28th August 2018 - Denton Town 0 v 3 Altrincham Reserves - My second dabble of late into the Cheshire League and my second foray to Denton Town. I had turned 53 today, an aging punk bastard still digging in and doing things the best way - with passion. Alas 40+ years of listening to the noisy wonderstuff (prior to that it was rock and roll and then some glam) has taken its toll and a visit to the doctors on the morn of the match reinforced that I had lost a bit of hearing in my right lug and was suffering from the buzzoid bastard known as Tinnitus. Tis too late to stop listening to the music, ear plugs may be needed at gigs to quell the vibrations, the love of the tune though is in the blood - bah. A day at work was done, tea chomped and out me and the missus headed to meet up with STP Stu again and enjoy some good old football. The weather was decent tonight after several days of shroom-inducing rain and I expected a fair and well-contested match. The guests are playing well, topping the league and obviously looking to continue the roll, the last time I saw Denton Town they had much to admire, I reckon tonight though they would be under the cosh and have to work darn hard to get a result. The joy of the non-league though is the uncertainty hence the reason many are just plain old hooked. Just prior to the game it came to light that there was no milk in the clubhouse and tea slurping was on hold, I was stunned, depressed, aghast at the prospect of 45 minutes without a belly full of leaf borne liquid - oh man. On the plus side, there was a nice troop of Psathyrella candolleana growing on the pitch as well as numerous Mottlegills - you see, shroom inducing rain for sure.
So, dehydrated and with clouds of depression hanging over my tea-starved head I watched the two teams come out and take to the turf that was lush and perhaps a trifle lenghty. The ball rotated, I swallowed spittle and tried to forget my love of the bag (no not Hilda) and noted Altrincham starting in a controlled and organised manner with Denton buzzing about like Haemorrhoid addled wasps. The guests had a regimented passing set up and looked to build slowly and steadily but Denton had the first chance at causing a thriller killer when a throw in went to No 9 (Offe Gideon) who attempted an impudent overhead pass that fell to No 7 (Fabio Goncalves) who turned and shot and hit the inside of the post. It was a finger on the prostate gland for the arse of Alt and they reacted with a racing run by their No 10 (Joel Swift) who beat the dashing keeper to the ball and put in a cross. As the goalie scampered back he must have been mightily relieved to see that the ball in was lacking in spunk and failed to find any in-rushing bod - what a lucky bugger. Soon after, 2 more forays forward came by the visitors with Swift and No 11 (Dylan Scanlan) both having digs that lacked power or direction. The same unit rampaged again with a stunning cross finding the galloping No 9 (Reece Coley) who was mere feet from the goal and only needed the most delicate touch to bring up the first goal. The player arrived on time, swung the shank and boom, the ball went over - a stinking miss and one that was laden with potential post-match hauntings.
The avalanche that was building was put on temporary hold as the hosts found reserves of resistance and produced a couple of sorties into territory rarely trod. No 11 (Franciso Costa) worked hard to cultivate a genuine chance but the guests remained well-drilled all over the park and mopped up the trouble like a washerwoman on speed. It looked as though Denton would have a chance at scraping their arses into the break with a scoresheet void of goals when an innocuous looking push in the box somehow led to a penalty being awarded to the purple-clad Alt Army. It seemed a ruddy strange call to me, my good lady and mate Stu seemed equally bewildered - was the referee on the nest with the Mayor of Altrincham? Was indeed the man in black about to give birth to the Mayor's love-child or, was it a correct decision and I was just being a blinkered twat? Either way No 7 (Rhain Davis) stepped up, placed the ball, struck with focus and bagged the lead for the purples - now Denton had to come out fighting! Alas for the trailing team another assault came, No 5 (Sam Heathcote) knocked a delicious ball to the angle that saw Denton scramble like a nest of disturbed fire-ants and somehow hang on to just the 1 goal deficit. From here the Town built, No 6 (Myhun Woong Seol) wriggled and turned like an eel having an epiphany. The ball was released, Gideon had a rush of triumph-seeking blood and tried the most improbable overhead imaginable. It came closer to killing next doors cat than hitting the goal - hey ho. The half progressed into the latter minutes, the game was held up as all balls were lost and a few players had to go on a mooch. 2 balls were in gardens, 2 in the brambles, 1 in the trees at the back of the dug-outs. The game soon resumed, I spied a man with a warm drink in his hand and yearned for the break. Before I could ponder the world of PG or the heady zeniths of Mount Typhoo I saw Alt have two more surges. The first ended in a shot that skimmed inches wide of the upright, the second finished in a free-kick that was belted in, parried by the keeper and followed up by the keen Swift who bagged the 2nd of the night right on the call for half-time. It was a harsh blow for a team who had done well to cling on but, at the end of the day, it was a fully deserved scoreline.
Half-time, a mist fell over the eyes, I wandered in pre-programmed fashion to the clubhouse, there to be informed that milk had been acquired and tea was available - I purchased 3 cups, film evidence may later prove that a trio of non-league onlookers had been baptised in sweetened waters of tan - God bless the great British drink.
Back to the touchline, the game was soon back underway, a rough and tumble start was had, Coley was being mightily competent for the guests except when he found space, sprinted away and picked his target only to push the ball agonisingly wide - it was a marks-mans misfire, time to reload sir. More bustle, a few emboldened tackles and then, after a delay for an injury a cross for Altrincham. The kick came in was pumped out by a desperate defensive header, another cross followed and Scanlan finalised with a very poor header. Within a fraction another sortie at The Town's back pack came, a cross eventually found Coley who poked out a toe and made minimal contact. Time stood still, the ball trickled towards the goal and kissed the inside of the net and left the home team heads hanging. From here one expected a dam to burst and raging waters of success to foam over and drown Denton's desire. A knife-through butter move could have exacerbated the situation and sent them reaching for the life-jackets but the end shot was wild, The home lads stayed afloat - just.
The skies now grew leaden, night was advancing with chilled breath as well as the threat of precipitation. Coley still glowed, worked the flanks, put in a peach of a cross for No 2 (Lloyd Bannister) to gather and have time to set his sights. The shot went off target, another poor finish to say the least. Free-kicks followed at each end of the pitch, deliveries were average, end touches below the expectation level, into the dog ends we travelled. From here, despite the scoreline and the repetitive pressure, Denton Town showed a sound resilience that kept things on the cusp of half-decent. Towards the last Altrincham had a few more attacks, the final one seeing Davis latch onto a quick pass, shoot and force the keeper to sprawl and save. A corner was given, the ball came and went out and a shot rattled the bar before the whistle ordered the end of matters. The players left the turf, the game was only destined to go one way and Altrincham always looked to have too much in the tank and were sharper throughout. Man of the Match for me goes to their No 9 (Reece Coley) who, has an abundance of skill, an overspill of good pace and an eagerness to work forward and create many a glowing chance. On another night he could have bagged 3 or 4 goals instead of the lone strike - one to watch for sure.
FINAL THOUGHT - There is something earthy, DIY and very, very real about what is going on at Denton Town FC and the struggle to stay above the surface is there for all to see. Tonight one man ran himself ragged, the team turned up and dug in and a few heads came and watched what was a pretty one-sided affair with Altrincham FC looking to be the more coordinated and well structured team who seem destined to stay at the top of the Cheshire League table from here on in and make much misery for many teams along the way. They have one or two players who really catch the eye with some who graft and graft and keep things perpetually moving. My heart though is forever with the underdog and for me Denton are worthy of more support throughout the year. I like their approach, attitude and the fact that, even though their arses were against the wall tonight, they battled to the death and showed enough potential on which to build. They are a physical yet fair outfit and with a bit more space used and general organisation in the ranks they can climb from the second-bottom slot and get due reward for their tenacity - here's hoping. My travels around the North-West keep me busy but I'll be back here several times this campaign, I hope a few who are reading this can make the effort too and if you do, bring some fucking milk.
Wednesday 29 August 2018
Tuesday 28 August 2018
WYTHERING HEIGHTS OF A MINOR KIND
27th August 2018 - Wythenshawe Amateurs 1 v 0 Cheadle Heath Nomads - Today the report takes a title similar to that emotive gothic novel penned by the the textual manipulating genius that was Emily Bronte. Of course Kate Bush should get a mentioned too as well as that back street artiste who did a cover version of the famed ditty, Kate Thrush - this latter warbler offered aftershow introductions that saw many a gullible man pay a visit to the pox doctor the day after and end up on a 6 month course of antibiotics and repeat applications of penis petrol to burn off the sores - I'll stick to the novel thank you very much. So, after an early start, a local wander looking for fungi with my good lady (38 species named and shamed) I arrived at the ground wondering what the upshot would be. I saw the guests at the weekend and they played a game that was a 50% surge, 50% struggle - would today be a manifestation of strong attacking gales that would indeed make for Wuthering Heights or would we see a team offer up only a mere restrained fart and end up labelled as Withering Shites - it was time to bounce back, I had no doubts they could do it. This was my first viewing of the hosts, I was hoping they could turn on the style today and make for a fascinating footballing affair - I love the sensation of pre-match hope. As per, I met up with STP Stu, we slurped tea, chose a spot, wagged the jaw with a few faces and in the tic of a fidgets face, the match was underway.
Wythenshawe came out quicker than David Pleat's pecker in a red light zone and a swift ball saw No 9 (Edward Moran) belt and pound the underside of the bar. The ball flew outward instead of inward, a very unlucky moment for the striker involved. Despite the lengthy turf both teams went on from this early hair-raiser to pass with pace and use good off the ball movement. It was a long ball however that brought the next hint at excitement when the Nomads No 4 (Ashley Crank) found the ever willing No 9 (Richard Tindall) who fought hard and earned his side a gratis-dig. The ball in was decent, the home rear pack dealt with it as several offensive heads tried to make contact. The guests were perhaps just shading matters during the opening moment but the Wythy lads were no mugs and soaked up any threat and always looked dangerous when in possession. A shot and turn by the Blue and White clad No 8 (David Wright) brought a corner kick, the ball that came in was elevated in the extreme but the Nomads made hard work of clearing their lines, stuck at matters and eventually regrouped. The game was on a knife-edge, both units seemed to be on the brink of a punishing move with a regulated and controlled momentum working through each rank. It was the odd stray pass that was negating the potential, but action soon came at each end with the Nomad keeper (Aaron Tyrer) down quick to parry a firm low cross and the guest No 11 (Stephen Kirby) unfortunate to see his rapid cross miss the carcass of the in-rushing Tindall.
