - bless you my child as you read on!

The Gods of Time dictated that the game should begin and the mere pawns in the grand soccerised scheme did their master's bidding.  A minutes silence for the recent tragedy at Leicester and a home soul and things began to unfold.  Daisy Hill were straight on it, No 4 (Macauley Farrington) with a sugar sweet pass out wide, followed by a cross that saw No 9 (Jack Iley) have the chance to bury but knock off target.  Bacup responded with fervour, numerous balls were pumped into the enemy's box with a thumping shot eventually had.  The ball boomed in, bounced back out and a follow-up was nailed.  No 6 (Kyle Brooks) peeled away grinning like a Cheshire Cat and celebrated with his jigging colleagues - a dream start indeed.  From the kick off the Daisy Dudes passed with purpose and a quite superb ball pierced a watching rear pack and No 10 (Ashley Stott) collected, controlled and caressed home beneath the keeper's carcass - what a tasty equaliser.  The game progressed with haste, Bacup passed with care and looked to penetrate, all open doors were closed and when No 8 (Nicholas Alexander) gained possession the options were limited to say the least.  A moment of 'fuck it' was borne, the ball was hoofed from 20+ yards, it duly went upward, looped downward and found the awaiting net - what a strike, what a ruddy good start to a fascinating game!  The kick off followed, Daisy Hill looked to repeat their quick strike back and when a pass came, Iley raced after the ball and at the angle it was with great joy that he picked his spot and slotted home with seasoned quality - 2 - 2 - this was a beauty!

Onwards, an abundance of space was found all over the pitch, end to end stuff ensued. Suddenly the Hill Street Blues rushed on, a ball came and put the home No 3 (Davison Banda) in a veritable twist.  A hesitation saw Hill's Stott steam in and blast from a couple of feet out - oh what a terrible miss it was, surely a game changing moment and one to look back upon with an analytical microscope!  Next and Bacup won a brace of corners.   The first was bilge, the second was knocked out and rattled back with force via the eager Alexander.  The shot was hefty, the accuracy just a little off the mark - a shame!  Daisy Hill reacted, a ball put Banda in more trouble and he lashed dangerously across his own box.  Stott was flying in for the guests but the ball was too quick and pinged off his shanks for a goal kick.  The game now settled down, both teams began to read their opponents tactics better and negated their hopes.  From the balanced period Bacup broke and a low cross came into the danger zone for No 10 (Michael Gervin) to bury.  Alas the ball was hammered into the nearby street and not the back of the net.  If local resident Mrs Green was passing solids on her newly fitted  lavatory and the ball rattled her karsi window I do apologise on behalf of the player but refuse to clear up  the resultant mess.  As the half drew to a close we wandered for a brew, nowt much happened but Bacup's Gervin went on a quite stunning run, rode several tackles and nearly brought up the lead goal. He was unlucky not to see his final touch blasted home.   The referee blew soon after, this had been a good un' for sure.

We took shelter at half-time, a cup of tea and some ginger spiced biscuits helped warm cockles perished.  I had a piddle, it took a while to find the old pecker as it had already gone into hibernation mode - ooh there is nowt worse than a troublesome todge (So sayeth Oscar Wilde)!   Zipped up and out again, we opted for the opposite side of the ground to stretch the boiled eggs, alas it was still riddled with the wind.

The teams took to the stage, Bacup were out quickest, their No 7 (Anthony Hall) was like a Clegg Fly on a sunbathers nipple - he really was getting on some tits.  He worked into the corner, somehow released despite the attention of 2 defenders, Gervin got involved and duly walloped a cross with No 9 (Micah Evans) latching on at close quarters and forcing a solid point blank save.  The wind now whistled, tendrils of the breeze reached for parts mentioned, don't worry folks, all was safely tucked into the scrotal-based nest.  Hall for Bacup advanced twice in quick succession and won a free-kick each time.  The first of these gratis digs was dire, the second better with a nut out belted back but wide of the target.  Daisy Hill were on the back peg, Stott had a crack from nothing and wasn't too shy of the goal.  Eventually Hall was back on the ball, he surged forth, forcing the issue with desire.  He entered the box, was bumbled to the ground, the penalty was given and the same player slotted home - it was just reward for a seriously nifty work session.  A few bookings followed, the visitors worked hard to get back into the game, but with too many stray and rushed final balls and the rock of No 4 (Adrian Bellamy) in Bacup's rear there was very little room to pose any real threat.  

