24th November 2018 - Congleton Town 3 v 0 City of Liverpool - A last minute change of plan was had today as I was drawn by the charms of the best Non-League chips to cross my greedy northern pig palette and the obvious intrigue of a top of the table clash. I didn't expect too many goals but what I did expect was a hard contested game, on a precipice til the end with the best team coming out on top. Myself and my grand lady set off in good time, breezed down quicker than a bare-arsed Chubby Checker on a bob-sleigh run and upon arrival pounced upon a tray of chips each and a cuppa. As we filled the bellies with warm victuals we chatted with a wonderful official who told us about his work at the ground, how much he had put in and how he felt it was a worthy cause - the backbone of all that transpires these people - what a joy to hear of their efforts. After a lengthy wait the ground started to fill up and the game gradually got going. I was already slightly chilled, there were many purple helmets in attendance, I was hoping one more would not stand out too much - mind you, in this weather I think I need not have been too concerned!
From the off The Bears were on it, No 7 (Bevan Burey) contributed highly to the first advance with a good run finalised with a foul. A played advantage would have been a better option but there ya go. The ball came in, brief mayhem ensued and a chance to shoot let slip. The hosts continued to dictate the tempo, never fully allowing their opponents to settle. Several zipping crosses, a few more free-kicks and some good passing all maintained the upperhand with No 8 (Dean Warburton) the next to come close with a pace riddled shot just whizzing shy of the upright. Another foray forth followed, the slick and speedy interplay was splendid, 5 - 6 passes and No 10 (Thomas Schofield) ended up with the ball at his feet. The head went down, the wriggling run was had, defender's were left bewildered and when only the goalkeeper was left to beat the man of the moment kept cool and sent in a quite splendid shot. The ball hit the onion bag, the crowd roared, it had been coming, the outcome was fully deserved. Within a spasm of a second the Purps went forth and looked to bounce back, they were defied by a wonderful overhead clearance and a swift counter. The ball went out wide, was flung into the box and Schofield was inches away from doubling his personal tally and his sides advantage. The travelling pack looked stunned, they tried to get a foot in the doorway of this game. A corner came with No 5 (Daniel Dalton) knocking over at the far post and then No 8 (Jack Hazelhurst) weaving in, supplying No 9 (Tom Peterson) who side-footed but had his shot deflected wide. Congo would not lie down though, a long goal kick found Warburton who controlled, turned and released only to be denied by the keeper's awaiting carcass - unlucky squire!
This was a fascinating encounter, the COL crew were on the rack and were finding that life at the top isn't one bed of roses. They duly dug deep and came on, a headed attempt by No 6 (Anthony Brown) was firmly held by the keeper and at the other end No 9 (Daniel Cope) put crust on ball but could only witness the same outcome. Burey was next to cause mayhem as The Bears pressed with untold fervour. The flank was run, a sharp cross forced the visiting No 1 (Ben Ascroft) to dive low and slap away, the incoming striker only just missed the netting! Straight back up the opposite end we went, Dalton had another header held by the mittman and then a long ball found the nut of No 10 (Jamie McDonald) who glanced on into the path of a galloping Peterson. The strike beckoned, the shank was swung, the home netman sprawled and saved with athletic prowess. Congo broke once more, a foul was forced and Cope slapped the dead ball over - a shame, it was worthy of more. Into the final minute we went, The Purple Pack tried to perspire their way back in, it was to no avail, as they dashed forth the ball was pilfered and a stunning pass from Warburton dismantled the visiting defense and allowed No 11 (Emini Adegbenro) to nip in, take a quick peek and double the lead in pure glossed up style. The half came to an end soon after - wow man, what a performance for the black and white platoon!
We stayed put for half-time and chatted to a home fan. A ruddy nice chap who, by chance, knew one of my punk comrades (Lee of Vomit). We were both in agreement that this had been some performance by the home tribe but also reckoned that the City of Liverpool would come out a different proposition for the second half - this is what happened folks!
A blazing start saw crosses come at both ends with no end result. From here both teams tried to stay patient but Congo had a sortie with Adegbenro trying one at the angle and then Cope turning and shooting to bring out a quite solid save. Cope finalised the next burst of pressure by sending in a sublime bender. The keeper kept his eye on the ball and plucked from the air with satisfying grace. There was no rest for the wretched though and a shot from Warburton was a rasping beauty and needed a firm tip over the horizontal to keep this game competitive. The corner produced sweet FA and as darkness set in one wondered how the hell would City of Liverpool get back into this one. No 7 (Joseph Holt) tried a slap shot, it wasn't even close, it kinda summed up his teams day! Next and the Purps penetrated, a free-kick created in-box disarray, a last gasp clearance came, the ball flew long, Cope was found just passed the halfway line and duly turned and galloped. The focus was pure, the pistons pumping quicker than a randy rhino on Viagra. There was still plenty to do when 'wallop' - the globe was belted forth and the net bulged like the trousers of Stan Ogden in a brewery! This was some goal, it was a cherry on a cream-filled cake, nay a tattoo of triumph on the muscular buttocks of the Ursine Army - kiss that!
Now matters settled as the Congo contained and suffocated and now and again had a few passing sequences the crowd duly cheered along to. Fair's fair though and the COL lads never gave up the ghost, No 12 (David Forbes) came close with a jab that just crept wide. From here the game went through the motions with no real threat coming to the Congleton clean sheet. Forbes had a shot deflected over for the visitors and McDonald went into the book. The Bears should have bagged a fourth when their substitute No 12 (Saul Henderson) worked the end line and sent in a low laser-like cross that No 15 (John Main) was unfortunate not to bury. Eventually that was that, the hosts went off to a resounding ovation and for me, their Man of the Match goes to No 5 (Thomas Morris) who I thought was absolutely solid at the back, played with a cool brow and reliability and gave his team a resolute central pivot on which to build and work from. In truth any player from the home pack could have got the nod, this was just one example that caught my eye. Me and the misses pootled off home and were quite pleased with the game we had witnessed - surely one of the best home performances witnessed this year!
FINAL THOUGHT - Another jaunt to the Giver Congo, with 3 goals splashed our way and sent home delighted that the league is still competitive and could still go any way. City of Liverpool were caught with their trousers down today and given a real test they just couldn't find the answers to. For me, as they were before the season began, they are still favourites to win this league due to the fact they have a good depth in quality and play with such consistency that they are always going to be grabbing points here and there. Today however it was all about Congleton, a team now sitting 5 points behind top spot and having put in a shift of quite mesmerizing proportions. The chips were down, the time to shine was now, it was a day that was perhaps, in many ways - shit or bust! The lads came good and did so in a dominating fashion. They will hopefully continue the trend to make this campaign one that will go to the wire. There are many good teams in this league though, some that will pick up better form as the season unfolds so both The Purps and The Bears had best be on their toes (or claws in the latter case) and make sure focus is set to level 'max'. I shall be hopefully viewing both teams again fairly soon, will the chasing pack be closing in or will matters transpire that this is a two-horse race - fill out your betting slips...now!
Sunday, 25 November 2018
Saturday, 24 November 2018
OF SODS AND MONSTERS
23rd November 2018 - Chadderton FC 1 v 2 Prestwich Heys - Of late I have been catching up on the horror movie front, an art-form I have enjoyed since my informative years and one that has perpetually kept the noggin entertained and twisted. 'The Ghoul' from 1975 and 'The Frozen Dead' from 1966 have been the recent cinematic jaunts taken, the first sounding like a non-league strike as pronounced by a Geordie goon, the second quite pertinent and perhaps best describing the state of my testicles after sitting and watching tonight's match - cor blimey the chilliness of it all. As I dragged my carcass from the car into the cold night air, I ambled like a Frankensteinian creature to the hole in the wall and duly partook of the life-inducing brew. A few folk were already in attendance, wrapped up like wannabe Im-Ho-Teps, with the hope of resisting the invading frosted tendrils. STP Stu was in-situ and we duly went into the club bar, supped and swilled whilst partaking on some Red Velvet Cup Cakes. We were confectionery vampires tonight, sinking fangs into sugared flesh and extracting the sweet gifts found therein - welcome to my castle of toothsome content, I bid you....welcome. It was all very cosy but into the darkened night we had to wander, like footballing Werewolves summoned by the call of the whistle rather than the pull of the lunar orb. Positions had, we watched the two competing tribes take to the field and prepare to kick up sods, make haste and hopefully feed upon their opponents energy like a Succubus on heat.
The target of everyone's urgency was pounced upon, the sphere pounded here and there with No 11 (William Shawcross) of the home team dashing straight down the flank and putting in a cross. A touch back found the feet of No 9 (Harry Pratt) who sent in a dipping effort that was neatly tipped over. The corner was easily dealt with but Chaddy kept on coming like irrepressible Zombies of Reaction, no matter how hard The Heys tried to settle the next wave of the onslaught came with crosses, free-kicks and zipping passes all adding to the initial pressure. One ball in particular was played by the home No 2 (Kyle McGovern) it carved open the Hey's defensive flesh like a Freddie Kruger talon down the flesh of a dreaming virgin, was this the moment the blood of triumph would flow. A shot came, the keeper did enough but Shawcross popped up like a bad dream and looked to jab home at the near post - the defensive block was straight out of the uppermost drawer - fantastic. Eventually Prestwich worked and made a move, No 11 (Rio Wilson-Heyes) flew forth, a triumvirate of defending bods were outmaneuvered and a dig at the target was had. The mittman parried, the ball went astray and in stepped No 8 (Adam Farrell) to tap home the presented gift.
Chadderton refused to buckle from this blow against the flow and started to build once more. Heys gained possession and broke away with Wilson-Heyes doing his deviant stuff, laying one off and seeing an extra pass find the feet of No 4 (Liam Healey) who popped one just high of the horizontal. Another warning for Chadderton, take heed lads, 'They're coming to get you Barbara'. A free kick came from a balanced period, the hosts were the recipients and a good ball into a melee was had. From the mush of seeming confusion No 4 (Jordan Butterworth) put bonse on ball, the top of the bar was clattered - a real shame. Heys came back and began to take on the role of The Boston Strangler and apply a certain pressure that looked to suffocate their opponents hopes. Chadderton struggled and squirmed and put up decent resistance which made for a scrappy tussle. The elastic of the footballing underpants was twanged in the grappling with several loose balls exposed. Suddenly the guests captured the attention with a lightning release, Wilson-Heyes was the Van-Helsing of the moment and provided a much needed cross. The ball invaded the box, a nut rose, connected, rustled net - 0 - 2 and as easy as A, B, C. The executioner was No 7 (Bradley Sixsmith), his teammates looked overjoyed. From here until the halftime whistle Prestwich played within their comfort zone, Healey had a chance to close the coffin lid on the outcome but proved trigger shy and the opportunity disappeared into the slightly misted night. Another close shave soon after came via a cross that skinned a few scalps and then we were done - not a bad do at all methinks.
A wander for a brew, man was it needed, a cup cake and a chinwag, we had all made pre-match predictions and we all still had a chance of getting the result bang on the button - stick with it folks, this could be a first!
