30th December 2017 - Cheadle Town 3 v 0 Cammell Laird 1907 - The last footballing blast of 2017 and a local match featuring two teams in the North West Counties first division table and, with 13 points between them but the lower side having 5 games in hand. Nicely balanced methinks akin to the swinging knackers of an aroused baboon one could almost say (provided the medication wasn't working too well). I spent the morn catching up on some wildlife chores, chomped my dinner, sorted the missus out who is having a bit of back gyp and duly arrived at the ground in ample time to scribble preparatory notes and munch some crisps. I pondered the outcome, adopted the role of soccerised astrologer and tried to mentally predict the result. I wondered what Russel Grant would offer up (besides an idiot sense of enthusiasm and a shit jumper) or the crystal ball of Mystic Meg (she really must get that lump seen to) and opted for a 2-2 draw. If my prediction came true I promised that I would treat myself to a Roy of the Rovers thong, if however my guesstimate was off the mark I would duly devote all my energies during 2018 to bringing about the assassination of Mr Grant (ooh I am a touchy soul). So, I sat back, watched the game develop and here is the upshot of the game according to yours truly!
It was a tight start, both teams struggling to adjust to the sticky green. An early Cheadle free punt saw No 8 (Aaron Fleming) put one over to No 4 (Antony Trucca) who nutted back into the danger zone. A spark of a chance was had, the liner was quick to quell any hopes with his dampening flag. The game ground on, No 11 (Hayden Cooper) for the guests was an early hassle the home bods needed to be wary of. A few late tackles came into the game, nothing vicious mind you, just part and parcel of playing on an unforgiving pitch. From the manky murk Cammell Laird put together a quite stunning move with No 9 (Joe Malkin) finally feeding No 10 (Charles MacInnes) who slotted home with aplomb. This time the other liner had a chance to wave his flag and piss on the chips of success - what a rotten bastard and so soon after the festive period! Despite this sub-net rippling moment Cheadle were just shading matters and started to accumulate some good pressure which culminated in a good harassing burst from their No 9 (Adam Gardiner) who forced the mitter into kicking with haste. The ball slapped against the carcass of the incoming frontman (Richard Whyatt) and was up for grabs. Striker and mittman raced for the globe, the former arrived with millimetres to spare and slid home and opened the scoring - just what the game needed and in many ways, it was well deserved. Within the flick of a Jackdaw's tail feather Cheadle's No 11 (Christopher Sherrington) was away again, wending and weaving and threading a ball to his colleague Whyatt. A toe-poke was executed, a first class save was needed - and that is exactly what we got, well done keeper.
A terrible patch of play came with the ref going pea-happy (dirty git) and the liners obviously suffering from Flagolitis, that dreaded disease that causes misery for many as the sufferer twitches his pennon-holding arm uncontrollably and brings a halt to many smooth passages of play (as well as bowel movements so I hear). Cheadle eventually strung together a 3 pass sequence of attractive liquidity, Fleming to Sherrington to Whyatt who shot and scored and finalised a great goal. Twitch, twitch went the liners arm, for fuck fuckin' sake. Cammell Laird responded with a brace of corners, both easily dealt with by a watertight home defence. The game ground on, nothing of note arose and one did wonder if more action was taking place in the knickers of Theresa May than what was occurring on the pitch - I really must see the doctor again and get my polling cards sorted whilst I am at it. The referee blew, this time it was needed, 1 - 0 to the Green Army, please stayed tuned for half two!
During the break I chatted with the Dad of the Cheadle mitter, a decent bloke I see now and again on my roamings. I scoffed a Mars Bar and slurped some pop and out the teams came, hopefully to offer something better than the first 45 minutes.
An early free-kick for The Laird was awful, Cheadle bounced right back with a couple of passes across the box that ended with Gardiner putting in a bender that just lacked enough curl. A sub for the visitors was followed by a razor break, the ball was eventually released and crawled towards the goal, somehow it wandered just wide. A break from here came, it was fast and looked problematic until The Lairds best player No 11 (Hayden Cooper) clattered his counterpart (Christopher Sherrington) and left him writhing. The away lad was sent off, the home lad hobbled off, a tragic loss for both teams. Some touchline toss followed, I suppose those who got a new handbag for Christmas were keen to try out their swinging arms - silly sods. From here the game dissolved, it was a shocking spectacle and needed a real kick up the jacksie so as to cultivate some genuine hope. Cammell Laird were trying but Cheadle were giving nothing away in the rear and were working well as a unit. Despite this, the Town were living precariously and not making things easy for themselves. A Cheadle sub came, Kilheeney on, within 5 seconds he was booked, thus adding to the major frustrations.
The back stretch was upon us, the guests broke, a shot came, a solid save by the home No 1 (Danny Whiting) was made. A corner followed, the gloved one rose and punched well which led to a Cheadle counter. Fleming had it, he had a chance to smack one, instead a pass, some pondering, another pass and the chance was gone. Again The Town came, Gardiner firing in a whistling free-kick, all it needed was a touch and the lead would have been doubled! The clock was ticking, the visiting manager was getting more irritated by the second and voiced his opinions this way and that! Cheadle pushed once more, a great move from back to front came, just that ruddy end finish was needed. Another shot followed but was too weak but then, on the 90th minute, a ball came into the box, a defender slipped and the home sub (Callum Collinson) slapped home and killed the game dead. Everyone thought that was that but with 5 minutes added on the clock Collinson was in the mix again and whipped the ball in from the left hand side to allow Richard Whyatt to tap home and make it 3 - 0 to the battling Park Road squad. The whistle blew immediately after, we were done. Not the greatest show on earth, but let us end on a positive and give the Man of the Match to Cheadle Town's No 3 (Luke Pearson) for his efficient rearguard play, reading of the game and industrious energy - I think the contribution was indicative of his whole sides performance.
FINAL THOUGHT - Well that is that, 2017 done and the lads who put their arses on the line deserve a rest but, alas for the wicked this can never be. Cheadle Town ground out a dirty win today that lacked anything pretty and was all built from the back of the pack in a 'needs must' kind of way. There is an art in winning ugly - just ask Quasimodo's wife, she won the Timbuktoo Shot Putt World Invitational 3 years running and that was with warts on her chin and one eye missing. Cammell Laird on the other hand looked out of sorts today and just never really got going. If the team was to be compared to a body part then today they were best represented by a blocked intestine, desperately in need of some motivational fibre and a few laxatives of luck. They'll do alright though, sometimes shit happens or, in today's case, it doesn't. And that my dear readers is that, 2017 done, my best wishes go to all who are reading this and the two teams on show today - tha' must be fair tha' knows.
PS - Initial plans were to go to watch Stockport Town v Carlisle City but I had not worked out timings and was up against the clock. I pondered using voodoo prior to kick-off so as to induce a goalless draw at Lambeth Grove and a strike glut at Park Road - if only I hadn't mislaid my Ali Bongo Black Magic Blow-Up Doll (the non sexual type of course). As it transpired, I had chosen a game with more goals but perhaps less excitement - hey ho, tis all about getting out and supporting the game.
Saturday 30 December 2017
Tuesday 26 December 2017
TIS A BLUE CHRISTMAS AFTER ALL
26th December 2017 - Maine Road 2 v 1 West Didsbury & Chorlton - I woke up today feeling like a fat bloated bastard due to some predictable festive indulgences. A walk around Chorlton Water Park with the lasses was very much needed and enjoyed followed by a call at the Mother-In-Laws house for a catch up, an exchange of presents and a general natter. We pootled home for lunch and then set out for the match. The climate had been fair all day but by crikey, by the time I had parked my rear end on the Maine Road stands it hadn't half dropped, I think my wife and daughter had been wise to opt for a shopping excursion. I indulged in my latest book, a Dennis Wheatley novel, before the teams came out and my testicles decided to spend the next 90 minutes tucked high up in my body thus avoiding a real uncomfortable chill. I kept my gloves on whilst scribbling out the usual report - this is what I could actually decipher afterwards, I reckon I have done fairly well. PS - for those wondering, my knackers duly dropped back down to level 'acceptable' at about 7pm in the evening, just after soaking my undercarriage in some left over Christmas gravy - it was an idea taken from the autobiography of Dr Edwin Flange the renowned Victorian quack - I shall be forever indebted.
Peepers alert, anticipation of a corker was high and the ball duly rotated. Almost instantly Maine Road had a shout for a penalty. I thought they were unlucky not to get the nod and suspect the referee didn't want to be cast in the role of a twisting git so early in proceedings - well, it is Christmas after all. A throw in the other end saw WDC's No 3 (Omar McKenzie) donate a limp header that caused no fuss but hinted at his teams slight aerial advantage. The game started slowly but soon sputtered into animation that saw a few efforts get assigned into the vaults of 'shite'. The West had a free-kick, it was delivered with remarkable accuracy but the head that made contact sent the ball totally the wrong way. The guests came once more, a liquid attack of molten intent. A cross came with punishing pace, Road's No 5 (Louis Edwards) must have breathed a sigh of relief when the ball he hoofed went behind and out of danger. The corner that followed was awful but the WDC side were given another glimpse of glory when Road's No 8 (Gregory Willis) cleared poorly and another cross was hammered in. No 11 (Ashley Woods) made decent contact but the netting that rippled was of the external variety and no celebrations were had. The guests were now in ascendancy, a few hefty tackles were creeping into the game and as the team on top looked to turn potential into prizes they undid all their hard graft with two shoddy clearances that got charged down which eventually led to a cross into the box that allowed Willis to easily knock home. Talk about a slap in the mush!
Now The West dug in and came right back but, from the midfield pack, Road created the next chance with No 4 (Jonathon Mason) hitting a dissecting ball that allowed No 9 (Jack Coop) to shoot from the angle. It was a reckless attempt and in truth could, and should, have been so much more. The game now became drenched in urgency and a lot of cohesion and calmness was lost. The whistle was frequently blown and hindered the fluidity and Road seemed happy to try and see out the half and go in 1 goal to the good. It seemed as though that was that until a throw in was conceded and WDC pounced. A long chuck came, the ball floated and then dipped, the softest of headers was executed, Ashley Woods celebrated, the referee blew for half time - all square we were.