As the flow increased against the Bacup goal the hosts broke.  Hill put a ball in, Gervin let one fly but it was too tame and the trouble was soon quelled and the DH crew continued to seek out the key to unlock their opponents defense.  No 2 (Ellis Worrall) let one go, the ball moved in the air but the keeper was reliable and caught with relative ease.  Out of nothing a break came, Evans for the home team raced away with defenders in hot pursuit.   The goalkeeper advanced to add pressure, the brow of the striker remained chilled, the instinct came to the fore and the ball was slotted home to kill the game stone dead.  Despite the scoreline both teams still worked hard, Gervin was unlucky not to finalise a power-laden run with a goal and Iley at the other end had a firm dig but only straight into the awaiting keepers tit area.  Players huffed and puffed and the clock wound down, the referee called a halt and the scoreline became part of non-league history.   I think Bacup Borough deserved this one and for me, the Man of the Match goes to their No 7 (Anthony Hall) who exuded an abundance of pace, was a notable game changer and who was one of the problems the Daisy Hill team never really got to grips with.

FINAL THOUGHT - What better way to spend a Saturday afternoon than watching two honest teams play out a 6 goal game at a ground that really is a delight to visit.  The chips were choice, the cha' swilled with avid joy and the chill a bastard but adding to the character of the day. Bacup Borough are a decent squad, they play with many styles and can move the ball with pace and precision at times that will always be a quite upsetting factor for any visiting tribe.  Today they were pegged back twice and were in a real contest but came through in the end with persistent pace, a few outstanding efforts and some well-earned goals.  I feel there is more to come here. I certainly hope so.   Daisy Hill are not a bottom of the table team, certainly not on this evidence.   The only flaw today was that penultimate ball, that killer pass that could thread in a striker and dismantle a defense in the twitch of a fidgets testicle.   Some good time on the training ground working at this small but crucial matter and man, they can climb the table quicker and reach dizzier heights than Chris Bonnington on Crystal Meth.  I am due a trip down to New Sirs Ground, watch this space, read the report.  PS - I later found out that Mrs Green is suing Bacup Borough FC for a broken knicker elastic, a prolapsed ring-piece and 6 stained bathroom tiles - I just hope the club has the financial strength!

Sunday, 28 October 2018

LLAN 'DUD' NOOOOO!

26th October 2018 - Llandudno FC 0 v 0 Cefn Druids - A day spent birdwatching at Burton Mere RSPB and then wandering around Llandudno where we had a walk on the pier and indulged in an all day breakfast before having a snooze.   A 30 minute walk to Maesdu Park was had in a nipping wind and upon arrival we duly indulged in a warming cuppa.  A walk around the circuit of the ground was had and then seats taken.   The wind increased, the overhead dragon emblazoned flags flapped harder than Old Mother Riley's titties in a hurricane and as we snuggled down and chatted with a few locals sentiments were had of a match that would be a tough one and with very few goals.   The vibes were far from positive, both units were going through a sticky patch, I held no hope for a net bursting spectacle.  

The teams came out, the clouds began to leak, a night of perishing play was to be had - could there be goals to warm the cockles - I bloody well hope so!  The opening snippet of action came for the hosts when a crippling ball from No 4 (Michael Pearson) was played for No 10 (George Harry) to chase down.   The pace on the globe was frisky, the striker galloped with fervour but the mittman was there first and grabbed with obvious relief.  Cefn Druids returned the semi-favour with a long ball of their own that was crossed, touched on and finalised in a slap shot shitter from No 22 (Arek Piskorski).  The first corner of the game came for the hosts after some cheeky work from their No 5 (Leo Smith).  The ball in was knuckled out, put back in and from the melee the keeper dropped like a sack of sweating shit and duly smothered.  The impetus remained with the home pack as the visitors looked to rely on a long ball albeit without any stinging direction.  A free-kick did come from one such lengthy punt, it gave the first real suggestion of menace for the travelling team.  A low slung ball came but a defensive header off the deck did the job required  and the Llandudno bacon was saved (or lettuce if ye be of a veggie persuasion).  From a dreary and drab period a splash of attacking pressure came for The Seasiders but each and every potential attack had about as much bite as Albert Steptoe after mislaying is decaying dentures.  The game trickled on in scrapyard fashion and whilst making note of the disappointed faces in the crowd I did wonder if the local footballing suicide rate went up after these ghastly affairs or if the local psychiatrist's couch was fully booked by local officials.  It was that type of game.