Part 2 began with the hosts fizzing like an acid bath victim (cue Vincent Price in Scream and Scream Again), The Heys Machine played the measured game and plotted and planned their next attack like a certain oriental master criminal (cue Boris Karloff in The Mask of Fumanchu). An assault duly came, it was with rapier-sincerity and ended with No 10 (Christopher Baguley) attempting to sidefoot home, the block on the line brought a blast of relief from the home teams lungs who dashed down the other end with No 7 (Samuel Riley) providing the finishing hoof. The keeper sprawled and made the save look easier than it was. The ball stayed in play, a cross failed to be connected with but eventually another shot came that just couldn't find the underside of the bar! The Heys came back, a quite stunning move saw 4 blindingly quick passes finish with a cross that was akin to a toothless Count Yorga - no bite at all. This was now a very competitive game, Chadderon came again, Shawcross weaved in, a lovely shot followed, the visiting No 1 (Michael Smith) provided an equally attractive save. The ball went out, No 15 (Jack Ward) had a punt, over! The visitors resisted, stood their ground like a resolute Golem, Ward had another dig for the hosts but again the gloved guardian did what was required and soon after he was in the right place at the right time when the opposing No 10 (Ryan Shenton) nutted close in.
Now the game heated up, Heys put three successive balls into the box, each one stretching the defense like the victim's limbs on a Poe created rack (Bela Lugosi from The Raven would be loving this). Chadderton still forced the issue, Shenton headed one over which looked a real chance to get one back, but then when the same team came gain, Shawcross advanced, indulged in a shimmy and a shake and put one at the feet of No 8 (James Dwyer) who would have believed the outcome, Dwyer took one look, launched a ball that curved through the embryonic autumnal brume and found the top corner of the net with artistic quality. A stunner, and, as in the words of a regenerated Jimmy Saville - 'now then, now then what have we here' (now that's horrific). Heys now looked skeletal (rattled), a low driller killer for Chaddy's Ward could have caused severe pain but it was too direct to cause the keeper any consternation. We now entered The Twilight Zone, the last 15, was there a twist in the tale (add theme tune here)? Shawcross for the hosts thought there might be, he came forth twisted and turned, cut in and once again found the keeper had read matters the right way - the shot though should have had more venom me thinks (check out Jacqueline Pearce in The Reptile - now that's venomous). The game rolled on, a few half chances came at both ends but when the final whistle sounded a just share of the points had been denied and Prestwich had seen this one out and bagged the booty. Man of the Match will go to the Prestwich Heys No 1 (Michael Smith) for a reliable and quite convincing stint between the uprights. He made things look easier than they were, read the game well at all times and certainly made sure the 3 points went down the road - a decent goalkeeping effort if you ask me.
FINAL THOUGHT - A rare Friday night venture out, well worth it and although we went home feeling like Abominable Snowmen, and creaked and groaned like arthritic creatures of the night, this one had been enjoyed. Chadderton put much into their play, they have several player's who really do excel and add flamboyance whenever needed, have a good injection of pace and are keen to advance. The overall team though always frustrates and many a time just doesn't deliver what it promises. I think this is set to change and a good run of form is just around the corner. They are currently 17th, I expect them, come season end, to be at least 6 places better off than this - keep working chaps. Prestwich Heys for me are an annual top 6 performing side and have a nucleus of players that will always put them in good stead. They are gradually shambling up the table like an emerging Behemoth and I think some real waves will be made in the coming months. They play with patience, have a noticeable resilience and seem to ride a hazardous storm mighty well and come out the other end with a surprise or two for attackers with impetus. They, along with their opponents, will no doubt be viewed several more times over the course of the coming campaign, as per, keep yer eye on this B-Movie football and enjoy every nuance, blemish and the naturalistic beauty!
The target of everyone's urgency was pounced upon, the sphere pounded here and there with No 11 (William Shawcross) of the home team dashing straight down the flank and putting in a cross. A touch back found the feet of No 9 (Harry Pratt) who sent in a dipping effort that was neatly tipped over. The corner was easily dealt with but Chaddy kept on coming like irrepressible Zombies of Reaction, no matter how hard The Heys tried to settle the next wave of the onslaught came with crosses, free-kicks and zipping passes all adding to the initial pressure. One ball in particular was played by the home No 2 (Kyle McGovern) it carved open the Hey's defensive flesh like a Freddie Kruger talon down the flesh of a dreaming virgin, was this the moment the blood of triumph would flow. A shot came, the keeper did enough but Shawcross popped up like a bad dream and looked to jab home at the near post - the defensive block was straight out of the uppermost drawer - fantastic. Eventually Prestwich worked and made a move, No 11 (Rio Wilson-Heyes) flew forth, a triumvirate of defending bods were outmaneuvered and a dig at the target was had. The mittman parried, the ball went astray and in stepped No 8 (Adam Farrell) to tap home the presented gift.
Chadderton refused to buckle from this blow against the flow and started to build once more. Heys gained possession and broke away with Wilson-Heyes doing his deviant stuff, laying one off and seeing an extra pass find the feet of No 4 (Liam Healey) who popped one just high of the horizontal. Another warning for Chadderton, take heed lads, 'They're coming to get you Barbara'. A free kick came from a balanced period, the hosts were the recipients and a good ball into a melee was had. From the mush of seeming confusion No 4 (Jordan Butterworth) put bonse on ball, the top of the bar was clattered - a real shame. Heys came back and began to take on the role of The Boston Strangler and apply a certain pressure that looked to suffocate their opponents hopes. Chadderton struggled and squirmed and put up decent resistance which made for a scrappy tussle. The elastic of the footballing underpants was twanged in the grappling with several loose balls exposed. Suddenly the guests captured the attention with a lightning release, Wilson-Heyes was the Van-Helsing of the moment and provided a much needed cross. The ball invaded the box, a nut rose, connected, rustled net - 0 - 2 and as easy as A, B, C. The executioner was No 7 (Bradley Sixsmith), his teammates looked overjoyed. From here until the halftime whistle Prestwich played within their comfort zone, Healey had a chance to close the coffin lid on the outcome but proved trigger shy and the opportunity disappeared into the slightly misted night. Another close shave soon after came via a cross that skinned a few scalps and then we were done - not a bad do at all methinks.
A wander for a brew, man was it needed, a cup cake and a chinwag, we had all made pre-match predictions and we all still had a chance of getting the result bang on the button - stick with it folks, this could be a first!
Part 2 began with the hosts fizzing like an acid bath victim (cue Vincent Price in Scream and Scream Again), The Heys Machine played the measured game and plotted and planned their next attack like a certain oriental master criminal (cue Boris Karloff in The Mask of Fumanchu). An assault duly came, it was with rapier-sincerity and ended with No 10 (Christopher Baguley) attempting to sidefoot home, the block on the line brought a blast of relief from the home teams lungs who dashed down the other end with No 7 (Samuel Riley) providing the finishing hoof. The keeper sprawled and made the save look easier than it was. The ball stayed in play, a cross failed to be connected with but eventually another shot came that just couldn't find the underside of the bar! The Heys came back, a quite stunning move saw 4 blindingly quick passes finish with a cross that was akin to a toothless Count Yorga - no bite at all. This was now a very competitive game, Chadderon came again, Shawcross weaved in, a lovely shot followed, the visiting No 1 (Michael Smith) provided an equally attractive save. The ball went out, No 15 (Jack Ward) had a punt, over! The visitors resisted, stood their ground like a resolute Golem, Ward had another dig for the hosts but again the gloved guardian did what was required and soon after he was in the right place at the right time when the opposing No 10 (Ryan Shenton) nutted close in.
Now the game heated up, Heys put three successive balls into the box, each one stretching the defense like the victim's limbs on a Poe created rack (Bela Lugosi from The Raven would be loving this). Chadderton still forced the issue, Shenton headed one over which looked a real chance to get one back, but then when the same team came gain, Shawcross advanced, indulged in a shimmy and a shake and put one at the feet of No 8 (James Dwyer) who would have believed the outcome, Dwyer took one look, launched a ball that curved through the embryonic autumnal brume and found the top corner of the net with artistic quality. A stunner, and, as in the words of a regenerated Jimmy Saville - 'now then, now then what have we here' (now that's horrific). Heys now looked skeletal (rattled), a low driller killer for Chaddy's Ward could have caused severe pain but it was too direct to cause the keeper any consternation. We now entered The Twilight Zone, the last 15, was there a twist in the tale (add theme tune here)? Shawcross for the hosts thought there might be, he came forth twisted and turned, cut in and once again found the keeper had read matters the right way - the shot though should have had more venom me thinks (check out Jacqueline Pearce in The Reptile - now that's venomous). The game rolled on, a few half chances came at both ends but when the final whistle sounded a just share of the points had been denied and Prestwich had seen this one out and bagged the booty. Man of the Match will go to the Prestwich Heys No 1 (Michael Smith) for a reliable and quite convincing stint between the uprights. He made things look easier than they were, read the game well at all times and certainly made sure the 3 points went down the road - a decent goalkeeping effort if you ask me.
FINAL THOUGHT - A rare Friday night venture out, well worth it and although we went home feeling like Abominable Snowmen, and creaked and groaned like arthritic creatures of the night, this one had been enjoyed. Chadderton put much into their play, they have several player's who really do excel and add flamboyance whenever needed, have a good injection of pace and are keen to advance. The overall team though always frustrates and many a time just doesn't deliver what it promises. I think this is set to change and a good run of form is just around the corner. They are currently 17th, I expect them, come season end, to be at least 6 places better off than this - keep working chaps. Prestwich Heys for me are an annual top 6 performing side and have a nucleus of players that will always put them in good stead. They are gradually shambling up the table like an emerging Behemoth and I think some real waves will be made in the coming months. They play with patience, have a noticeable resilience and seem to ride a hazardous storm mighty well and come out the other end with a surprise or two for attackers with impetus. They, along with their opponents, will no doubt be viewed several more times over the course of the coming campaign, as per, keep yer eye on this B-Movie football and enjoy every nuance, blemish and the naturalistic beauty!
Wednesday, 21 November 2018
AND FROM THE MUCK...
20th November 2018 - Cheadle Heath Nomads 3 v 0 Cammell Laird 1907 - The thermals are dropping, the inner guts of the season are being exposed and as teams do battle on slutch-splattered grounds it is now, and only now, that those with hope will expose their true colours and those in the mire will be bogged down and have to fight for their lives from here on in. Steam will rise, verbals of frustration will fracture frosted air and eyes will spy possible end glory whilst others will ponder the scarred and cruel pitches that hold so many tortuous twists and turns. This is all part of the Non-League drama, the on-going saga that holds many of us transfixed and permanently on the edge of our mix and match, haemorrhoid inducing seats. Thankfully my chuff is free from the anguish of Nobby Stiles and I can park my arse, watch the game and have no fear of a bleeding ring - unless of course I fall victim to Nasty Nob Norman who is said to lurk in the nearby shrubbery and pounce on any distracted supporter and give them a non-soccerised seeing to - ooh heck, thank goodness for my barbed wire underpants! Arriving in good time, I met up with STP Stu, exchanged words of wisdom and wankery with many faces and prepared for the latest globe-hoofing installment. The liquid of tan was purchased and downed, a choccy bar a ruddy necessity and as I took my seat, adjusting the aforementioned undies so has to avoid a circumcision, this is what my salivating appetite was served up.