Half-time and a chat with the dad of a West Dids sub (Daniel Clarke methinks) about local teams, his neck of the woods (Blackburn) and how his son was doing. A decent chap and it certainly helped take my mind off the dipping thermals.
Half two came around, The West were sharp and No 2 (Joshua Tinker) was in and blazed a ball forth. The ball was defended but fell at the feet of No 8 (Joseph Shaw) who fired with evil intent and, although he missed the goal by several yards, he was only millimetres from removing the head of a small 'erbert standing at the back of the goal - phew, I don't mind the odd decapitation but not on Boxing day surely! Next highpoint and WDC broke, some quick link up play and a shot via the feet of No 9 (Tom Bailey). The save was a concrete corker and a corner ensued. The ball went in and Woods had an effort knocked off the line with the ball being pinged up the other end where No 6 (Rory Breslin) had a crack and was denied by a last gasp effort. Road came once more, No 10 (Sean Cookson) through, excellent wing work and a ball in that was slapped off centre - what a great start, surely the next goal was on the cards. Cookson came again, a good assault was had but his end shot was straight into the meat of the body of the last man standing - what a shame. A response was needed and No 7 (Ben Steer) led the way but again the end finish was poor. WDC produced some lovely build up work next, Steer was making a good contribution once more and when the ball found the net courtesy of Bailey a roar of celebration went up. It was only when the offside flag was noted did the cheers turn to jeers and one or two fruity comments followed. And here's me thinking the referee didn't appear to be a wanker, one just never knows does one! Mind you, his eyes did seem a trifle bloodshot!
Onwards, and there was no let up in this high octane/all thrills half. A snapshot for Road, a pay back by WDC as Whyment used good strength, bustled through and let fly a shot that just wouldn't stay down. It was Steer next who should have grabbed the lead for the visitors after putting his swede on a Bailey cross. The goal was gaping, the accuracy was wanting - would a goal ever come? The home team wouldn't give in, Coop came next, he rode three half challenges and lashed with ferocity. The ball soared wide after an ample deflection and from the angled kick no added danger was achieved. Steer for the guests punched back, what a fine hard fought run he made, breaking through the pack and looking to shoot. He left his attempt to late, the mittman was out to smother, it was a decisive moment. The ball was played down the other end, WDC's No 4 (Eislet) committed himself, the resultant challenge seemed innocuous, the referee disagreed, show a red card and pointed to the spot - this was a shocker. Coop was the man with responsibility on his shoulders - he stepped up and hammered home with a perspiration free brow, 2 - 1 to the Blues, was this late twist in the script? Now the away team pushed harder than a pygmy in childbirth but despite much grunting no glory was borne. Tinker played to Woods, a cross was flashed across the box, no takers were present. A throw in saw an in-box scramble, the goalkeeper dropped it, somehow the ball was cleared. Moments later another shot, way off and then a late WDC throw. The ball was hurled, it dropped in the box and a hefty close in shot was rattled. The save that came was exceptional and was a game saver of the highest caliber. At the last Coop for the Road broke, he should have buried matters but the away keeper saved. It was a good block but was the last action and the points were soon after confirmed to be going the way of the resistant Blue Army. They rode their luck, they never lost a reason to fight and perhaps, Lady Luck owed them this one. Man of the Match was a test today but Roads No 4 (Jonathon Mason) is a good leader, is never afraid to get stuck in and displayed some firm discipline today whilst leading the rear guard and making sure the opponents were kept at bay.
FINAL THOUGHT - Like reading a special edition of Razzle wearing a pair of unmovable boxing gloves Maine Road frustrate no end but, today they came mighty good and got the sensation of victory for simply 'sticking to the cause. They ran themselves ragged, walked off at the end exhaling breath quicker than Vanessa Phelps on a pogo-stick. They are still in the mire though and need to keep on working hard to avoid a sickening drop. West Didsbury & Chorlton have too much going for them to get sucked into the danger zone but they need to avoid any complacency and make sure they pick up a win mighty soon. They have some good reliable players in the ranks and although they may not rise as quickly as the blood pressure of Neil Warnock, they should start to move upwards and start making some impression in a league they really should be doing better in. They seem a team undergoing a slight transition, let us hope the change comes good and pretty soon, I shall be watching very, very closely.
FINAL THOUGHT - Like reading a special edition of Razzle wearing a pair of unmovable boxing gloves Maine Road frustrate no end but, today they came mighty good and got the sensation of victory for simply 'sticking to the cause. They ran themselves ragged, walked off at the end exhaling breath quicker than Vanessa Phelps on a pogo-stick. They are still in the mire though and need to keep on working hard to avoid a sickening drop. West Didsbury & Chorlton have too much going for them to get sucked into the danger zone but they need to avoid any complacency and make sure they pick up a win mighty soon. They have some good reliable players in the ranks and although they may not rise as quickly as the blood pressure of Neil Warnock, they should start to move upwards and start making some impression in a league they really should be doing better in. They seem a team undergoing a slight transition, let us hope the change comes good and pretty soon, I shall be watching very, very closely.
Sunday 24 December 2017
BLACKPOOL TOWER AS CHADDY SINK
23rd December 2017 - Chadderton FC 1 v 3 AFC Blackpool - 2 days before Christmas, the greedy gits are running wild, commercialism has grabbed everyone by the gonads and a certain cretinism has struck home and created a mass mindlessness. Thank fuck for some non-league escapism. I spent the morn sorting some punked loose ends and re-assessing where I stand in a sub-pit that finds my awkwardness and questioning antics a trifle distasteful - ooh those delicate spiky tops. If things weren't feeling dreary and hard-going enough I had a call from a punk comrade to inform me we had lost one of our loved and respected brothers, a man I have always held in high regard and enjoyed the company of. I was gutted and cried like a baby and then went on the punch-bag to relieve some blazing tension and kick-back against the emotion. Under grey skies and after calling on some dredged up spirit I headed to the match, come on lads, give this struggler a classic. Tea and chocolate were had, a snifter of sherry taken, I was prepared to be as positive as ever about this fine, unassuming game - life is important and tis the simplest things that truly matter and need gushing over. 3pm came, the footballing Gods nodded, many balls in many grounds started rolling, the one I witnessed was pinged about and this is what I saw.
In the melancholy misted air a balanced start was had with both teams alert and up for the challenge. It was primarily a midfield tussle with no quarter given and it was certainly a contest to test the wits of the betting man. Both teams were playing high up the field and were snuffing out any hint of danger quicker than an aroused porn star in a mouse trap factory. Out of the battling pack, No 7 (Aaron Scholes) of the home squad whipped forth beating 3 men, maybe 4, before letting fly a decent shot. The deflection added to the rear guards red alert, the ball was not far off the mark. The corner came and was thumped in with purpose, the bonse of No 5 (Robert Flint) was heavy, the globe flew over, it should have been on target methinks. Soon after this missed chance, the home No 11 (Leon Iluobe) worked the flank with direct pace and upon reaching the end line pulled back the ball for his colleague to shoot straight at the keeper - it was another one gone. In response to these early advances the guests' No 5 (Martin Baird) offered up a nice floating shot. It took to the air and unfortunately wouldn't stay down, good effort all the same. The tympanic terror at the back of the goal was enthused and the skin was hammered and sent out its resonations around the ground, no doubt tickling his fellow supporters and getting on the tits of the opposition. Blackpool now started to move the ball better and get more of the play but in the final third little action was forthcoming. No 7 (Billy McKenna) had a half-hearted effort but the mitter broke no sweat in making a quite simple save. The same player came again, this time slapping in a low cross for No 10 (Conah Bishop) to connect with only inches out. I still don't know how he missed the target.
Time tickled on, Chadderton were the next in line for a golden chance. A goal kick, a nod on, No 10 (Jordan Matthew) to Iluobe and a shot. Route one stuff, a slick execution, the end result - a close but disappointing miss. Chadderton's Scholes put in some more good work, riding two tackles, racing forward and then flicking the ball back. No 3 (Jack Turnbull) was the beneficiary and had a punt himself. The gloved guardian parried the ball, alas there were no takers looking to feed on scraps. Blackpool used this moment as a catalyst, they pushed on, McKenna crossed, the ball missed all and was duly put back in from the other side. An in box clash, the ball squirted out and hit the net, it went down as an own goal, I missed who the guilty party was. The Mechanics were now intent on brandishing the spanners of success and set about dismantling their opponents rearguard structure. McKenna was in the mix once more, a cheeky poke cum bender (ooh sounds like an incident in Manchester's Canal Street) came, it was just shy of the upright (unlike many of the peeps who frequent the aforementioned thoroughfare). Tasty tackles now manifested themselves (oh heck, I must stop this homo-erotic theme) and a few cards were issued. A free-kick given the way of the visitors was taken whilst the Chad lads slept. No 5 (Martin Baird) roamed without hassle and tapped home to double his sides lead. The Blackpool boys finished the half well, with McKenna providing another cross that found the crust of No 9 (Benjamin Duffield) who could only nut straight at the keeper. In the very last seconds Chadderton's No 4 (Jordan Butterworth) let go a late twanger but no success was had and at half time it was 0 - 2 to the travelers.
Half-time, well seeing I had supped half a bottle of sherry during the first half I thought a cup of tea was in order. I had a roam, and man what a treat the warm liquid was, isn't tea just the greatest drink on the planet - oh aye. I re-took my seat, enthused for the second half.