Suddenly a snippet of excitement came.  As I fumbled for my tranquilisers (one has to be careful) a corner and a penalty claim was had for The Druids.  The plea was waved away and Llandudno broke with No 9 (John Owen) away and looking certain to bury.  He shot, the keeper spread himself and a defender did enough with the old ham shanks.  Soon after the same player had another dig from distance but the wind took the ball off line and we stayed all square. The Druids battled on, their No 9 (Dean Rittenberg) had a solid shot cleared off the line and then the game returned to Desperation Street with a patchwork effect staining any semblance of fluidity.  A few half shots came at either end but high end quality remained minimal - the half time whistle was a blessing without disguise.

For the break we hunkered down, swilled ginger and chewed a few toffees.   A local verbally donated his despondency before pootling off to the other side of the ground - was that a gibbet I spied in the distance?

The opening bursts of the follow-up half began with Cefn Druids looking to have the greater appetite.  A throw and a thumping shot by No 14 (Ryan Kershaw) was sweetly saved and a return punt by No 8 (Alex Mudimu) was firmly parried away from danger,   Good work keeper!  From an episode of midfield ping-pong that would have moistened the loins of Desmond Douglas a ball was hoofed over the Druids defence.  No 21 (Toby Jones) popped up and looked to bury, the shank swung but the contact made was with 90% fresh air and not the leather orb and the gloved protector smothered with radiant gratitude.  As in the first half we had a session of dissolving disarray with each team lacking an accuracy of pass and hustled and harried when in possession.  Mudimu produced a sparkling turn and cross to pick out Kershaw for The Druids but the volley was shabby to say the least and this, looked as my good lady had predicted, to be a nailed on goalless draw.  No 11 (James Davies) for the guests clobbered one next but again the home mitter was defiant and did his job.  

The chess game continued, the rhythm was too rushed to produce anything of note.  A Cefn corner eventually came and caused mayhem in the box and a close-in shot needing yet more gloved attention which in turn led to a Llandudno break.   It was a 3 on 3 situation, a killer pass was there to be had but an offside call brought utter dismay and screams of anguish for the tried and tested support.   From here, the wound that had opened was nearly filled with infecting and spiteful shit when a Druids corner caught the rear guard ball watching allowing Mudimu to sneak in and touch...just wide.   This was the miss of the game and at such a late stage was one that was surely a 3 point punisher.  Llandudno paid back with 2 corners, the first was too long, the second had too much uplift with the wind being the devilish causal agent.  A stunning ball came soon after with No 14 (Alun Webb) destined to rifle home.   Alas more fresh air was struck, it was just one of those nights.  Extra time came and went in the twitch of a chinaman's chuff - this had been a trial and one that saw both teams snuff each other out.  Man of the Match tonight was an easy choice with the home No 1 (Shaun Peason) the man who made sure this was a goal free affair and who kept his mind on the game when so many in the crowd had wandered elsewhere.  It was a good stint between the sticks - thank you sir!  After the match we walked back to our base, it was nobbing and the rain rattled into our faces - It was one of those night's but for some reason, we still enjoyed it!

FINAL THOUGHT - 2 teams pissing in the wind at the mo and there is nothing one can do only ride the storm and grind it out until the sunshine comes.   There were many positive shrooms erupting from the muck tonight, it just takes one to sniff em' out and look on the bright side.   Both squads are riddled with pace, both pass with eagerness and both are laden with players who never give up and who put in a full 90 minute effort.   What is lacking is composure!   Time on the ball, a build up where space is picked out and teams are dragged out of their comfort zone and duly stretched further than they would like to be.   Sometimes knocking the ball about and keeping possession just for the hell of it is a good thing and can frustrate the enemy and get a good feel for the ball under foot.   These are basics and personal thoughts but for me there was too much panic in the play tonight and an uncontrolled zeal that marred the final execution.   One thing though is that, despite this unimpressive match, we will return as this is a good set up and there are a few friendly folk who made us feel quite welcome.   Small touches that matter and all gratitude is ours.  I hope when we do see both these sides next time fortunes have changed for them, I don't see why not!