The start was slightly fractured with a couple of gratis digs for the hosts akin to the barren titties of romantic scribbler Barbara Cartland - producing nowt. The Laird looked to pounce back with sharp, flashing counters, No 7 (Joshua Donnelly) swung his shank trying to catch the wandering mitter off his line but the ball, quite disappointingly, floated shy of the target. Suddenly, from the humping desire, a child of hope was spilled forth as a sweeping relaxation of the attacking muscles allowed a run down the flank to arise and a zipping cross to find the ever-available feet of No 9 (Richard Tindall). The man with an eye for goal was a mere couple of feet out, the zone of glory awaited a penetration (ooh heck I am going all pornographic again) but the feet were over-zealous, the sights not set and the ball was boomed into the misted sable air. It was, to put it mildly, like the arse of Oliver Hardy after a night on the curry - a ruddy stinker! A few early niggles were noted at this stage, a couple of rough and ready tackles flew in, the referee cooled matters with the exposure of his yellow card. The game continued at a hectic pace, The Laird had a period where they looked to display the greatest potency but in the main this was end to end stuff awaiting someone to provide a real sting in the tail. The guests did come close when a free-kick found an advanced bod but the player was surprised by the pace of the cross and duly nutted over - the stalemate continued.
This was a getting a tough one to call with a long ball by the traveller's catching the Nomads on the hop and the No 2 (Ben Dutton-Kelly) allowed to nip in on the blind side. The mittman was in two-minds, a shot eventually came and somehow the home No 1 (Aaron Tyrer) recovered - what a lucky blighter. As the game was still up for grabs I thought Cheadle were guilty of playing one too many touches and Cammell Laird culpable of playing with too much frenzy. Something had to give, and give it did, in the most unlikeliest of circumstances. A throw to the guests, a pilfering was had, a pass followed and Tindall chased. The cause was looking to be lost but the Nomadic frontman refused to give up and the keeper was put under untold pressure and was duly robbed and left to watch the globe be tickled home. The breakthrough had been had, an example of how to 'never say die' was emitted by a goal hungry 'erbert, these often overlooked examples are what can make or break a side - nice work for sure. A few yellows were shown, No 10 (Peter Moore) for the Lairds sent in a dipper that defied gravity and Dutton-Kelly was putting in a cracking stint but all the while Cheadle remained controlled, full of gusto and playing with a fluency to be applauded. The half ended, time for a brew methinks.
A wander for the cha', lo and behold Pete from Abbey Hey was met up with and joined us for the second half. It was good to catch up with this Non-League gent and despite serving a 10 month stint in prison for stalking the illegitimate son of Marjorie Proops (something to do with green shield stamps I think) it was good to see him in fine fettle. And then, the teams re-appeared...
From the opening whistle of this follow-up period Cammell Laird 1907 were working hard and forcing the hosts on the back peg. A free-kick was earned from much hassle, Moore put in a low driller - alas it was not a killer but soon after No 11 (Ryan Burke) bust a gut, was involved in a 2 pass link up and launched one to the top corner - the goal was lucky to escape unblemished. Cheadle responded, a pass out wide came back in and No 8 (Philip Yuillie) put a shot on target that was comfortably dealt with by the keeper. A corner followed due to some great work by No 2 (Jack Warren), the ball in was decent enough but a clobbered keeper marred matters somewhat. Another corner was free of contact and Yuille should have buried when he was in free space and put nut on ball - the contact however was too meaty. As the game progressed the Nomads put together some quite magical passing sequences one of which was finished with a booming shot off target that could easily have been a contender for goal of the season - unlucky chaps. It was all Cheadle now, No 11 (Stephen Kirby) let fly and the mitter could only fumble around the upright. The corner that followed was decent enough, but Cammell Laird survived and tried to quell the impetus.
A break was had for a diabetic player who needed a fix (and why not, only decent methinks) but once proceedings carried on the hosts breezed forth with another slick passing move that culminated in a cross and a cultured and delicate touch by No 10 (Leon Grandison) that brought up the second strike of the night and put the home lads well and truly in control. From here the travellers worked with ardour, a cross, a shot, confusion and a header all came in one feisty flurry but Cheadle survived, broke with zest that saw Grandison drive forth with the keeper to beat. The gap between the striker and the man between the sticks decreased, the option to pass was taken, Tindall was there to bury, instead he hit the keepers legs and had missed his second sitter of the night much to the verbal disgruntlement of a nearby onlooker who compared it to a Stevie Wonder moment. A trifle harsh one thinks, surely even Mr Wonder could have buried that one (wink, wink). These misdemeanors however duly happen and are best soon forgotten and cast away from slanderous environs I sometimes encounter. Onwards the hosts came, a sweet cross needed the slightest nudge home but the toes of Grandison were millimetres away and the visitors still had hope. A sending off for Lairds finished the game as a contest and as I nipped for a quick piddle, retook my seat, I was in time to see Tindall rubber-stamped his efforts with a steady goal that certainly put this game out of reach - a moment that was good to see and will hopefully stop a few death threats coming his way after the aforementioned bloopers. During the final seconds Grandison laid one off to Tindall who tried to grab his hat-trick with a sublime chip - the ball took to the air, began to fall and pinged off the upperside of the bar - and then we were done. Man of the Match could go to many a player from both sides but No 5 (Joe Hare) for Cheadle Heath Nomads was a subtle and stubborn giant at the back and stuck to his task with quiet dedication and rarely let a ball pass during a performance that indicated some real quality. A crucial cog in an efficient wheel that will help the Heath to roll on to bigger and better things.
FINAL THOUGHT - So Cheadle Heath Nomads move onwards and have put together a couple of back to back wins that sees them settle down in 5th position with the front-runner very much in their sights. A couple more wins to keep the sequence going and the festive period could be a very interesting time indeed. Santa may come and empty his sack in any manner of ways but this time, rather that ejaculating forth some soggy satsuma's of misery he could be spraying tangerines of potential triumph for those hungry enough, to suck on (I just hope in all this fruit-based thrusting he doesn't forget my train-set and big-balled Action Man). Cammell Laird 1907 are no mugs and one or two players tonight were bang on the mark. They play with a swift precision, steam away and have a good encouraging factor in their ranks that never let up until the final whistle came. I like that attitude, it will keep the team honest and competitive, tonight they met a good unit on form and sometimes there ain't nowt you can do. If they are writing their Christmas List early there is very little they could ask for - a touch of fortune perhaps, a bottle of Valium just to keep things a little less frenzied and perhaps a signed nude poster of Jimmy Tarbuck that they could hang in their changing rooms and make sure they come out fired up (it takes all sorts tha' knows). It has been a while since we have visited The Kirklands Ground, I must alter the diary and when we do get down there I expect them to be in a far loftier position! To add, during the creation of this report no formal complaints were received from the Barabara Cartland Estate and Mr Richard Tindall is booked in to Spec Savers next Thursday at 1pm, I think a pair of pink framed pebble-glasses will suit him down to the ground!
The start was slightly fractured with a couple of gratis digs for the hosts akin to the barren titties of romantic scribbler Barbara Cartland - producing nowt. The Laird looked to pounce back with sharp, flashing counters, No 7 (Joshua Donnelly) swung his shank trying to catch the wandering mitter off his line but the ball, quite disappointingly, floated shy of the target. Suddenly, from the humping desire, a child of hope was spilled forth as a sweeping relaxation of the attacking muscles allowed a run down the flank to arise and a zipping cross to find the ever-available feet of No 9 (Richard Tindall). The man with an eye for goal was a mere couple of feet out, the zone of glory awaited a penetration (ooh heck I am going all pornographic again) but the feet were over-zealous, the sights not set and the ball was boomed into the misted sable air. It was, to put it mildly, like the arse of Oliver Hardy after a night on the curry - a ruddy stinker! A few early niggles were noted at this stage, a couple of rough and ready tackles flew in, the referee cooled matters with the exposure of his yellow card. The game continued at a hectic pace, The Laird had a period where they looked to display the greatest potency but in the main this was end to end stuff awaiting someone to provide a real sting in the tail. The guests did come close when a free-kick found an advanced bod but the player was surprised by the pace of the cross and duly nutted over - the stalemate continued.
This was a getting a tough one to call with a long ball by the traveller's catching the Nomads on the hop and the No 2 (Ben Dutton-Kelly) allowed to nip in on the blind side. The mittman was in two-minds, a shot eventually came and somehow the home No 1 (Aaron Tyrer) recovered - what a lucky blighter. As the game was still up for grabs I thought Cheadle were guilty of playing one too many touches and Cammell Laird culpable of playing with too much frenzy. Something had to give, and give it did, in the most unlikeliest of circumstances. A throw to the guests, a pilfering was had, a pass followed and Tindall chased. The cause was looking to be lost but the Nomadic frontman refused to give up and the keeper was put under untold pressure and was duly robbed and left to watch the globe be tickled home. The breakthrough had been had, an example of how to 'never say die' was emitted by a goal hungry 'erbert, these often overlooked examples are what can make or break a side - nice work for sure. A few yellows were shown, No 10 (Peter Moore) for the Lairds sent in a dipper that defied gravity and Dutton-Kelly was putting in a cracking stint but all the while Cheadle remained controlled, full of gusto and playing with a fluency to be applauded. The half ended, time for a brew methinks.
A wander for the cha', lo and behold Pete from Abbey Hey was met up with and joined us for the second half. It was good to catch up with this Non-League gent and despite serving a 10 month stint in prison for stalking the illegitimate son of Marjorie Proops (something to do with green shield stamps I think) it was good to see him in fine fettle. And then, the teams re-appeared...
From the opening whistle of this follow-up period Cammell Laird 1907 were working hard and forcing the hosts on the back peg. A free-kick was earned from much hassle, Moore put in a low driller - alas it was not a killer but soon after No 11 (Ryan Burke) bust a gut, was involved in a 2 pass link up and launched one to the top corner - the goal was lucky to escape unblemished. Cheadle responded, a pass out wide came back in and No 8 (Philip Yuillie) put a shot on target that was comfortably dealt with by the keeper. A corner followed due to some great work by No 2 (Jack Warren), the ball in was decent enough but a clobbered keeper marred matters somewhat. Another corner was free of contact and Yuille should have buried when he was in free space and put nut on ball - the contact however was too meaty. As the game progressed the Nomads put together some quite magical passing sequences one of which was finished with a booming shot off target that could easily have been a contender for goal of the season - unlucky chaps. It was all Cheadle now, No 11 (Stephen Kirby) let fly and the mitter could only fumble around the upright. The corner that followed was decent enough, but Cammell Laird survived and tried to quell the impetus.
