8th September 2018 - Whitchurch Alport 1 v 2 Silsden FC - The week had entailed decorating (still), work, finalising a few fungal lists, completing a couple of CD reviews and finishing reading my latest book, 'Hands of Stone - The Life and Legend of Roberto Duran'. I grew up watching this maniac box, he was a walking slab of idiot testosterone and never knew when to quit. He is the greatest lightweight of all time but marred his record somewhat by venturing up the weights and going on for a little too long - he had some classic mix-ups though which, in a round-about way brings me to today's non-league encounter (yes, the pocketful of pseudo tangents are always at my beck and call). I was hoping for a minor classic here with two teams capable of playing some quite sturdy football that can pack quite a punch when fortune is on their side. Like the first meeting between Duran and DeJesus, this was a tough one to call, unlike any contest featuring Amir Kahn or Joe Bugner, I didn't expect it to be a one dimensional affair and tedious to watch - who knows though, if predictions were easy we would all have bulging wallets and be wearing those special underpants that vibrate when a goal is scored (come on now, admit it, shyness is a failing don't you know). So, after leading a mushroom walk in the morn at Harthill Cookery School (48 species found and a ruddy good soaking had) we drove to the ground purchased liquids and solids (instead of releasing them, although I did manage one small squirt before kick-off) and waited for the battle of two sleeping giants. I will stick with the pugilistic theme if you don't mind, it keeps me stretched and thinking about matters a little harder.
The bell rang (OK a whistle but let's not ruin the thematics early on), the two combatants got to work (saying 22 would just sound foolish). Pawing jabs were exchanged, the hosts seemed to just edge early matters but the guests had the initial free-kick and corner that gave the first chance at landing a meaningful blow. The latter saw the ball come in and get easily dealt with and a counter-attack followed. A robust coming together brought hollers from the crowd, the reaction by the home fans indicated which way the decision had gone. The free-kick for Silsden had accuracy but the finishing blow via a rising bonse was off the mark. A Benny Leonard-like scuffling period produced little action and then a rapier pass from a quiet lull saw the Silsden guard breached. No 11 (Alex Hughes) used great control, recovered from a slight slip and set his feet to produce a quite punishing shot that the keeper only half-blocked. It was with disappointment the few peregrinating fans saw their net ripple and the first scar appear on the eager countenance of hope.
From here the residents looked to open up and flex muscle, the travellers used a peek-a-boo style, absorbed and sought a gap to exploit - the threat of the sucker-slap was always apparent. The upper-hand was still had by the WA warriors, several combinations brought applause and the desire shown was surely noteworthy - a spirit worth concentrating on for future match-ups. Gratis-punts came from both sides, no injury was inflicted as the defensive postures remained disciplined. Despite Alport commanding ring-space a few bad calls, mistimed combo's and the rigid rearguard of their opponents put pay to any serious penetration. If Whitchurch were going to build on the domination they were going to have to work hard and maintain a high intensity of pressure. 2 shots did come, No 7 (Joseph Howell) pilfered and let fly, the guest gloved guardian saved low with authority and then easily gathered up the flying orb as Hughes popped one forth. The rain now teemed, steam rose, a penalty claim for the home lads was had but was waved away. A last surge by the Sils saw a touch, flick on and lunge just fall short of a killer thriller. The half ended with the visiting keeper on his arse after hoofing down field, I think the planned late night with a gay Frank Bruno look-a-like may be on hold.
