Sunday 25 February 2018

A LATE KICK IN THE KNUTS FOR WYTHENSHAWE

24th February 2018 - Knutsford FC 3 v 2 Wythenshawe Town - I was feeling a bit under the weather but tis no excuse to stop in and gripe so after another morn of tidying, sorting out the days itinerary I tucked my gonads in, wrapped up warm and was duly dropped at the local train station by my good lady.  45 minutes later after a short wait and a 30 minute train ride I met up with my mate and headed down to the Knutsford FC ground on Manchester Road.  There we were greeted by many friendly folk, and the club secretary (Nev Pearson take a bow) who, due to my blogging efforts, gave me and my mate a free pie and cuppa at half time.  What a stunning gesture and one that sits mighty well with me and will be paid back with many more visits.  In return this generous fellow and his good lady are going to be wangled onto a local fungi walk free of charge, you can't say fairer than that! We indulged in a cuppa and had a good chat prior to the game, I acquired teamsheets and out we went into the brisk but sunny climate.  The pitch looked splendid and everything was set up for a good trip out, it was now up to the teams to put in a good stint and send us all home delighted.  Positions taken, the pea-laden device blown and the game was underway!  

The start was highly fertile, both teams working hard on the firm pitch and getting those leg muscles warmed up.  The home lads were probing deepest with the dazzling sun and the cross-wind both factors to be wary of.  A Knutsford free-kick, No 10 (Liam Crellin-Myers) the taker and choosing to knock it low.  Legs swung, all missed, an in-box scramble came and the visiting team did mighty well to clear.  The teams rushed on, Redwings and Fieldfares were spooked from a nearby field by a female Sparrowhawk, the bird of prey was on the prowl, as were the home team who pressed once more.  This time they were like a one-legged criminal on the run, caught on the hop, and Wythenshawe broke with desire.  No 10 (Gavin Salmon) laid the ball off to No 9 (Ed Walker) who fired but saw his effort blocked.  Soon after Salmon flipped one forth, it was too tame to test the perky mittman.   The Knutty lads responded, No 6 (Phil Youlie) had a weak punt and No 11 (Ben Brooks) and No 7 (Dean Warburton) were moving well and keeping their opponents on their toes.  From a midfield melee No 8 (Joe Yarwood) of The Wyth came and found space.  He looked, bent the globe netward, it remained shy of the target and I pondered if Mike Yarwood could have done any better, especially if dressed up as that famed chastity belt inventor Albert Twatlock.  And back to the match...

Brooks for Knutsford was the next to deliver we humble onlookers a slice of Action Pie.   He cut in with purpose, shot from close in but was outdone by a keeper who produced a quite concrete save.  A call overhead distracted my attention - some Lapwings were in the air, the Spawk was in their midst - who would be the first to strike - the aerial master, the Knut House residents or the Wythied Visitors - surely we were close to that opening strike.  Walker of the travelling Blues nearly granted our wishes when he swivelled quicker than one of Ben Turpin's eyes, lashed out like a blood-pressure victim on a wobbler and forced the home No 1 (Craig Ellison) to produce a quite outstanding one handed save.  The angled kick was taken, the home lads struggled to clear but Wythenshawe just couldn't find room to pull the trigger and the peril passed. Walker for the guests led a quick follow-up attack, his shot was dragged wide, the threat was building and when a free-kick came and the home goalkeeper spilled for a split second I thought a sneaky striking foot would nudge the ball home and put a mark on the scoresheet.  The mitter did well to recover and snuff out any rising hopes.  A fizzling out of the first 45 came, Knutsford cultivated a late flourish, Warburton put in a fine drive but the save that came was up to the task and was executed with eye-catching appeal.  Youlie had one last attempt but after picking his spot he failed to hit the zone.  The referee had had enough, it had been an enthralling first half, bring on the second.

Half-time - our gift of pie and tea was duly collected, it went down like ambrosia and nectar, we were living like Non-League kings and it won't be forgotten.  Out into fresh air we went,  I still had half a pie left, but here's what happened next folks.

Wythenshawe pushed, that bugger Walker was at it again.  He approached, he poached and he picked out a strike with great control.  I was still finishing my pie and was covered in gravy whilst trying to compose some notes, darn these people in a rush.   Whilst scribbling away I noted one of the Wythenshawe bench holding his shoulder - the silly bugger had pulled a muscle whilst punching the air in celebration - brilliant, nowt like a bit of passion.   I licked the gravy from my fingers, bungled in a large crusty chunk and watched as Knutsford reacted with a rebound goal that saw Crellin-Myers belt home with gusto and get this game immediately back on level terms.  I nearly choked, gravy dribbled, would this pie ever get finished?  I am a Wigan man though - never underestimate the masticating powers of a Northern pig!  Next up and Knutsford's No 3 (Sean Lynch) indulged in some exquisite play by riding two tackles and putting an elegant ball over to his comrade Brooks who was unfortunate not to finish and bring about a goal of the season contender.  Lynch linked up with Brooks again, a foul was committed and up stepped Crellin-Myers to deliver.  The sphere was projected but only a corner was granted from which Warburton found a chance to shoot.  The ball had pace and good accuracy but was deflected over and from the second ball in sweet FA was borne.