A break was had for a diabetic player who needed a fix (and why not, only decent methinks) but once proceedings carried on the hosts breezed forth with another slick passing move that culminated in a cross and a cultured and delicate touch by No 10 (Leon Grandison) that brought up the second strike of the night and put the home lads well and truly in control. From here the travellers worked with ardour, a cross, a shot, confusion and a header all came in one feisty flurry but Cheadle survived, broke with zest that saw Grandison drive forth with the keeper to beat. The gap between the striker and the man between the sticks decreased, the option to pass was taken, Tindall was there to bury, instead he hit the keepers legs and had missed his second sitter of the night much to the verbal disgruntlement of a nearby onlooker who compared it to a Stevie Wonder moment. A trifle harsh one thinks, surely even Mr Wonder could have buried that one (wink, wink). These misdemeanors however duly happen and are best soon forgotten and cast away from slanderous environs I sometimes encounter. Onwards the hosts came, a sweet cross needed the slightest nudge home but the toes of Grandison were millimetres away and the visitors still had hope. A sending off for Lairds finished the game as a contest and as I nipped for a quick piddle, retook my seat, I was in time to see Tindall rubber-stamped his efforts with a steady goal that certainly put this game out of reach - a moment that was good to see and will hopefully stop a few death threats coming his way after the aforementioned bloopers. During the final seconds Grandison laid one off to Tindall who tried to grab his hat-trick with a sublime chip - the ball took to the air, began to fall and pinged off the upperside of the bar - and then we were done. Man of the Match could go to many a player from both sides but No 5 (Joe Hare) for Cheadle Heath Nomads was a subtle and stubborn giant at the back and stuck to his task with quiet dedication and rarely let a ball pass during a performance that indicated some real quality. A crucial cog in an efficient wheel that will help the Heath to roll on to bigger and better things.
FINAL THOUGHT - So Cheadle Heath Nomads move onwards and have put together a couple of back to back wins that sees them settle down in 5th position with the front-runner very much in their sights. A couple more wins to keep the sequence going and the festive period could be a very interesting time indeed. Santa may come and empty his sack in any manner of ways but this time, rather that ejaculating forth some soggy satsuma's of misery he could be spraying tangerines of potential triumph for those hungry enough, to suck on (I just hope in all this fruit-based thrusting he doesn't forget my train-set and big-balled Action Man). Cammell Laird 1907 are no mugs and one or two players tonight were bang on the mark. They play with a swift precision, steam away and have a good encouraging factor in their ranks that never let up until the final whistle came. I like that attitude, it will keep the team honest and competitive, tonight they met a good unit on form and sometimes there ain't nowt you can do. If they are writing their Christmas List early there is very little they could ask for - a touch of fortune perhaps, a bottle of Valium just to keep things a little less frenzied and perhaps a signed nude poster of Jimmy Tarbuck that they could hang in their changing rooms and make sure they come out fired up (it takes all sorts tha' knows). It has been a while since we have visited The Kirklands Ground, I must alter the diary and when we do get down there I expect them to be in a far loftier position! To add, during the creation of this report no formal complaints were received from the Barabara Cartland Estate and Mr Richard Tindall is booked in to Spec Savers next Thursday at 1pm, I think a pair of pink framed pebble-glasses will suit him down to the ground!
Sunday, 18 November 2018
ONE HIGH NELSON
17th November 2018 - Nelson FC 1 v 0 Atherton Laburnum Rovers - The morn was spent with 2 lovely folk (applause for Wattie and Lisa) from the musical mire. We met up, had a chat and a cuppa and then wandered around Lomeshaye Marsh NR looking at a few fungi and enjoying the sun. Back to base and we were treated to fine company, veggie sausage butties and tea and cake, and all facing the Nelson FC football ground. After a good chinwag and with 30 minutes before kick-off we said our farewells and headed out, paid our dues and met up with an old punk make and his grand wife (take a bow Gassy and Angela) and indulged in more mandible movement before taking up our viewing spots. The weather was still holding up, the pitch looked decent we had two struggling sides on our hands so this could be a battle of wills and rugged grit. The teams soon came out, there was no time to mess about, here we go again folks!
No sooner had the whistle been blown than Atherton blew forth, put together a 3 pass move that ended with a blunt strike to say the least. Nelson used this early assault as a catalyst and came back with a long ball that saw No 10 (Gareth Hill) advance. The visiting keeper left his line with gusto but mistimed his grab for the ball and clattered the forward prowler - the referee awarded a yellow card and a free-kick. The ball came in from the edge of the box and saw confusion reign with No 5 (Daniel Fagan) nipping in, picking a pocket of space or two and scooping the ball home - game on! From here the hosts pushed hard, ALR scrambled to stay competitive, the game became a balanced affair but the onus was on the guests to get back into this and earn their crusts. A couple of timid efforts were offered up and some quite sanguine build-up play held great promise with No 7 (Lewis Coleman) particularly busy bee in a pack working hard but producing little honey. Suddenly some Nelson confusion was forced with a defender and keeper mis-communicating and an Atherton corner won. The angled punt was over-hit but ALR continued to keep up the momentum and appeared to be shading matters. Nelson however earned the next crack on goal when No 11 (Jake Townsend) displayed quick feet, released to No 9 (William Harris) who turned quicker that tit-milk left in the sun and put in a good low shot. The keeper got down quick and saved well.
There was still little in this when No 10 (Callum Jackson) for The Rovers battled like a dog in a boneyard and won a free-kick from absolutely nothing. No 6 (Bradley Aspinall) popped up and sent in a bender - over the bar it went but hey, it wasn't far off and gave cause for optimism. The Admirals responded in kind, their bonus ball in came close to being knocked home but the visitors rode their luck, soon earned a breakaway but were denied further fortune by a dubious wave of the flag for offside - you can't win em' all chaps. Nelson came again, a streaking wing move saw a low cross get touched homeward only to be blocked at the last - another goal would certainly move this game onto the next level but where, if at all, would it come from. The last few minutes saw Townsend for Nelson have a superb chance to grab the crucial strike, the ball was boomed and flew over - in truth if it would have hit the zone it would have been a trifle cruel for the travellers and when the half-time whistle blew I thought the scoreline was fair enough.
Tea and more gas-bagging, the 15 minutes went mighty quick and when we headed back out the temperature had dropped quicker than the conkers of Adrian Mole aged 15 and 2/5ths with a copy of Buggered Buttocks Internationale in his oily mitts!
Positions taken, Atherton were out with hunger, 2 shots blocked, one on the line, the game was now there to be had, the question was - who wanted it most! 2 corners came for the home blues, the first was somehow scrambled clear, the second came after some stunning graft from their No 2 (Ashley Brierley) but again no further glory was had. The Rovers dug in and tried to force the issue, the problem was that No 6 (Alexander Grice) and No 3 (Jack Corcoran) were having outstanding games for Nelson and shutting any doorways to the final strike zone. Eventually Nelson started to dominate matters as Atherton stood off and allowed their opponents to play doctor with lots of prodding and poking taking place. A full examination of Atherton's guts and resilience was taking place, I was just wondering how long it would be before the underpants of resistance were whipped down and the rear end would be fully stretched (ooh me prostate gland). A few half chances came at both ends, it was nothing to get the pen plastering the paper with ink but the game was still an intriguing affair.
A period of slack passing came, Nelson were the initial beneficiaries with a cross had and No 4 (Kenneth Taylor) connecting well on the volley but failing to stop the elevation of the globe. We entered the back end of matters (see, I knew the doctor would end up getting his hands mucky), ALR pushed, all they needed was a touch of extra strength and urgency. The guests strove on, the hosts absorbed, a Nelson corner was against the impetus, it was swung in with pace and accuracy but Hill could only nut over and fail to sign, seal and deliver the full 3 point package for his battling side. The final moments brought much gusto, Brierley for Nelson added a fine moment with a sizzling sprint down the flank, a Colditz escape from the corner, a dash inwards and a shot that needed a firm hand to keep out. It would have been the perfect way to confirm the victory but, only a few minutes later, the referee halted matters and the full prize was had anyway. This had been a hard contested game and Man of the Match goes to the outstanding Nelson No 6 (Alexander Grice) who was a controlled and immovable force at the back and who played with an unflustered attitude and let his football do the talking. I am always appreciative of those who get the job done quietly and with authority - cracking stuff. So farewells were had, we headed home chilled but happy with another fine jaunt within the network of the North West Counties League.
FINAL THOUGHT - Atherton Laburnum Rovers are bottom of the heap, they are now 7 points adrift and struggling to get the season going - this is a real shame. Today I saw evidence of how this has happened but a few rays of hope too so all is not lost. The problem seems to be the firepower up front and the lack of options when higher up the pitch, something that happened time and time again and needs remedying with a certain gung ho spirit and a focused belief. The players have the potential, it is just finding the inner faith to go for it, play with expression and flood forth when the chance arises. I thought their No 10 (Callum Jackson) and their No 11 (Nathan Strong) got stuck in well early on and set an example that wasn't followed through. It is easy to comment from the touchline though and when fortune is spluttering and confidence down, turning the corner can be a bastard of a task - I still think it can be done. Nelson FC are not a bad outfit and perhaps 16th position in the table is a trifle harsh judging on today's effort. Again it is the killer instinct and sharp-shooting feet that need working on as this one should have been killed of during the first 45 minutes and certainly late on in the second half. A few tweaks and some focused practice and the mid-table beckons but, the season is galloping on and no time is to be wasted if progress is to be had. Several players today were outstanding though and indicated a core to consider and cultivate for a successful season - let us see what the pre-Christmas run in brings and here's to the next visit to The Victoria Ground to see what footballing escapades transpire!
No sooner had the whistle been blown than Atherton blew forth, put together a 3 pass move that ended with a blunt strike to say the least. Nelson used this early assault as a catalyst and came back with a long ball that saw No 10 (Gareth Hill) advance. The visiting keeper left his line with gusto but mistimed his grab for the ball and clattered the forward prowler - the referee awarded a yellow card and a free-kick. The ball came in from the edge of the box and saw confusion reign with No 5 (Daniel Fagan) nipping in, picking a pocket of space or two and scooping the ball home - game on! From here the hosts pushed hard, ALR scrambled to stay competitive, the game became a balanced affair but the onus was on the guests to get back into this and earn their crusts. A couple of timid efforts were offered up and some quite sanguine build-up play held great promise with No 7 (Lewis Coleman) particularly busy bee in a pack working hard but producing little honey. Suddenly some Nelson confusion was forced with a defender and keeper mis-communicating and an Atherton corner won. The angled punt was over-hit but ALR continued to keep up the momentum and appeared to be shading matters. Nelson however earned the next crack on goal when No 11 (Jake Townsend) displayed quick feet, released to No 9 (William Harris) who turned quicker that tit-milk left in the sun and put in a good low shot. The keeper got down quick and saved well.