Cheadle now put a really impressive move together with Kirby to No 7 (Kayle Power) who crossed and saw the defense only just impede before No 2 (Craig Coates) put in a fine ball for No 6 (Isaac Graham) just fail to make concrete contact with. A corner was semi-salvation but the effort was finalised by a Tindall shot that was easily saved. From here both teams worked the turf, they battled and perspired to make that all so crucial opening but discipline at the rear remained in the ascendancy. From out of a somewhat bustling period a coming together between No 7 (William Ahern) for the home lads and Graham for the visitors saw heads come together but not in a Billy Goat Gruff style, just in a push and snarl kind of way. The letter of the law was adhered to, the Wythenshawe lad got a booking, the Nomad was sent walking, it was a careless moment but the team one man down put immediate pressure on their opponents only to disappointingly came up short at the very last. Wright for the Amateurs had a turn and crack before the half-time call but the ball fizzed across the face of goal and was duly kicked clear. We were soon heading for a cuppa, it had been a ruddy intriguing first 45.
As me and Stu pootled for a cuppa I was sidetracked and wagged the jaw with a Nomad member. My good mate supplied me with a warm beverage soon after and we returned to our spot, clueless as to how this would end up. The visiting tribe had it all to do. Pete, the guy I mentioned in the previous report, had been with us for the first half, for the second he had wandered to a corner where several trees were standing. I thought it was in case it rained that he went to this sheltered spot, little did I know that he was going to climb up on high and start sniffing glue - I can't fault it!
No 10 (James Green) came out for the second half full of gusto, he sprinted forth, had a shot and was thwarted by a very alert mittman. Within seconds a free-kick for Wythy was had, the ball was cracked in by Green, Ahern slid forth like a shaven arsed gibbon across a shit-varnished billiard table (darn these hallucinogenics) and brought up the first and highly crucial strike of the game. It was a swift and decisive assault, the Nomadic lads were left reeling but fought from the trenches like worthy troopers and from here on in put up a stubborn resistance that they should be proud of. A tetchiness was manifesting itself, especially in the Cheadle ranks due to the constant barrage they were now under. Corners, free-kicks and the kitchen taps (no not the sink, things weren't that bad as yet) came, Cheadle displayed resilience and fortitude, they made sure the 3 points were still there for the taking, much to the admiration of those on the touchline. Wythenshawe kept their heads though, stayed disciplined and found space for No 11 (Jordan Burton) to sizzle the tips of the travelling keeper who did just enough to tip the ball onto the bar. Fortune favoured the gloved one and from here the Nomads had a bout of spirited play that saw several crosses come and then No 8 (Phillip Yuille) let fly with a hum-dinging howitzer that buzzed over the horizontal. Wythenshawe came on but Cheadle were on a roll and when a corner came, a nut down saw the ball run free which could have gone anywhere. Alas for the guests it was dealt with, a break came soon after, No 17 (Patrick O'Brien) fled the pack, Yuille was hot on his tail. The gallop charged close to the box, contact was made - the unfortunate Yuille was sent for an early bath, Wythenshawe had a free-kick with the resultant fizzer tipped over. The game, as a contest, was now dead, the last minutes ticked away and the referee made sure the game went the way of the hosts. It had been a gritty contest, full of effort and steaming passion, Man of the Match goes to Wythenshawe Amateurs No 6 (Richard Gresty) who shone from the melee like a buffed up pimple on the posterior of a an acne-infested buffalo. His communication, calmness under pressure and downright discipline is a lesson for many, he put in a very good 90 minutes work too with his peepers always on the ball - I always respect that kind of play. So homeward bound I went, the game had kept me enthralled, I reckon several returns are a certainty, here is to the next one.
FINAL THOUGHT - What we had today was a very competitive affair with 2 new teams to the league striving to maintain momentum and keep early promise aglow. Of course matters were marred by the 2 sendings off but Cheadle Heath Nomads should be proud of their reaction and if anything should be used as an example of what can be achieved by hard work. As per, several players worked their arses off and set a lofty standard for others to keep up with, No 10 (Terence Butler) a choice representative to back up these observations. Wythenshawe Amateurs are a decent squad who play with consideration before pouncing forth in the hope of gaining triumph. From front to back there are no weak points and today it was only a matter of relying on a ball over the top a little too often that hindered many advances. They will do alright for themselves this year and with a charge of £3 on the gate, a good clubhouse and a decent crowd (252 in attendance today) they can only go from strength to strength. It was a very good day out all round, I even found a couple of fungus prior to the match (Mycena galopus and Marasmius oreades for the curious) so what more could I ask for. Well, perhaps more goals, a leather sofa to watch the match from, free bottles of QC sherry throughout the game and a nude midget show at half-time to keep one intrigued, one can hope but hey, get down to this ground folks and enjoy - they do what they do mighty well, the Fungal One shall return.
Wythenshawe came out quicker than David Pleat's pecker in a red light zone and a swift ball saw No 9 (Edward Moran) belt and pound the underside of the bar. The ball flew outward instead of inward, a very unlucky moment for the striker involved. Despite the lengthy turf both teams went on from this early hair-raiser to pass with pace and use good off the ball movement. It was a long ball however that brought the next hint at excitement when the Nomads No 4 (Ashley Crank) found the ever willing No 9 (Richard Tindall) who fought hard and earned his side a gratis-dig. The ball in was decent, the home rear pack dealt with it as several offensive heads tried to make contact. The guests were perhaps just shading matters during the opening moment but the Wythy lads were no mugs and soaked up any threat and always looked dangerous when in possession. A shot and turn by the Blue and White clad No 8 (David Wright) brought a corner kick, the ball that came in was elevated in the extreme but the Nomads made hard work of clearing their lines, stuck at matters and eventually regrouped. The game was on a knife-edge, both units seemed to be on the brink of a punishing move with a regulated and controlled momentum working through each rank. It was the odd stray pass that was negating the potential, but action soon came at each end with the Nomad keeper (Aaron Tyrer) down quick to parry a firm low cross and the guest No 11 (Stephen Kirby) unfortunate to see his rapid cross miss the carcass of the in-rushing Tindall.
Cheadle now put a really impressive move together with Kirby to No 7 (Kayle Power) who crossed and saw the defense only just impede before No 2 (Craig Coates) put in a fine ball for No 6 (Isaac Graham) just fail to make concrete contact with. A corner was semi-salvation but the effort was finalised by a Tindall shot that was easily saved. From here both teams worked the turf, they battled and perspired to make that all so crucial opening but discipline at the rear remained in the ascendancy. From out of a somewhat bustling period a coming together between No 7 (William Ahern) for the home lads and Graham for the visitors saw heads come together but not in a Billy Goat Gruff style, just in a push and snarl kind of way. The letter of the law was adhered to, the Wythenshawe lad got a booking, the Nomad was sent walking, it was a careless moment but the team one man down put immediate pressure on their opponents only to disappointingly came up short at the very last. Wright for the Amateurs had a turn and crack before the half-time call but the ball fizzed across the face of goal and was duly kicked clear. We were soon heading for a cuppa, it had been a ruddy intriguing first 45.
As me and Stu pootled for a cuppa I was sidetracked and wagged the jaw with a Nomad member. My good mate supplied me with a warm beverage soon after and we returned to our spot, clueless as to how this would end up. The visiting tribe had it all to do. Pete, the guy I mentioned in the previous report, had been with us for the first half, for the second he had wandered to a corner where several trees were standing. I thought it was in case it rained that he went to this sheltered spot, little did I know that he was going to climb up on high and start sniffing glue - I can't fault it!
No 10 (James Green) came out for the second half full of gusto, he sprinted forth, had a shot and was thwarted by a very alert mittman. Within seconds a free-kick for Wythy was had, the ball was cracked in by Green, Ahern slid forth like a shaven arsed gibbon across a shit-varnished billiard table (darn these hallucinogenics) and brought up the first and highly crucial strike of the game. It was a swift and decisive assault, the Nomadic lads were left reeling but fought from the trenches like worthy troopers and from here on in put up a stubborn resistance that they should be proud of. A tetchiness was manifesting itself, especially in the Cheadle ranks due to the constant barrage they were now under. Corners, free-kicks and the kitchen taps (no not the sink, things weren't that bad as yet) came, Cheadle displayed resilience and fortitude, they made sure the 3 points were still there for the taking, much to the admiration of those on the touchline. Wythenshawe kept their heads though, stayed disciplined and found space for No 11 (Jordan Burton) to sizzle the tips of the travelling keeper who did just enough to tip the ball onto the bar. Fortune favoured the gloved one and from here the Nomads had a bout of spirited play that saw several crosses come and then No 8 (Phillip Yuille) let fly with a hum-dinging howitzer that buzzed over the horizontal. Wythenshawe came on but Cheadle were on a roll and when a corner came, a nut down saw the ball run free which could have gone anywhere. Alas for the guests it was dealt with, a break came soon after, No 17 (Patrick O'Brien) fled the pack, Yuille was hot on his tail. The gallop charged close to the box, contact was made - the unfortunate Yuille was sent for an early bath, Wythenshawe had a free-kick with the resultant fizzer tipped over. The game, as a contest, was now dead, the last minutes ticked away and the referee made sure the game went the way of the hosts. It had been a gritty contest, full of effort and steaming passion, Man of the Match goes to Wythenshawe Amateurs No 6 (Richard Gresty) who shone from the melee like a buffed up pimple on the posterior of a an acne-infested buffalo. His communication, calmness under pressure and downright discipline is a lesson for many, he put in a very good 90 minutes work too with his peepers always on the ball - I always respect that kind of play. So homeward bound I went, the game had kept me enthralled, I reckon several returns are a certainty, here is to the next one.
FINAL THOUGHT - What we had today was a very competitive affair with 2 new teams to the league striving to maintain momentum and keep early promise aglow. Of course matters were marred by the 2 sendings off but Cheadle Heath Nomads should be proud of their reaction and if anything should be used as an example of what can be achieved by hard work. As per, several players worked their arses off and set a lofty standard for others to keep up with, No 10 (Terence Butler) a choice representative to back up these observations. Wythenshawe Amateurs are a decent squad who play with consideration before pouncing forth in the hope of gaining triumph. From front to back there are no weak points and today it was only a matter of relying on a ball over the top a little too often that hindered many advances. They will do alright for themselves this year and with a charge of £3 on the gate, a good clubhouse and a decent crowd (252 in attendance today) they can only go from strength to strength. It was a very good day out all round, I even found a couple of fungus prior to the match (Mycena galopus and Marasmius oreades for the curious) so what more could I ask for. Well, perhaps more goals, a leather sofa to watch the match from, free bottles of QC sherry throughout the game and a nude midget show at half-time to keep one intrigued, one can hope but hey, get down to this ground folks and enjoy - they do what they do mighty well, the Fungal One shall return.