Chadderton started quickest. a penalty claim was had and their No 7 (Aaron Scholes) earned himself a yellow card for an over-zealous tackle which exposed a good zip in the attitude. A free-kick saw a real chance missed ,a snapshot soon after perhaps gave promise of a strike pretty soon. It was all Chadderton pressure with Blackpool just sitting a trifle too deep. Scholes next, he fired with force. A deflection was laden with cruelty and the ball looped with spite and eventually rippled the net. A goal back, the game was far from done. The sky now turned a muddy purple, a wintry mist was hovering, Chadderton had their spirits up and were keen to generate a brighter outlook. Matthew produced a moment of dazzling play, picked his spot and pulled the trigger. A groan went up as the outside of the framework was struck. Blackpool dug deep now, 2 corners and a toe poke goalward - no gain but the impetus of Chadderton had been impeded. The hosts though came again, No 8 (Connor Naughton) dinked to Matthew who shot with accuracy. The save that came was classy and the ball was pushed behind. Scholes next and a cross from an angle saw Iluobe shoot across goal and not even force the keeper to make a block - come on lads, take yer chances.
A messy period followed, parity was restored, I took a swift Arthur Bliss and missed nothing of note. Upon sitting back down attacks came both ends but is was Blackpool who cultivated a rapier-like assault that saw two passes lead to No 8 (Zack Hargreaves) have a wallop. No target hit but promise was re-building. A late Chadderton free-kick was pinpoint perfect, the striker was only denied on the line by a very wide-awake defender. Up the other end we went, a free-kick for the guests, Chadderton momentarily switched off, a shot came, a block on the line and when the ball was nutted back in it was Conah Bishop who peeled away and celebrated the strike and the fact he had sealed a convincing away win. The home birds flocked together and hunted for a seed of hope, Blackpool stood firm, saw this one out with relative ease. Man of the Match was difficult today as, even in defeat, Chadderton had a few players who put in good stints. However, my festive choice goes to AFC Blackpool's No 8 (Zack Hargreaves) who covered much turf, was a persistent thorn in the Chaddy arse and was involved in many subtle but effective moves - enjoy yer Christmas pud mate!
FINAL THOUGHT - A lovely pre-Christmas game that saw one team on a bad run and the other team flying fairly high. Chadderton never fail to confound and are either playing with extreme fluidity or seemingly stuttering to find any cohesion within the ranks. They are a darn sight better than the table says though and with a stable squad and some good fortune should move to a safer position and put the wind up many teams along the way. Blackpool are a strong side and look to have a grit and determination within their ranks. What they do is tight and efficient without dazzling the eye and they seem to have a knack of scoring when the play is going against them. Good qualities indeed and I look forward to seeing them on their own turf again mighty soon. In the meantime to all and sundry who read my wordery - cheers, have a good festive period and take pride in the fact you are involved and supporting a proper game.
In the melancholy misted air a balanced start was had with both teams alert and up for the challenge. It was primarily a midfield tussle with no quarter given and it was certainly a contest to test the wits of the betting man. Both teams were playing high up the field and were snuffing out any hint of danger quicker than an aroused porn star in a mouse trap factory. Out of the battling pack, No 7 (Aaron Scholes) of the home squad whipped forth beating 3 men, maybe 4, before letting fly a decent shot. The deflection added to the rear guards red alert, the ball was not far off the mark. The corner came and was thumped in with purpose, the bonse of No 5 (Robert Flint) was heavy, the globe flew over, it should have been on target methinks. Soon after this missed chance, the home No 11 (Leon Iluobe) worked the flank with direct pace and upon reaching the end line pulled back the ball for his colleague to shoot straight at the keeper - it was another one gone. In response to these early advances the guests' No 5 (Martin Baird) offered up a nice floating shot. It took to the air and unfortunately wouldn't stay down, good effort all the same. The tympanic terror at the back of the goal was enthused and the skin was hammered and sent out its resonations around the ground, no doubt tickling his fellow supporters and getting on the tits of the opposition. Blackpool now started to move the ball better and get more of the play but in the final third little action was forthcoming. No 7 (Billy McKenna) had a half-hearted effort but the mitter broke no sweat in making a quite simple save. The same player came again, this time slapping in a low cross for No 10 (Conah Bishop) to connect with only inches out. I still don't know how he missed the target.
Time tickled on, Chadderton were the next in line for a golden chance. A goal kick, a nod on, No 10 (Jordan Matthew) to Iluobe and a shot. Route one stuff, a slick execution, the end result - a close but disappointing miss. Chadderton's Scholes put in some more good work, riding two tackles, racing forward and then flicking the ball back. No 3 (Jack Turnbull) was the beneficiary and had a punt himself. The gloved guardian parried the ball, alas there were no takers looking to feed on scraps. Blackpool used this moment as a catalyst, they pushed on, McKenna crossed, the ball missed all and was duly put back in from the other side. An in box clash, the ball squirted out and hit the net, it went down as an own goal, I missed who the guilty party was. The Mechanics were now intent on brandishing the spanners of success and set about dismantling their opponents rearguard structure. McKenna was in the mix once more, a cheeky poke cum bender (ooh sounds like an incident in Manchester's Canal Street) came, it was just shy of the upright (unlike many of the peeps who frequent the aforementioned thoroughfare). Tasty tackles now manifested themselves (oh heck, I must stop this homo-erotic theme) and a few cards were issued. A free-kick given the way of the visitors was taken whilst the Chad lads slept. No 5 (Martin Baird) roamed without hassle and tapped home to double his sides lead. The Blackpool boys finished the half well, with McKenna providing another cross that found the crust of No 9 (Benjamin Duffield) who could only nut straight at the keeper. In the very last seconds Chadderton's No 4 (Jordan Butterworth) let go a late twanger but no success was had and at half time it was 0 - 2 to the travelers.
Half-time, well seeing I had supped half a bottle of sherry during the first half I thought a cup of tea was in order. I had a roam, and man what a treat the warm liquid was, isn't tea just the greatest drink on the planet - oh aye. I re-took my seat, enthused for the second half.
Chadderton started quickest. a penalty claim was had and their No 7 (Aaron Scholes) earned himself a yellow card for an over-zealous tackle which exposed a good zip in the attitude. A free-kick saw a real chance missed ,a snapshot soon after perhaps gave promise of a strike pretty soon. It was all Chadderton pressure with Blackpool just sitting a trifle too deep. Scholes next, he fired with force. A deflection was laden with cruelty and the ball looped with spite and eventually rippled the net. A goal back, the game was far from done. The sky now turned a muddy purple, a wintry mist was hovering, Chadderton had their spirits up and were keen to generate a brighter outlook. Matthew produced a moment of dazzling play, picked his spot and pulled the trigger. A groan went up as the outside of the framework was struck. Blackpool dug deep now, 2 corners and a toe poke goalward - no gain but the impetus of Chadderton had been impeded. The hosts though came again, No 8 (Connor Naughton) dinked to Matthew who shot with accuracy. The save that came was classy and the ball was pushed behind. Scholes next and a cross from an angle saw Iluobe shoot across goal and not even force the keeper to make a block - come on lads, take yer chances.
A messy period followed, parity was restored, I took a swift Arthur Bliss and missed nothing of note. Upon sitting back down attacks came both ends but is was Blackpool who cultivated a rapier-like assault that saw two passes lead to No 8 (Zack Hargreaves) have a wallop. No target hit but promise was re-building. A late Chadderton free-kick was pinpoint perfect, the striker was only denied on the line by a very wide-awake defender. Up the other end we went, a free-kick for the guests, Chadderton momentarily switched off, a shot came, a block on the line and when the ball was nutted back in it was Conah Bishop who peeled away and celebrated the strike and the fact he had sealed a convincing away win. The home birds flocked together and hunted for a seed of hope, Blackpool stood firm, saw this one out with relative ease. Man of the Match was difficult today as, even in defeat, Chadderton had a few players who put in good stints. However, my festive choice goes to AFC Blackpool's No 8 (Zack Hargreaves) who covered much turf, was a persistent thorn in the Chaddy arse and was involved in many subtle but effective moves - enjoy yer Christmas pud mate!
FINAL THOUGHT - A lovely pre-Christmas game that saw one team on a bad run and the other team flying fairly high. Chadderton never fail to confound and are either playing with extreme fluidity or seemingly stuttering to find any cohesion within the ranks. They are a darn sight better than the table says though and with a stable squad and some good fortune should move to a safer position and put the wind up many teams along the way. Blackpool are a strong side and look to have a grit and determination within their ranks. What they do is tight and efficient without dazzling the eye and they seem to have a knack of scoring when the play is going against them. Good qualities indeed and I look forward to seeing them on their own turf again mighty soon. In the meantime to all and sundry who read my wordery - cheers, have a good festive period and take pride in the fact you are involved and supporting a proper game.
Sunday 17 December 2017
YELLOW FEVER KEEPS HEY AT BAY
16th December 2017 - Ashton Athletic 3 v 0 Abbey Hey - Winter has character, it is a season to enjoy in many ways but the fact remains that this time of year is no good for those with tender testicles, titties that are prone to frostbite or those who enjoy non-league football. I am in no doubt that many a fan sees their Saturday morning leisure time invaded by regular checks of the local fixture list and perusals of the numerous twitter feeds to see if their local game has survived the weather, and if not, any back up plans can be cultivated. For we wanderers, who pick and potter, it is a testing time especially if one prefers to plan in advance, I just wonder how the players and officials cope with all the upheaval. So, after waking up early following the previous nights DIY gig, nipping to the tip and having some dinner, the web waves were wandered and a location chosen that was given the go-ahead. We wrapped up warm, set out and, after a steady drive down we stepped into the bracing air and prepared from this Premier Division clash. Tea was purchased, a pie for me, a mint Aero for my best mate and we picked our peeping positions. Prior to kick off my wife had a read of her book, 'The Hustler' and I contemplated the clash ahead whilst being infected with those corned Christmas tunes that blared over the tannoy - bah humbug. The teams appeared into the damp December air, come on lads, give us a classic!