There was still little in this when No 10 (Callum Jackson) for The Rovers battled like a dog in a boneyard and won a free-kick from absolutely nothing. No 6 (Bradley Aspinall) popped up and sent in a bender - over the bar it went but hey, it wasn't far off and gave cause for optimism. The Admirals responded in kind, their bonus ball in came close to being knocked home but the visitors rode their luck, soon earned a breakaway but were denied further fortune by a dubious wave of the flag for offside - you can't win em' all chaps. Nelson came again, a streaking wing move saw a low cross get touched homeward only to be blocked at the last - another goal would certainly move this game onto the next level but where, if at all, would it come from. The last few minutes saw Townsend for Nelson have a superb chance to grab the crucial strike, the ball was boomed and flew over - in truth if it would have hit the zone it would have been a trifle cruel for the travellers and when the half-time whistle blew I thought the scoreline was fair enough.
Tea and more gas-bagging, the 15 minutes went mighty quick and when we headed back out the temperature had dropped quicker than the conkers of Adrian Mole aged 15 and 2/5ths with a copy of Buggered Buttocks Internationale in his oily mitts!
Positions taken, Atherton were out with hunger, 2 shots blocked, one on the line, the game was now there to be had, the question was - who wanted it most! 2 corners came for the home blues, the first was somehow scrambled clear, the second came after some stunning graft from their No 2 (Ashley Brierley) but again no further glory was had. The Rovers dug in and tried to force the issue, the problem was that No 6 (Alexander Grice) and No 3 (Jack Corcoran) were having outstanding games for Nelson and shutting any doorways to the final strike zone. Eventually Nelson started to dominate matters as Atherton stood off and allowed their opponents to play doctor with lots of prodding and poking taking place. A full examination of Atherton's guts and resilience was taking place, I was just wondering how long it would be before the underpants of resistance were whipped down and the rear end would be fully stretched (ooh me prostate gland). A few half chances came at both ends, it was nothing to get the pen plastering the paper with ink but the game was still an intriguing affair.
A period of slack passing came, Nelson were the initial beneficiaries with a cross had and No 4 (Kenneth Taylor) connecting well on the volley but failing to stop the elevation of the globe. We entered the back end of matters (see, I knew the doctor would end up getting his hands mucky), ALR pushed, all they needed was a touch of extra strength and urgency. The guests strove on, the hosts absorbed, a Nelson corner was against the impetus, it was swung in with pace and accuracy but Hill could only nut over and fail to sign, seal and deliver the full 3 point package for his battling side. The final moments brought much gusto, Brierley for Nelson added a fine moment with a sizzling sprint down the flank, a Colditz escape from the corner, a dash inwards and a shot that needed a firm hand to keep out. It would have been the perfect way to confirm the victory but, only a few minutes later, the referee halted matters and the full prize was had anyway. This had been a hard contested game and Man of the Match goes to the outstanding Nelson No 6 (Alexander Grice) who was a controlled and immovable force at the back and who played with an unflustered attitude and let his football do the talking. I am always appreciative of those who get the job done quietly and with authority - cracking stuff. So farewells were had, we headed home chilled but happy with another fine jaunt within the network of the North West Counties League.
FINAL THOUGHT - Atherton Laburnum Rovers are bottom of the heap, they are now 7 points adrift and struggling to get the season going - this is a real shame. Today I saw evidence of how this has happened but a few rays of hope too so all is not lost. The problem seems to be the firepower up front and the lack of options when higher up the pitch, something that happened time and time again and needs remedying with a certain gung ho spirit and a focused belief. The players have the potential, it is just finding the inner faith to go for it, play with expression and flood forth when the chance arises. I thought their No 10 (Callum Jackson) and their No 11 (Nathan Strong) got stuck in well early on and set an example that wasn't followed through. It is easy to comment from the touchline though and when fortune is spluttering and confidence down, turning the corner can be a bastard of a task - I still think it can be done. Nelson FC are not a bad outfit and perhaps 16th position in the table is a trifle harsh judging on today's effort. Again it is the killer instinct and sharp-shooting feet that need working on as this one should have been killed of during the first 45 minutes and certainly late on in the second half. A few tweaks and some focused practice and the mid-table beckons but, the season is galloping on and no time is to be wasted if progress is to be had. Several players today were outstanding though and indicated a core to consider and cultivate for a successful season - let us see what the pre-Christmas run in brings and here's to the next visit to The Victoria Ground to see what footballing escapades transpire!
Wednesday, 14 November 2018
HEY PRESTO
13th November 2018 - Prestwich Heys 3 v 1 Bacup Borough FC - I am in pain, the bruise on the side of my arse is a multi-coloured mess, my upper back is twanging and my neck stiff - such are the hazards of riding a bike too fast downhill and coming off like a sack of lead-laden shit. After a busy day at work I rode slowly home, did some exercising and tried to ease the stiffness (no, not masturbating you filthy minded buggers), alas it was only a temporary relief. After watching some idle TV (Tipping Point is a brain drain) my fine lady came home, we had a quick nibble (oh you naughty buggers), got sorted and made our way to another favoured ground. Upon arrival STP Stu turned up and we all had a cuppa whilst tossing around the verbals and preparing for the game ahead. Agreement was had as to this being a close-one but, going off recent predictions, there was as much chance of Sandi Toksvig going topless for The Daily Star (perish the thought) than any of us picking the right result. The night air was kissed by frosted lips, we 3 onlookers were prepared although I find it baffling that, in this climate, one can drink one cup of tea and yet piss 6 pints - the laws of liquid need re-examining methinks. And, ahem, onwards, take yer pick folks, all will be revealed over the course of this textual tale, these are my notes.
From the first Bacup charged with No 7 (Anthony Hall) putting in some splendid work and finding time to lay off to a colleague who was a little trigger shy and let a half-chance disappear into the quite clement night air. A few moments later and No 10 (Michael Gervin) knocked in a plum pass that allowed No 11 (Matthew Dell) to try his luck only to find darkened depths rather than glorious mesh. Despite allowing 2 semi-opportunities The Heys were unflustered and were just shading matters in midfield where, as it transpired, most of the 1st half would take place. Both teams snuffed each other out and it became a battle of wills and tactics as the middle of the park became an entanglement of posers to be worked out and hopefully conquered. Eventually, as the playing surface was clattered by booted feet and the turf was kicked up by perspired endeavor, small glimpses of daylight were offered to each team and the game started to open wide. Evenly poised there was still little to report and with half-time closing in a complete shutdown was the scenario. No 4 (Adrian Bellamy) for Bacup was resolute and solid at the back, No 11 (Rio Wilson-Heyes) looked to have potential for Heys as he wriggled and squirmed trying to slip away from a strong rear guard stranglehold.
The 38th minute arrived, the first chance of any substance came when No 9 (Micah Evans) galloped from the porridge (an apt description Mr STP) and sent in a shot that was saved, rebounded outward and fell to No 6 (Darcy O' Connor) whose effort was blocked right on the line. It was close but this was a niggardly contest not willing to part with the steam off its well-pumped arse. A free-kick was the last action of the half, it came the way of Prestwich Heys. The ball into the perilous zone was glowing, it missed many heads and No 5 (Mark Ayres) looked shocked to find the ball at his feet so close in front of goal. The touch was clumsy, the mitter collected and soon after the players were wandering off and we were partaking of a cuppa.
A thinking man's game this, one for the connoisseur of all things tight. You know the kind of tight things I mean I am sure - the nut sack of a young Aled Jones, the man-girdle of Thomas Brolin and the bra-strap of 60's love machine Glenda O'Gussets. I wondered if any penetration would ensue, with the game that is and not in Ms O'Gussets private area.
The players reentered the arena, Bacup were out with an eagerness and No 3 (Davison Banda) exemplified this with some hard battling that earned a situation to shoot. Alas it was a tame effort but soon after a cross came and found the awaiting Evans who chested down, volleyed and found the outside of the upright - promising indeed. Heys responded, a corner was won and when the ball came in bodies were seen to fly all ways. From the mess the ball squirted out and went over the bar - it could have been so much more. Matters now became intense, the midfield once more became the major battleground, escaping the melee was one problematical task. The Heys put forth several decent balls but all to no avail, Bacup were steadfast and were happy to absorb and try and sneak in a quick counter. Eventually the guests won a free-kick, was this the chance to break the deadlock and strike gold. The ball was hoofed, it was a wasted effort and Heys broke with zest. A fine cross ball came and found Wilson-Heyes on the edge of the box. A quick touch, one look and the shank was swung. Up and over the keeper the ball went and found the elusive target, what a beautiful way to smash the barren dilemma that had both teams by the puzzled conkers. 1 - 0 to the hosts, now we had a game to savour.
Heys pushed on from here, a corner came and like an ex-partner of Elton John, was given fisted attention. Bacup were being outworked, Wilson-Heyes for the hosts was a perpetual pain in the proverbials, he nipped in once more but the end shot was idle and caused little concern. A corner came within seconds, the ball in was choice, it was knocked out and the home No 6 (Jacob Wood) had a rush of adrenalin and swung his peg like a man possessed - the outcome was rather reckless - we shall move on and say no more. The home pack now had their tails up, a cross ball saw Wood add an extra touch and Wilson-Heyes pick matters up, nudge the globe into position and bang, 2 - 0 - why thank you ma'am. This was now a game that was in stark contrast to what had transpired in the first half, both teams were playing with greater abandon and more fluency. As Prestwich pressured again a clearance found Hall of Bacup who got the turnip down and sprinted like a wasp-pursued Alan Wells. Into the box he ended up and was duly bungled to the deck - the referee gave a penalty and Hall added gloss to his labour with a safe and steady stroke home - now then, were we in for a surprise here.
Suddenly Bacup found renewed energy, Gervin was ravenous for glory, he found space and struck, the save was sturdy and the follow-up by Hall should have been buried. Next and a defensive mix-up by the hosts, No 14 (Bobby Carter) had time to kill and let fly with gusto, the mittman (Michael Smith) was on form tonight, another decent block was had. Bacup did find the net with 4 minutes on the clock but an infringement had been spotted, the equaliser remained out of reach. Bacup pushed once more. Gervin was in but some stunning defensive work blighted his endeavour. A free-kick came, a bout of ping-pong in the box ended with a handball claim, the ref was having none of it. As The Borough Boys gave it their best they were caught on the hop by a rapier attack that saw a cross finish at the feet of No 15 (Bradley Sixsmith) who let loose a rasper. The keeper stretched and produced an exquisite save but Wilson-Heyes was soon in after an untoward moment when Bacup advanced and the carcass of the referee got in the way. The backlash was quick and direct, the player at the helm finished with aplomb and grabbed his hat-trick and finished the game proper. A few minutes later and all done, Heys had won this through sheer strength of will and belief and Man of the Match must go to their No 11 (Rio Wilson-Heyes) for some swift thinking, a perpetual weaving performance and of course, 3 sweetly taken goals. I think all went home after this sated, it had been a game to ponder, it had been a game worthy of anyone's time.
