21st March 2018 - Cheadle Town 2 v 2 AFC Blackpool - And as the season travels into the back passage of time (pass me the lube) I am catching up on many local yokel occurrences hence the reason I am back at Park Road (again) to watch another enthralling contest. We still hadn't turned the corner as regards the weather and it was yet another night that was armed with a chill. I was lucky, since 1963 I had been visiting the barbers of the Chelsea football player John Dempsey and collecting the discarded hair from that reckless comb-over. The resultant sack of follicle excess was then woven by a dwarf I keep in my cellar and knitted by my obese next door neighbour who can twiddle the needles with pace and create highly exotic clothing. The jumper made was 6 inches thick and mightily snug and adorned with pubic bobbles - I felt no sympathy for the victims to the night air that shivered around me, I may live a warped life but I have my small successes. So after tea I arrived at the ground, adopted a spying spot, had a chat with the home mittman's Dad and was joined by the ever amiable Rob York, Stockport Town's assistant secretary. I then began to construct a report but my writing was spidery as I had developed several uncontrollable itches cum twitches - why oh why didn't I wear a vest beneath the aforementioned hirsute garment and who would have thought Mr Dempsey was a sufferer of cranial crabs - oh heck!
The early advances came via the host team, No 11 (Christopher Sherrington) pumping in an early cross that saw No 9 (Luke Cotton) nearly latch onto. The sails of the hosts billowed and positivity was blowing forth with tangible effect but a midfield faux pas allowed the orange adorned opponents to blow a hole in the waters of hope and No 8 (Benjamin Fishwick) strode forth, belted from all of 20 yards and left the home keeper with little chance. A quick lead and one soon reinforced when a fast dash ended in a clumsy collision and the man in black pointed to the spot, Up stepped No (Benjamin Duffield) and converted with consummate ease, 0 - 2 and only 7 minutes on the timepiece. After making a hash of the opening promise Cheadle now had no choice but to call upon the reservoirs of resistance and take a deep draught of determination. The game became a sticky affair, decisive opportunities were few and far between but the early horror show had been cut short and although Blackpool were looking controlled on the ball Cheadle were mounting a flow of pressure and winning a few free-punts around the park. The hosts came on, a free-kick from No 5 (Joseph Shaw) tore the skyline a new rear ring, No 10 (Richard Whyatt) came next and led a charge with the ball played to Sherrington who put in a quite troublesome cross. The defensive duties were applaudable, the following corner was also dealt with, the threat for the time being was snuffed out.
We were already into the final throes of the first period, both teams were clutching at straws trying to reassert themselves but both lacking the Midas touch. A Cheadle break saw a darn sexy ball from No 4 (Liam Delaney) played into the awaiting box but the outstretched lower phalanx of the flying Cotton was just shy on contact and Blackpool tried to reorganise and retaliate. The hosts were on a high, No 2 (Joseph Neild) had a shot which was too wild for its own good but then a rapid break saw the danger zone invaded and a shot come which was blocked on the line by the mitt of a fast reacting defender. A red card was brandished and a penalty given which was duly slotted home by the focused Delaney. It was deserved, the lads had battled and rode an early self-inflicted storm and somehow got themselves back into this intriguing affair. Before the referee had a chance to vibrate his pea (ooh what a sensation that must be) The Town had one last foray forth that saw a ball in get stabbed just wide - now that would have been a real shake up cum wake up for the flustered Mechanical Men. The central official had seen enough, he called for half-time - this one, like the fiddled tax return forms of Ken Dodd (allegedly), was nicely balanced.
A chat with Rob, he was armed with Lemon French Fancies, I am a mere mortal with a sweet tooth and so indulged - the man is a star, I hope I am not being groomed. I nipped for a piddle and met a men with some Lemon French Ticklers, I am easily led but was still under the weather from a cold, my rear end remained unboomed. To add - one of the aforementioned sentences is a lie, can you guess which!
Out the teams came for the second period, Blackpool earned the first angular hoof, it led to a Cheadle race away that saw a cross come laden with peril. The guests managed to survive with ease but when another cross cum shot was put in by No 7 (Callum Collinson) the visiting mitted man did well to tip the ball over. It was all going the way of Cheadle now, No 8 (Daniel Wood) produced a good move and pass and then Neild knocked in a teasing ball that was nutted onto the upright but was ruled offside anyway. Neild put in another glorious ball, a Blackpool slip up allowed Whyatt to nip in and release. The Blackpool No 1 (Andy Speight) saved well and kept his side with their heads in front. A penalty shout came soon after, Blackpool continued to ride the Donkey of Fortune, in fact they were running the old bugger into the ground, I can hear the condom infested sands calling. Things now became heated, the benches became vociferous and a blatant shirt tugging incident only inflamed matters. Tension rose, the Cheadle posse galloped, only at the last did panic strike and mar the final finish. Blackpool offered the odd free-kick and potential break but nothing of hair-raising danger followed. As the Tin Hut tyrants attempted an advance a counter ball was put through, Collinson squared from the flanks and up stepped the ever-eager Whyatt to tap home.
The Town continued to maraud, a cross in, all heads missed it, I am still trying to figure out how? A response by Blackpool came (about time too), a free kick near the touchline found a bonse, the ball boomed way off target. As the grass grew around our feet the home lads had one last thrust. A bonus ball was put in, a nut made contact (who the hell was it) a superb save was had with the ball pushed onto the post and eventually gathered - a life-saving stretch that, good work sir. From here desperation set in, a late tackle saw a red card and Blackpool lose another player. I thought the decision was harsh, Blackpool were aggrieved, I could understand that as there was no malicious intent just merely a tired carcass mistiming matters. The finish was assisted by vocal gusto, it didn't affect the scoreline, in fact it never does, we finish with a wholesome draw - fair enough I thought. Man of the Match tonight goes to The Cheadle Town No 2 (Joseph Neild) a very cultured player who exposed some neat feet, who plays at a very steady pace and who added a level head in a whipped up team and who contributed to the final point gained - appreciations indeed!
FINAL THOUGHT - A game of two halves, the first being a strange affair that saw 3 goals but little in the way of nut-tingling excitement. The second half only had the one strike and was one that saw a team trying to pilfer the full end glory and another team attempt to protect what they had and set up a wall of defiance. This second period answered so many questions and hopefully taught a few lessons. Cheadle are growing in stature and just need to calm down when in the ascendancy and make sure they vary their options when taking the game to their opponents. They have a good 'never say die' spirit in the camp, I reckon the next campaign could see them be in a very interesting mix. AFC Blackpool looked a very reliable outfit tonight with some pacey players and with much organisation in the ranks. Until the red card incidents they seemed to be in quiet control and will surely make it into the play-offs and cause numerous headaches for those trying to advance to the next stage. I shall watch them closely, so close in fact that I'll be at their ground very soon, last time was a joy, all I want is more of the same, I may even bring my trumpet to assist the tympanic twatter - mind you, calling my penis a trumpet is quite optimistic I think!
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