Soon after Knutsford won another angled punt, Crellin-Myers tried the most outrageous chip but the mitter recovered well and tipped cleanly over.  You have to watch out for those outrageous chips, the last time I came across one it had escaped from a newspaper wrapping after molesting a cod and was later arrested for having unlawful relations with a meat pudding - what a rotter!  3 tasty collisions came next - one involved my testicles banging together as I jumped up and down to keep warm, the other two involved some mistimed tackles on the pitch.  The referee let the play flow despite shouts of injustice - I think the man in black got things right.  No 2 (Rees Welsh) and No 9 (Dave Owens) were the next duo to double up with a cross ensuing and No 8 (Nerhu McKenzie) nutting the ball just wide - what a cracking move!  With both teams scurrying Knutsford were just having the better of the game and although Brooks unleashed a blazer that nearly smashed a nearby window rather than hit the goal one fancied the home lads to get the next goal.  Suddenly out of nothing the Knutsford goalkeeper had the ball at his feet, kicked forth and struck the imposing carcass of Wythy's Salmon.  The ball rebounded and dropped straight in the net - what a stunner, what a sickener, what a ruddy balls up!  I made note of the catastrophe, looked up and saw that Knutsford were galloping away.  Wythenshawe stood off, Warburton beetled in at the near post and squeezed the ball in and levelled the game once more - certain members of the visiting team were far from happy.  The first rule of football after you score is to stop the immediate counterpunch - twice in one match is unforgivable but credit to the hosts for a gutsy and feisty response.

From here I thought the game would settle down, not so, Wythenshawe came and Yarwood was given an abundance of time to set his sights and shoot,  The shot was a good one, the save was better, in fact it was straight out of the top drawer - just at the side of the knickers, the 1970's copies of Razzle and the rubber Freddie 'Parrot Faced' Davies mask - one has needs don't ya know.  At the other end Crellin-Myers played forth a delicious ball that saw the away keeper deny the striker with only milli-seconds to spare.  Things were whipping up, we were in the arse end of the game, Knutsford came, a shot was saved by a semi-crook goalie and the ball came loose.  Crellin-Myers seemed to have a good sense of smell and the stench of glory was rife.  He picked up the ball, blasted home, celebrated with his team mates and no doubt made a mental note to get another Golden Gordon tattoo on his buttocks.  It was a fine finish and although the injury time added was outrageous ( the hazards of using a sun-dial in a football match methinks) Knutsford game managed and saw matters out to take a very good victory.  Both teams had made this a good game though, my applause were for all and my Man of the Match, on this quite splendid day, goes to the Knutsford's No 3 (Sean Lynch) who indulged in a stint graced with good movement, hard work and the odd sublime touch.  It was a quality effort amongst many admirable performances - it was that kind of game.

FINAL THOUGHT - So thanks were given and me and my mate buggered off for some punk rock in rotten old Manchester - The Varukers are an old band but worth a peek, and they were noisy and bang on form, lovely.  On the train to Manc we discussed the match and thought that the whole set up today was bang on, loaded with amiable spirit and capped by a game of two teams playing for the sheer love of it.  It was a good battle, one Napoleon and Wellington would have been proud of and one that saw some good soldiers put their arses onto the field of conflict and get stuck in.  Napoleon, it is said, liked to pinch people, and Knutsford definitely pinched all 3 points today with that last gasp winner.  Wellington was a man who needed little sleep and perhaps the Wythenshawe lads might have a bit of tossing and turning for a few night's worrying about the way they let in two goals after their own strikes and how they threw the match away right at the last.  I wouldn't worry, these things happen and the Manchester based team are more than efficient.  On a different day who knows...the thing is to ride the punches and come back with greater determination.  And to finish - Knutsford FC we will be back, many, many times I suspect - I am a sucker for decency and good spirit, tis what this game should always be built on!

CHILLS AND THRILLS

23rd February 2018 - Avro FC 0 v 0 East Manchester FC - A virus had snuck into the old Fungal frame and I was feeling rather crap.  The cold was creeping in from the west and the weekend looked set to freeze the nuts off a walrus.  I had also put a £50 bet on Adolf Hitler being found in the Tameside area before the 1st of March.  Everything was looking crappy but fresh air is a good cure for a cold, the low thermals are easily combated by chips and tea and a rumour was going round that a one-balled man was seen goosestepping around the Hyde area and muttering something about a cup final.  I cycled home, had a read, sorted tea for me and the good lady and got wrapped up warm - those knitted nipple cups and electric underpants I acquired are a real bonus.  We both headed out, missed out on warming victuals and kept our peepers peeled for a Charlie Chaplin look-a-like adorned in Jackboots and sporting an idiot toothbrush moustache - whatever you say, old Adolf was one real tosser.  We picked our places after a shite drive down, kept close to share body warmth and watched as the teams came out to contest the final of the Manchester FC Challenge Cup.