Ashton were out and at it quickest, No 10 (Joel Brownhill) pilfered the ball from the relaxed Hey No 3 (Jonathon Hardy) and executed a pass. A cross followed, nothing came of it but the tempo was certainly set and the touchpaper glowing. The home lads came once more, No 2 (Jacob Jones) working hard, cutting in and laying the ball off to Brownhill who, swiveled on a cockroaches conkers and let loose a tidy shot The goalkeeper stayed alert and got down and muddied and held on to the mucky ball - get the Daz Automatic ready for half time lads, this is looking a dirty one. A response to the assertive play came from The Hey, No 11 (Daniel Heffernan) somehow found himself in front of goal with time to pick his spot. He looked, hoofed and yet only drove right at the gloved guardian who did well to hold the ball and offer no further chance. These opportunities can come back to haunt one and when Ashton flew down the other end and their No 11 (Marcus Cusani) finalised a fluid attack with a dipping shot the worst was nearly realised. Luckily for the visitors the ball didn't drop quick enough and stayed mere millimetres above the bar. A silky move followed, it was The Yellows again, Jones fed a colleague who released to Cusani. The shot flew forth, again the goalkeeper saved low, the move deserved so much more. The Ashton bench was now highly animated, frustration was inflaming matters and voices boomed with advice and fuck-laden messages of encouragement. Abbey Hey were the cause of the irritation, they were working hard and throwing a blanket on Ashton's rising hopes. This however didn't stop the impressive No 7 (Joshua Nicholson) from jinking in and blasting a cross that saw a fortunate defender hoof the ball over his own bar from mere inches out. The lucky bugger breathed a huge sigh but had to be on his guard as Nicholson led another charge that culminated in a blazing nipple crippler from Brownhill. The home mitter, who was having a sound game, was in the right place again and saved with confidence.
The dying embers of the first half and Ashton were ruling the roost. Disputed play, a free kick, a penalty shout - all potential game changers but all passing into the ether. A rattling shot from No 9 (Dale Korie-Butler) at an acute angle had pace but, yes you guessed, the visiting No 1 (Ross Heywood) did the business and saved the day. The ensuing corner was below par but this didn't detract from a compelling match with both teams holding their own. A late free-kick for the hosts saw No 6 (Charlie Munro) have a shot deflected wide and once more, the follow-up corner produce no end prize. The ref halted matters, no goals but entertaining stuff nonetheless.
Tea and chocolate coins for half time, well it is nearly Christmas. The chill was now attacking parts that even certain beers can't reach let alone the pesky hands of Rolf Harris, ooh me gussets.
The teams returned onto the scarred emerald, once more Ashton started with the keenest edge with Cusani running and shooting and winning a quick corner. The cross in was fine enough, the header a little too late thus forcing the ball to fly too high. A late tackle was the next notable action, No 10 (Adam Farrand) of Abbey Hey the perpetrator. Pushing, dissent and general griping ensued along with 2 bookings, would a lack of discipline ultimately decide the outcome of this game? I certainly hoped not. Both teams huffed and puffed like Hippo's in a love shack but with no real end impregnation of the scoresheet taking place. Cusani for the hosts was a constant mither and sending the opposing force this way, that way, and t'other. A ball was put in, a shot was blocked on the line, Ashton were passing well, Abbey Hey living life on the back foot. Korie-Butler had the next crack at goal but only found the side netting. There seemed a goal imminent, I could feel it in my water, even though it was frozen and I was in danger of pissing ice cubes.
Eventually Abbey Hey started to claw their way back into matters and after 2 corners and a nut on goal by Farrand it looked as though the tide may just well turn. These thoughts were quickly banished as the Athletic came, No 16 (Daniel Smith) connected with a cross and struck the bar. The ball came out, Korie-Butler found it at his feet and duly executed a sublime lob over the keepers head and into the awaiting mesh. It was going to take a fine strike to break the deadlock, this was just such an effort. The home bods were invigorated, they moved like Jack Russell's on laxatives. A run, a sweet lay off and No 17 (Jamie Harrison) let fly. The save that came was via the fingertips and kept Abbey Hey still in this one, just! Hey tried to reassert themselves and heaved on, Nicholson for the Athletic led a counter-attack with eye-catching speed. He played the ball out wide, a cross came and Smith nutted home with consummate ease. Job done. In the final minutes Ashton were still in the driving seat and on the 90 minute mark a speedy free-kick was delivered and up stepped Korie-Butler to grab his second, his side's third and to make sure the home victory was complete. Abbey Hey had a chance of a consolation in the added time but No 15 (Regan Jarrett) tapped wide and added to the visitors overall disappointing day at the office. The whistle came, I pondered a man of the Match and opted for No 5 for Ashton Athletic, namely (Ben Cartwright) who played a quite solid game and put pay to any chance Abbey Hey had of hitting the net. He had good control throughout and concrete discipline and for me, contributed to an all round solid team stint.
FINAL THOUGHT - I enjoyed today's trip back to Brocstedes Park and witnessed a good home side who certainly have more to offer this season and will notch up a good run of victories if the ball runs kind. There seems a good camaraderie going on, a decent understanding of one another's roles and a willingness to work as a compact unit. The set up at the ground is friendly, the location not too far from home and, I hope, at some point this season to be back there again. Abbey Hey are a puzzle and are another of those teams that never seem to meet their full potential. They have a good unit with many well equipped players and just need a lucky break or two to get the form on a roll from which they can build. These are competitive leagues though, who knows what will happen one week from the next and how each team will do. It is how we like it I am sure and why we dither in the cold and indulge ourselves in something very, ruddy real. Keep at it, keep warm, keep enthused.
Ashton were out and at it quickest, No 10 (Joel Brownhill) pilfered the ball from the relaxed Hey No 3 (Jonathon Hardy) and executed a pass. A cross followed, nothing came of it but the tempo was certainly set and the touchpaper glowing. The home lads came once more, No 2 (Jacob Jones) working hard, cutting in and laying the ball off to Brownhill who, swiveled on a cockroaches conkers and let loose a tidy shot The goalkeeper stayed alert and got down and muddied and held on to the mucky ball - get the Daz Automatic ready for half time lads, this is looking a dirty one. A response to the assertive play came from The Hey, No 11 (Daniel Heffernan) somehow found himself in front of goal with time to pick his spot. He looked, hoofed and yet only drove right at the gloved guardian who did well to hold the ball and offer no further chance. These opportunities can come back to haunt one and when Ashton flew down the other end and their No 11 (Marcus Cusani) finalised a fluid attack with a dipping shot the worst was nearly realised. Luckily for the visitors the ball didn't drop quick enough and stayed mere millimetres above the bar. A silky move followed, it was The Yellows again, Jones fed a colleague who released to Cusani. The shot flew forth, again the goalkeeper saved low, the move deserved so much more. The Ashton bench was now highly animated, frustration was inflaming matters and voices boomed with advice and fuck-laden messages of encouragement. Abbey Hey were the cause of the irritation, they were working hard and throwing a blanket on Ashton's rising hopes. This however didn't stop the impressive No 7 (Joshua Nicholson) from jinking in and blasting a cross that saw a fortunate defender hoof the ball over his own bar from mere inches out. The lucky bugger breathed a huge sigh but had to be on his guard as Nicholson led another charge that culminated in a blazing nipple crippler from Brownhill. The home mitter, who was having a sound game, was in the right place again and saved with confidence.
The dying embers of the first half and Ashton were ruling the roost. Disputed play, a free kick, a penalty shout - all potential game changers but all passing into the ether. A rattling shot from No 9 (Dale Korie-Butler) at an acute angle had pace but, yes you guessed, the visiting No 1 (Ross Heywood) did the business and saved the day. The ensuing corner was below par but this didn't detract from a compelling match with both teams holding their own. A late free-kick for the hosts saw No 6 (Charlie Munro) have a shot deflected wide and once more, the follow-up corner produce no end prize. The ref halted matters, no goals but entertaining stuff nonetheless.
Tea and chocolate coins for half time, well it is nearly Christmas. The chill was now attacking parts that even certain beers can't reach let alone the pesky hands of Rolf Harris, ooh me gussets.
The teams returned onto the scarred emerald, once more Ashton started with the keenest edge with Cusani running and shooting and winning a quick corner. The cross in was fine enough, the header a little too late thus forcing the ball to fly too high. A late tackle was the next notable action, No 10 (Adam Farrand) of Abbey Hey the perpetrator. Pushing, dissent and general griping ensued along with 2 bookings, would a lack of discipline ultimately decide the outcome of this game? I certainly hoped not. Both teams huffed and puffed like Hippo's in a love shack but with no real end impregnation of the scoresheet taking place. Cusani for the hosts was a constant mither and sending the opposing force this way, that way, and t'other. A ball was put in, a shot was blocked on the line, Ashton were passing well, Abbey Hey living life on the back foot. Korie-Butler had the next crack at goal but only found the side netting. There seemed a goal imminent, I could feel it in my water, even though it was frozen and I was in danger of pissing ice cubes.
Eventually Abbey Hey started to claw their way back into matters and after 2 corners and a nut on goal by Farrand it looked as though the tide may just well turn. These thoughts were quickly banished as the Athletic came, No 16 (Daniel Smith) connected with a cross and struck the bar. The ball came out, Korie-Butler found it at his feet and duly executed a sublime lob over the keepers head and into the awaiting mesh. It was going to take a fine strike to break the deadlock, this was just such an effort. The home bods were invigorated, they moved like Jack Russell's on laxatives. A run, a sweet lay off and No 17 (Jamie Harrison) let fly. The save that came was via the fingertips and kept Abbey Hey still in this one, just! Hey tried to reassert themselves and heaved on, Nicholson for the Athletic led a counter-attack with eye-catching speed. He played the ball out wide, a cross came and Smith nutted home with consummate ease. Job done. In the final minutes Ashton were still in the driving seat and on the 90 minute mark a speedy free-kick was delivered and up stepped Korie-Butler to grab his second, his side's third and to make sure the home victory was complete. Abbey Hey had a chance of a consolation in the added time but No 15 (Regan Jarrett) tapped wide and added to the visitors overall disappointing day at the office. The whistle came, I pondered a man of the Match and opted for No 5 for Ashton Athletic, namely (Ben Cartwright) who played a quite solid game and put pay to any chance Abbey Hey had of hitting the net. He had good control throughout and concrete discipline and for me, contributed to an all round solid team stint.