Saturday 25 August 2018
TOP TWO TUSSLE
25th August 2018 - Cheadle Heath Nomads 2 v 3 New Mills - A morning shrooming at Etherow CP (50 + species named and shamed) was carried out before a quick change was had and I arrived at The Nomads ground in plenty of time to swill tea and wag the mandible. A productive week had been spent identifying many species from the natural world, taking 2 lots of Young Carers out and about to a couple of farms and decorating the kitchen which was getting there, albeit rather slowly. I had got through a recent anxiety spell and come out the other end and was trying my best to maintain a balance where the head stayed positive and the body followed suit. Despite hearing that one of my best friends lost a testicle in a fracas with a one eyed midget and that my next door neighbour had damaged his stomach drinking pickle juice I was feeling in pretty fine fettle. This match looked a tasty prospect, an early season thriller that could further propel one team off the springboard of hope and deeper into the waters of potential success. It could also throw a stinking turd under one teams wheels of good fortune, send them arse over tit and knock their conkers of confidence for six - oh what sweet ingredients for we onlookers. So gossip done, position taken with my mate STP Stu and Mamma Mia, here we go again! I did identify Meripilus giganteus and Conocybe apala whilst walking to the stands - and a Sparrowhawk was seen during the first half - tis all good stuff.
The match started with the hosts displaying the greater hunger early on as well as exhibiting good pep in the chugging engine. Despite this the guests had the first foray forward with 2 honey kissed passes followed by a shot that was deflected over. The corner was barren. The Miller's seemed intent on using the angled long ball but time and again Cheadle mopped up and keen chasers were lacking. No 3 (Jack Benson) put a temporary halt to the growing tide with a eye-catching run that ended in a short dissecting pass that was marred by an offside run. 2 corners followed at the other end the second of which was nearly nutted home by the predatory No 7 (Jake Bates) who missed the globe by mere millmetres. Cheadle collected themselves, Benson took down a goal kick on his chest, went on a run that was laden with purpose and put the ball through with No 9 (Richard Tindall) eventually getting to grips with matters, having a peek at goal and cracking home like a well-seasoned striker. Perhaps this goal was against the grain somewhat but the game needed it, the top spot was still up for grabs.
Cheadle carried on from here with a good work ethic. Tindall was in again chasing a ball but this time accidentally clobbering the keeper who came and did enough to quell the chance. The game, as a contest, was well-balanced, both teams looked capable of grabbing the next strike but the Nomads were unfortunate not to double their lead when Tindall played out to No 6 (Isaac Graham) who lobbed in a cross that hit the post off keeper's back and somehow ended up in the lucky mitter's hands. From here it seemed New Mills ran out of ideas and were forced onto the back foot. No 11 (Liam Millen) for the home lads was trying a few neat touches, Tindall was putting in the usual stint and was beaten to the ball at the last by an unfazed keeper. The best the Millers could summon was a brief bout of in-box ping pong that was cleared by the home defense albeit in unorthodox fashion. The lead should have been doubled soon after when Tindall was in again and from a few feet out put the ball over the bar - it was like the Elephant Man's privates as seen through a telescope - a shocking sight to behold. With these thoughts of gibbose gonads in my mind I saw the Millers break with pace, the Nomads pack get back into position with high urgency and the final ball in be void of eager runners - 3 reasons that highlighted why the scoreline was as it was - half-time work was needed for the travellers. One more long ball came at the host's goal, the keeper let it run and was nearly dipped in hot water with a smattering of shit - luckily he recovered and the half was soon done.
A wander, a cup of tea, a walk back and a catch up with Abbey Hey Fan Pete. A nice gent who likes his non-league as well as his tattoo's of naked celebrities. His latest addition was a full frontal effort on his inner arm of none other than Norman Vaughan (ex-Golden Shot presenter) - I feigned interest, he is now saving funds for a rear pose of Robert Robinson - it may be a form of madness.
The second half came, it was evenly contested until The Millers upped the ante and after a blocked shot the loose ball was pounced upon by No 10 (Jordan Milne) who had one look and thumped. The bottom corner was found, it was the perfect start, where the hell would this one end up was anyone's guess! The guests came again, No 9 (Aaron Dwyer) was tussling, a penalty claim was had, a corner given that came and was nutted wide. More corners followed, the Nomads were shaken, the Millers stirred, No 3 (Jack McConnell) advanced and shot - unlike the accuracy of Jame Bond's Walther PPK, the result off target. Dwyer came on again, a shimmy, a shake, a shot into the outside of the netting. In return the Nomads worked hard to build and win a corner, the delivery was certainly a cause for death by firing squad - or perhaps I am being too harsh, it was a ruddy stinker though and in these desperate times more was needed. At the other end a free-kick was nutted back and No 11 (Jordan Pendlebury) did well to make contact and was unlucky just to hit the top of the bar - another reprieve for the Cheadle chaps, they were playing with fire and fingers were't going to be burnt if care wasn't taken - remember - Charley says.....
As time progressed the hosts were being molested and mauled by a worked up New Mills unit. The visitors came once more, Milne ran with focus, put a ball through that was touched on to Dwyer. The striker was pushed wide, he persisted and perspired and shot from the angle - the mesh rippled, somehow a goal had been got and what just reward for some real determined play. Moments later, Pendlebury was in, he had a chance to bury but the home mitter (Aaron Tyrer) was quick to react and pulled off a tip-top save. Two shots came towards the opposite goal, No 5 (Joseph Armstrong) was resolute in his rearguard duties and blocked both efforts - fine work. The match now wound down, Dwyer had a crack from a free-kick that the keeper read well but soon after a pilfering took place, a ball was played through to Dwyer who cracked home with aplomb and cemented a firm lead for his side and a solid brace of goals for his hard-working self. The time now drained away, Cheadle tried to force matters, a free-kick was poor, and then I thought another free-kick had been awarded. Wrong, a penalty was the outcome and No 7 (Kayle Power) stepped up, slotted home and put doubt in the minds of all those who thought the match was done. Alas for the hosts, after a bit of scrappy play the game was finished, it had been a good 'un, one of two halves and from the pack of players my Man of the Match goes to No 9 (Aaron Dwyer) of New Mills for never giving up the ghost, keeping in control of his emotions and the ball and scoring two well-deserved goals out of almost nothing. Keep the head down, work hard and there will be many more to come squire. Farewells were had, a team-sheet obtained, 5 goals for a fiver - bargain.
FINAL THOUGHT - This was an example of a game of two halves if ever I saw one. Cheadle Heath Nomads could have had the game done and dusted by half time if that one goal lead and much possession could have been built on and the lack of cohesion in the New Mills ranks well and truly punished. A lesson to be learnt, go for the jugular when your prey is wounded and make sure a full 90 minute consistency and work rate is had no matter which way the flow is going. New Mills showed good resilience today and when under the cosh they stayed calm, rode the storm and did enough to go into the break one goal down and have time to regroup. The second half performance was akin to the eyes of Benny Hill during a Hot Gossip routine (full of desire) and similar to the love-life of Liberace (a balls out affair). This kind of belief and never-say-die attitude will serve them well but I think both teams will do OK during the coming months as long as they run themselves into the ground and don't get too down when the ball is not rolling fair. A pleasure to be back at this new, improved ground, something tells me Cheadle Heath Nomads will be my most watched team this season - and why not - The Millers will be getting due attention too - as per, tha' gotta be fair!
The match started with the hosts displaying the greater hunger early on as well as exhibiting good pep in the chugging engine. Despite this the guests had the first foray forward with 2 honey kissed passes followed by a shot that was deflected over. The corner was barren. The Miller's seemed intent on using the angled long ball but time and again Cheadle mopped up and keen chasers were lacking. No 3 (Jack Benson) put a temporary halt to the growing tide with a eye-catching run that ended in a short dissecting pass that was marred by an offside run. 2 corners followed at the other end the second of which was nearly nutted home by the predatory No 7 (Jake Bates) who missed the globe by mere millmetres. Cheadle collected themselves, Benson took down a goal kick on his chest, went on a run that was laden with purpose and put the ball through with No 9 (Richard Tindall) eventually getting to grips with matters, having a peek at goal and cracking home like a well-seasoned striker. Perhaps this goal was against the grain somewhat but the game needed it, the top spot was still up for grabs.
Cheadle carried on from here with a good work ethic. Tindall was in again chasing a ball but this time accidentally clobbering the keeper who came and did enough to quell the chance. The game, as a contest, was well-balanced, both teams looked capable of grabbing the next strike but the Nomads were unfortunate not to double their lead when Tindall played out to No 6 (Isaac Graham) who lobbed in a cross that hit the post off keeper's back and somehow ended up in the lucky mitter's hands. From here it seemed New Mills ran out of ideas and were forced onto the back foot. No 11 (Liam Millen) for the home lads was trying a few neat touches, Tindall was putting in the usual stint and was beaten to the ball at the last by an unfazed keeper. The best the Millers could summon was a brief bout of in-box ping pong that was cleared by the home defense albeit in unorthodox fashion. The lead should have been doubled soon after when Tindall was in again and from a few feet out put the ball over the bar - it was like the Elephant Man's privates as seen through a telescope - a shocking sight to behold. With these thoughts of gibbose gonads in my mind I saw the Millers break with pace, the Nomads pack get back into position with high urgency and the final ball in be void of eager runners - 3 reasons that highlighted why the scoreline was as it was - half-time work was needed for the travellers. One more long ball came at the host's goal, the keeper let it run and was nearly dipped in hot water with a smattering of shit - luckily he recovered and the half was soon done.
A wander, a cup of tea, a walk back and a catch up with Abbey Hey Fan Pete. A nice gent who likes his non-league as well as his tattoo's of naked celebrities. His latest addition was a full frontal effort on his inner arm of none other than Norman Vaughan (ex-Golden Shot presenter) - I feigned interest, he is now saving funds for a rear pose of Robert Robinson - it may be a form of madness.
The second half came, it was evenly contested until The Millers upped the ante and after a blocked shot the loose ball was pounced upon by No 10 (Jordan Milne) who had one look and thumped. The bottom corner was found, it was the perfect start, where the hell would this one end up was anyone's guess! The guests came again, No 9 (Aaron Dwyer) was tussling, a penalty claim was had, a corner given that came and was nutted wide. More corners followed, the Nomads were shaken, the Millers stirred, No 3 (Jack McConnell) advanced and shot - unlike the accuracy of Jame Bond's Walther PPK, the result off target. Dwyer came on again, a shimmy, a shake, a shot into the outside of the netting. In return the Nomads worked hard to build and win a corner, the delivery was certainly a cause for death by firing squad - or perhaps I am being too harsh, it was a ruddy stinker though and in these desperate times more was needed. At the other end a free-kick was nutted back and No 11 (Jordan Pendlebury) did well to make contact and was unlucky just to hit the top of the bar - another reprieve for the Cheadle chaps, they were playing with fire and fingers were't going to be burnt if care wasn't taken - remember - Charley says.....