Thursday, 25 October 2018

FARM, FARTING AND FOOTY

23rd October 2018 - Cheadle Heath Nomads 2 v 1  Maine Road - Before the sun rose I was up, sorted and out with the good lady to drop her off at work and to carry on to await the Young Carers Crew whom I was taking on a farm trip.   My colleagues and all attendees arrived and after having the van jump started we eventually set off and had a good day out on the farm.   Chickens, cows, sheep, ducks etc, some fun games and a good blow through via the autumnal winds and home to fart about and catch up with some loose ends.  Tea was chomped, the arse put back in gear and to the local ground I went with promise had of what I felt would be a goal fest (well 6 strikes at least).   I am fairly up to speed with both teams and keep tabs on them as best as I can and this was looking to be a ruddy net bursting blitzer.  Alas I am not renowned for my prophesying abilities but, having dropped a couple of Fly Agaric fungi earlier in the day and having consulted a dirty magazine that contained a nude spread of Russell Grant, I reckoned I had done all I could as regards seeing into the future.  I had made a blip earlier in the week when I changed my name by deed poll to Patrick Moore and realised he was an astronomer and not an astrologer - bastard or what!  I won't mention the Edwin Hubble tattoo I had on my left conker - what a wretched week!  So, still confident I supped tea, chatted with STP Stu and a few folk and watched the teams take to the park.   Remember, 6 goals at least or my name isn't Mr Moore - let the contest begin.

Arse comfy and after a local ReFox (Vulpes vulpes) put in an appearance the first attack came with the home No 3 (Stephen Kirby) placing one to No 9 (Leon Grandison) who shot but without any venom.  The away team rallied, paid back with their expected hurrying technique and from another patch on the back foot The Road broke with a rapier pass finding No 9 (Michael Burke) who dashed towards the goal with the opposition's No 5 (Jack Warren) in hot pursuit.  The striker stayed composed, he shot with measured sanguinity and ballooned the inside of the net to bring up the evening's first strike.   It was an unexpected opening goal and from here the team ahead certainly had the better of the play.  No 2 (Jamie Hill) was in soon after and had a golden opportunity to double the advantage and throw a cat amongst the pigeons, nay, a sausage amongst the veggies.  Despite reeling and trying to gain a foothold the Nomad crew displayed a fine self-command and were in no way being bullied or pressured into playing a panic driven game.  The disciplined approach and biding of the time bore semi-ripened fruit when a quick break was knocked wide for a corner.  The ball in was a choice cutlet but no takers arrived and we stayed as we were.  Grandison went on a good run next, earned another corner that was once more sweetly struck and found the nut of No 11 (Isaac Graham) who saw the globe cleared off the line.  A follow-up shot was belted back but stubbornly blocked with all peril negated.

Eventually the home lads got their act together and managed to produced several half chances. A free kick was borne from pressure and when Kirby stepped up there seemed acres of space in the area for him to pick his spot.  The ball was struck, the wall missed and the goalkeeper beat - the equaliser was taken with graceful ease, if only every goal was so easily had.  A corner soon after was won by the toiling No 9 (Richard Tindall) and, as per, the knock in was clean and well directed and needed another goal line clearance - the pendulum was now swinging a different way, the tick of the clock held threat for the visiting blue-clad crew.   To maintain hope Burke slapped a beauty from nowhere and saw the ball dip with purpose but unfortunately clip the outside of the bar - a wonder strike it would have been, a disappointment it actually was.  The Blues came again, Hill produced a scintillating turn and whammed in a cross cum shot that was not that far from breaking the net.  The game was growing in stature as were several players as numerous noticeable performances were being had.  Cheadle had the next crack with Grandison thumping one, the mitter knocking out and the lob back in missing by only a couple of feet.  The half ended with the odd dig here and there with a Road player having a decent chance but dragging the ball wide of the mark.  His raging holler of 'fuck', that fractured the night air summed matters up nicely - time for a break methinks.

A roam, tea and a jaw wag with Stu and a couple we meet regularly on our roamings.   We all agreed this one was still in the balance. whether or not the goal flood would come was anyone's guess - here we go again!

For this second period the host's came out with more drive, more determination and more direction.  Within minutes a blazing cross was knocked toward goal and nutted home for good measure.  The strike looked ideal, the referee agreed until a flag caught his eye and after a brief chat with the liner the goal was disallowed.  Steam rose from the home heads, the scandal was hard to swallow but swallow it they did and got on with matters in double quick time (applause for that methinks).  With irritation coursing through their carcasses the Nomadic crew got their heads down and inflicted an increasing stranglehold on their opponents hopes.  A 3 pass move was concocted quicker than one of Ali Bongo's love potions and a corner was earned.  The delivery was top drawer (a consistent theme of the night) and was just nutted away by a gasping rear guard.  The state of play was now set with the hosts urgent, the visitors looking for scraps.  Tindall had a punt and a second attempt which flew high and just wouldn't fall into the awaiting net.  The Nomads came again, No 2 (Kieran Herbert) battling away and winning a free-kick from nothing.  The quality cross was dealt with, a corner followed, Warren came mighty close with a firm nutted effort.