The referee checked his timepiece, the shrill of the whistle broke the night air, the ball underwent the first of many rotations.  The first sortie forth came the way of the East Manc Mob, No 9 (Sam Jones) was on it like a wasp on a jam butty but the keeper was the swatter of flies and denied any sweet success.  No 7 (Duncan Knott) for the Avro Army came next, his feet were a blur as he weaved and then released to his colleague No 11 (Chris Howell) who wasted no time in launching a shot.  The ball whizzed over but this was a sprightly start from both units.  A corner came soon after, there was a fumble in the mix, the ball was nearly poked homeward, who the Hell got the final touch is anyone's guess, it was a mush of action in that box, it must be the cold!  Onwards we went, Avro were passing well, using the full spread of the park and putting together some neat sequences.  A ball came from one such move, No 10 (Michael Stockdale) got his glabrous pate on the ball from only inches out, the save that came was solid.

A quiet patch followed, both teams were trying to crack the code of the opposing defence, East Manc attempting to do so with a decisive long ball, Avro trying to work through with a sharp multi-pass combination.  Only a few half chances appeared, I took this period to glance around the crowd for the ex-German leader but only saw several Eddie Yates look-a-likes and one of Barry Chuckle's ex male lovers - tis a strange world.  A brace of corners came the way of Avro the second of which missed all heads and nearly dropped in at the far corner - now that would have been just plain old insulting.  Next and a long ball found the feet of Avro's No 8 (Louis Potts) who moved with determination, shot and saw his ball deflect off the carcass of Stockdale and fall outside of the far upright.  A goalkeeping blip brought the next action with the East Manc mitter attempting a clearance but only hitting Avro's Stockdale instead.  The ball rebounded and looked destined for the goal,  it dropped just wide, that No 1 (Phillip Pole) had just lost a life!  At the other end the pesky No 11 (Alex Beeley) put in a cross cum shot.  The top corner was nearly found but the ball had too much lift and pace and dropped over the bar.  The half moved on, Avro countered when on the back foot, it was a razor-like attack and it needed some fine defending from the Manc back pack to blunt the flashing blades.  Stockdale was in again, this time thwarted by the effective Manc guardian, No 2 (Connor Brotherton), the lad was having a decent game for sure.  The dregs of the first half ended with Avro's Potts putting in a good ball for No 9 (Liam Bennion) to crack first time and a Manc free-kick causing mayhem in their opponents box and giving a sniff at a late-on strike.  Both incidents died a death, we went into the break goalless.

Half-time, we stayed put and contemplated.  We couldn't be arsed to queue for scram and were glad when the two teams reappeared.

A level start to this second half was had with the same pattern set.  Both teams were playing well and showing some applaudable honesty.  No play acting, no spite and no fakery - I think this is a notable point and should be an example to the idiot theatre up top.  Avro produced the first promise, Stockdale to Knott who crossed across the face of the goal instead of having a pop.  All assassins were absent, the danger was dealt with.  The same team came again, a slick ball saw Bennion collect but fire with panic-stricken boots - the globe went higher than Jimmy Somerville's voice whilst wandering in a thong shop and I did wonder if the deadlock would ever be broken.  Some great banter was coming from the stands and despite the cold everyone in attendance was keeping chipper - and why not, £4 for some cup final action, reality is there to be appreciated.  

As the half progressed East Manchester were seemingly happy to absorb the pressure and look for a rapid break, they were doing one part of the job well, it was just the finishing cut that was missing.  A few late tackles now came but nothing was m
alicious, simply a case of tired legs and over-enthusiasm.  A few lads went down with cramp, into the last 10 minutes we went.  Avro surged, Howell down the wing and Knott grabbing, cutting in and executing nothing less than a wildman shot.  Knott soon came again, the ball was put in the danger zone, a shot followed and was saved, this was last gasp stuff and another blast was had for a late rampaging Avro.  The ball rasped, the mittman parried, Stockdale was almost in the net but somehow managed to fire over - what a shocker sir!  The game soon came to an end, it had been a good 'un, now for the penalty shoot out.