As time progressed the hosts were being molested and mauled by a worked up New Mills unit. The visitors came once more, Milne ran with focus, put a ball through that was touched on to Dwyer. The striker was pushed wide, he persisted and perspired and shot from the angle - the mesh rippled, somehow a goal had been got and what just reward for some real determined play. Moments later, Pendlebury was in, he had a chance to bury but the home mitter (Aaron Tyrer) was quick to react and pulled off a tip-top save. Two shots came towards the opposite goal, No 5 (Joseph Armstrong) was resolute in his rearguard duties and blocked both efforts - fine work. The match now wound down, Dwyer had a crack from a free-kick that the keeper read well but soon after a pilfering took place, a ball was played through to Dwyer who cracked home with aplomb and cemented a firm lead for his side and a solid brace of goals for his hard-working self. The time now drained away, Cheadle tried to force matters, a free-kick was poor, and then I thought another free-kick had been awarded. Wrong, a penalty was the outcome and No 7 (Kayle Power) stepped up, slotted home and put doubt in the minds of all those who thought the match was done. Alas for the hosts, after a bit of scrappy play the game was finished, it had been a good 'un, one of two halves and from the pack of players my Man of the Match goes to No 9 (Aaron Dwyer) of New Mills for never giving up the ghost, keeping in control of his emotions and the ball and scoring two well-deserved goals out of almost nothing. Keep the head down, work hard and there will be many more to come squire. Farewells were had, a team-sheet obtained, 5 goals for a fiver - bargain.
FINAL THOUGHT - This was an example of a game of two halves if ever I saw one. Cheadle Heath Nomads could have had the game done and dusted by half time if that one goal lead and much possession could have been built on and the lack of cohesion in the New Mills ranks well and truly punished. A lesson to be learnt, go for the jugular when your prey is wounded and make sure a full 90 minute consistency and work rate is had no matter which way the flow is going. New Mills showed good resilience today and when under the cosh they stayed calm, rode the storm and did enough to go into the break one goal down and have time to regroup. The second half performance was akin to the eyes of Benny Hill during a Hot Gossip routine (full of desire) and similar to the love-life of Liberace (a balls out affair). This kind of belief and never-say-die attitude will serve them well but I think both teams will do OK during the coming months as long as they run themselves into the ground and don't get too down when the ball is not rolling fair. A pleasure to be back at this new, improved ground, something tells me Cheadle Heath Nomads will be my most watched team this season - and why not - The Millers will be getting due attention too - as per, tha' gotta be fair!
Wednesday 22 August 2018
WHAT THE BRECK!
21st August 2018 - Chadderton FC 1 v 7 Lower Breck FC - Crikey, a full on period I have on my mucky mitts of late, 2 farm trips with the Young Carers, fungi fruiting and in need of attention, halfway through decorating the kitchen, work, reviews and walks to lead as well as a backlog of buggery that never seems to shift. This was my first visit of the season to Chaddy Land, a place I have frequented many times before and one where I have witnessed some good football. It was needed tonight after nightly terrors are sending me AWOL and making me work hard to keep on a stable mental track. Latest installments of nightmarish nonsense have seen me have sex with an elephant, attend a gig with a serious dose of the shits and score the winning goal for Rectal United against the bargain basement team, Haemorrhoidal Young Boys - a bleeding awful side they are too. I don't know where these nocturnal visions spring from, perhaps eating out of date Pork Pies in bed doesn't help or wearing super tight control knickers (for scientific purposes) is affecting the blood supply to the old grey matter - who knows, I just hope this report is not affected in anyway! So, we arrived, met up with STP Stu, had a cuppa and a natter and found suitable spots to observe the night's proceedings.
The air was damper than the armpits of Dickie Davies after a night in a Premier Inn with the snooker Lothario Willie 'The Horn' Thorne and as the ball got rolling is wasn't long before all combatants were perspiring too. Chadderton came on strong from the off, No 9 (Oumar Camara) was fed and blasted over without really considering his options. At once we went down the other end with the nippy No 11 (Louis Austin) sending in a looper from the angle that needed a decent tip over. The corner was swung in, a firm contact was had by the fiery crust of No 10 (Callum Hill), the ball pinged off and had just a little too much uplift. Austin went on a run for the Breck soon after, another angled punt was the result this time it was a daisy cutter that wouldn't stay on the inside of the upright - it certainly was a frisky start to the game. Chadderton tried to regroup and rebuild but after pushing forth were caught with their trousers down by a streaking break that saw No 9 (Peter Donnelly) cross to Austin who pulled the trigger and was denied by a lunging carcass. The guests were far from deterred and like a wasp on a sugar-dipped nipple they were straight back with a final shot saved close in. A kick from the angle was awarded, the delivery was cherry ripe, the ensuing header strong, on target and responsible for the first goal of the game, Callum Hill was the hit man, it was just what the quack of the glorious game prescribed.
From here Chadderton looked to immediately respond with No 10 (Jack Turnbull) running his nuts off and winning possession in midfield before laying off to No 11 (Ryan Shenton) who struck goalward. The save was firm enough and from a follow-on corner no triumph was borne. Turnball picked up his conkers, another corner came, to the near post it went and saw No 7 (Jack Snape) touch close in, bring a gasp from the onlookers but only find fresh air rather than the sought after mesh. From here crosses came at both ends of the park with Chadderton having the better of the play. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a long Chaddy ball went forward, a defender went to wallop clear, No 3 (Siyam Muhammed) hustled and duly got in the way of the clearance. The ball took a pseudo-deflection and ended up in the net - fortune favoured the chancer - back to all square peeps. The travelling team now spurted like a willy with a plumbing problem, Austin flashed along the flanks, played back to his No 2 (Jamie Morton) who cracked in a concrete cross. A heavyweight header brought a dazzling save and the ball ended up like a cricketer's escaping teste - loose in the box. Donnelly for the LB lads was in the right place at the right time and found the target - the lead was restored...and then doubled as it turned out. Just 3 minutes later No 7 (Jay Colbeck) shot and saw a deflection go wide, The cross that came was knocked out and No 6 (Mason Neviitt) fired home with determined focus. From here the half settled, some serious work was being put in by both sides with the hosts chasing every last ball but the guests staying firm and not losing their discipline. Several shots came each way but no further netting was rippled. As we wandered for a half time cuppa Chadderton applied late pressure, Lower Breck absorbed like the safety knickers of Old Mother Hubbard, no leaks were had.
Tea and a Mars Bar for half time - like The Undertones we certainly needed one and it went down mighty well. The break flew by, we had barely re-parked our posteriors before the teams were out and at war.
As in the first period Chadderton came out quickest and had the initial sortie forth. The Breck defense was close-fisted, they gave nothing away but when a period of hard scurrying followed and Turnbull for Chaddy was put through via a superb dissecting pass, it was with disappointment that he saw his shot saved by the keeper's plates of meat. Turnball was offered a second bite of the dangling cherry (cor blimey, tis almost pornographic) but chose to cross into space that saw no eager executioners. In a flick of a grasshoppers foreskin Turnball was awarded a dubious free-kick soon after. No 2 (Samuel Riley) delivered a stunner, a shot was blocked, a wild handball claim turned down and another free-punt was rattled over the bar - by heck Chadderton were having a good go. A patchy period followed, a few subs came, the home replacement put 2 good balls in but Lower Breck survived and slowly but surely wormed their way back into the contest. The visitors eventually won the ball, a cross from nothing found the keeper's hands, the hands turned to jelly and the ball escaped and dropped...yes, you guessed it...into the net. Blooper duper do - never a nice thing to witness, No 2 (Jamie Morton) claimed the goal nonetheless.
The game was now over as a contest, Breck were still keen and absorbing all threats that were coming from their opponents whilst offering up further potential to add to the goal tally. On the 80th minute Austin chased an almost lost cause and crossed, a tap home for Donnelly was taken with ease - this was just getting silly. Next and Colbeck and Donnelly linked up, Colbeck put in the shot, a ruddy good save denied further salt being rubbed into a very open wound. To give Chadderton their due, they still strove for a strike but as their substitute popped one over a boot downfield saw Donnelly dash in and grab his well deserved hat-trick. As cool as a cucumber from the dubious areas of Ann Wiidecombes anatomy - and that's cool. Another Chaddy effort saw one of the subs crack wide and then Breck counterpunch with 2 quick passes that put Donnelly in. The man in form rounded the keeper and made the scoreline a genuine, 100% embarrassment. A few minutes later we were done, what could I say, who on earth could have predicted this one. We wandered off, I pondered Man of the Match and could get no further than Lower Breck's No 9 (Peter Donnelly), I mean 4 goals takes some effort and some skill and throughout he kept focus and in control and got his just reward.
FINAL THOUGHT - Irrespective of banging in 7 goals away from home Lower Breck are a darn decent side and very pleasing to watch with a team unit containing much pace, plenty of quick thinking and a super-abundance of options when in possession. They work for one another, chase back and seem to be able to soak up pressure better than the underpants of ex-Swedish international and full-time tubbo Tomas Brolin. I shall seek them out again soon and certainly give them a few more viewings. Chadderton are better than what the scoreline suggested tonight and have a good work ethic, some quite zipping players and a No 10 (Jack Turnball) who sets a scampering standard to be very much applauded The cogs are just not turning in unison at the mo though and the team just need to get the noggins down, make sure communication and encouragement is the key and that all areas of the park are used to stretch opponents and keep em' guessing. I always enjoy my trips to Chadderton FC, it ain't too far and we put in a few visits each season, I wouldn't mind another 8 goals next time, which way is up to the teams to sort out - gauntlet thrown lads!
The air was damper than the armpits of Dickie Davies after a night in a Premier Inn with the snooker Lothario Willie 'The Horn' Thorne and as the ball got rolling is wasn't long before all combatants were perspiring too. Chadderton came on strong from the off, No 9 (Oumar Camara) was fed and blasted over without really considering his options. At once we went down the other end with the nippy No 11 (Louis Austin) sending in a looper from the angle that needed a decent tip over. The corner was swung in, a firm contact was had by the fiery crust of No 10 (Callum Hill), the ball pinged off and had just a little too much uplift. Austin went on a run for the Breck soon after, another angled punt was the result this time it was a daisy cutter that wouldn't stay on the inside of the upright - it certainly was a frisky start to the game. Chadderton tried to regroup and rebuild but after pushing forth were caught with their trousers down by a streaking break that saw No 9 (Peter Donnelly) cross to Austin who pulled the trigger and was denied by a lunging carcass. The guests were far from deterred and like a wasp on a sugar-dipped nipple they were straight back with a final shot saved close in. A kick from the angle was awarded, the delivery was cherry ripe, the ensuing header strong, on target and responsible for the first goal of the game, Callum Hill was the hit man, it was just what the quack of the glorious game prescribed.