FINAL THOUGHT - I enjoyed today's trip back to Brocstedes Park and witnessed a good home side who certainly have more to offer this season and will notch up a good run of victories if the ball runs kind. There seems a good camaraderie going on, a decent understanding of one another's roles and a willingness to work as a compact unit. The set up at the ground is friendly, the location not too far from home and, I hope, at some point this season to be back there again. Abbey Hey are a puzzle and are another of those teams that never seem to meet their full potential. They have a good unit with many well equipped players and just need a lucky break or two to get the form on a roll from which they can build. These are competitive leagues though, who knows what will happen one week from the next and how each team will do. It is how we like it I am sure and why we dither in the cold and indulge ourselves in something very, ruddy real. Keep at it, keep warm, keep enthused.
Sunday 10 December 2017
WIDNES WIN AS THE BARLICKS WITHER
9th December 2017 - Widnes FC 2 v 0 Barnoldswick Town - The silly season is here with the heavenly dandruff falling from the skies and playing sweet merry hell with the fixture calendar. We were going here, we were going there, we ended up going somewhere over there - The Select Stadium to be exact! Using a 4G pitch makes for an easier time of matters for this advancing club and the fewer fixtures there are in the backlog, the better and more promising the end of season run in can be. A straight drive down and into the Legends Bar we went for a warm drink and to watch West Ham put one over on the current champions Chelsea. My interest was slight in this affair of overpaid, over-pampered tossers and I spent most of the time chatting to my good lady - underpaid but always pampered. We supped up, bought a team on the football card draw (Derby County because I know a man who is a fan - silly git) and headed out into the chill to take up our positions. Flakes fell in sporadic bursts, the cold turned our noses the colour of a battered beetroot and if any accusations of alcoholism came our way we would have been hard pushed to deny them. The teams buggered off after the warm up and I wondered if they would have the good grace to reappear and indulge in a game rather than feign injury in the hope of having the match abandoned and avoiding a freezing (I wouldn't blame them). Thankfully the players and officials came out and at 3pm on the dot 63 paying punters in a 13,350 capacity stadium were granted a game that went like this:-
The hosts started brightest with the ball zipping around the Barlick half and keeping the guests honest and alert. Space was at a premium though and the first shot came the way of the visitors with No 11 (Joel Melia) cracking one in low and hard. The goalie collected and nearly spilled as No 9 (Mark Threlfall) sniffed out a potential chance. The mitts re-grabbed, the slight scare was over, the pulse levels returned to normal. Barlick cultivated the next chance with a free-kick getting a flick on from No 5 (Mark Young) and the ball only slightly off the mark. Widnes used this attempt as a catalyst and responded with their own No 5 (River Humphries) lofting a long ball over the top. No 10 (Chris Lomax) was in like a farmers finger in a cow's arsehole (forgive me, the cold is affecting my head) and let a quick shot go. The goalkeeper though was out, up close and made a regulation block. From here the guests produced some neat midfield work via the vitality-laden Melia who fed No 8 (Andrew Hill) who in turn shot and made the home No 1 (Richie Mottram) make a firm save. Within the ruffling of a goose's rectal feathers (by it is chilly today) Threlfall was the next Barlick bod through but the home no 6 (Michael Burke) put in a corking tackle and doused all danger. The corner was, as they say in the farming world, horse shit! Despite 20 minutes on the clock though, and no goals, this was an enthralling clash with the 2 units playing tidy football and defending well. Barlick's main downfall was their over-eagerness up front which saw them fall into too many cobwebs of offside whereas Widnes were getting through and having the odd shot but just not being clinical enough when the right moment arose. No 9 (Brad Smart) of Widnes nearly corrected this criticism with an immediate curler that looked destined for the far corner but was palmed away by a stretching mitter - a good save indeed.
Onwards matters went, Barnoldswick came again with Melia jinking away in the corner and putting in a sugar sweet cross. No 7 (Zack Dale) connected on the volley but the ball wouldn't stay down and flew into the stands. No 3 (James Crorken) had a rasper next, it came from an angle, the gloved guardian had his geometry set at the ready and read the trajectory well. An injury to Barlick's No 8 (Andrew Hill) saw him hobble off (get well soon sir) and after the hold up the depths of the half were upon us. Both teams were displaying watertight organisation and when the visiting No 2 (Alex Doyle) tried a hopeful dipping lob it kind of summed up the desperation creeping in. The same player let go another shot seconds later but this one was closer to the corner flag than the strike zone. A late free kick the other end saw No 3 (Will Doran) nip in and just miss the target, the half-time whistle blew - was this destined to be a full-time stalemate?
We hunkered down for the break, not wishing to expose our chuffs to the vulgar climes. The football draw revealed Blackburn to be the chosen team, rotten bastards indeed and about the only thing they will win I suspect. We nibbled on a snack, sipped a bit of ginger and watched the sky turn to threatening black and continue to issue the icy flakes.
The teams came out to continue battle with both squads snuffing out any potential peril. Widnes were starting to control matters and seemed to have got the bit between their choppers. From a settled period No 2 (Jay Roberts) went on a sugar rush and burst forth like a nipper entering a toffee shop. He passed, received and booted in the blinking of a disbelieving eye and the ball slapped home and kicked renewed life into this second period of play. It was a smart strike and soon after the Widnes lads had found the net again but this time the waver of the flag suppressed celebration as offside was given. Despite these two rousing moments the game was still tighter than George Best in a brewery but as stated, the home team seemed to be holding all the aces. Their No 7 (Kevin Towey) was the next to seek success but a good defensive tackle by Young put the dampeners on the drive.
The game now went into lockdown, the temperatures took a downturn and thoughts of swapping my walnut for a proper penis crossed my flickering mind. A substitute came, the came paused but restarted with pace and an instant shot by Bannister was cruelly deflected and looped with spite into the awaiting mesh. Widnes were 2-0 up and it looked as though another 3 points were in the sack. The congratulations had barely ended when Doran of Widnes sent in a ball of fire with a long range shot that inspired the goalkeeper to stretch and athletically tip onto the bar - what a fine moment, first class strike, first class save - wonderful non-league stuff. Barlick attempted to pull one back via a free-kick but the flick on just didn't have enough direction or 'oomph'. The last seconds and Bannister for The Whites streaked down the flanks, flashed in a cross and saw all in-box players miss the travelling globe - groans rose, it didn't matter, a tickling later and we were done. A decent spectacle with some very rewarding stints put in. Man of the Match for me though goes to the home No 5 (River Humphries) for a cast iron effort that was safe, reliable and gave all around him a solid foundation on which to build - keep it flowing sir (see what I did there, cute hey).
FINAL THOUGHT - Well we survived the weather and the effort made was rewarded by a game featuring two highly capable sides who have many positive qualities on which to rise. Widnes are a very structured unit who always catch the appreciative eye and today, after being put under a cosh during the first half, came out in the second and dumbed down any potential their guests brought to the playing surface and eventually won the game. Barlick were a team of two halves today and really lost cohesion and overall ideas in the second period, no doubt much of which was down to their resilient opponents. I wouldn't read too much into this negative transition, they are a thoroughly decent squad who will pose many a good team a problem. I hope to get back up to the Silentnight Stadium soon enough and enjoy their hospitality and fine brand of football. In the meantime, to all and sundry - keep getting out, doing your bit and enjoying this unmolested game of ours. For this aging punk bastard, it is a fine tonic to partake of.
The hosts started brightest with the ball zipping around the Barlick half and keeping the guests honest and alert. Space was at a premium though and the first shot came the way of the visitors with No 11 (Joel Melia) cracking one in low and hard. The goalie collected and nearly spilled as No 9 (Mark Threlfall) sniffed out a potential chance. The mitts re-grabbed, the slight scare was over, the pulse levels returned to normal. Barlick cultivated the next chance with a free-kick getting a flick on from No 5 (Mark Young) and the ball only slightly off the mark. Widnes used this attempt as a catalyst and responded with their own No 5 (River Humphries) lofting a long ball over the top. No 10 (Chris Lomax) was in like a farmers finger in a cow's arsehole (forgive me, the cold is affecting my head) and let a quick shot go. The goalkeeper though was out, up close and made a regulation block. From here the guests produced some neat midfield work via the vitality-laden Melia who fed No 8 (Andrew Hill) who in turn shot and made the home No 1 (Richie Mottram) make a firm save. Within the ruffling of a goose's rectal feathers (by it is chilly today) Threlfall was the next Barlick bod through but the home no 6 (Michael Burke) put in a corking tackle and doused all danger. The corner was, as they say in the farming world, horse shit! Despite 20 minutes on the clock though, and no goals, this was an enthralling clash with the 2 units playing tidy football and defending well. Barlick's main downfall was their over-eagerness up front which saw them fall into too many cobwebs of offside whereas Widnes were getting through and having the odd shot but just not being clinical enough when the right moment arose. No 9 (Brad Smart) of Widnes nearly corrected this criticism with an immediate curler that looked destined for the far corner but was palmed away by a stretching mitter - a good save indeed.
Onwards matters went, Barnoldswick came again with Melia jinking away in the corner and putting in a sugar sweet cross. No 7 (Zack Dale) connected on the volley but the ball wouldn't stay down and flew into the stands. No 3 (James Crorken) had a rasper next, it came from an angle, the gloved guardian had his geometry set at the ready and read the trajectory well. An injury to Barlick's No 8 (Andrew Hill) saw him hobble off (get well soon sir) and after the hold up the depths of the half were upon us. Both teams were displaying watertight organisation and when the visiting No 2 (Alex Doyle) tried a hopeful dipping lob it kind of summed up the desperation creeping in. The same player let go another shot seconds later but this one was closer to the corner flag than the strike zone. A late free kick the other end saw No 3 (Will Doran) nip in and just miss the target, the half-time whistle blew - was this destined to be a full-time stalemate?