Tension was high, the do or die situation was upon us - Avro came first and Potts buried the ball. McIntosh for East Manchester stepped up, the ball was struck - saved,  advantage the way of the greens.  No 5 (Sam Rathbone) next to give his team a 2 strike cushion - advantage gone as the target was missed,  The next 3 penalties were all converted Sam Jones, Brad Byrne and Michael Stockdale all take a bow,  In fact Stockdales penalty was cool and clinical, if he had been so during the match he could have saved us a whole lot of bother - ooh the rotten devil.  So 2 - 2 it was, Joe Rathbone of The Avro next to give his side the lead.  He came , he clouted, he indulged in a shocker - the tide had now turned.  No 8 (Jack Timmons) stepped up for the Blues, get this and the pressure on the last Avro kicker would be immense.  The shot came, it was another stinker - 2 strikes left, shit or bust time folks.  No 15 (Matt Landregan) came forth for Avro, he kept the head down, he fired with a cucumber cool focus, the mesh rippled - it was all down to No 17 (Scott Percival) of the EM crew to keep his team in this one.  He struck well, the bottom corner beckoned, from out of nowhere the Avro No 1 (Karl Stone) sprawled, what a stunning save.  His teams mates went bananas, they flocked around him, the game was up, Avro FC were the 2018 Manchester Challenge Cup champions.  Man of the Match for me goes to the winning side's No 7 (Duncan Knott) who I thought showed good pace, perpetual threat and on another night could have bagged a few goals too.  A player to watch methinks, one with much pep in the tank and some darn flitting feet.  Good on ya fella!

FINAL THOUGHT - Well, due to the amount of traffic on the roads we nearly didn't make this one and, in truth, if we hadn't it would have been our loss.  This may have been a goal free game at full time but it was a very enjoyable match with both teams playing the game fairly and squarely and sticking to the pre-match plan and deserving a draw at the end of the 90 minutes. It was a thrilling finale, penalties always are and love or loathe them they are decisive, to the point and add a fine dimension to the game.  To those who scored and those who missed, it happens and next time it could be a different matter - 'tis all in the hands of Lady Luck at this stage and she can be one right awkward cow I can tell ya.  I remember throwing a coconut at the head of Margaret Thatcher back in the day, who would have guessed it would have bounced off her noggin and killed an onlooking Nun - now that's bad luck don't ya know.  Anyway this was a pleasure, good on all those involved and all those who supported the game - this is reality, this is lower league football, there is no finer place - just a pity Adolf Hitler didn't turn up - I bet his jeep was stuck in the traffic, darn those fat councillors at SMBC and their wretched transport systems!

Thursday 22 February 2018

IRLAM'S STEEL REFUSES TO BUCKLE

20th February 2018 - Irlam FC 1 v 1 City of Liverpool Man, tonight's match was highly anticipated by yours truly and promised to be one of the biggest toss-ups since Shirley Crabtree had that fling with Tony 'The Rubber' Gubba - I can still see the holes in his leotard now!  Last year Irlam could have been accused of over-achieving, this year they have done the opposite and not done themselves justice in a very competitive league.  City of Liverpool on the other hand were irresistible during the previous campaign and this year have more than held their own in this testing division.  Tonight I felt as though we had a real conundrum on our hands with Irlam getting their act together and City of Liverpool trying to bounce back after a slip up and more cancellations than the NHS urine department.  Me and my good lady had done our days work, met up, had a bite to eat and set out to beat the Purple hordes and the Irlam faithful. We arrived after a shitty drive with traffic too plentiful to be comfortable, we were met with darkness, an electricity problem meant the game was on hold and we had to have our cuppa in semi-darkness surrounded by scousers - now there's a situation to test one's nerves.  We supped up and waited, and waited, and waited some more.  Luckily for all concerned Irlam's assistant Manager, the centre-back and an ex-forward are all sparks, they eventually got things sorted (albeit 1 hour later than planned) and to those three wired-up-right buggers all our thanks must go.  So to the match, and before we start a few points to ponder.  Remember folks, Irlam was a great steel-producing town in the 20th century and I wondered if the home lads would be using their own tough brand to defy the Purple Army and bring about a much needed win.  On the other hand would the scouse machine take on the form of a sexually worked-up Cilla Black and devour all the perspiring players in their path - history says this can happen, hopefully this time without the mess.  I pondered, shuddered and just hoped there would be a 'lorra, lorra' excitement and that both teams would play to their full potential - this is my take on matters. 

No sooner had the game settled down and COL's No 3 (Francis Foy) played, what I deemed at first to be, an average ball.  How wrong I was and when No 9 (Jack Kelleher) raced through and clattered home a quite concrete shot it was a start made in Heaven for those tattooed through with Purple.  The tempo from here was noticeably hectic with the visiting team dictating early pace and passing quicker than a boss-eyed cretin in the Mastermind chair.  To Irlam's credit, they stuck at their task, maintained discipline and resisted the woodpecker mither the Liverpool lads are renowned for.  The home No 4 (Charlie Doyle) was like a Frenchman on a mission, leading a resistance and cultivating a worthy attack.  He laid the ball off and watched a cross get nutted goalward into the keeper's mitts.  The save was easy but that didn't detract from the promise of the preceding move. Both teams continued to play with pace and impressive slick passing, The Purps pressed and appeared to be turning the screw of pressure - the question was, would Irlam have reliable nuts to deny the squeeze?  