As time travelled Herbert thrusted and had a shot to kill. The keepers legs blocked the attempt, the ball went loose and was hoofed back in.  Enter The Tin Man with a choice nut that found glory and grabbed a lead that was always on the cards.   Tindall peeled away and celebrated with his colleagues, the turn-around was complete now, it was just a question of seeing the game out.  The Road suddenly arose from the slumber but Cheadle remained in control with No 8 (Phillip Yuille) having a shot after some good link up play.  Again the keeper stopped with the shanks and the follow up corner produced sour FA.  Soon after Herbert provided a choice cross with Tindall close to nailing down the coffin lid on the floundering hopes of Maine Road. The game ran into extra time in scrappy style and at the last a late free-dig for The Road was absolutely awful and Warner for the hosts was unlucky not to add the third.   The referee blew and this had been a true lesson in 'never say die'.   The Man of the Match for me goes to Cheadle Heath Nomad's No 2 (Kieran Herbert) who ran his socks off, battled with control, worked like a Trojan and never gave up the ghost - it was a performance reflective of a team who never know when they are beat - tis a quality not to underestimate.

FINAL THOUGHT - So another one done at this local ground and more questions answered rather than posed.   Cheadle Heath Nomads are a force to be reckoned with and even when playing without fluidity and synchronisation still find a way to hang in and give themselves a chance of correcting matters when the chips are down.   Today the first half was shady and sketchy, the second half a complete transformation that brought home the full 3 point prize and kept them right up in the dogfight at the top that seems destined to go on until the season's end game.  This is a fascinating league and many teams will be dropping points along the way, it will all come down to who has the desire and the determination to grind out a result when there be shit in them thar cogs.   Maine Road have turned a corner and from looking like relegation candidates, they now seem a team on the up and who are going to win more than they lose.   A consistent run is needed and a boost of the confidence levels a must so as to get all players fully functioning and taking to the pitch with fizzing sanguinity.  I think they will be fine but don't forget I did predict 6 goals (at least) tonight!  Who knows how things will turn out but one thing is now 100% certain - my name is not Patrick Moore - just plain old Fungalpunk Dave - trying to put back in the usual way.  Cheers for reading folks and if anyone wants to buy a second hand glockenspiel and a sexual telescope I am open to offers!

Thursday, 18 October 2018

THE ART OF THE GRIND

16th October 2018 - Cheadle Heath Nomads 2 v 0 Wythenshawe Town - Like the left titty and the right titty that adorn the chest of one Big Betty Muldoon there was very little to choose between the clashing entities on parade tonight and I did wonder which way the bra of balance would fall and who would taste the sweet lactated milk of non-league success.  Both teams are new sucklers to this soccerised league and both have fed well and held their own in the early ticklings of the ball booting competition.  A winning feed on the nipple of opportunity would result in an ascension to echelons higher, a failure to latch on to the dangling pap of promise and a curdling of the hopeful moo-milk could sour early season spirit.  A busy day at work, a cycle home, tidying, tea, a stretch of the aching carcass and a short walk with my lovely lady to one of my favoured grounds.  Salutations to good folk were plentiful and mandible wags enjoyed.  STP Stu was in attendance tonight and we waffled like wankers on whizz and awaited the teams.  Predictions were had, it was looking like a tight one (oooh Betty I can't get you out of my mind) and as it turned out....

The Whythy pack were straight on it with several early balls hurtled towards their opponents vulnerable zone, one of which found the fervid No 9 (Liam Crellin-Myers) who shot but could only hit the keepers well spread plates of meat.  A throw in soon after travelled some distance and No 3 (Deven Golden) had a close in nut that again went straight at the keeper, this I considered a pivotal miss.  Another attack saw a cross, a follow-up shot and a solid save that allowed the hosts time to take stock and try and get a hold on the game thus far.  A push soon came, No 4 (Ashley Crank) advanced and put in a mighty fine cross that saw the keeper come and punch in a highly unconvincing manner.  No 10 (Leon Grandison) was waiting to hoof back with interest and failed to hit the target by mere feet.  In return, No 10 (Steven Yarwood) had a fair dig at the opposite end with the ball looking to dip below the horizontal albeit without significant pace.  Luckily the yellow clad keeper was alert and caught with relative ease.  The game advanced, an early sub, a card issued, a few free-kicks wasted, this was a close tussle with the away team shading matters in all areas of the park.  Grandison for the hosts had another jab at glory in the midst of the tumult but the execution was neither forceful nor accurate.  From here The Nomads found balance, some good crosses came and their ever eager No 9 (Richard Tindall) nearly found space on several occasions.  