From here Chadderton looked to immediately respond with No 10 (Jack Turnbull) running his nuts off and winning possession in midfield before laying off to No 11 (Ryan Shenton) who struck goalward. The save was firm enough and from a follow-on corner no triumph was borne. Turnball picked up his conkers, another corner came, to the near post it went and saw No 7 (Jack Snape) touch close in, bring a gasp from the onlookers but only find fresh air rather than the sought after mesh. From here crosses came at both ends of the park with Chadderton having the better of the play. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a long Chaddy ball went forward, a defender went to wallop clear, No 3 (Siyam Muhammed) hustled and duly got in the way of the clearance. The ball took a pseudo-deflection and ended up in the net - fortune favoured the chancer - back to all square peeps. The travelling team now spurted like a willy with a plumbing problem, Austin flashed along the flanks, played back to his No 2 (Jamie Morton) who cracked in a concrete cross. A heavyweight header brought a dazzling save and the ball ended up like a cricketer's escaping teste - loose in the box. Donnelly for the LB lads was in the right place at the right time and found the target - the lead was restored...and then doubled as it turned out. Just 3 minutes later No 7 (Jay Colbeck) shot and saw a deflection go wide, The cross that came was knocked out and No 6 (Mason Neviitt) fired home with determined focus. From here the half settled, some serious work was being put in by both sides with the hosts chasing every last ball but the guests staying firm and not losing their discipline. Several shots came each way but no further netting was rippled. As we wandered for a half time cuppa Chadderton applied late pressure, Lower Breck absorbed like the safety knickers of Old Mother Hubbard, no leaks were had.
Tea and a Mars Bar for half time - like The Undertones we certainly needed one and it went down mighty well. The break flew by, we had barely re-parked our posteriors before the teams were out and at war.
As in the first period Chadderton came out quickest and had the initial sortie forth. The Breck defense was close-fisted, they gave nothing away but when a period of hard scurrying followed and Turnbull for Chaddy was put through via a superb dissecting pass, it was with disappointment that he saw his shot saved by the keeper's plates of meat. Turnball was offered a second bite of the dangling cherry (cor blimey, tis almost pornographic) but chose to cross into space that saw no eager executioners. In a flick of a grasshoppers foreskin Turnball was awarded a dubious free-kick soon after. No 2 (Samuel Riley) delivered a stunner, a shot was blocked, a wild handball claim turned down and another free-punt was rattled over the bar - by heck Chadderton were having a good go. A patchy period followed, a few subs came, the home replacement put 2 good balls in but Lower Breck survived and slowly but surely wormed their way back into the contest. The visitors eventually won the ball, a cross from nothing found the keeper's hands, the hands turned to jelly and the ball escaped and dropped...yes, you guessed it...into the net. Blooper duper do - never a nice thing to witness, No 2 (Jamie Morton) claimed the goal nonetheless.
The game was now over as a contest, Breck were still keen and absorbing all threats that were coming from their opponents whilst offering up further potential to add to the goal tally. On the 80th minute Austin chased an almost lost cause and crossed, a tap home for Donnelly was taken with ease - this was just getting silly. Next and Colbeck and Donnelly linked up, Colbeck put in the shot, a ruddy good save denied further salt being rubbed into a very open wound. To give Chadderton their due, they still strove for a strike but as their substitute popped one over a boot downfield saw Donnelly dash in and grab his well deserved hat-trick. As cool as a cucumber from the dubious areas of Ann Wiidecombes anatomy - and that's cool. Another Chaddy effort saw one of the subs crack wide and then Breck counterpunch with 2 quick passes that put Donnelly in. The man in form rounded the keeper and made the scoreline a genuine, 100% embarrassment. A few minutes later we were done, what could I say, who on earth could have predicted this one. We wandered off, I pondered Man of the Match and could get no further than Lower Breck's No 9 (Peter Donnelly), I mean 4 goals takes some effort and some skill and throughout he kept focus and in control and got his just reward.
FINAL THOUGHT - Irrespective of banging in 7 goals away from home Lower Breck are a darn decent side and very pleasing to watch with a team unit containing much pace, plenty of quick thinking and a super-abundance of options when in possession. They work for one another, chase back and seem to be able to soak up pressure better than the underpants of ex-Swedish international and full-time tubbo Tomas Brolin. I shall seek them out again soon and certainly give them a few more viewings. Chadderton are better than what the scoreline suggested tonight and have a good work ethic, some quite zipping players and a No 10 (Jack Turnball) who sets a scampering standard to be very much applauded The cogs are just not turning in unison at the mo though and the team just need to get the noggins down, make sure communication and encouragement is the key and that all areas of the park are used to stretch opponents and keep em' guessing. I always enjoy my trips to Chadderton FC, it ain't too far and we put in a few visits each season, I wouldn't mind another 8 goals next time, which way is up to the teams to sort out - gauntlet thrown lads!
Sunday 19 August 2018
GALLS AND BALLS
18th August 2018 - 1874 Northwich 1 v 1 Abbey Hey - Up early, daughter dropped off for work and me and the good lady headed to Marbury Country Park for a bout of Cecidology - looking for plant galls. I had racked up a good amount of species over the years but the chance to see others having a pootle and picking up a few pointers was a chance not to miss. The walk was grand, we got 3 new species out of it and I found a species of Bird's Nest Fungus which we hadn't seen before (Cyathus olla to be exact). We left the walk after dinner having decided rather than indulge in some microscopy we would seek out a footy match. The Barnton Stadium wasn't far off so after a quick drive we were soon in position, bathed in sunshine, chomping chips and swilling tea - lovely. In fact the sun blazed continuously hard throughout the game and left us with ruddy faces and clammy conkers (well, me at least) and it didn't half dope us up sat in its full glare. The players soon took to the pitch, I had predicted 3 - 1 to a 74 fan earlier on, he used a Spanish term to refer to me as a fool in the most kindly way, well it's better than being called a wanker in Hindi - oooh me knotted turban!
The game started with the hosts using strict possession play combined with a good exhibition of patience. Eventually 2 crosses were cultivated after some dandy overlapping work. No 10 (Scott McGowan) missed the fleeting globe, No 6 (Mark Jones) made contact but hammered off target. Onwards and the same team came, the retaining tactics working well in the rear, with less effect at the forefront of matters. The Hey brigade looked initially set up to absorb and counter, a very dangerous option to take at this non-league stronghold - only time will tell! As 74 probed their No 2 (Matthew Russell) put in a stupendous cross that No 11 (Joseph Woolley) put the top of his bonse on but couldn't keep on target. A free-punt soon after kept the heat on, No 8 (Sam Freakes) struck and the mitter had to stretch and turn over. The corner was over-complicated and was akin to a trapped wasp in a cannabis factory - wasted. A period of Abbey Hey pseudo-pestering was the result, No 10 (Matthew Shaw) beetled in from a free-kick but was duly denied and then a cross was fizzed over and took mere millemetres of skin off the No 9's (Aaron Rodger) barnet and disappointingly flashed shy of the far stick. A distance shot from No 7 (Robert Swallow) of the Hey reinforced the growing confidence, the ball was clumsily pushed behind by a quite startled keeper. When the corner came the defense seemed unsettled, hesitancy was there to be punished and punished it was as No 11 (Keiron Dale) slammed home - kaboom baby, kaboom.
This fractured and stuttering game was now ripened by the goal, all we needed was for both teams to bear greater fruit and give all in attendance a darn fine harvest of excitement. 74 offered up the first seeds of hope with a corner that ended with a quite rank delivery. A counter-attack came, a throw, a foul and the peril was pissed on from a great height, the farmers of fluidity were certainly oliguria attacked gits today, darn those misable oriental eyes. Further efforts came towards the guests goal, No 9 (Kyle Riley) had 2 attempts, one waywardly nutted the other a touch on that needed clearing off the line. As Northwich pushed a picture perfect cross look destined to end in a goal as No 2 Russell snuck in and prepared to strike, The shot that came flew over the horizontal, it looked rusty and void of confidence. The final salvos of the first period came when two passages of play saw some neat link up work end with quite abysmal finishing touches - the drawing board needed more attention, the half ended and a good talking too was needed for the trailing unit.
During the 15 minute break we two tooters stayed put and soaked up the solars. I was getting quite doped up and my missus was doing a fine impression of a narcoleptic opium head - phew, what a sizzler.
Period dos (ooh the Spanish has twisted me mind) started, Abbey Hey produced an immediate attack of penetrating style. Rodger and Swallow advanced (bloody hell, how sinister does that sound), a shot followed, a solid save was donated in stubborn response. The ball was put back in an infringement halted the flowing waters of Hey intent. 74 needed to get their skates on, they reacted via a stunning laser-like cross-field ball by their No 5 (Daniel Thomas). The recipient was Riley who toe poked close-in but once again failed to find the hotspot (I think time out is needed to psycho-analyse some of the losers who appeared on Strike It Lucky - well those that survived at least). The hosts now grew in confidence, a ball in, a thumping downward header, the liner had seen a flaw in proceedings, start all over again lads. No, wait, controversy raised its many angled head and stuck a thumb up the rear of regulation with the result being a penalty given. A booking was had, No 10 (Scott McGowan) was the man with responsibility on his shoulders. The ball was placed, the striker waltzed forth and struck the back of the net with convincing sanguinity - all square, all to play for - a spanner in the works of the AH effort, a true test of resilience was now to be met head on. As soon as the joy of the home fans had settled down they were called upon once more as No 7 (Callum Gardner) flashed one wide and McGowan brought down a long ball, cut outside and slapped one outside of the vertical - Abbey Hey were now hanging on.
The game from here looked to be going one way with the hosts very much in command. A rapier assault saw Thomas come out on the unlucky side of fortune with a close in effort that was somehow knocked clear. Swallow for Abbey Hey swooped forth next, he weaved and wandered and fired with purpose but it was a reckless effort and allowed the keeper to finish his latest novel and enjoy the Cuban Cigar he had kept for times of peace. From here action was like a gorilla with a bladder and bowel nerve problem, it was coming thick and fast at both ends. 1874 scrambled away a couple of threatening incidents, their No 15 (Kazim Waite-Jackson) nearly smuggled himself in but failed to make sturdy contact - it was becoming a very animated finale. No 5 (Stephen Solademi) had put in a great stint for the travellers with some eye-catching defensive work and when he roamed forth, put cranium on sphere he was mighty unfortunate to not find the net and stand proud at destination hero. The Hey heaved, a cross was headed on and was tipped over, was there a twist in the tale, were we witnessing a Dahl-esque mockery to send one lot of fans home buoyant, the others with a sinking feeling in the chip soaked gut. The answer soon came and was a resounding 'No' as both teams lacked finesse and composure in the final third and allowed proceedings to end with points shared. This had not been the greatest spectacle, both teams need to find a true vein of form mighty soon although I am sure Abbey Hey will be delighted with a hard-grafted point. Man of the match could have gone to either No 5 but for me (Daniel Thomas) was a consistent class act and looked in command of all matters at all times. A definitive cornerstone of a team looking to start chugging hard very soon, with players like this the upsurge shouldn't be too far away.