A corner went in from the visiting team, the home mittman missed it, much to the joy of the traveling supporters, Irlam stayed stout and cleared and made sure this was a contest there for the taking.  No 2 (Macauley Harewood) and No 7 (Liam Morrison) for the Mitchells were particularly
arresting as they worked with purpose and emitted a certain authority!  A few shabby tackles followed and then a COL free kick was had, nutted forth and saved with ease.  From a relatively quiet spell Irlam hustled with intent, won the ball after a COL mistake and went on the prowl.  Several chances to shoot were had but when the ball dropped to the eager feet of No 7 (Liam Morrison) he looked up, curled one and levelled the scores with aplomb. A delightful strike and if you ask me, ruddy well deserved.  Irlam now had a zippy zest, Harewood, Morrison and No 8 (Isaac Illidge) linked up with creamed ease and duly won an angled punt.  The ball flew in with pace, all bonses were missed, the visiting squad looked like a skeleton on a horse - rattled.  The arse end of the half was upon us, Illidge of Irlam tried to bag the lead with a sizzler.  The ball flew, an over-enthusiastic nut from the other side of the pitch screamed, hopes soared, the ball went agonisingly wide and half-time was upon us.

A shake of the carcass, a cuddle with the good lady and a couple of lemon biscuits - we know how to live.

The teams reappeared, a fresh and highly animated start was needed and that is what we got.  The tonsils on the touchline were getting vibrated with venom as both sets of players looked to earn the upperhand.  For me, Irlam were now outworking their guests and excellent labour from their No 5 (Steven Mills) epitomised this belief and duly won a corner.  The ball in was easily defended and The Purps came on, put a great ball into the box after a free-kick was earned only to be denied by Illidge of Irlam who executed some quality, albeit unorthodox, defending.  The home heads forced themselves forward, Mills crossing and winning an angled kick.  Ball in, the mittman indulged in a terrible punch, luckily for him the danger was dealt with and he breathed a sigh of relief.  Irlam soon threatened again, No 9 (Connor Martin) put the spherical object onto the nugget of Illidge who tupped only inches wide.  The tempo was building but then got halted after No 4 (Charlie Doyle) of Irlam got clobbered in the middle of the park.  A scuffle ensued, a booking came and for me, the referee did mighty well to calm the storm and not get 'card happy'.  The free kick that followed was razor sharp and Mills was unlucky to see his header miss the target.  It should really have been the killer touch!  More mistimed tackles came, Martin of Irlam blasted the side netting whilst No 11 (Dean Shacklock) of COL had a close in header that was wonderfully saved.  The Purple Perspirers now leaked blood has they tried to test the home team's mettle.  A low ball entered the perilous zone, No 6 (Craig Robinson) turned and unloaded, a deflection saw the ball fly millimeters wide.  The corner was like the arse of a recently rogered chicken, it produced nowt!

The back stretch, Irlam were playing well from back to front but at 1 goal apiece anything could still happen, the COL set-up is never easily toppled.  End to end stuff followed, many guts were bust in pursuit of victory, not bad for Non-League football hey, tis par for the course don't ya know.  In the last moments Irlam's No 11 (Marcus Perry) had a chance to seal matters, struck and was denied by a cracking save.  It was a golden chance and looked to have confirmed that the hosts would get no more than a hard-fought point.  City of Liverpool though didn't even want to give this away as, in the dregs of injury time, the No 8 (Francis Smith) let loose a skin-searing shot that looked destined for a last gasp winner that would be only equalled by the exploits of Roy Race.  The bar was thundered, the ball slammed down, claims were had that it had crossed the line, a clearance came and soon after the game was up.  Phew, what a finish and despite many biased and rose-tinted onlookers believing the ball went in from where we were stood (which was in a very good spot) the ball certainly didn't cross the line and a 'no-goal' was very much the right decision.  We left the ground later than expected, it was worth the effort and Man of the Match tonight goes to Irlam's No 7 (Liam Morrison) who was outstanding throughout, covered much ground, led many charges and just looked a controlled and very talented player on a pitch of high quality.  

FINAL THOUGHT - So a delay, a dither, and determination paid off.  This was a darn good match tonight that exposed two teams that were well matched and who gave their all in an attempt to gain the 3 point glory.  Overall I thought Irlam deserved the win, they played with gusto, swift endeavour and refused to be bowled over by a City of Liverpool team who are certainly no push-overs.  Prior to the game, I suspect the away side were slight favourites but Irlam are getting their act together and when things slot into place they are a match for anyone.  City of Liverpool are simmering at the moment rather than boiling over, these things happen to the best of sides and I have no doubt they will be back soon scalding a few unwary nadgers and making great waves on their march forward.  It is all interesting stuff this lower league malarkey, hence the reason so many are immersed.  For punters like myself, who abhor the capitalist bullshit of the Premier League as well as the mass market acceptance of things gone wank, this is a decent escape and if the game is played fairly and squarely, with respectful attitudes then so much the better.