FINAL THOUGHT - From the constipated hat of the match-making magician 4 goals had been eventually bagged from a game that seemed destined to end in a fuck-all draw. The first 45 showcased two teams with discipline, stubbornness and a good level of communication that halted their oppositions progress. The only blip was that the odd touch of composure and commanding pass was lacking but other than that is was a good contested period that made each and every player earn their crust. The second period saw a greater freedom allow many participants a chance to express themselves and the only difference between the teams tonight was a touch of fortune and the width of play. Prestwich were allowed to play wider, their No 6 (Jacob Wood) who always puts in a worthwhile stint, was allowed to advance too many times and Bacup just played with too much hurry rather than take time to own the ball and play the game at their own tempo. On another night the scoreline could easily have gone a different way but Heys are a unit not to underestimate and are a formidable nut to break open with many release valves to worry about. As far as the rest of the season goes there is nothing here to ring any alarm bells and I reckon both should finish in a healthy position come the final whistle. In the case of the home side, I wondered if there is space in the trophy cabinet for the Lancashire Challenge Cup - if not, it may be worth making some!
From the first Bacup charged with No 7 (Anthony Hall) putting in some splendid work and finding time to lay off to a colleague who was a little trigger shy and let a half-chance disappear into the quite clement night air. A few moments later and No 10 (Michael Gervin) knocked in a plum pass that allowed No 11 (Matthew Dell) to try his luck only to find darkened depths rather than glorious mesh. Despite allowing 2 semi-opportunities The Heys were unflustered and were just shading matters in midfield where, as it transpired, most of the 1st half would take place. Both teams snuffed each other out and it became a battle of wills and tactics as the middle of the park became an entanglement of posers to be worked out and hopefully conquered. Eventually, as the playing surface was clattered by booted feet and the turf was kicked up by perspired endeavor, small glimpses of daylight were offered to each team and the game started to open wide. Evenly poised there was still little to report and with half-time closing in a complete shutdown was the scenario. No 4 (Adrian Bellamy) for Bacup was resolute and solid at the back, No 11 (Rio Wilson-Heyes) looked to have potential for Heys as he wriggled and squirmed trying to slip away from a strong rear guard stranglehold.
The 38th minute arrived, the first chance of any substance came when No 9 (Micah Evans) galloped from the porridge (an apt description Mr STP) and sent in a shot that was saved, rebounded outward and fell to No 6 (Darcy O' Connor) whose effort was blocked right on the line. It was close but this was a niggardly contest not willing to part with the steam off its well-pumped arse. A free-kick was the last action of the half, it came the way of Prestwich Heys. The ball into the perilous zone was glowing, it missed many heads and No 5 (Mark Ayres) looked shocked to find the ball at his feet so close in front of goal. The touch was clumsy, the mitter collected and soon after the players were wandering off and we were partaking of a cuppa.
A thinking man's game this, one for the connoisseur of all things tight. You know the kind of tight things I mean I am sure - the nut sack of a young Aled Jones, the man-girdle of Thomas Brolin and the bra-strap of 60's love machine Glenda O'Gussets. I wondered if any penetration would ensue, with the game that is and not in Ms O'Gussets private area.
The players reentered the arena, Bacup were out with an eagerness and No 3 (Davison Banda) exemplified this with some hard battling that earned a situation to shoot. Alas it was a tame effort but soon after a cross came and found the awaiting Evans who chested down, volleyed and found the outside of the upright - promising indeed. Heys responded, a corner was won and when the ball came in bodies were seen to fly all ways. From the mess the ball squirted out and went over the bar - it could have been so much more. Matters now became intense, the midfield once more became the major battleground, escaping the melee was one problematical task. The Heys put forth several decent balls but all to no avail, Bacup were steadfast and were happy to absorb and try and sneak in a quick counter. Eventually the guests won a free-kick, was this the chance to break the deadlock and strike gold. The ball was hoofed, it was a wasted effort and Heys broke with zest. A fine cross ball came and found Wilson-Heyes on the edge of the box. A quick touch, one look and the shank was swung. Up and over the keeper the ball went and found the elusive target, what a beautiful way to smash the barren dilemma that had both teams by the puzzled conkers. 1 - 0 to the hosts, now we had a game to savour.
Heys pushed on from here, a corner came and like an ex-partner of Elton John, was given fisted attention. Bacup were being outworked, Wilson-Heyes for the hosts was a perpetual pain in the proverbials, he nipped in once more but the end shot was idle and caused little concern. A corner came within seconds, the ball in was choice, it was knocked out and the home No 6 (Jacob Wood) had a rush of adrenalin and swung his peg like a man possessed - the outcome was rather reckless - we shall move on and say no more. The home pack now had their tails up, a cross ball saw Wood add an extra touch and Wilson-Heyes pick matters up, nudge the globe into position and bang, 2 - 0 - why thank you ma'am. This was now a game that was in stark contrast to what had transpired in the first half, both teams were playing with greater abandon and more fluency. As Prestwich pressured again a clearance found Hall of Bacup who got the turnip down and sprinted like a wasp-pursued Alan Wells. Into the box he ended up and was duly bungled to the deck - the referee gave a penalty and Hall added gloss to his labour with a safe and steady stroke home - now then, were we in for a surprise here.
Suddenly Bacup found renewed energy, Gervin was ravenous for glory, he found space and struck, the save was sturdy and the follow-up by Hall should have been buried. Next and a defensive mix-up by the hosts, No 14 (Bobby Carter) had time to kill and let fly with gusto, the mittman (Michael Smith) was on form tonight, another decent block was had. Bacup did find the net with 4 minutes on the clock but an infringement had been spotted, the equaliser remained out of reach. Bacup pushed once more. Gervin was in but some stunning defensive work blighted his endeavour. A free-kick came, a bout of ping-pong in the box ended with a handball claim, the ref was having none of it. As The Borough Boys gave it their best they were caught on the hop by a rapier attack that saw a cross finish at the feet of No 15 (Bradley Sixsmith) who let loose a rasper. The keeper stretched and produced an exquisite save but Wilson-Heyes was soon in after an untoward moment when Bacup advanced and the carcass of the referee got in the way. The backlash was quick and direct, the player at the helm finished with aplomb and grabbed his hat-trick and finished the game proper. A few minutes later and all done, Heys had won this through sheer strength of will and belief and Man of the Match must go to their No 11 (Rio Wilson-Heyes) for some swift thinking, a perpetual weaving performance and of course, 3 sweetly taken goals. I think all went home after this sated, it had been a game to ponder, it had been a game worthy of anyone's time.
FINAL THOUGHT - From the constipated hat of the match-making magician 4 goals had been eventually bagged from a game that seemed destined to end in a fuck-all draw. The first 45 showcased two teams with discipline, stubbornness and a good level of communication that halted their oppositions progress. The only blip was that the odd touch of composure and commanding pass was lacking but other than that is was a good contested period that made each and every player earn their crust. The second period saw a greater freedom allow many participants a chance to express themselves and the only difference between the teams tonight was a touch of fortune and the width of play. Prestwich were allowed to play wider, their No 6 (Jacob Wood) who always puts in a worthwhile stint, was allowed to advance too many times and Bacup just played with too much hurry rather than take time to own the ball and play the game at their own tempo. On another night the scoreline could easily have gone a different way but Heys are a unit not to underestimate and are a formidable nut to break open with many release valves to worry about. As far as the rest of the season goes there is nothing here to ring any alarm bells and I reckon both should finish in a healthy position come the final whistle. In the case of the home side, I wondered if there is space in the trophy cabinet for the Lancashire Challenge Cup - if not, it may be worth making some!
Saturday, 10 November 2018
SKY HIGH RY
10th November 2018 - Rylands FC 5 v 0 Cheadle Heath Nomads - The week had been long, a shed load of work had been got through at my place of labour and one day, when cycling home, I came off my bike and went with a wallop. My legs and back are aching, my upper right arm quite sore too and the side of my buttocks are bruised but, my private parts are still in one piece and my date with the photographer from 'Conkers Internationale' is still on. The photo shoot will be based in Perspiring Pamela's North Yorkshire garden were I will pose in rather candid positions whilst trying to bring the spotlight on the History of the Rolling Pin and the plight of the Nipple Ant - one has to put back. So a usual Saturday morn was spent, we hit the road with enough time to avoid any pesky road works and arrived looking forward to a meeting between two teams new to the North West Counties fiasco. This Macron Cup encounter could be a very close one, closer than the inner thigh's of Mick McManus, tighter than one Bertie Wooster after a night at The Drones. Having said this it could go one way or the other, hence the reason I was on the edge of my seat, well that and the aforementioned sore arse. Before kick of the players, fans and officials all stood in memory of the fallen, the victims of war where wasted lives are there to be learned from and bravery duly respected - the silence was spot on and the fact that all today's takings on the gate were to be donated to the Royal British Legion says so much about both teams.
The object without corners was kicked on the surface with corners and my peepers were peeled and as keen as ever. Rylands were immediately on it, 2 crosses were whipped in, the second of these needing attention from the visiting No 4 (Ashley Crank) who put behind without delay. The corner in had decent accuracy but an infringement was spotted and the chance negated. The hosts galloped forth once again, pace was used as well as many angles, with a cross eventually coming that allowed No 9 (Jamie White) to slide the ball home beneath the keeper's tangerine clad carcass. Soon after and Rylands came forth with a stunning pass finding No 2 (Carl Lownsborough) who moved in from the angle and hammered a low pile-driver that the away mitter (Aaron Tyrer) did well to palm behind. 2 corners followed, the first was rattled behind, the second comfortably dealt with. Cheadle eventually pushed themselves back into the game, a few steaming tackles were won that fed No 11 (Stephen Kirby) who put one onto the bonse of No 9 (Richard Tindall). The header was loaded but from a wayward barrel and the target zone remained untroubled. Rylands hit back with more crosses, one of these was lofted high and dropped from the sky like a heavenly testicle, perhaps the Angel of Hitler (oxymoron) had dropped. The home No 11 (Steven Boothman) picked up on what the defenders failed to deal with and after one bounce belted forth a shot with much gumption. Alas the beef added was overly done, the ball flew over into the nearby gypsy settlement!
Cheadle now looked like a side re-energised and had a great 10 minute spell of pressure that exhibited some rapid passing sequences and a screaming thunderbolt from No 2 (Jack Warren) that shook the upright down to its foundations. As the ball came out it was soon won back and Tindall put in a straight drive that warmed the mittmans digits and no doubt sent tremors to parts best left unmentioned. At the other end No 10 (Liam Moran) was put in and in truth should have nailed home the 2nd strike of the game but the end touch was rather gentle to say the least. The Nomads bounced back, No 8 (Phillip Yuille) worked away in the corner and found enough space to cross and graze the globe of Tindall who sent the ball onwards just off the mark. The response was urgent and effective with Lownsborough charging forth and creating time to shoot. Instead he unselfishly laid one off for Moran to tap home. Now 2 goals down Cheadle had to work hard and it was Tindall again who forced an error and sent in a graceful chip that was blocked by a decent one-handed save. As time ticked Rylands remained on top and could have gone 3 up when a free-kick by Boothman was slammed toward the goal and needed the attention of the keeper who just managed to tip over. The corner came, it went long and was picked up by a Ryland's bod who almost turned hopelessness into unadulterated magic with a run in the box that was struck from the acutest angle and trembled the far post. The last blast came from Cheadle with an overly-elevated free-kick - and we were done.