Some good moves were hitting the floor, No 8 (Phillip Yuille) for Cheadle put in a sweet turn to escape a surrounding triangle of players and duly knocked forth a pass that was only just dealt with before destroying all visiting hopes.  With the twitch of a spasmodic buttock a long ball found Grandison who struck with sugar sweet feet but again did so without placement.  Tindall was there to follow up the loose scraps, a deflection came for a corner which followed and pinged off the latter players noggin with too much 'oomph' and too little finesse.  Some end to end action ensued, shots were offered but all awry and as the terminal point for the break was reached we arrived at destination zero with the match in a state of intriguing equilibrium.

Half-time and a wander for a cuppa and back to a different spot to watch the game unravel and hopefully someone grab the 3 point prize.  During the break myself and Nomad coach David Potter indulged in a spot of glue-sniffing (my wife left it alone due to political reasons and STP Stu was never touching it again after falling pregnant during the last heavy session).  During the huffing Potter said he had seen the light and the way to victory was in his grasp - it seemed a bold claim, as we both staggered to our respective hot-spots this is what transpired.

Once more The Town started brightest but Cheadle were quicker to respond to the rally call this time around and put their foot on the gas and made this a far closer competition in all respects.  A ball came for the hosts. Tindall was on it like a wasp on a sun-bathers arse.  The head went down, the strikers instinct coursed through the gushing veins and even though a colleague was in space the Tin Man had only an eye for goal.  He staved off a defender, picked his moment and buried like a seasoned pro.  He looked overjoyed, the corner flag got a good kicking, and why not - a great way to break a very tight deadlock and now the game was on.  Both teams now worked the leg flesh with ardour, Cheadle were solid value for the lead and their No 11 (Stephen Kirby) had an ambitious dig soon after but the save was very much equal to it.  The Nomads sub, a veritable footballing Jack Russell No 12 (Terence Butler), won a free-kick next due to nothing more than being a dog with a bone and not giving up on the chase.  The cross that came was a trifle wank, a shame as the previous work was deserved of much, much more.  Wythy had an equally dire gratis punt of their own and then Tindall for the hosts was causing mayhem again with a flick header to a colleague who shot and saw the ball saved.  The sphere came out, was recovered and wham, Kirby hit a low hard drive and doubled his sides lead and knocked the sheer shit out of their opponents expectations.  This was a fine kick back after the first half events, Cheadle Heath Nomads once again, were proving a tough nut to crack.

Into the mush we went, a few crunching tackles, some idiot argy-bargy and a few tempers tested.  The referee was under the cosh but dealt with matters fairly and all the while the Wythenshawe energy and potential was being suppressed.    Wythenshawe had a rare chance in this second period, Yarwood latched onto a cross and his close in header was a scandalous miss that could have given promise and a game changing situation - the culpable man looked rather disappointed.  A settled period saw Kirby have a punt for the hosts, and then their No 14 (Kieran Herbert) went on a scintillating run that surely deserved a goal.  The keeper sprawled and blocked though and Herbert had another dig soon after but the No 1 (Jake Aldred) was up for it again and duly parried.  Wythenshawe laboured on to the last, won a few free-kicks but there was no quarter given and no way through a very resilient and hard working back-line. When the game was called to a halt no one could argue with the result and the Cheadle Heath Nomads got their due reward.  Man of the Match goes to the home No 8 (Phillip Yuille) who was a choice cutlet in the meat of the midfield and looked to create plenty of time for himself on the ball, played a thinking man's game and knocked the ball about in a quite simple and cultured way - a great performance done in a subtle fashion but making a big difference.