Wednesday 21 February 2018

THE MAINE DRAIN

17th February 2018 - Maine Road 0 v 3 Barnoldswick Town Another weekend gone, one of football, DIY noise and some birding.  Monday is my day of catching up with loose ends, if I am lucky there will be match to finish the day - today was such a scenario.  I clattered away at the eternal backlog and tidied up like a Whirling Dervish with an attack of OCD.  I had a read, 'Doctor in Clover' by Richard Gordon, a very titivating tome, sorted a few outstanding fungi, Mollisia ligni named and shamed, filed a few photos ready to go on the website 'Marbled Green Moth' and 'Short Winged Conehead' among others and updated some wildlife records to hopefully help each species along.  On Saturday I was joined on the touchline by a couple of mates (STP Stu and Daz).  Tonight only Stu could make it as Daz was still booked into a local Travel Lodge with the linesman he tapped up at the weekend. He claims it was love at first sight and they are trying hard to have a baby - I think he his blinded by lust and losing sight of the dynamics of procreation - he seems happy enough though but has lost 2 stone in two days - I hope the hotel has a good health and safety policy.  So day done, tea cooked for my best mate (the missus) and at the ground I manifested myself (and no, not in that way, especially with my arthritic hands).  A brew and a chinwag were enjoyed, we took up positions A and B (or vice versa if you want to be PC) and watched the game unfold.

7.45pm was the time, the first action took place soon after, Road were exposing their usual high level of activity and making sure their opponents had an early 'rise and shine' finger up the jacksie (ouch).  The Barlick Boys are no mugs, they responded with a quick passing move that was finalised with two shots at goal.  One was saved, one was blazed over - the home 'erberts needed to watch their step.  The next invasion into a danger area came via The Road with some fast wing work and a cross resulting in No 11 (Sean Cookson) just touching over.  This was a high-spirited start, with both teams giving hint at a free-flowing Gung-Ho style.  The Blues advanced once more with the park dissected by a quite enticing pass.  No 9 (Jack Coop) chased and got through The Barlicks' rear guard.  He had more time than he realised and his side-footed shot was rather rushed and went wide of the mark.  Barnoldswick responded, a throw in came, No 9 (Mark Threlfall) executed a neat turn and eagle-eyed snap shot.  The keeper was tested but dropped low and saved without too much fuss - surely the first goal was on the cards.  The corner came, we mere touchline tooters witnessed a game of in box Ping-Pong that would have aroused the likes of Desmond Douglas no end.  The ball somehow found its way into the net, complete silence ensued, it was a surreal moment but No 7 (Zack Dale) was claiming it and returned to his own half quite pleased with himself.  His team advanced straight from the kick off, they won the ball and Dale was put in via a noticeably crippling pass.  The shot that followed was low and hefty, the save that came was of the same stature.  The corner was poor, The Road broke like whippets on hormones, Coop was left alone to do their dirty work, the ball was lost, Barnoldswick rebounded with a sizzling surge.  A shot from the No 11 (John Beckwith) took a spiteful deflection and looped like a boomerang on acid.  The keeper stood rooted to the spot, the ball dipped, the mesh quivered - 0 - 2 it was, Maine Road looked shell-shocked.  

From here the hosts dug in, won plenty of possession but, like the breasts of Vanessa Phelps in a nude trampolining contest, all support was visibly lacking.  They won a few free-kicks, the balls in were void of pep and accuracy and from one such incident the guests broke with gusto and Threlfall was unlucky not to add a third after striking from the angle and just dragging the globe wide.  Again a corner came and again it led to a breakaway.  A long ball found Cookson, he took one touch and toe-poked as the keeper raced off his line.  The ball passed the galloping gloved guardian and I applauded as it rolled goalward.  Those besides me also prematurely celebrated but the globe was a spiteful swine tonight and duly kissed the outside of the post and trickled behind for a goal kick.  Barlick took this warning and responded with liquidity.  A nut came and just put the ball over and moments later Threlfall turned and played a wonder pass that saw Beckwith just denied by the goalie.  The clock ticked away, the guests had one final crack at goal with a gaping net missed.  A corner soon followed, a bout of pinball and an eventual clearance - the half was done and what an exciting affair it had been.

As per a piddle, a cuppa and a chinwag - the simple things in life are always the best.