A nip for a gypsy's kiss, a cuppa and a chat with a groundhopping gent who hadn't missed a sporting event on a Saturday all year. Rugby League, Rugby Union and Football were his fix, I am happy to stick with those playing with normal shaped balls.
Back to our seats, The Nomads were out with great purpose ('getting stuck in' I think the term is in more vulgar circles) but Rylands were resolute and found ground to put in a free-kick that was punched out without conviction with a close-in shot somehow getting deflected behind. The corner was wasted but the hosts soon came again, undeterred and like a Jack Russell I used to own who frequently tried to impregnate my lower leg, full of rabid desire! Cheadle were akin to a man with the shits and floundered in the rear, the resultant mess was exposed. White for Rylands held the ball up and laid off for Boothman to drill directly home. At 3 goals down, Cheadle were up against it with their opponents a very hot property with many options available when in possession. A few subs followed, Cheadle once more dillied and dallied at the back and allowed the ball to be gained, a cross to come and Moran to find the ball at his feet with room to spare. The keeper advanced. the striker remained cool and picked his spot - 4 - 0 may seem a harsh scoreline but in brutal truth, it was deserved.
From here Moran had a chance following more industrious pressure. His shot this time was negated by an outstretched shank and the keeper was glad to gather. Cheadle dug deep, Tindall turned and slapped one off the peg but again elevation was high and the green clad guardian between the sticks was left unflustered. Despite Rylands being comfortable they could have added a few more strikes if they would have avoided a very obvious offside trap although their No 8 (Stephen Wolhuter) did managed a low drive that just missed the far stick. Into the home run we went, Tindall again offered the only hope for the visitors and a cute touch deserved a goal but was duly tipped over for an angled kick. The ball came in, was cleared and followed by a tackle that many deemed dangerous - the referee saw otherwise and waved play on. With a couple of minutes left The Nomads once again pissed about at the back, Wolhuter gained the ball and pulled the one legged bandit of fortune. The globe took to the air, the curve was subtle and as the keeper back-pedaled he was lacking in pace as the net was found and a gilt edge was added to the final score. At the death a goal-line clearance saved further blushes and the the whistle was blown. The Man of the Match goes to Ryland's No 8 (Stephen Wolhuter) for some magnificent running, some great on and off the ball movement and a final goal of true quality - it capped a good stint by himself and his comrades. We wandered off astounded by the scoreline here, I think Rylands may be on to something rather good.
FINAL THOUGHT - Cheadle Heath Nomads came today perhaps with hopes high but reality firmly held. They tried their best but they were pressured throughout, were out-thought in many areas and were put in a position early on where they were chasing a very elusive game. To add to this they were running out a few new faces and looked like a team who need a short rest to recharge the batteries and get back on form and in the veritable mix. Highs and lows are part and parcel of the season, it is all a question of how you ride them and how much unity within the ranks you can show - I am sure they will be back to winning ways soon. Today however they were up against a very choice unit who seem to have all areas covered and have no real weaknesses. What was the deciding factor though was the strength on and off the ball and the eagerness to chase down everything and duly force errors. They play with nice width, they communicate well and they have several players who could easily move to the next level. If this squad stays together they will certainly jump to the next grade, but remember the road is long, the road is hard, there are many miles to travel before the pot of gold is attained. I will certainly be back to this pure Non-League ground this season, a bit more of the same will do very nicely thank you.
The object without corners was kicked on the surface with corners and my peepers were peeled and as keen as ever. Rylands were immediately on it, 2 crosses were whipped in, the second of these needing attention from the visiting No 4 (Ashley Crank) who put behind without delay. The corner in had decent accuracy but an infringement was spotted and the chance negated. The hosts galloped forth once again, pace was used as well as many angles, with a cross eventually coming that allowed No 9 (Jamie White) to slide the ball home beneath the keeper's tangerine clad carcass. Soon after and Rylands came forth with a stunning pass finding No 2 (Carl Lownsborough) who moved in from the angle and hammered a low pile-driver that the away mitter (Aaron Tyrer) did well to palm behind. 2 corners followed, the first was rattled behind, the second comfortably dealt with. Cheadle eventually pushed themselves back into the game, a few steaming tackles were won that fed No 11 (Stephen Kirby) who put one onto the bonse of No 9 (Richard Tindall). The header was loaded but from a wayward barrel and the target zone remained untroubled. Rylands hit back with more crosses, one of these was lofted high and dropped from the sky like a heavenly testicle, perhaps the Angel of Hitler (oxymoron) had dropped. The home No 11 (Steven Boothman) picked up on what the defenders failed to deal with and after one bounce belted forth a shot with much gumption. Alas the beef added was overly done, the ball flew over into the nearby gypsy settlement!
Cheadle now looked like a side re-energised and had a great 10 minute spell of pressure that exhibited some rapid passing sequences and a screaming thunderbolt from No 2 (Jack Warren) that shook the upright down to its foundations. As the ball came out it was soon won back and Tindall put in a straight drive that warmed the mittmans digits and no doubt sent tremors to parts best left unmentioned. At the other end No 10 (Liam Moran) was put in and in truth should have nailed home the 2nd strike of the game but the end touch was rather gentle to say the least. The Nomads bounced back, No 8 (Phillip Yuille) worked away in the corner and found enough space to cross and graze the globe of Tindall who sent the ball onwards just off the mark. The response was urgent and effective with Lownsborough charging forth and creating time to shoot. Instead he unselfishly laid one off for Moran to tap home. Now 2 goals down Cheadle had to work hard and it was Tindall again who forced an error and sent in a graceful chip that was blocked by a decent one-handed save. As time ticked Rylands remained on top and could have gone 3 up when a free-kick by Boothman was slammed toward the goal and needed the attention of the keeper who just managed to tip over. The corner came, it went long and was picked up by a Ryland's bod who almost turned hopelessness into unadulterated magic with a run in the box that was struck from the acutest angle and trembled the far post. The last blast came from Cheadle with an overly-elevated free-kick - and we were done.
A nip for a gypsy's kiss, a cuppa and a chat with a groundhopping gent who hadn't missed a sporting event on a Saturday all year. Rugby League, Rugby Union and Football were his fix, I am happy to stick with those playing with normal shaped balls.
Back to our seats, The Nomads were out with great purpose ('getting stuck in' I think the term is in more vulgar circles) but Rylands were resolute and found ground to put in a free-kick that was punched out without conviction with a close-in shot somehow getting deflected behind. The corner was wasted but the hosts soon came again, undeterred and like a Jack Russell I used to own who frequently tried to impregnate my lower leg, full of rabid desire! Cheadle were akin to a man with the shits and floundered in the rear, the resultant mess was exposed. White for Rylands held the ball up and laid off for Boothman to drill directly home. At 3 goals down, Cheadle were up against it with their opponents a very hot property with many options available when in possession. A few subs followed, Cheadle once more dillied and dallied at the back and allowed the ball to be gained, a cross to come and Moran to find the ball at his feet with room to spare. The keeper advanced. the striker remained cool and picked his spot - 4 - 0 may seem a harsh scoreline but in brutal truth, it was deserved.
From here Moran had a chance following more industrious pressure. His shot this time was negated by an outstretched shank and the keeper was glad to gather. Cheadle dug deep, Tindall turned and slapped one off the peg but again elevation was high and the green clad guardian between the sticks was left unflustered. Despite Rylands being comfortable they could have added a few more strikes if they would have avoided a very obvious offside trap although their No 8 (Stephen Wolhuter) did managed a low drive that just missed the far stick. Into the home run we went, Tindall again offered the only hope for the visitors and a cute touch deserved a goal but was duly tipped over for an angled kick. The ball came in, was cleared and followed by a tackle that many deemed dangerous - the referee saw otherwise and waved play on. With a couple of minutes left The Nomads once again pissed about at the back, Wolhuter gained the ball and pulled the one legged bandit of fortune. The globe took to the air, the curve was subtle and as the keeper back-pedaled he was lacking in pace as the net was found and a gilt edge was added to the final score. At the death a goal-line clearance saved further blushes and the the whistle was blown. The Man of the Match goes to Ryland's No 8 (Stephen Wolhuter) for some magnificent running, some great on and off the ball movement and a final goal of true quality - it capped a good stint by himself and his comrades. We wandered off astounded by the scoreline here, I think Rylands may be on to something rather good.
FINAL THOUGHT - Cheadle Heath Nomads came today perhaps with hopes high but reality firmly held. They tried their best but they were pressured throughout, were out-thought in many areas and were put in a position early on where they were chasing a very elusive game. To add to this they were running out a few new faces and looked like a team who need a short rest to recharge the batteries and get back on form and in the veritable mix. Highs and lows are part and parcel of the season, it is all a question of how you ride them and how much unity within the ranks you can show - I am sure they will be back to winning ways soon. Today however they were up against a very choice unit who seem to have all areas covered and have no real weaknesses. What was the deciding factor though was the strength on and off the ball and the eagerness to chase down everything and duly force errors. They play with nice width, they communicate well and they have several players who could easily move to the next level. If this squad stays together they will certainly jump to the next grade, but remember the road is long, the road is hard, there are many miles to travel before the pot of gold is attained. I will certainly be back to this pure Non-League ground this season, a bit more of the same will do very nicely thank you.
Thursday, 8 November 2018
FROM THE SHITE TO THE SHINY
6th November 2018 - West Didsbury & Chorlton 0 v 5 Ashton Athletic - A very busy day at work but tis time to catch up before the pre-Christmas flush. The fungus season is over and has been a success and I have managed to keep up a consistent run of football matches during a quite hectic diarised run. This was my first viewing of these two sides this time around with both teams, surprisingly, floundering in the bottom 5 and in desperate need of some points and confidence. Alas this was the 2nd Round of the Lancashire Challenge Trophy so it was a situation of two predicaments. Do the teams go for a solid cup run and risk all or do they take the foot off the gas and save all efforts for the league and the long term haul? It all comes down to depth of quality, the inner belief and of course, how big the carrot is that is dangled before the doofers. Tonight it was chilly enough not to ponder on dangled vegetables (plus the police may be close by) so I turned up, met up with my good chum STP Stu and nattered along until the teams appeared. Predictions were made, we have still to get one right this year although my good lady did predict the recent 0 - 0 draw at Llandudno. I had opted for an away win, Stu had gone the same way - one could almost hear the gambling fraternity run for cover.
And away we went, the ball flying over the baize and the players legs pumping like pistons. The start was well matched with No 11 (Ryan Crowther) for the hosts having an early drill with too much uplift and so hit leafage rather than mesh. The guests hit back with a rapier cross that needed defending. A ball came from the angle, it found a crust at the far stick that produced a pseudo-attempt on goal. The keeper leapt and fumbled and up popped No 9 (Adam Gilcrest) to tap home. From here a nip and tuck session ensued with Ashton's No 11 (Adam Howard) bursting in from nowhere and looking to charge forth and bury. The first touch was sweet, the second awful, the lads on the bench groaned in disgusted agony. Ashton came again moments later, No 2 (Saul Guffogg) advanced and blazed in a concrete cross that found the head of Gilcrest who could only nut wide - the pace was just a little too harsh. The WDC lads were struggling to get into this one, they were unsettled and kept in check by a very busy opposition. The few crosses the hosts did put in exhibited little threat and the first signs of an uphill struggle were apparent. From a constant onslaught Ashton drilled in two firm pops that rattled against well flung body flesh but when the ball rebounded out and No 3 (Charlie Munro) found himself in control he decided to chance the shank and see what the outcome would be. The result - a fine distance strike that doubled his side's lead and had the resident supporters hold their heads in their hands.