FINAL THOUGHT - You can see why Cheadle Heath Nomads are holding their own in this league and what great desire and unyielding spirit they have when under fire or advancing forth.   They have a good blend of skill, belief and hard-working components that will undoubtedly keep them in the top slots and put many a team on the back foot.  Today we saw a first half were they scurried to hold their own and they did just that so as to come out in the second half, build on all the hard work and duly achieve the end result.  They are nearly a complete package and with one or two additions to give strength in depth who knows what the future will hold.   Wythenshawe Town are no mugs and today gave good value throughout and put the wind up the hosts early on.   Direction was lost in the second half and, if the truth be known, they were outgunned.  For me though they have too much in reserve to be put in any kind of jeopardy and have a few eye-catching footballers that will always produce a few goals.  I hope to get back down their end soon enough, the calendar is always clogged though so I can only do what I do.   I will be back at The Nomads next Tuesday - here's to a good un' as per, and may both teams have a ruddy good season.  PS - on the way home David Potter was seen in the gutter still on the old glue bag - he seemed delighted with the nights events - and so he should be - stick at it sir, stick at it (literally).

Wednesday, 17 October 2018

DRAINING THE MAINE VEIN

15th October 2018 - Maine Road 6 v 5 Abbey Hulton Utd - The weekend had been non-stop, today had involved a slog through many fungal specimens and the match on show was very much anticipated.  The hosts were in the lowly depths of the league, the guests flying high and looking to recover after a recent blip.  The pressure was on both sides to grab a win for obvious reasons, if ever a game looked to have goals in it this was it.  As I result I removed my rhetorical testicles and put them on the line marked 'optimistic' and hoped and prayed that I wouldn't end up a foolish eunuch with my conkers in my hand.  Me and the missus had tea, watched some idle TV (Bargain Hunt - inoffensive enough I suppose since that copper coloured bastard David Dickinson had jumped ship) and then we set out for a short drive to the ground.  A warm drink, viewing point found and cop a load of this.

From the off, The Hulton advanced with their heads to the grindstone and nearly broke their opponents back ranks with a sharp passing sequence that was blighted at the death by the flapping touchline flag.  No sooner had the pressure valve been released on the Blue defense than a moment of unexpected madness saw a goalkeeping mis-kick allow the ball to fall into space and No 11 (Angelo Rico) loop one homeward and find the awaiting space between the sticks.  It was a well taken goal and certainly put an early kybosh on the host's ambitions.   From here The Road buzzed about with No 9 (Mike Burke) having a hopeful dig that went tamely wide.  A free-kick down the other end saw panic in the box and much fluster ensue.  The home lads survived, had a good period of possession but never made any genuine inroads - Abbey Hulton seemed to be very much in the driving seat.  As the visitors built with purpose, Maine Road pugnaciously stuck in and from a seemingly mediocre moment a ball was tossed forth, nutted out and up stepped No 10 (Lee Hendley) to absolutely nail one home and bring parity back to the game.  It was a firm strike and a bolt out of the unpredictable blue - this one was a very intriguing affair!

Resting on a knife edge the game developed further, Burke had a dig for The Blues but a bobbling ball put paid to the target being troubled and I thought the windows of nearby resident Edwina Thrutch were in greater danger of being hit which, in itself, would have been disastrous as it was about this time she was settling down to knit herself another 3 breasted bra (don't ask).  Half chances came at each end, the ball was just elusive at the last and so the scoresheet remained without further blemish until Abbey Hulton advanced and were duly robbed of the ball.  From the halfway line Burke decided to get the head down and go on a mission.  One player, two player, three player beat, a quick glance and wallop - goal of the evening had, a 20 yard beauty and a turnaround to savour was achieved and all done with grit and gonads exposed along the way - marvellous.  Hulton were injured, they sprung back, No 3 put in a cross, the home mittman flapped and a shot came and was blocked on the line.  In, out and back in the ball went, like the hips of an Alsatian humping the leg of its narcoleptic owner.  As peril seemed to pass a leg swung, the globe was hit on the volley and whack - back of the net bulging, the game was all square - Nathan Grice was the assassin, this was turning into a stunner.

The excitement continued, Maine Road had a free-kick, Hendley struck a quite outstanding effort but it was matched by an exquisite piece of goalkeeping with the gloved guardian at full stretch and palming the ball away from the target zone.  More pressure came via the Blues, Hulton pushed late on, a cross came, a header had by a defending bod and another that was nutted backward and in popped No 9 (Lee Cropper) to nip in and toe poke home.  2 - 3 - what the ruddy hell!  A corner came soon after, Cropper in again and inches wide.  Other end, 7 minutes of the half left and the well-deserved role of captain had fallen to the ever-busy Blue No 8 (Jamie Roe).  He found himself in a small area of space, he made the decision to shoot - oh man, shit the bed - 3 - 3 - this was unreal and what a well taken goal.  From here the mania continued but thankfully the half-time whistle came and we could all recover and dose up on our nerve controlling meds.  The excitement had been too much for some, an elderly couple next to me had died of exposure to the lunacy, one old lady was undergoing a seizure and an unashamed fellow further along was still in the throes of an all-consuming orgasm.  Yes, it had been one of those halves.