We stayed put at half time, shared some Toblerone and waffled. The weather was shite, my feet were still soaked from the morns myco-mooch and my t-shirt and kecks were still slightly damp. The match was warming up nicely though, by full time the thermals may have wafted my way and I would be as dry as the genitals of Tutankhamun
The match restarted, the visitors pushed out a few tentative prods and pokes, a few crosses came, the mitter did what was required. Silsden were providing many shots to the Alport midriff but no real set-up punch was had and so the solar plexus crippler remained elusive (bring on Bob Fitzsimmons I hear you call). A home free-kick, a foul cum low blow was given in Duran-esque style, surely only a one-point deduction at most. The decision was a shocker, it was a one man reduction as the hosts were given an extra smack in the mush and a cut was opened - the roar from the crowd was vehement, one shout of 'dickhead; from the opposite side of the ground was laden with spite, cor blimey guv'nor. From here Silsden sniffed out blood, the complexion of the game had now changed, further battle scars were starting to be exposed, niggles were raising hackles and the referee was a man under the cosh. The onlooking judges were growing livid, a condemnation was taking place, would the confrontation be further affected? Silsden now expressed themselves with more clarity, a long ball was jabbed forth, No 10 (Aiden Kirby) brought it down on the chest, chanced on a bold crack and wham, the match was all square as the still raw wound of the Alport pack had just been deepened and the team were sent reeling. Going into the final rounds this was all to fight for, Mugabi v Hagler, Bowe v Holyfield was this going to be a final thrash out?
On the ropes Whitchurch looked to regain composure and hit back but No 6 (Reece Lyndon) for Silsden had the next effort, the disappointingly flew over the bar. The hosts were not finished though, this fiery game was still on a knife-edge and a corner was won by sheer will-power and damned hard work. The ball came, No 5 (Leon Ashman) made cranial contact, the end result was shy of the mark. Both No 9's had efforts next, (Mateusz Tomas) for Silsden forced the keeper to save, (Simon Everall) for Alport was tackled at the last by the guest No 2 (Craig Bentham). Suddenly another 50/50 coming together ensued, a yellow card was issued, this decision was correct and only emphasised the earlier faux pas. The free-shot was awarded to the WA lads, the ball was drilled and deflected wide, a cross came followed by another clash in the box which brought an incandescent eruption with chests expanded, arms raised and verbals spilling. The result, Hughes for Whitchurch sent off, ten little indians were down to 9, the grit of Marciano was now needed, the counter punching speed of Julian Jackson a must, was there a way to save the day? As matters settled one of the Silsden subs was through and had a chance to win it, the keeper spread quicker than butter on a teacake, the save was both tidy and crucial. A free-kick soon after saw the keeper clobbered but refuse to drop the ball, he was a fine last man standing that is for sure. All Whitchurch could do now was pepper in spurts and look for one wild swing. Despite the imbalance in numbers this one was going to the wire. The 90 minutes was somehow reached, overtime was the territory now trespassed, could a draw be snatched from the chomping jaws of potential defeat? The 93rd minute arrived, Silsden put in several set up shots, the home guard held firm until - thwack, No 8 (Kyle Hancock) let fly, the low blow was delivered, the insult to effort spat forth with venom. The sag to the canvas was forced and the bell sounded seconds after. What a twist, what a game, what an unexpected conclusion! After the final call we chatted to a fine local, we agreed that several decisions had marred this one but the home team were far from disgraced. Man of the Match however goes to the visiting No 5 (Daniel Illingworth) who displayed a cool and classy streak with a footballing generalship that kept his defense sanguine and orderly. Never ruffled, always with the eye on the ball, the way defenders should play.
FINAL THOUGHT - If that shifty swine Don King ever got his untrustable mitts on a game of football what we would witness would be something like what transpired today. Full of ambiguity, full of grey areas, full of controversy and with many talking points after the game was done. Whitchurch may have lost this one but there were many positives and I think, despite a very shaky start, a corner has been turned and things are looking rosy. The return match further 'oop' north will be a classic and it could go the way of the away side provided they work with high animation like the mithering Harry Greb and execute many lethal rapier-like shots akin to The Hitman, Thomas Hearns. Their players were tireless until the end, their No 5 (Leon Ashman) put in a great stint and kept his team in the contest until the very death - unlucky sir, unlucky. Silsden are a tough nut to crack and gradually wear down their opponents like the body shots of Mike McCallum. There is still room for improvement though and today I thought they put in a methodical effort that was reminiscent of Larry Holmes in his pomp - not overly dramatic or flamboyant but getting the job done. They were helped by a couple of refereeing decisions that looked mighty cruel, but hey, as the season unfolds they will get their share of shit and shine and will just have to ride it. We had certainly got our money's worth today, until the next time - enjoy the season and keep focused.
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