The dictation of the game came via the guests, a repetitive bombardment of incoming doodlebugs was had, each one looking to blow the hopes of the WDC brigade further into the great murky yonder. A free-kick came for The Yellows, the ball in was a stunner and needed touching wide for a corner. The kick forth produced panic, a shot was cleared off the line, this was getting quite ridiculous. Nearly every 50/50 ball Ashton came out victorious, each time displaying a greater hunger and determination. No 7 (Joshua Nicholson) and Gilcrest were two effective elements in a fully functioning machine of desire (a bit like the batteries in Larry Grayson's Rectal Vibrator) and did their bit with unquestionable focus. The Dids lads did cultivate the odd foray forward, a free kick one such example but the execution was rushed and no real pressure was put on the dominating force. A late flourish by the resident team was viewed from the far end of the ground as me and Stu wandered for a piddle and a cuppa (I did remember to wash my hands after the said willy-based leakage). A corner came, a touch on, the keeper was there to gather - the half ended in utter disappointment for those clad in black and white.
A brew and a stroll to the opposite side of the ground with a chew of the cud. There was no way we could see a turnaround here, evidence was being witnessed as to why The West were struggling this time around. No sooner had we found our new spot and the teams took to the park - was this a half that could spare blushes or rub salt in some very delicate wounds?
The second period saw matters proceed where they left off, Ashton were in charge, this time wind assisted. The travelling pack marched onward, a cross was defended behind by an uncertain noggin but the short corner that came was dealt with and the hosts had time to rebuild. A sharp passing movement from the WDC lads saw No 10 (Matthew Kay) find space to have a snap shot but the attempt was low and without zest and so easily gobbled up by the virtually untroubled keeper. From a drab period an Ashton corner was achieved, the ball in was swung with accuracy and at the back post Gilcrest popped up and bagged his second of the night and confirmed the outcome of this game. The home lads now took on the role of tip-dwelling shithawks and with ruffled feathers they looked for any scraps going. A few subs followed, a brace of WDC free-kicks were won, the first was ruddy shabby, the second saw Kay produce a glancing header only to find the keeper in the right place at the right time. As the play continued the Ashton lads ran like dogs on heat and trapped their opponents in the corner, refusing to let them clear the ball and eventually running them down to win a free-kick. From this exemplary work the punt that came was disappointingly wide but should not detract from the effort that made the chance - great work all round I reckon.
The game rolled on, Ashton buzzed about and earned a chance when a cross found Guffogg who, in truth, should have hammered home. The shot was done in haste and cracked over into the rustling autumnal trees but it didn't really matter as within minutes a defensive mistake was forced, a couple of quick passes ensued and Nicholson knocked the ball through a crowd of players and brought up the 4th strike of the night. Down the back stretch we went, there was no change in tactics or the tide, Gilcrest for Ashton went close with a lovely 20 yard drive that needed a firm tip over by a down-on-his-luck keeper. The corner came, it was hoofed in, a near post touch followed by the alert No 6 (Callum Wilson) and that was that. 0 - 5, a veritable showing up for one side, a undoubted stroll in the park for the other - man, who would have dreamt it. Man of the Match goes to the Ashton Athletic No 7 (Joshua Nicholson) for nothing more than sheer dedication to the cause, some fine footballing talent and an insatiable appetite to make his mark, help his team and keep the tempo high. Goodbyes were had, homeward bound we went, this was a match to confound the prophets for sure, although we did manage to pick the winning team this time.
FINAL THOUGHT - I usually remain positive in my end summaries, I try to find even the smallest inkling of hope from the most manky of performances and keep matters upbeat but man, West Didsbury and Chorlton FC were ruddy shite tonight and played without cohesion, without any fluidity and like a team in transition and without any direction. It happens of course, these are the ups and downs of Non-league, a place of unpredictability, ambiguous conundrums that defy solution and drive all and sundry to despair. Tonight The West were outwitted, outbattled and outplayed in all areas. They have some good players in their ranks and should come through this sticky spell but time will tell and if they don't correct matters soon the drop will beckon and a certain brown and sticky substance will hit the fan of fuckery and throw promise and hopes against defeat smeared walls of heaving disappointment. Ashton Athletic on the other hand were on it tonight and looked like a team on form. This could be a false image though as they were allowed to play, were given time to hustle and were against a unit walking the troublesome byways of Shitsville. Even so, each and every player for the Yellows worked hard, displayed a belief and operated as part of a pack well drilled and disciplined. Communication was sound throughout, always a good thing, and I look to get up to Brocstedes Park mighty soon and enjoy some more eager football. Tis a busy time to be a neutral for sure, it is, as ever, a fascinating realm to ponder, I hope I have summed this one up as accurately as possible, I apologise for any untoward negativity, but one can only polish a turd so much!
And away we went, the ball flying over the baize and the players legs pumping like pistons. The start was well matched with No 11 (Ryan Crowther) for the hosts having an early drill with too much uplift and so hit leafage rather than mesh. The guests hit back with a rapier cross that needed defending. A ball came from the angle, it found a crust at the far stick that produced a pseudo-attempt on goal. The keeper leapt and fumbled and up popped No 9 (Adam Gilcrest) to tap home. From here a nip and tuck session ensued with Ashton's No 11 (Adam Howard) bursting in from nowhere and looking to charge forth and bury. The first touch was sweet, the second awful, the lads on the bench groaned in disgusted agony. Ashton came again moments later, No 2 (Saul Guffogg) advanced and blazed in a concrete cross that found the head of Gilcrest who could only nut wide - the pace was just a little too harsh. The WDC lads were struggling to get into this one, they were unsettled and kept in check by a very busy opposition. The few crosses the hosts did put in exhibited little threat and the first signs of an uphill struggle were apparent. From a constant onslaught Ashton drilled in two firm pops that rattled against well flung body flesh but when the ball rebounded out and No 3 (Charlie Munro) found himself in control he decided to chance the shank and see what the outcome would be. The result - a fine distance strike that doubled his side's lead and had the resident supporters hold their heads in their hands.
The dictation of the game came via the guests, a repetitive bombardment of incoming doodlebugs was had, each one looking to blow the hopes of the WDC brigade further into the great murky yonder. A free-kick came for The Yellows, the ball in was a stunner and needed touching wide for a corner. The kick forth produced panic, a shot was cleared off the line, this was getting quite ridiculous. Nearly every 50/50 ball Ashton came out victorious, each time displaying a greater hunger and determination. No 7 (Joshua Nicholson) and Gilcrest were two effective elements in a fully functioning machine of desire (a bit like the batteries in Larry Grayson's Rectal Vibrator) and did their bit with unquestionable focus. The Dids lads did cultivate the odd foray forward, a free kick one such example but the execution was rushed and no real pressure was put on the dominating force. A late flourish by the resident team was viewed from the far end of the ground as me and Stu wandered for a piddle and a cuppa (I did remember to wash my hands after the said willy-based leakage). A corner came, a touch on, the keeper was there to gather - the half ended in utter disappointment for those clad in black and white.
A brew and a stroll to the opposite side of the ground with a chew of the cud. There was no way we could see a turnaround here, evidence was being witnessed as to why The West were struggling this time around. No sooner had we found our new spot and the teams took to the park - was this a half that could spare blushes or rub salt in some very delicate wounds?
The second period saw matters proceed where they left off, Ashton were in charge, this time wind assisted. The travelling pack marched onward, a cross was defended behind by an uncertain noggin but the short corner that came was dealt with and the hosts had time to rebuild. A sharp passing movement from the WDC lads saw No 10 (Matthew Kay) find space to have a snap shot but the attempt was low and without zest and so easily gobbled up by the virtually untroubled keeper. From a drab period an Ashton corner was achieved, the ball in was swung with accuracy and at the back post Gilcrest popped up and bagged his second of the night and confirmed the outcome of this game. The home lads now took on the role of tip-dwelling shithawks and with ruffled feathers they looked for any scraps going. A few subs followed, a brace of WDC free-kicks were won, the first was ruddy shabby, the second saw Kay produce a glancing header only to find the keeper in the right place at the right time. As the play continued the Ashton lads ran like dogs on heat and trapped their opponents in the corner, refusing to let them clear the ball and eventually running them down to win a free-kick. From this exemplary work the punt that came was disappointingly wide but should not detract from the effort that made the chance - great work all round I reckon.
The game rolled on, Ashton buzzed about and earned a chance when a cross found Guffogg who, in truth, should have hammered home. The shot was done in haste and cracked over into the rustling autumnal trees but it didn't really matter as within minutes a defensive mistake was forced, a couple of quick passes ensued and Nicholson knocked the ball through a crowd of players and brought up the 4th strike of the night. Down the back stretch we went, there was no change in tactics or the tide, Gilcrest for Ashton went close with a lovely 20 yard drive that needed a firm tip over by a down-on-his-luck keeper. The corner came, it was hoofed in, a near post touch followed by the alert No 6 (Callum Wilson) and that was that. 0 - 5, a veritable showing up for one side, a undoubted stroll in the park for the other - man, who would have dreamt it. Man of the Match goes to the Ashton Athletic No 7 (Joshua Nicholson) for nothing more than sheer dedication to the cause, some fine footballing talent and an insatiable appetite to make his mark, help his team and keep the tempo high. Goodbyes were had, homeward bound we went, this was a match to confound the prophets for sure, although we did manage to pick the winning team this time.
FINAL THOUGHT - I usually remain positive in my end summaries, I try to find even the smallest inkling of hope from the most manky of performances and keep matters upbeat but man, West Didsbury and Chorlton FC were ruddy shite tonight and played without cohesion, without any fluidity and like a team in transition and without any direction. It happens of course, these are the ups and downs of Non-league, a place of unpredictability, ambiguous conundrums that defy solution and drive all and sundry to despair. Tonight The West were outwitted, outbattled and outplayed in all areas. They have some good players in their ranks and should come through this sticky spell but time will tell and if they don't correct matters soon the drop will beckon and a certain brown and sticky substance will hit the fan of fuckery and throw promise and hopes against defeat smeared walls of heaving disappointment. Ashton Athletic on the other hand were on it tonight and looked like a team on form. This could be a false image though as they were allowed to play, were given time to hustle and were against a unit walking the troublesome byways of Shitsville. Even so, each and every player for the Yellows worked hard, displayed a belief and operated as part of a pack well drilled and disciplined. Communication was sound throughout, always a good thing, and I look to get up to Brocstedes Park mighty soon and enjoy some more eager football. Tis a busy time to be a neutral for sure, it is, as ever, a fascinating realm to ponder, I hope I have summed this one up as accurately as possible, I apologise for any untoward negativity, but one can only polish a turd so much!
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