FINAL THOUGHT - Not a momentous game, not an edge of the seat thriller liable to relax inner gubbins that will bring about an unexpected spillage in the trouser department. No, this was a game of grit and grind both teams would be happy to get out of the way. Sometimes, a footballing problem can be as elusive as a gastropods genitals and as easy to deal with as a bout of rectal thrush (so they tell me). Here there may be several problems going on within the 74 ranks or just a case of luck linking up with liquidity and forcing a change in fortune that can duly bring about just rewards. Pace seemed to be one component lacking in both units, a focused deadliness in front of goal perhaps another aspect to look at but having said this, determination and desire are not to be questioned and all was given right up until the last blow of the whistle and made sure the Fat Bag in the wings was not allowed to holler before the correct given time. The season is still young, when we move into the meat of the matter will we have a good insight into how these teams will fare, until then...keep on supporting, keep on enjoying and, if you be so kind, keep on reading these reports - cheers and beers amigos!
The game started with the hosts using strict possession play combined with a good exhibition of patience. Eventually 2 crosses were cultivated after some dandy overlapping work. No 10 (Scott McGowan) missed the fleeting globe, No 6 (Mark Jones) made contact but hammered off target. Onwards and the same team came, the retaining tactics working well in the rear, with less effect at the forefront of matters. The Hey brigade looked initially set up to absorb and counter, a very dangerous option to take at this non-league stronghold - only time will tell! As 74 probed their No 2 (Matthew Russell) put in a stupendous cross that No 11 (Joseph Woolley) put the top of his bonse on but couldn't keep on target. A free-punt soon after kept the heat on, No 8 (Sam Freakes) struck and the mitter had to stretch and turn over. The corner was over-complicated and was akin to a trapped wasp in a cannabis factory - wasted. A period of Abbey Hey pseudo-pestering was the result, No 10 (Matthew Shaw) beetled in from a free-kick but was duly denied and then a cross was fizzed over and took mere millemetres of skin off the No 9's (Aaron Rodger) barnet and disappointingly flashed shy of the far stick. A distance shot from No 7 (Robert Swallow) of the Hey reinforced the growing confidence, the ball was clumsily pushed behind by a quite startled keeper. When the corner came the defense seemed unsettled, hesitancy was there to be punished and punished it was as No 11 (Keiron Dale) slammed home - kaboom baby, kaboom.
This fractured and stuttering game was now ripened by the goal, all we needed was for both teams to bear greater fruit and give all in attendance a darn fine harvest of excitement. 74 offered up the first seeds of hope with a corner that ended with a quite rank delivery. A counter-attack came, a throw, a foul and the peril was pissed on from a great height, the farmers of fluidity were certainly oliguria attacked gits today, darn those misable oriental eyes. Further efforts came towards the guests goal, No 9 (Kyle Riley) had 2 attempts, one waywardly nutted the other a touch on that needed clearing off the line. As Northwich pushed a picture perfect cross look destined to end in a goal as No 2 Russell snuck in and prepared to strike, The shot that came flew over the horizontal, it looked rusty and void of confidence. The final salvos of the first period came when two passages of play saw some neat link up work end with quite abysmal finishing touches - the drawing board needed more attention, the half ended and a good talking too was needed for the trailing unit.
During the 15 minute break we two tooters stayed put and soaked up the solars. I was getting quite doped up and my missus was doing a fine impression of a narcoleptic opium head - phew, what a sizzler.
Period dos (ooh the Spanish has twisted me mind) started, Abbey Hey produced an immediate attack of penetrating style. Rodger and Swallow advanced (bloody hell, how sinister does that sound), a shot followed, a solid save was donated in stubborn response. The ball was put back in an infringement halted the flowing waters of Hey intent. 74 needed to get their skates on, they reacted via a stunning laser-like cross-field ball by their No 5 (Daniel Thomas). The recipient was Riley who toe poked close-in but once again failed to find the hotspot (I think time out is needed to psycho-analyse some of the losers who appeared on Strike It Lucky - well those that survived at least). The hosts now grew in confidence, a ball in, a thumping downward header, the liner had seen a flaw in proceedings, start all over again lads. No, wait, controversy raised its many angled head and stuck a thumb up the rear of regulation with the result being a penalty given. A booking was had, No 10 (Scott McGowan) was the man with responsibility on his shoulders. The ball was placed, the striker waltzed forth and struck the back of the net with convincing sanguinity - all square, all to play for - a spanner in the works of the AH effort, a true test of resilience was now to be met head on. As soon as the joy of the home fans had settled down they were called upon once more as No 7 (Callum Gardner) flashed one wide and McGowan brought down a long ball, cut outside and slapped one outside of the vertical - Abbey Hey were now hanging on.
The game from here looked to be going one way with the hosts very much in command. A rapier assault saw Thomas come out on the unlucky side of fortune with a close in effort that was somehow knocked clear. Swallow for Abbey Hey swooped forth next, he weaved and wandered and fired with purpose but it was a reckless effort and allowed the keeper to finish his latest novel and enjoy the Cuban Cigar he had kept for times of peace. From here action was like a gorilla with a bladder and bowel nerve problem, it was coming thick and fast at both ends. 1874 scrambled away a couple of threatening incidents, their No 15 (Kazim Waite-Jackson) nearly smuggled himself in but failed to make sturdy contact - it was becoming a very animated finale. No 5 (Stephen Solademi) had put in a great stint for the travellers with some eye-catching defensive work and when he roamed forth, put cranium on sphere he was mighty unfortunate to not find the net and stand proud at destination hero. The Hey heaved, a cross was headed on and was tipped over, was there a twist in the tale, were we witnessing a Dahl-esque mockery to send one lot of fans home buoyant, the others with a sinking feeling in the chip soaked gut. The answer soon came and was a resounding 'No' as both teams lacked finesse and composure in the final third and allowed proceedings to end with points shared. This had not been the greatest spectacle, both teams need to find a true vein of form mighty soon although I am sure Abbey Hey will be delighted with a hard-grafted point. Man of the match could have gone to either No 5 but for me (Daniel Thomas) was a consistent class act and looked in command of all matters at all times. A definitive cornerstone of a team looking to start chugging hard very soon, with players like this the upsurge shouldn't be too far away.
FINAL THOUGHT - Not a momentous game, not an edge of the seat thriller liable to relax inner gubbins that will bring about an unexpected spillage in the trouser department. No, this was a game of grit and grind both teams would be happy to get out of the way. Sometimes, a footballing problem can be as elusive as a gastropods genitals and as easy to deal with as a bout of rectal thrush (so they tell me). Here there may be several problems going on within the 74 ranks or just a case of luck linking up with liquidity and forcing a change in fortune that can duly bring about just rewards. Pace seemed to be one component lacking in both units, a focused deadliness in front of goal perhaps another aspect to look at but having said this, determination and desire are not to be questioned and all was given right up until the last blow of the whistle and made sure the Fat Bag in the wings was not allowed to holler before the correct given time. The season is still young, when we move into the meat of the matter will we have a good insight into how these teams will fare, until then...keep on supporting, keep on enjoying and, if you be so kind, keep on reading these reports - cheers and beers amigos!
Wednesday 15 August 2018
VALE DENTED
14th August 2018 - Denton Town 2 v 1 Congleton Vale - There were no plans for a match this week, I had been stressed of late with family affairs, the usual busy life I lead and a constant bout of nightmares were all taking their toll but, after a day at work tapping keys and sorting many things we decided a bit of fresh air and some good non-league would do the noggins good. My young daughter cooked our tea, a veggie curry for Kings and Queens of cuisine - she's a good un'. So, warmed to the cockles with the spicy dish we headed out and arrived at the ground in good time to have a natter with a couple of blokes who run things, purchase a cup of tea and get snaps of the teamsheets (on my wife's phone of course because I still don't own one and hopefully...never will). We sloped off into the clement air, took up our positions and awaited the teams. A smell of nearby dog-shit wafted passed (oh those selfish owners with defecating dogs) but our pleasure was not dampened and as the players and officials graced the pitch we watched the game unfold. Here are my humble observations.
A fast fluttering start was had with both teams brandishing the tips of their attacking epees with blatant intent (ooh the crude buggers, they'll have somebody's eye out). From the main meat of the matter (or quorn of the concern if ye be veggie based) a free-kick for the guests was had. The spherical object of desire was swung in, contact was made via a noggin and the save that followed was one handed and quite superb. The ball remained in the box, No 8 (Dan Buehler) had a go with the bonse, another single-mitted save was executed, ruddy fine work indeed - stand up and take the applause Aaron Dollard. The danger was eventually cleared and followed by a bout of midfield mither. The Vale went down to 10 men for a short period after a head was clonked and treatment given but this still remained a competitive affair. In fact, during this 'one man down' period the visitors had a crack on goal when No 11 (Harry Pointon) swung the shank. The ball flew with purpose but, like a Buzzards fart, had too much uplift and ended up in the Leylandii on the other side of the fence. No 7 (Tyler Harrison) came next, a corner won but the weight was hefty and a break ensued that duly fizzled and kept all things even. Action came at both ends, half-arsed shots with much bluster were the result until No 9 (Daniel Heffernan) and No 7 (Stefano Idugbor) for the Dentonians linked up and produced a cross that was banged into the perilous zone but just couldn't attract any eager executioners. The Congleton boys worked back, Denton sprung an attack with the captain No 3 (Mike Bennett) battling hard along the flank and slotting in to Idugbor who worked a gap and hammered home to break this stubborn deadlock. It was a lightning bolt up the rear of the travelling tribe's arse but from here they remained on the back foot as Denton pushed on. A corner was soon had, the ball in was weak, the follow up shot wank - abstract thoughts of a new Mr Men series came into my wayward head - hello Mr Weak, why hello Mr Wank, what a weak and wank kind of day it is - etc. etc.