We hunkered down for the break, not wishing to expose our chuffs to the vulgar climes. The football draw revealed Blackburn to be the chosen team, rotten bastards indeed and about the only thing they will win I suspect. We nibbled on a snack, sipped a bit of ginger and watched the sky turn to threatening black and continue to issue the icy flakes.
The teams came out to continue battle with both squads snuffing out any potential peril. Widnes were starting to control matters and seemed to have got the bit between their choppers. From a settled period No 2 (Jay Roberts) went on a sugar rush and burst forth like a nipper entering a toffee shop. He passed, received and booted in the blinking of a disbelieving eye and the ball slapped home and kicked renewed life into this second period of play. It was a smart strike and soon after the Widnes lads had found the net again but this time the waver of the flag suppressed celebration as offside was given. Despite these two rousing moments the game was still tighter than George Best in a brewery but as stated, the home team seemed to be holding all the aces. Their No 7 (Kevin Towey) was the next to seek success but a good defensive tackle by Young put the dampeners on the drive.
The game now went into lockdown, the temperatures took a downturn and thoughts of swapping my walnut for a proper penis crossed my flickering mind. A substitute came, the came paused but restarted with pace and an instant shot by Bannister was cruelly deflected and looped with spite into the awaiting mesh. Widnes were 2-0 up and it looked as though another 3 points were in the sack. The congratulations had barely ended when Doran of Widnes sent in a ball of fire with a long range shot that inspired the goalkeeper to stretch and athletically tip onto the bar - what a fine moment, first class strike, first class save - wonderful non-league stuff. Barlick attempted to pull one back via a free-kick but the flick on just didn't have enough direction or 'oomph'. The last seconds and Bannister for The Whites streaked down the flanks, flashed in a cross and saw all in-box players miss the travelling globe - groans rose, it didn't matter, a tickling later and we were done. A decent spectacle with some very rewarding stints put in. Man of the Match for me though goes to the home No 5 (River Humphries) for a cast iron effort that was safe, reliable and gave all around him a solid foundation on which to build - keep it flowing sir (see what I did there, cute hey).
FINAL THOUGHT - Well we survived the weather and the effort made was rewarded by a game featuring two highly capable sides who have many positive qualities on which to rise. Widnes are a very structured unit who always catch the appreciative eye and today, after being put under a cosh during the first half, came out in the second and dumbed down any potential their guests brought to the playing surface and eventually won the game. Barlick were a team of two halves today and really lost cohesion and overall ideas in the second period, no doubt much of which was down to their resilient opponents. I wouldn't read too much into this negative transition, they are a thoroughly decent squad who will pose many a good team a problem. I hope to get back up to the Silentnight Stadium soon enough and enjoy their hospitality and fine brand of football. In the meantime, to all and sundry - keep getting out, doing your bit and enjoying this unmolested game of ours. For this aging punk bastard, it is a fine tonic to partake of.
Thursday 7 December 2017
THE COMMUNICATION GAME
5th December 2017 - Abbey Hey 2 v 3 Trafford FC - With 14 seconds on the clock the last match I witnessed at this ground ended as prematurely as the desires of a loved-up hedgehog on a toilet brush and left us all feeling deflated and unfulfilled (a bit like the aforementioned mammal don't ya know). The reason for this was a floodlight failure, and it seemed that the nude photo's the Abbey Hey Director was sending to the local electricity board were not satiating their desires and it wasn't just the wires of love that had been snipped. After the sexed-frazzled sparks had come and done their business (ooh that poor Director's arse) and fixed the faulty illuminations, a new date for the match was set, alas, only to be met with a cruel twist of Willy Weather's unpredictable hand. Rain stopped play and more time passed but, with the Director now discovering the use of 'video techniques' and the weather going on a somewhat settled period we eager pootlers of the non-league realms waited patiently. In the interim we found ourselves at pitchside and ready for some actual action this time with Trafford FC the opponents. The weather was frisky tonight and I was sure that many a housewife could rest assured that their bristled karsi cleaners would be free of any mammalian seduction on such a nippy eve as this, although I have heard the pecker of the Porcupine has been known to stay in a state of perkiness when the therms are as low as 30 degrees centigrade. What a constitution, and without tablet assistance - amazing. And to the match. The squads appeared, knees tensed trying to avoid the knocking process, the starting stances were adopted and yes indeed, it was kick off time (please adopt own Hughie Green inflection), and I mean that most sincerely folks!
The initial tempo was set by the advancing lemon-clad guests who came in a repetitious wave like the yellow peril on goofballs. The greasy surface was used to good effect with the ball sliding around like a sausage on a ski-slope. The Hey strove hard to get some early possession and despite having snifter of success Trafford were communicating well and keeping ranks closed. Having said this Abbey Hey had the first opportunity fall their way when No 7 (Johnathon Hardy) broke the tight rear line, punted with force and saw the keeper take the wind out of the ball with desperate fingertips. The globe looped and looked destined to drop into the frame of the goal but the defensive No 6 (Paul Linwood) produced a crucial goal line clearance and made sure a shock strike was negated. Seconds later the home bods created a move that ended with a header on target. The danger was easily dealt with but a certain imbalance was addressed and the game was now on an even keel. The next suspense to arise saw a probing Trafford ball be collected by their No 10 (Andy Keogh) who displayed good strength in making room to release a shot. The keeper was down quicker than Jeffery Archer's underpants in a brothel and saved with efficiency at close range. The corner came, the volley veered off at such a mesmerising angle one could almost envision a smiling Pythagoras sporting a 135 degree hard-on, ooh those todger tangents! Following another dire shot from the visiting team they duly came again, this time with greater purpose. No 11 (Michael Monaghan) rushed and cut the ball back, No 9 (Aaron Burns) produced a blisterer that just missed the upright, it looked only a matter of time before mesh would ripple.
Over and over again The North ran forth with the breakthrough eventually had. The move that eventually bore fruit was typical, with a power shot slapped at the net. The home No 1 (Robert Swallow) parried the ball only to see Andy Keogh appear from nowhere and easily tap home. From here some stimulating end to end stuff arose with the home team lucky not to fall 2 goals behind after sitting back and needing a last ditch block to save the pecked arses. A late shot came from Abbey Hey, No 3 (Lee Wilshaw) was the producer but only got a corner for his efforts after the ball was deflected behind. Nothing came of the angled kick and before the final pips it was Wilshaw again who had another crack - this was way off the mark and the half-time break came just at the right time methinks.
We stayed put at half-time, had a chat to local bod Pete who regularly reads these blogs (you have my deepest apologies sir) and waited for the two squads to reappear. It was a lengthy break but out the units came, the question was - 'could the Hey indeed make hay' - it was a pity Farmer Spam of Cockerel Comforting Farm wasn't around, perhaps he is still being held by the local constabulary - you can't blame em' and for me the plea of 'those geese were homosexual' is no excuse. Ahem, and back to the match...
Abbey Hey came straight out of the blocks and when a cross was put in and the ball looked destined for the net it must have been disheartening to see a clearance made and the chance disappear into the chilled ether. As Hey pushed Trafford dug in and wormed their way back into matters with a trio of free-kicks, a corner and much ascending threat. The home squad were determined to hold the upper hand here though and No 11 (Daniel Heffernan) ripped in a blazer that required a firm save to deny triumph. A corner came, a head rose and, in the simplest of ways, we were suddenly at 1 goal apiece, No 4 (David Young) was the marksman, the game was back on. Up t'other end we went, No 2 (Sean Yeldrem) produced a nut but the ball went straight into the ground and failed to cause the keeper any great consternation. Minutes later, whilst Abbey Hey pushed on, a simply gorgeous ball over the top left Trafford's Andy Keogh to do his bit. He brought the ball down with deft control, wandered past the keeper with silky ease and slotted home from the angle with exquisite coolness - it was a classy moment and noteworthy of a decent player. Within seconds the same bod was connecting with a cross but this time finding the night air instead of the net. In return Abbey Hey won a free-kick which was poorly delivered and cleared. Hey rebuilt, No 9 (Peter Watling) was released and let fly. A firm near post save was the result but the hosts were applying good pressure in their pursuit of the equaliser.
Trafford looked to break, a ball was played, a flick on executed and Aaron Burns side nutted home and surely bagged the game for the visiting tribe. It looked all over now but Hey started to sweat blood and generated 2 corners. No success was had but the intensity was maintained and Trafford were conceding territory. The clock was ticking down, a snap shot came from the flustered melee. The ball flew across the glistening surface at a notable angle, the Hey boys celebrated, Peter Watling had struck gold. With only 1 minute on the clock and whatever the referee added the home team now made their opponents earn their crust. This was a good late rally and one expected a surprise equaliser. Alas the referee checked his timepiece and put his whistle to his lips and blew for full time, Trafford had hung on, in the end the victory was deserved and Man of the Match I feel should go to their No 4 (Andrew Langford) who was sturdy, disciplined and encouraging to his team-mates throughout the match. His communication was spot on and for me, epitomised his team as a whole and the way they worked as a unit and kept each other alert.
FINAL THOUGHT - A decent match this with the North West Counties League side putting on a very good show against the Evo Stick squad who certainly work as a complete unit and are well-versed in their positional play. Tonight we saw Abbey Hey put in a tenacious stint and show that they can be a force to be reckoned with, especially when their backs are against the wall. I feel though that Trafford always seemed to have that little more in reserve and looked like a team who could strike at any given moment. I shall be certainly keeping tabs on both squads and I may, after this game, squeeze in a visit to Shawe View and check them out on their home turf. If they sell chips, a good brew and have a place for me and my good lady to park our arses then so much the better. It goes without saying I'll be back to Abbey Hey, a local-ish club I do like to visit several times a season - fingers crossed that next time there will be a deserved win come their way.