During the break my wife had a natter on the phone to our daughter and I had a chinwag with Cheadle Heath Nomad's Secretary, and all round good guy, Neville Pearson.  Football and fungi dictated matters with Nev giving hint of a book he is writing on the love life of a Tangerine.  The Karma Fruitra sounds a fascinating read and with a nude pineapple centre-spread thrown in for the connoisseur I can see the author making his fortune and opening his very own Fruit Museum.  Good luck to him, ooh the zesty character.

The opening throes of the second period were played with frenzied heat.  A cross for Hulton came, Cropper was keen to get his crust on the globe, missed it and up stepped No 7 (Kieran Lazenby) to feed on the scraps and bury the ball.  The 7th goal was had, another chance nearly came the other end as Roe put in a pearling cross that was knocked out with some crucial defending.  The trailing team came again, corner won, out and repeat.  Ball in, flick on, Burke at the back post and 4 goals apiece.  No sooner had I witnessed this 8th strike than some horrorshow defending by the hosts saw an eager striker pop up and have a crack that went just wide.  After a small injury break and a quiet spell a few more half glimpses of goal were had by both units.  From nothing a soft free-kick was awarded to the AH lads, Cropper waited for the whistle and eyed the target.  The shrill peep came, a relaxed shank swung and the ball looped over the wall and squeezed into the net for a quite simplistic strike.  It was a lapse in defense for the Blue Army, it was now time to respond.  

Down the back stretch we were about to enter, Cropper for Hulton had a crack just off line, No 10 also had an effort that needed a goal line clearance - this was one game of capricious football and more was still to come.  Road's No 3 (Luke Podmore) came on strong, graced the game with a sublime pass that saw Hendley latch onto and strike inches wide.  There was no abatement to the action, like a couple of jitterbugs hepped up on goofballs the incessant animation remained high.  Next up, Abbey Hulton progressed and looked to seal the win, they were caught napping and Road broke.  A cross came forth, the defender couldn't get the ball from beneath his feet and No 12 (Joe O'Brien) swooped like a shithawk on a sausage and brought about yet another equaliser.  With 16 minutes left on the clock Road pressed again and won a corner.  In the globe came, the keeper caught, dropped and wham, No 11 (Kyle Hendley) had bagged his own prize and brought sheer joy to his teams ranks.  Hulton didn't roll over and die, their No 10 and Cropper both had efforts, one nutted away by the keeper, one saved and pushed behind which resulted in a goal kick (a very odd decision).  The last 5 minutes were hectic, Hulton posed greatest threat and a shot from one of their subs wasn't that far off the mark.   Eventually the final bell was rung, Maine Road looked overjoyed, Abbey Hulton devastated, and no ruddy wonder.   Both teams should take pride in providing a darn good spectacle and the losers can have consolation in the fact that they had several players who caught the eye tonight.  Man of the Match though goes to Maine Roads No 9 (Mike Burke) for two reasons - the brace of goals and for not giving in - simple hey!   We pootled off homeward after a classic, I thought my prediction of many goals was outlandish, man, you just can never weigh it up.

FINAL THOUGHT - A glorious stunner, the best match of the season, a pleasure to witness such a ruddy good goalfest that had it all.   Both units played with a desire to create chances and ripple mesh - it was a kamikaze game, end to end action and laden with skill, errors and tales of the unexpected.  On the plus side, each unit displayed a proven ability to create chances and bury the ball when the chance arose.   Both packs have pace, produce many moments of quick passing and good movement and never give up the ghost.  On the negative side, this was a nightmare for the manager's with goals leaking here and there and composure sometimes lacking in the heat of battle.  The game was played fairly and squarely, very little griping and moaning and the head down approach is one all and sundry should be applauded upon.   If I was a gambling man I reckon the next time the teams meet it will be a hand's down goalless draw, such is the outlandish freakishness of this Non-league lark.  Thankfully I keep my conkers in my pocket and just attend, enjoy and appreciate.  The option tonight was to stop in and watch those overpaid wankers who play for England go through motions I am certainly not interested in and certainly not willing to support.  This punk bastard likes it real and honest, I think my choice proves that point.  Thank you to all involved.