The game now fell into the latter folds of the first half with the host No 10 (Godfred Amankwaa) having the next effort via a grass grazing sizzler that the gloved one duly grabbed. Denton Town looked stable and in command, No 5 (Luke Bottrell) at the back was rock solid and played a lengthy ball to Heffernan who duly lobbed the keeper. It was a simple but effective move and as the netting settled it was with great disappointment that the liner had ruled offside. A Dentoid free-kick saw the trees at the back of the goal lose a few leaves and at the other end No 4 (Paul Spruce) nearly galloped in but was muscled off the ball and the chance went begging. The half ended in hard-working fashion - I was enjoying this one.
A cup of tea and a shared biscuit for half-time as we were trying to be good and shed a few pounds - it is not easy - chocolate, cake, fish and chips, pies, crisps oooh and lard butties - how can one ever lose weight?
The second half began, the first action came via a Denton free-kick. No 11 (Francisco Costa) roamed into acres of space, was given time to cross and find the poking toe of No 9 Heffernan who forced the keeper into making a very efficient save. Both teams bustled about and were yet to find their true feet in this chasing period. From a Congleton advance, Denton swept back with Heffernan providing a cross and Costa shooting and dragging wide. Another Denton attack followed, Heffernan to Amankwaa, a save and a loose ball trickling against the post before being belted away. Within seconds the guest keeper had 2 saves to make, the first particularly impressive after a sizzling drive by Heffernan. A corner came, another brace of blocks by the pestered mitter, one from Amankwaa and another from the eager and hungry Heffernan. From this battery of booms on goal Congleton fought hard and won a bonus boot. The kick came, a deflection was had and the ball was banged home - 1 - 1, no - an infringement had been seen, outrage ensued, as you were folks.
Like a pair of mating Shield Bugs some fine end to end action took place and birth to another goal seemed on the clashing cards. The Town were passing well, moving the ball with patience and duly winning a corner with 20 minutes left on the ticker. The angled effort came, several swipes at the ball were blocked until Amankwaa pounced, twisted the hips and wham, 2 - 0 it was and in truth, a justifiable lead was grabbed. Denton came again soon after, Heffernan let go a steaming shot, the keeper was there to deny him yet again. Bennett had a deflected effort not long after, it could have gone anywhere but was gladly collected by the busy man between the sticks. From mounting pressure a Congleton rarity was achieved - a free-kick no less. The execution was simple, the ball floated across goal and No 15 (Ollie Griffiths) performed a simple header, an easy goal, the game was far from over. The last dregs, another free-kick for The Vale, this time dealt with. Desire and passion dictated the closing minutes, a late Congleton corner saw the keeper dash forth - it was shit or bust folks. Ball in, out, throw in, blast over and...the referee had had enough. Phew, that was a decent game on a lovely late summer evening with a few goals had, a couple of nice chats and 2 cups of tea to boot. Man of the Match for me goes to Denton Town's No 5 (Luke Bottrell) who I thought was dominant throughout, in command of his own situation and who played a perfectly measured and robust game - a veritable linchpin at the back that is for sure. We watched the players tootle off and headed home, I think we will be back soon to this ground - by heck tis only 20 minutes down the road, what excuses can I offer?
FINAL THOUGHT - The bare bollocks of non-league football were on show tonight as a small run club came up against another budget built team and played the game how it should be played - with good heart, good respect, decent passion and for the sheer love of it. My heart is always with this kind of shizzle, there is something more real about things that throw caution to the wind and have little concern for the coin and the corrupting crap that comes with it. I don't think there was a booking in tonight's game, barely any obnoxious dissent was given, and the flow was constant throughout and brought many moments of excitement for we low down perusers of the glorious game. I am glad to do my reports for events such as this, I hope it keeps people invigorated and, perhaps, sexually on edge (I live in hope) but more than anything if it gets a few extra arses on the touchline, a few others doing something and those that are already committed determined to hang on in then I'll be happy with that - a fine night out, free entry too - by heck what is there to complain about - well besides the dogshit of course. End verdict - splendid and both teams look to have enough to hold their own in this league - well played to all.
A fast fluttering start was had with both teams brandishing the tips of their attacking epees with blatant intent (ooh the crude buggers, they'll have somebody's eye out). From the main meat of the matter (or quorn of the concern if ye be veggie based) a free-kick for the guests was had. The spherical object of desire was swung in, contact was made via a noggin and the save that followed was one handed and quite superb. The ball remained in the box, No 8 (Dan Buehler) had a go with the bonse, another single-mitted save was executed, ruddy fine work indeed - stand up and take the applause Aaron Dollard. The danger was eventually cleared and followed by a bout of midfield mither. The Vale went down to 10 men for a short period after a head was clonked and treatment given but this still remained a competitive affair. In fact, during this 'one man down' period the visitors had a crack on goal when No 11 (Harry Pointon) swung the shank. The ball flew with purpose but, like a Buzzards fart, had too much uplift and ended up in the Leylandii on the other side of the fence. No 7 (Tyler Harrison) came next, a corner won but the weight was hefty and a break ensued that duly fizzled and kept all things even. Action came at both ends, half-arsed shots with much bluster were the result until No 9 (Daniel Heffernan) and No 7 (Stefano Idugbor) for the Dentonians linked up and produced a cross that was banged into the perilous zone but just couldn't attract any eager executioners. The Congleton boys worked back, Denton sprung an attack with the captain No 3 (Mike Bennett) battling hard along the flank and slotting in to Idugbor who worked a gap and hammered home to break this stubborn deadlock. It was a lightning bolt up the rear of the travelling tribe's arse but from here they remained on the back foot as Denton pushed on. A corner was soon had, the ball in was weak, the follow up shot wank - abstract thoughts of a new Mr Men series came into my wayward head - hello Mr Weak, why hello Mr Wank, what a weak and wank kind of day it is - etc. etc.
The game now fell into the latter folds of the first half with the host No 10 (Godfred Amankwaa) having the next effort via a grass grazing sizzler that the gloved one duly grabbed. Denton Town looked stable and in command, No 5 (Luke Bottrell) at the back was rock solid and played a lengthy ball to Heffernan who duly lobbed the keeper. It was a simple but effective move and as the netting settled it was with great disappointment that the liner had ruled offside. A Dentoid free-kick saw the trees at the back of the goal lose a few leaves and at the other end No 4 (Paul Spruce) nearly galloped in but was muscled off the ball and the chance went begging. The half ended in hard-working fashion - I was enjoying this one.
A cup of tea and a shared biscuit for half-time as we were trying to be good and shed a few pounds - it is not easy - chocolate, cake, fish and chips, pies, crisps oooh and lard butties - how can one ever lose weight?
The second half began, the first action came via a Denton free-kick. No 11 (Francisco Costa) roamed into acres of space, was given time to cross and find the poking toe of No 9 Heffernan who forced the keeper into making a very efficient save. Both teams bustled about and were yet to find their true feet in this chasing period. From a Congleton advance, Denton swept back with Heffernan providing a cross and Costa shooting and dragging wide. Another Denton attack followed, Heffernan to Amankwaa, a save and a loose ball trickling against the post before being belted away. Within seconds the guest keeper had 2 saves to make, the first particularly impressive after a sizzling drive by Heffernan. A corner came, another brace of blocks by the pestered mitter, one from Amankwaa and another from the eager and hungry Heffernan. From this battery of booms on goal Congleton fought hard and won a bonus boot. The kick came, a deflection was had and the ball was banged home - 1 - 1, no - an infringement had been seen, outrage ensued, as you were folks.
Like a pair of mating Shield Bugs some fine end to end action took place and birth to another goal seemed on the clashing cards. The Town were passing well, moving the ball with patience and duly winning a corner with 20 minutes left on the ticker. The angled effort came, several swipes at the ball were blocked until Amankwaa pounced, twisted the hips and wham, 2 - 0 it was and in truth, a justifiable lead was grabbed. Denton came again soon after, Heffernan let go a steaming shot, the keeper was there to deny him yet again. Bennett had a deflected effort not long after, it could have gone anywhere but was gladly collected by the busy man between the sticks. From mounting pressure a Congleton rarity was achieved - a free-kick no less. The execution was simple, the ball floated across goal and No 15 (Ollie Griffiths) performed a simple header, an easy goal, the game was far from over. The last dregs, another free-kick for The Vale, this time dealt with. Desire and passion dictated the closing minutes, a late Congleton corner saw the keeper dash forth - it was shit or bust folks. Ball in, out, throw in, blast over and...the referee had had enough. Phew, that was a decent game on a lovely late summer evening with a few goals had, a couple of nice chats and 2 cups of tea to boot. Man of the Match for me goes to Denton Town's No 5 (Luke Bottrell) who I thought was dominant throughout, in command of his own situation and who played a perfectly measured and robust game - a veritable linchpin at the back that is for sure. We watched the players tootle off and headed home, I think we will be back soon to this ground - by heck tis only 20 minutes down the road, what excuses can I offer?
FINAL THOUGHT - The bare bollocks of non-league football were on show tonight as a small run club came up against another budget built team and played the game how it should be played - with good heart, good respect, decent passion and for the sheer love of it. My heart is always with this kind of shizzle, there is something more real about things that throw caution to the wind and have little concern for the coin and the corrupting crap that comes with it. I don't think there was a booking in tonight's game, barely any obnoxious dissent was given, and the flow was constant throughout and brought many moments of excitement for we low down perusers of the glorious game. I am glad to do my reports for events such as this, I hope it keeps people invigorated and, perhaps, sexually on edge (I live in hope) but more than anything if it gets a few extra arses on the touchline, a few others doing something and those that are already committed determined to hang on in then I'll be happy with that - a fine night out, free entry too - by heck what is there to complain about - well besides the dogshit of course. End verdict - splendid and both teams look to have enough to hold their own in this league - well played to all.
Monday 13 August 2018
FA FOR ROAD (LITERALLY)
11th August 2018 - Maine Road 0 v 1 Handsworth Parramore - My last match for a couple of weeks, gigs, walks and work are dictating at the mo, I was hoping this would be a good un' after waking up from another bout of nightmares, indulging in some decorating and in between, sorting out a few more wildlife records that seem to never end. This was the first FA Cup match of the season, Maine Road are a local side I have seen go downwards over the last few seasons and whom I was sincerely hoping would get back on a good footing as soon as possible. I knew nothing of today's opponents, I don't mind that, as a perennial neutral it all adds to the intrigue and mystique. So, after some chicken legs and trifle for dinner and a few final chores my good lady dropped me off at the ground where I met up with my fine non-league punk comrade Stu Taylor of STP infamy. Tea was an obligation, a seat taken, a chat enjoyed and we looked forward to the game ahead as well as the the following Manchester Punx Picnic. Chances are there would be more fouls, offside behaviour and claims of dirty play at the gig rather than during the match but one thing would be for sure, the noise would be lovely and liable to nobble yer nadgers in fine style. So as the teams came out, so did my nadgers (oops), I mean notepad, and what I witnessed was scrawled down as thus (with a few edit's).