The initial tempo was set by the advancing lemon-clad guests who came in a repetitious wave like the yellow peril on goofballs. The greasy surface was used to good effect with the ball sliding around like a sausage on a ski-slope. The Hey strove hard to get some early possession and despite having snifter of success Trafford were communicating well and keeping ranks closed. Having said this Abbey Hey had the first opportunity fall their way when No 7 (Johnathon Hardy) broke the tight rear line, punted with force and saw the keeper take the wind out of the ball with desperate fingertips. The globe looped and looked destined to drop into the frame of the goal but the defensive No 6 (Paul Linwood) produced a crucial goal line clearance and made sure a shock strike was negated. Seconds later the home bods created a move that ended with a header on target. The danger was easily dealt with but a certain imbalance was addressed and the game was now on an even keel. The next suspense to arise saw a probing Trafford ball be collected by their No 10 (Andy Keogh) who displayed good strength in making room to release a shot. The keeper was down quicker than Jeffery Archer's underpants in a brothel and saved with efficiency at close range. The corner came, the volley veered off at such a mesmerising angle one could almost envision a smiling Pythagoras sporting a 135 degree hard-on, ooh those todger tangents! Following another dire shot from the visiting team they duly came again, this time with greater purpose. No 11 (Michael Monaghan) rushed and cut the ball back, No 9 (Aaron Burns) produced a blisterer that just missed the upright, it looked only a matter of time before mesh would ripple.
Over and over again The North ran forth with the breakthrough eventually had. The move that eventually bore fruit was typical, with a power shot slapped at the net. The home No 1 (Robert Swallow) parried the ball only to see Andy Keogh appear from nowhere and easily tap home. From here some stimulating end to end stuff arose with the home team lucky not to fall 2 goals behind after sitting back and needing a last ditch block to save the pecked arses. A late shot came from Abbey Hey, No 3 (Lee Wilshaw) was the producer but only got a corner for his efforts after the ball was deflected behind. Nothing came of the angled kick and before the final pips it was Wilshaw again who had another crack - this was way off the mark and the half-time break came just at the right time methinks.
We stayed put at half-time, had a chat to local bod Pete who regularly reads these blogs (you have my deepest apologies sir) and waited for the two squads to reappear. It was a lengthy break but out the units came, the question was - 'could the Hey indeed make hay' - it was a pity Farmer Spam of Cockerel Comforting Farm wasn't around, perhaps he is still being held by the local constabulary - you can't blame em' and for me the plea of 'those geese were homosexual' is no excuse. Ahem, and back to the match...
Abbey Hey came straight out of the blocks and when a cross was put in and the ball looked destined for the net it must have been disheartening to see a clearance made and the chance disappear into the chilled ether. As Hey pushed Trafford dug in and wormed their way back into matters with a trio of free-kicks, a corner and much ascending threat. The home squad were determined to hold the upper hand here though and No 11 (Daniel Heffernan) ripped in a blazer that required a firm save to deny triumph. A corner came, a head rose and, in the simplest of ways, we were suddenly at 1 goal apiece, No 4 (David Young) was the marksman, the game was back on. Up t'other end we went, No 2 (Sean Yeldrem) produced a nut but the ball went straight into the ground and failed to cause the keeper any great consternation. Minutes later, whilst Abbey Hey pushed on, a simply gorgeous ball over the top left Trafford's Andy Keogh to do his bit. He brought the ball down with deft control, wandered past the keeper with silky ease and slotted home from the angle with exquisite coolness - it was a classy moment and noteworthy of a decent player. Within seconds the same bod was connecting with a cross but this time finding the night air instead of the net. In return Abbey Hey won a free-kick which was poorly delivered and cleared. Hey rebuilt, No 9 (Peter Watling) was released and let fly. A firm near post save was the result but the hosts were applying good pressure in their pursuit of the equaliser.
Trafford looked to break, a ball was played, a flick on executed and Aaron Burns side nutted home and surely bagged the game for the visiting tribe. It looked all over now but Hey started to sweat blood and generated 2 corners. No success was had but the intensity was maintained and Trafford were conceding territory. The clock was ticking down, a snap shot came from the flustered melee. The ball flew across the glistening surface at a notable angle, the Hey boys celebrated, Peter Watling had struck gold. With only 1 minute on the clock and whatever the referee added the home team now made their opponents earn their crust. This was a good late rally and one expected a surprise equaliser. Alas the referee checked his timepiece and put his whistle to his lips and blew for full time, Trafford had hung on, in the end the victory was deserved and Man of the Match I feel should go to their No 4 (Andrew Langford) who was sturdy, disciplined and encouraging to his team-mates throughout the match. His communication was spot on and for me, epitomised his team as a whole and the way they worked as a unit and kept each other alert.
FINAL THOUGHT - A decent match this with the North West Counties League side putting on a very good show against the Evo Stick squad who certainly work as a complete unit and are well-versed in their positional play. Tonight we saw Abbey Hey put in a tenacious stint and show that they can be a force to be reckoned with, especially when their backs are against the wall. I feel though that Trafford always seemed to have that little more in reserve and looked like a team who could strike at any given moment. I shall be certainly keeping tabs on both squads and I may, after this game, squeeze in a visit to Shawe View and check them out on their home turf. If they sell chips, a good brew and have a place for me and my good lady to park our arses then so much the better. It goes without saying I'll be back to Abbey Hey, a local-ish club I do like to visit several times a season - fingers crossed that next time there will be a deserved win come their way.
Sunday 3 December 2017
ANNIVERSARY IN THE LAND OF OS
2nd December 2017 - FC Oswestry Town 4 v 0 Eccleshall FC - Myself and my choice good lady have been together today for 22 years and I have never regretted a day of it as she is the best I could ever wish for - I hope she feels the same, I am hard work don't ya know. Our day started early and after the bank card refused to work at the petrol station we had to nip to the local bank, sort a new card, go back and pay for the acquired juice and set out on our travels - at last. We rolled up to Whittington Castle, had a mooch round the grounds, purchased 4 books, one of which was a back up copy of Culpepper's Herbale (it helps keep the arse free of spots and the bowels free flowing). We then went into the cafe and indulged in tea and cake (scone, jam and clotted cream for me, lemon cake for the missus). We chatted to a nice lady and enjoyed our victuals before jumping in the car and heading to Ifton Nature Reserve for a walk. A few fungi and birds were listed and a few lichens collected for examination before we set of for The Venue to watch today's game. As in the style of the aforementioned Culpepper 'we did settle our fundaments on chosen rectal receptacles of varnished timber and partook of leafed liquid and sliced members of the family Solanum' and as in the words of ye olde Fungalpunk 'bloody darn good they were too'. The teams warmed up, disappeared and the caterpillar tunnel extended its chlorophyll coloured epidermis and spat out the players who were to take part in today's drama. The crowd reached a less than noteworthy 57 but hey, good on each and every one of them for making the effort and supporting football that is real and not corrupted by the coin - respect peeps. And to the game...
The first action was a squeak at goal by Eckoid's No 9 (Leigh Skellern) who pursued a long ball, made up the yardage but tragically put in the softest of shots that was void of any peril. The guest team had the main bulk of the early play and exhibited a very pleasing patience and pass and move discipline. The aim was to dent the defense of the home army by finding the smallest crack and tearing it wide open with a cutting pass. Probing and teasing the visitors maintained organised rank but Oswestry are a well-drilled team and resisted with robustness and frustrated their opponents. The closest Eccleshall came was when their No 2 (Conor Docherty) cut in from the wing and clouted the upright with a low drive, the keeper though had matters covered. This effort roused the O's and within a tickling of a tadpole's todge the home No 9 (Jack Harris) connected onto a drilled in cross and brushed the ball just over. From here a balance was had although a rapier-like attack by Eccleshall nearly brought initial glory when No 7 (Daniel Nedham) was through. The shot however was blocked by a quick reacting keeper who spread himself quicker than butter on a bald man's bonse. From the ensuing corner Skellern tried a lengthy punt, alas it was like the pendulous member of a drunken elephant - low and wide.
A veritable chess match followed, not in the same league as Kasparov v Fisher but just as enthralling. Suddenly the flanks were seared as No 11 (Louis Downs) for Eccleshall reached the end zone and blasted in a low, sizzling cross. No 5 (Robert Shone) of the home squad lunged and must have been mighty relived to see the ball fly over his own crossbar. The corner came to bugger all but soon after No 7 (Jacob Farleigh) for the O-men set his legs aflame and moved with purpose before laying the ball off to his colleague No 10 (Stuart Vernon). He was just inside the opponents half, his Sparrowhawk-like peepers had noticed the goalkeeper off his line, he duly thumped and entered the lottery of the lob. The ball glided, the mittman scampered back, the laws of gravity seemed to be defiant and the ball stayed high when suddenly, a last minute dip that was blessed by Newton himself, saw the ball drop just below the horizontal and make for one hell of a goal. What a strike and what a blow against the run of play, talk about pissing on ones chips - even the fish, pudding and peas were soaked through here. From this point on the hosts grew in confidence, the belief system was invigorated and no sooner had the celebrations died down than Harris was in and having a crack. It was a reckless attempt but still kept the coals of potential glowing and Eccleshall striving for some kind of lucky break. Things continued as per towards the break with the O-Bro's just edging matters and showing a greater purposeful intent. The referee was set to vibrate his pea (in several ways I suspected) but Oswestry wanted more. A move bursting with punishing pace came at the death, No 11 (Joseph Newton) supplied a cuthroat cross and Jack Harris executed from inches out and doubled the home teams lead. A sucker punch and sending the guests into the tunnel with frustration and irritation etched all over their faces. It can be a cruel game at times.