The second half started with an early MR corner.  The ball was knocked in, No 5 (Joshua Hill) helped it on, No 4 (Jonathan Mason) had a close in nut neatly tipped over by a well-stretched No 1 (Jordan Gidley).  Maine Road were now making the most of the early running but Barlick gradually warmed to the task and became far more protective of the ball.  A hold-up knocked the stuffing out of the flow and when things did recommence a free-kick for the visitors was dealt with like a hot potato by the home defence.  The ball eventually dropped to Beckwith who put too much 'oomph' into his swing and fired high.  The guests came again, Dale laying off and continuing his advances.  He somehow managed to deflect a colleague's shot onto the outside of the post, a trifle unlucky not to make a strike and kill the game dead if you ask me.  A swift move followed, same team, two passes and a shot.  Close but saved, the pace was too quick and I missed the striker - I apologise for my slackness (so sayeth the drunken vicar to his shrivelled organ player, namely Miss Edna Dessicated).  A follow-up shot came, a defensive bod cleared within the melee - feisty stuff indeed.

A lull came, both teams snuffed each other out until a Maine Road attack was borne, an onslaught that looked laden with promise.  Tackles were flying all ways, Cookson found a way through and fired but was yet again off target.  More tasty collisions followed, nothing too malicious, just a copulation of hard endeavour and a sticky surface giving birth to incidents misinterpreted as nasty - it happens.  Road somehow indulged in a flourish in and around their opponents' box, it was a panic laden affair, too many snap shots and not enough thought, all efforts were blocked and they let Barlick off a serious hook.  Next, and Dale at the other end had a punt off-centre, the MR lads responded with a free-kick.  The ball was put into the box, the keeper shouted and missed it, the ball headed goalward and needed a fine clearance off the line - great work.  This moment duly led to a lightning release that saw a 4 on 2 situation - how nothing came of it I will never know.  There were only minutes left, the game was fizzling when out of the pack the visiting team marauded and their substitute Emmanuel Ogundrinds slotted home on his debut and signed, sealed and delivered a well-earned victory.  The referee blew after a bit of extra time, Maine Road tried to get a consolation, it was all to no avail.  The game was done, Man of the Match goes to No 7 (Zack Dale) of Barnoldswick Town for a zippy, pestering performance and a 90 minute persistence that kept the host's in a state of perpetual worry.

FINAL THOUGHT - I always enjoy my trips out to Brantingham Road but more often than not I come away bewildered by the home teams efforts and wondering why the Hell they seem to lose so many games.  Tonight however I didn't feel too perplexed as the team looked disjointed, didn't make the best of their few opportunities and struggled to get to grips with a game that slipped away before it really got started.  The fact is Maine Road are better than this, but without points banged up on the board a high price could eventually be paid and they will find themselves in Ye Olde Street of Shit without a shovel - and that is crap.  Barnoldswick Town are best described as a 'steady' unit who always give a good account of themselves.  They play a direct passing game and have built up a good foundation this year on which to build in the near future.  The options are there, the underpants of success are waiting to be worn but many have tried them on and found they don't fit too snugly and duly end up falling arse over tit - it ain't easy surviving in this Non-League world, especially if all your Barlicks are not tucked in and your todger of talent has a bend in it - think on chaps.

Sunday 18 February 2018

WYTH MUCH ENDEAVOUR

17th February 2018 - Wythenshawe Town 0 v 0 Crewe FC - Time was the dictator today, I had put a gig on that was due to start in Ashton U Lyne at 5.45pm, an early match would be most appreciated.  After sorting The Blackpool Bastards Invasion I set about finding a convenient footballing affair that would give me ample time to get from the touchline to alongside the bar and make sure the noisy event got rattling on time.  The match chosen was a 2pm kick off, local-ish and of pure Non-League essence - lovely.  The morn was spent, as per, tidying, sorting wildlife pics and getting ready for the day out.  We picked up a chum at Stockport Station, met another at the ground and wagged the jawbones whilst partaking of a snifter.  Before I start the report let me thrill you with a 'Did You Know' fact!  Did you know that Syd Little of Little and Large fame once lived in Wythenshawe and it was in the Manchester area that the double act started to take off to superstardom.  I once had tickets to attend an evening with Syd Little, I stopped in and cut my nipples off with a rusted razor instead - I think I made the right, and more entertaining, decision.  Mind you, gotta give credit where credit is due - I don't think removing one's pimples with a corroded tool would ever win Opportunity Knocks unlike the duo who won the show back in the early 70's - oh what simple people we were.  And to the match, positions taken, pen and paper at the ready, peepers peeled - this is what took place folks.

The start had good equilibrium with both teams feeling each other out (crikey, and only just gone 2pm in the afternoon).  The pitch was a sticky affair, stickier than the fingers of Richard Madeley in fact, the thieving git!  The home birds were just shading matters and duly won the first free-kick that was taken by their No 6 (Ben Shawcross). The ball cut the air, No 10 (Joe Yarwood) put his cranial epidermis into action and nutted across the face of goal - there were no predators present!  Another bonus kick was won soon after, No 8 (Isaac Graham) swung shank and thwacked the globe, it had too much elevation and flew over the bar.  Crewe eventually got their act together and played some neat midfield moves with the only thing missing that decisive killer ball.  A free kick was granted to the hustling visitors, the delivery was exquisite, No 6 (Jake Malinder) captured the ball but could only vibrate the side netting - unlucky squire!  Another free-kick followed, another fine ball in was had, Malinder was in again although he paused and the keeper had time to sprawl and quell danger.  A corner ensued, success was AWOL.