The initial play saw the Parramore pack display a settled discipline and a determination to build with good patience. Their footballing approach was very easy on the eye and it was a surprise in some ways to see No 11 (Chrysty O' Brien) for The Road have the first crack on goal. A slight gap at the rear was pounced upon, the striker raced through but put the shot over the bar - a fair chance if you ask me. The HP lads continued to remain calm and pushed the ball around in a very authoritative manner, No 6 (Oscar Radford) at the back a typical example of the style on display. Suddenly, against the grain once more No 9 (Simon Thompson) for the hosts was in and used good strength that led to a run and a hefty release. The ball stayed low, a gasp from a few spectators exaggerated hope (and here's me thinking the referee's todger had fallen out), alas the target was missed but only by mere inches. In response the opposite No 9 (Jonathon Frogary) followed a bout of robust tackling with a 'turn and twat' effort that was also close but just missing the upright. Maine Road however were growing into the matters at hand, indulged in a wonderful move that brought great applause but only ended with a tame cross - the potential was there to be built on though, the first real stone of hope laid. A pressure now ensued, it was on the MR defense as the guests dug deep in the now expected mid-paced way. A throw-in high up the park saw a flick on in the box, a hoofing off the line and somehow the mitter ending up with his hands on the pinging globe. Soon after an exquisite move by Parramore saw several chances to shoot get passed by until No 8 (Jed Phillips) took it upon himself to try a sweet floating chip that just wouldn't come back to earth quick enough. In the all action game, Thompson had a swivel and shot at the other end and was just shy of the mark - the first goal here was going to be one crucial strike that's for sure.
A fair battling session followed, a captivating affair unfolded with many honest performances to be witnessed. From this spell of midfield warfare the visiting tribe burst from nowhere, a cross came, a nod on and up stepped Phillips to tap home - how easy was that? A deserved lead in many respects and as the half progressed Handsworth Parramore let the ball do all the work whilst they stroked it this way and that and kept their opponents scurrying. Before the half-time whistle me and my mate Stu wandered to get tea and watched the last bit of action on the move. Parramore progressed with purpose, the ball flew across the Road goal-face on two occasions, the mittman was mighty relieved to finally get his gloves around the globe. The half ended with the guests in control - we pootled off, purchased tea and considered a good do thus far.
The second half began with HP in ascendancy, Maine Road still scuttling away like beetles wired up on steroids. A talking to was needed for several players who seemed to be getting a trifle hot under the collar. The guests had a free-kick which went into the box, received a nut on and a powerless shot at the end, was the screw turning once more? More madness crept in, a few players needed a ticking off and a card by the man in black, amazingly some of these were delivered to the side in front - some buggers just never learn. These minor cracks allowed Maine Road to work back into the contest with No 10 (Jamie Roe) going on a belting little run that led to Thompson having another quick fire crack that was once more wide of the upright. I once knew a man with a quick fire crack by the way, 6 anal corks, 5 operations and 2 ring replacements couldn't help him - it were a shit life that is for sure (literally). Back to the action, a MR free-punt floated in from the angle and was nutted goalward without power and then after some more rampant roaming Thomspon was at the arse end of a quality move and struck a half volley that could have gone anyway but was ultimately dealt with. As Road pushed the Parramore sub had a cross cleared off the line and as the half-time draw man wandered in search of a winner Hp's Radford rasped in a blazing cross that ended with a lunatic lashing from a few feet out - luckily for the offender I missed his shirt number.
Both teams were now cancelling each other out via much industrious labour and I suspected one goal either way would throw this game into mode 'haywire' - but would another one come? A penalty claim by Handsworth was met with a Maine Road counter. Roe galloped like a good un' but when the last third came a pause, a loss of confidence and an attack of indecision saw the chance evaporate - it was akin to a young noodle attempting to buy his first packet of Benson and Hedges smokes - the approach was confident, the weaving through the aisles well taken, the final question unable to be delivered - one of life's minor tragedies. More huff and puff, more bookings, both No 9's went in the book. Mistakes started to happen, tired legs were being pushed to the max, no real threat arose with a few balls forth harmless, a couple of infringements quelling any danger and the defenses of both teams ruling the roost. The half whizzed by and ended as you were - Handsworth Parramore had maintained their slender lead, remained solid at the back and the Man of the Match must go to their No 2 (Oliver Yates) who played a blinder, co-operated well and played each and every ball with just the right amount of urgency and accuracy - no need for thrills and spills, safe and steady is always the way. Me and my mate headed off to a gig in Manchester that saw us never leave the bar and just indulge in a booze and a chinwag - at least the footy was up to scratch.
FINAL THOUGHT - So Maine Road are still looking to answer a few questions (aren't we all) and are trying darn ruddy hard to get this season rolling before the shit hits the fan and an uphill struggle is there before them. I think this time they can get some momentum going and if they keep a regular group of players a consistency can arise and a period of pleasure can be had for all involved. It isn't easy though, they are in a league of many chomping teams but after this dumping out of the cup they can zone in and set about making their own mark. Handsworth Parramore progress and are a side that I was quite taken with. They play football from front to back, are a measured outfit and have many calming influences who dictate the pace of the game and pick their passes with care. I shall make it my business to pay a visit to this NCEL based team and scribble a report on their home turf. Overall a good solid cup match, both teams had a good dig at the end prize of progression but there can only be one winner - and all the very best of luck to em'.
The initial play saw the Parramore pack display a settled discipline and a determination to build with good patience. Their footballing approach was very easy on the eye and it was a surprise in some ways to see No 11 (Chrysty O' Brien) for The Road have the first crack on goal. A slight gap at the rear was pounced upon, the striker raced through but put the shot over the bar - a fair chance if you ask me. The HP lads continued to remain calm and pushed the ball around in a very authoritative manner, No 6 (Oscar Radford) at the back a typical example of the style on display. Suddenly, against the grain once more No 9 (Simon Thompson) for the hosts was in and used good strength that led to a run and a hefty release. The ball stayed low, a gasp from a few spectators exaggerated hope (and here's me thinking the referee's todger had fallen out), alas the target was missed but only by mere inches. In response the opposite No 9 (Jonathon Frogary) followed a bout of robust tackling with a 'turn and twat' effort that was also close but just missing the upright. Maine Road however were growing into the matters at hand, indulged in a wonderful move that brought great applause but only ended with a tame cross - the potential was there to be built on though, the first real stone of hope laid. A pressure now ensued, it was on the MR defense as the guests dug deep in the now expected mid-paced way. A throw-in high up the park saw a flick on in the box, a hoofing off the line and somehow the mitter ending up with his hands on the pinging globe. Soon after an exquisite move by Parramore saw several chances to shoot get passed by until No 8 (Jed Phillips) took it upon himself to try a sweet floating chip that just wouldn't come back to earth quick enough. In the all action game, Thompson had a swivel and shot at the other end and was just shy of the mark - the first goal here was going to be one crucial strike that's for sure.
A fair battling session followed, a captivating affair unfolded with many honest performances to be witnessed. From this spell of midfield warfare the visiting tribe burst from nowhere, a cross came, a nod on and up stepped Phillips to tap home - how easy was that? A deserved lead in many respects and as the half progressed Handsworth Parramore let the ball do all the work whilst they stroked it this way and that and kept their opponents scurrying. Before the half-time whistle me and my mate Stu wandered to get tea and watched the last bit of action on the move. Parramore progressed with purpose, the ball flew across the Road goal-face on two occasions, the mittman was mighty relieved to finally get his gloves around the globe. The half ended with the guests in control - we pootled off, purchased tea and considered a good do thus far.
The second half began with HP in ascendancy, Maine Road still scuttling away like beetles wired up on steroids. A talking to was needed for several players who seemed to be getting a trifle hot under the collar. The guests had a free-kick which went into the box, received a nut on and a powerless shot at the end, was the screw turning once more? More madness crept in, a few players needed a ticking off and a card by the man in black, amazingly some of these were delivered to the side in front - some buggers just never learn. These minor cracks allowed Maine Road to work back into the contest with No 10 (Jamie Roe) going on a belting little run that led to Thompson having another quick fire crack that was once more wide of the upright. I once knew a man with a quick fire crack by the way, 6 anal corks, 5 operations and 2 ring replacements couldn't help him - it were a shit life that is for sure (literally). Back to the action, a MR free-punt floated in from the angle and was nutted goalward without power and then after some more rampant roaming Thomspon was at the arse end of a quality move and struck a half volley that could have gone anyway but was ultimately dealt with. As Road pushed the Parramore sub had a cross cleared off the line and as the half-time draw man wandered in search of a winner Hp's Radford rasped in a blazing cross that ended with a lunatic lashing from a few feet out - luckily for the offender I missed his shirt number.
Both teams were now cancelling each other out via much industrious labour and I suspected one goal either way would throw this game into mode 'haywire' - but would another one come? A penalty claim by Handsworth was met with a Maine Road counter. Roe galloped like a good un' but when the last third came a pause, a loss of confidence and an attack of indecision saw the chance evaporate - it was akin to a young noodle attempting to buy his first packet of Benson and Hedges smokes - the approach was confident, the weaving through the aisles well taken, the final question unable to be delivered - one of life's minor tragedies. More huff and puff, more bookings, both No 9's went in the book. Mistakes started to happen, tired legs were being pushed to the max, no real threat arose with a few balls forth harmless, a couple of infringements quelling any danger and the defenses of both teams ruling the roost. The half whizzed by and ended as you were - Handsworth Parramore had maintained their slender lead, remained solid at the back and the Man of the Match must go to their No 2 (Oliver Yates) who played a blinder, co-operated well and played each and every ball with just the right amount of urgency and accuracy - no need for thrills and spills, safe and steady is always the way. Me and my mate headed off to a gig in Manchester that saw us never leave the bar and just indulge in a booze and a chinwag - at least the footy was up to scratch.
FINAL THOUGHT - So Maine Road are still looking to answer a few questions (aren't we all) and are trying darn ruddy hard to get this season rolling before the shit hits the fan and an uphill struggle is there before them. I think this time they can get some momentum going and if they keep a regular group of players a consistency can arise and a period of pleasure can be had for all involved. It isn't easy though, they are in a league of many chomping teams but after this dumping out of the cup they can zone in and set about making their own mark. Handsworth Parramore progress and are a side that I was quite taken with. They play football from front to back, are a measured outfit and have many calming influences who dictate the pace of the game and pick their passes with care. I shall make it my business to pay a visit to this NCEL based team and scribble a report on their home turf. Overall a good solid cup match, both teams had a good dig at the end prize of progression but there can only be one winner - and all the very best of luck to em'.
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