A cuppa for half time, it was needed, it had been a long day and we were feeling a trifle tired and so the cold took its chance. To keep warm I pondered a poem I had been considering but couldn't get further than the first two lines 'I once had a date with the charming Tony Gubba, I went to his flat where he dressed me in rubber' - any takers on finishing this poem will be most welcome and perhaps could help me finish my latest prescription of mental health tablets, here's hoping!
Back to the match and out the teams came. Straight at it went the Oswestry men, Farleigh was running with intent, a free kick was gained. Vernon took charge and put in a quite intelligent pass, The Eck-Heads did well to read the danger signs. The team on the back foot followed up with some awful defending and were lucky they didn't go further behind and see their hopes get trampled to death, The night reflected their situation, a manky mizzle fell from the bruised underbelly of a tubbed up sky and the Eccleshall lads needed to shake off their bout of wintry blues and get back in this. Skellern offered hope when he pilfered the ball and crossed. Alas the tap forth by the incoming striker was too high and yet another potential chance went for a Burton. Onwards the strugglers came though, the Prozac of Pride is a powerful stimulant and when Needham knocked forth a low drive it was the knees of the home mitter who denied a strike back. A session of leveled play came, Eccleshall were trigger shy at times and let a few chances go to seed by just not showing enough adventure and letting fly at the first sight of goal. One shot by their No 3 (Lewis Dunn) came from a corner but was as effective as Bruce Forsyth's syrup and at 2 goals to 0 we stayed.
From the lull came Eccleshall's greatest grab at glory. Needham was clean through, the goalkeeper was galloping out, the shot came, it was without direction and the home No 1 saved with ease. Up the other end matters flew, Farleigh wriggled and shot close in from the angle...another regulation, but effective, save was had. Things were warming up. Time progressed and Old Mother Urgency stuck a finger up the arse of the Eccleshall boys. All she forgot to add was a good rubbing down with the oils of composure. A long cross from Docherty saw No 7 Needham volley, again it was a rushed and wasted effort. Oswestry now responded, No 8 (Joshua Sumner) worked hard and burst free from 2 tackles. The ball was stroked around and the initial creator popped up and finished the move, albeit with a touch of good fortune via a kind deflection. Eccleshall looked to get a consolation, a corner came, the substitute headed and volleyed but a quite sweet save on the stretch put paid to any ensuing celebration. The depths of the game were upon us, the hosts had one last thrust. The move was disciplined and took advantage of tired legs. The ball was passed with a deliberate decisiveness and was eventually lofted into the net by No 14 (Daniel Tinsley) to knock the stuffing out of a fading Eccleshall unit. The referee ended the game soon after, 4 - 0 was a harsh scoreline but man Oswestry are on a confident roll at the moment and are taking their chances when they fall. They are a team who have some industrious players and so Man of the Match goes to one such chap, namely No 8 (Josh Sumner) who worked like a warrior, put in a full 90 minute shift and helped his side win in what appeared to be, a canter.
FINAL THOUGHT - And yet again, in this lowly league of reality-soaked football, we see two teams playing with a good style, using the deck for what it was meant to be used for and trying to build a victory on the finer principles of the game. It was a fairly skewed end result that didn't reflect the balance of the game but the 3 points went the right way and I am sure FC Oswestry can only keep on building and rising higher up the league table. Eccleshall are far better this year than they have been for the last couple of terms and play a decent game that should keep them free of danger. Luck didn't fall their way today and the chances, when they came, were not dealt with in true assassins style. A bit of work up front on the finishing, an attention to working the flanks and I reckon from here the team can build and prosper. I best get a visit pencilled in to Pershsal Park as it is one of my favourite old-style grounds and as for The Venue, well it goes without saying that we will be back. Tis all ruddy good stuff!
The first action was a squeak at goal by Eckoid's No 9 (Leigh Skellern) who pursued a long ball, made up the yardage but tragically put in the softest of shots that was void of any peril. The guest team had the main bulk of the early play and exhibited a very pleasing patience and pass and move discipline. The aim was to dent the defense of the home army by finding the smallest crack and tearing it wide open with a cutting pass. Probing and teasing the visitors maintained organised rank but Oswestry are a well-drilled team and resisted with robustness and frustrated their opponents. The closest Eccleshall came was when their No 2 (Conor Docherty) cut in from the wing and clouted the upright with a low drive, the keeper though had matters covered. This effort roused the O's and within a tickling of a tadpole's todge the home No 9 (Jack Harris) connected onto a drilled in cross and brushed the ball just over. From here a balance was had although a rapier-like attack by Eccleshall nearly brought initial glory when No 7 (Daniel Nedham) was through. The shot however was blocked by a quick reacting keeper who spread himself quicker than butter on a bald man's bonse. From the ensuing corner Skellern tried a lengthy punt, alas it was like the pendulous member of a drunken elephant - low and wide.
A veritable chess match followed, not in the same league as Kasparov v Fisher but just as enthralling. Suddenly the flanks were seared as No 11 (Louis Downs) for Eccleshall reached the end zone and blasted in a low, sizzling cross. No 5 (Robert Shone) of the home squad lunged and must have been mighty relived to see the ball fly over his own crossbar. The corner came to bugger all but soon after No 7 (Jacob Farleigh) for the O-men set his legs aflame and moved with purpose before laying the ball off to his colleague No 10 (Stuart Vernon). He was just inside the opponents half, his Sparrowhawk-like peepers had noticed the goalkeeper off his line, he duly thumped and entered the lottery of the lob. The ball glided, the mittman scampered back, the laws of gravity seemed to be defiant and the ball stayed high when suddenly, a last minute dip that was blessed by Newton himself, saw the ball drop just below the horizontal and make for one hell of a goal. What a strike and what a blow against the run of play, talk about pissing on ones chips - even the fish, pudding and peas were soaked through here. From this point on the hosts grew in confidence, the belief system was invigorated and no sooner had the celebrations died down than Harris was in and having a crack. It was a reckless attempt but still kept the coals of potential glowing and Eccleshall striving for some kind of lucky break. Things continued as per towards the break with the O-Bro's just edging matters and showing a greater purposeful intent. The referee was set to vibrate his pea (in several ways I suspected) but Oswestry wanted more. A move bursting with punishing pace came at the death, No 11 (Joseph Newton) supplied a cuthroat cross and Jack Harris executed from inches out and doubled the home teams lead. A sucker punch and sending the guests into the tunnel with frustration and irritation etched all over their faces. It can be a cruel game at times.
A cuppa for half time, it was needed, it had been a long day and we were feeling a trifle tired and so the cold took its chance. To keep warm I pondered a poem I had been considering but couldn't get further than the first two lines 'I once had a date with the charming Tony Gubba, I went to his flat where he dressed me in rubber' - any takers on finishing this poem will be most welcome and perhaps could help me finish my latest prescription of mental health tablets, here's hoping!
Back to the match and out the teams came. Straight at it went the Oswestry men, Farleigh was running with intent, a free kick was gained. Vernon took charge and put in a quite intelligent pass, The Eck-Heads did well to read the danger signs. The team on the back foot followed up with some awful defending and were lucky they didn't go further behind and see their hopes get trampled to death, The night reflected their situation, a manky mizzle fell from the bruised underbelly of a tubbed up sky and the Eccleshall lads needed to shake off their bout of wintry blues and get back in this. Skellern offered hope when he pilfered the ball and crossed. Alas the tap forth by the incoming striker was too high and yet another potential chance went for a Burton. Onwards the strugglers came though, the Prozac of Pride is a powerful stimulant and when Needham knocked forth a low drive it was the knees of the home mitter who denied a strike back. A session of leveled play came, Eccleshall were trigger shy at times and let a few chances go to seed by just not showing enough adventure and letting fly at the first sight of goal. One shot by their No 3 (Lewis Dunn) came from a corner but was as effective as Bruce Forsyth's syrup and at 2 goals to 0 we stayed.
From the lull came Eccleshall's greatest grab at glory. Needham was clean through, the goalkeeper was galloping out, the shot came, it was without direction and the home No 1 saved with ease. Up the other end matters flew, Farleigh wriggled and shot close in from the angle...another regulation, but effective, save was had. Things were warming up. Time progressed and Old Mother Urgency stuck a finger up the arse of the Eccleshall boys. All she forgot to add was a good rubbing down with the oils of composure. A long cross from Docherty saw No 7 Needham volley, again it was a rushed and wasted effort. Oswestry now responded, No 8 (Joshua Sumner) worked hard and burst free from 2 tackles. The ball was stroked around and the initial creator popped up and finished the move, albeit with a touch of good fortune via a kind deflection. Eccleshall looked to get a consolation, a corner came, the substitute headed and volleyed but a quite sweet save on the stretch put paid to any ensuing celebration. The depths of the game were upon us, the hosts had one last thrust. The move was disciplined and took advantage of tired legs. The ball was passed with a deliberate decisiveness and was eventually lofted into the net by No 14 (Daniel Tinsley) to knock the stuffing out of a fading Eccleshall unit. The referee ended the game soon after, 4 - 0 was a harsh scoreline but man Oswestry are on a confident roll at the moment and are taking their chances when they fall. They are a team who have some industrious players and so Man of the Match goes to one such chap, namely No 8 (Josh Sumner) who worked like a warrior, put in a full 90 minute shift and helped his side win in what appeared to be, a canter.
FINAL THOUGHT - And yet again, in this lowly league of reality-soaked football, we see two teams playing with a good style, using the deck for what it was meant to be used for and trying to build a victory on the finer principles of the game. It was a fairly skewed end result that didn't reflect the balance of the game but the 3 points went the right way and I am sure FC Oswestry can only keep on building and rising higher up the league table. Eccleshall are far better this year than they have been for the last couple of terms and play a decent game that should keep them free of danger. Luck didn't fall their way today and the chances, when they came, were not dealt with in true assassins style. A bit of work up front on the finishing, an attention to working the flanks and I reckon from here the team can build and prosper. I best get a visit pencilled in to Pershsal Park as it is one of my favourite old-style grounds and as for The Venue, well it goes without saying that we will be back. Tis all ruddy good stuff!
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