A period of clumsy fouls came, the referee got whistle happy and thus impetus was lost. Eventually Crewe came on with a few fast breaks.  Wythenshawe remained resolute at the back and closed all doors and then looked to counter punch with pace.  No 3 (Rich Elcock) of the guests had other ideas, he streaked away with a look of determination and when he slapped a shot it was disappointing to see the spherical projectile only thud into the meat of the mitters body.  The Wythy Warriors responded with an equally rapid break, a cross was belted in, No 9 (Kayle Power) put bonse on ball, the bar was struck and the gush of excitement passed into the ether. Both teams were now warming to the task and it was the hosts who contributed to the next minor thrill with a low hard cross being borne from the tootsies of Graham that saw No 11 (Will Hartley) connect, albeit a little too tamely, and allow the keeper to gather with ease! Crewe came back, a ball was floated forth with delicious accuracy, Southern chased but was thwarted at the last by the alert keeper.  The ball was put back, No 11 (Tristan Sword) blazed over with wild eagerness - the target should have been struck!  The final action of the first 45 came when the home No 3 (Astley McGrath) was robbed in his own box and the opposing No 2 (Nathan Dyer) lashed forth.  The angle was tight, the side netting was hit.  The half ended in scrapyard fashion, all the game needed was a splash of composure!

Tea, a tinkle and a titter with my comrades and a soaking up of some quite pleasant sunshine. What a difference a solar blessing makes, quite ruddy lovely!  

The second half began with the hosts showing keen urgency and with several rough but fair tackles coming each way.  Shawcross had a free-kick for Wythenshawe whilst involved in some choice banter with the Crewe coach.  The free punt was shite and led to a quite grubby and constipated patch of play.  From the claggy mush Graham of Wythy suddenly found himself through.  Time stood still, it was a simple case of striker versus mittman, the shot that came was way too late, the keeper blocked with little strain.  A few bookings followed, Frustration was a crap childhood game, it is also a curse of footballing sensibilities.  For all of the Town's pressure, Crewe were offering dogged resistance and being quite niggardly in the offering of net-rippling chances.  In fact, I would even go so far as to say the defence was tighter than Tessie O' Shea's knicker elastic just after she had won the 1962 World Cake Eating Championship - and man, that was tight!  Crewe eventually progressed, a rasping shot was put forth, a save had and a loose ball was up for grabs (just like the time my swimming trunks tore open at the local Homo-love sauna).  An executioner stepped up and shot - the miss was excruciatingly awful, luckily I didn't quite catch the name of the culpable kicker.  

Into the final stretch, Wythenshawe came via a long ball that saw No 10 (Joe Yarwood) nut forth from mere feet out.  It was another chance that disappeared, time was trickling by.  Both teams now threw their last dice, the bones tumbled but no double sixes came.  Crewe attacked with a final zeal, Wythenshawe barricaded with belief and balls-out gusto - bodies flew this way and that, it was a fitting finish to an eagerly fought encounter.  Another long ball by the guests found No 9 (Nathan Southern) who pulled the trigger but missed the far upright.  Wythenshawe had one last chance of their own when a free-kick fell into the danger zone and Shawcross shot on target.  A pearling one handed save was made by the visiting No 1 (Arran Lyons)  and, as it turned out, made sure that both teams left the pitch soon after with a share of the spoils - I think it was a very fair result.  Some good performances were noted today but Crewe's No 8 (Kieron O'Connor) put in a very tidy shift, remained composed, played the game with an admirable attitude and was a main component in keeping his team's net unmolested.  We 3 punkers duly buggered off after the match and went and supped like dehydrated swine whilst watching a mix of DIY Underdog punk bands - there is no other way.

FINAL THOUGHT - Well a local trip to a new ground and one worth repeating several times over methinks.  A warm welcome, a fine set up and a good dose of non-league footy - all for £2, I mean what is there not to like?  Wythenshawe Town seem a decent side judging by today's evidence and with a little work on composure and on-pitch communication could easily turn matters up to the next level.  It will be interesting to see how they get on if they make it to the North-West Counties league.  Crewe have a good resilience in the mix and work hard as a unit. They encourage one another, dig deep when need be but seem to be just lacking that killer touch to undo a side and give them a deserved advantage.  They stuck at their game plan today, foiled and spoiled and played a few periods with quite attractive effect.  They are currently mid-table, perhaps this isn't reflective of their capabilities!  So job done, an entertaining scoreless draw and seeing that the Ericstan Stadium is only 20 minutes from home it would be darn rude not to go back - tis all go tha' knows!