CHEADLE DOWN AS ABBEY SLAY

27th November 2019 - Cheadle Town 0 v 1 Abbey Hey - We are now getting into the winter months proper - that time of year when faces are wan, genital areas wither and ones spirits are lower than the morals of Prince Andrew (ooh the controversy).  Of late it seems I am in danger of developing 'Pit-Man's Squint' due to going to work in the dark and coming home beneath a heavy shade of grey.  I have tried to pick myself up by watching re-runs of El Dorado and Wish You Were Here but this has led to flashbacks regarding an incident with a transgender Judith Chalmers look-a-like - the sight of a bikini-line around a set of crown jewels is just not my bag (or should that be scrotal sac).  So, after a day of gloom and no solar goodness to ponder I did what I needed to do, had a word with myself in the mirror (nice nipples David) and set out for the football.  My fine lady dropped me off again, I met STP Stu as is becoming the norm as well as John D and Gareth and Sandra Evans (equally commonplace) and we all watched the night's events unfold.

The start to the game was more open than the legs of Joan Collins through the 1970’s golden age of gonad grinding (ooh err what a bag) with both teams adopting a Gung-Ho style not seen since Elton John visited the rubber anus factory in Denbigh Dale.   No 4 (Tyrone Turner) for The Hey was the first player to have a touch on goal but a last minute bromide-block quelled any hope for the rising erection of celebration.  The reply to this unexpected dig came via Town’s No 11 (Luca Navarro) who propelled forth a worthwhile pop that just had a little too much uplift.  The hosts perhaps shaded these opening stages, one move saw their opponents defending with a  touch of desperation and snuff out all danger until No 3 (Sikirulahli Hamzat) let loose a real rip-roarer that blazed mere inches wide.  From here our onlooking peepers were transported down the other end of the pitch with a quite sumptuous cross entering the box that was missed by the crown of a rising defender.  The ball fell, bounced off the awaiting carcass of No 11 (Dillon Kirkman) and went towards the goal.  I gave full marks to the mittman for his palm away, the move could easily have ended in disaster.

Abbey Hey now girded their loins (without the use of butter may I add) and started to alter the tempo of the game.  Several balls were posted first class into the Cheadle worry zone, the hosts did well to ride a passing shower but then the Hey Brigade came again, No 8 (Luke Hincks) executed a cute flick that released a dashing colleague who needed strong defensive attention and then the same player hammered in a lovely cross that was met by a rather weak header.  A free-kick the same way ensued with a  flick header by No 9 (Martin Pilkington) sweetly placed but disappointingly kissing the outside of the upright. 

From here the flow was mainly one way. More confusion reigned in the resident team’s box, a ball needed clearing off the line, Town it seemed were playing with fire and if they didn’t watch it – fingers would be burnt.  As pressure mounted the home No 4 (Andrew Fitzgerald) lost control of the ball, was immediately pounced upon but rode the tackle.  The defending bod tried to regain his feet, another tackle flew in and a collision came.  The player rolled and wriggled, the offending No 10 (Grant Spencer) for the guests pleaded innocence but was shown red – I think the tackle was without malicious intent but was lacking in control – the law can sometimes be an ass but here it was correctly applied.  

Every tackle that immediately followed this moment of controversy was met with gasps, groans and gripes, akin in fact to a Sunday Morning Sermon led by a very aroused pastor in front of a flock of 7 Day Wankers (make of this what you will).  The half drew to a close but before the whistle Kirkman of the Hey brought more vocal uprising with the execution of a right old bender (I could digress here, enough is enough for now).  The globe left the foot, curled towards the target but stayed shy of the mark, it was the closest we got to a goal before the break came – 0 – 0 – surely this was not to be a barren game!

Due to the healthy crowd, overpriced pies and an unwillingness to stand in a queue we stayed put for half-time and nattered away.  It was a shame Abbey Hey Pete wasn’t with us tonight but when the Satanic Circle of Ruptured Rodents holds a meeting, one misses it at their peril.  I did hear one member of the 4^th Withered Ring decided to go to a darts match rather than attend one such black gathering and ended up with a 20 stone arrer-thrower bumming him rigid in the pub car park and turning his eyes crossed for the whole of eternity – he never hit a double top again and was the only man in Tameside to eat peas with one peeper closed.

The second half began in a touch and go manner, there was a lack of composure and the first 10 minutes were, in truth, bloody horrible to witness.  The first excitement came when Abbey Hey won a corner that led to some in-box madness.   From the chaos Cheadle broke and earned a free-kick.  The ball flew forth, No 9 (Patrick Davin) dropped lower than a tenors balls and flick-headed on target.  The keeper was alert, saved well and when the corner came he provided enough gloved assistance to keep this game goalless.

Cheadle Town advanced next, a long ball was nudged on, No 7 (Justin Pickering) rifled a howitzer, the keeper produced a quite adequate save.  No further problems arose until Davin played a chance ball that the goalie just dealt with and then the same player had a crack at goal but the block by the visiting No 5 (Joseph Neild) was concrete.  From this moment on the back peg, the 10 men team sprang.  No 2 (Daryll Grant) gathered from a poor home pass, the ball was threaded to Pilkington who twatted a shot against the vertical.  The loose sphere fell into the path of No 12 (Elliott Fenton) who looked a trifle surprised but still managed to bungle the ball into the net – 0 – 1 – these things happen.

The game ground on, the closing stages were soon upon us, The Town stuttered like a Frankensteinian arthritic monster, a clash saw a pseudo-tussle with yellow cards issued each way, the game now had about as much excitement as a Catholic Porn Film starring Vera Lynn and David Niven – it was hard-viewing rather than hard-inducing.  Cheadle threw the last of their chipped dice, a lucky toss was not had, they were destined to roll the dreaded lone snake-eye.  At the very, very last a corner was given to the hosts, all players invaded the box, the ball was hoofed from the flag and went straight out of play – it kind of summed up the side’s fortunes – and that was that!   From a quite shabby game I was left pondering who would be the Man of the Match and went for Abbey Hey’s No 2 (Daryll Grant), a player who caught the eye with his tidy tootsies, quick-thinking and desire to protect and progress – it is players like this who are making sure Abbey Hey keep moving the right way.

FINAL THOUGHT – As happens more often than not, 10 men beat 11 and produced the goods when their backs were against the wall.  Abbey Hey are a decent squad, are winning ugly at times, winning convincingly at others but, are constantly progressing and are surely going to be in the end dogfight with both barrels blazing.  They are not  a scoring machine, they are not the most eye-catching team in the league but they are getting the results and say what you will, that is all that matters.  Cheadle Town are the perennial under-achievers, they play one good game, one bad one and the next time turn out something somewhere in the middle.  Consistency is the elusive bastard that needs achieving and for me, the full 90 minutes needs playing, a full-organisational plan needs sorting and sticking to and the whole area of the pitch needs using throughout each and every match.  Tonight they started with great promise, got dragged into the mire and lost focus and fluidity – they must zone-in on their own game and keep up the direct and swift approach.  They will avoid the drop but anything less than a top half finish will not be good enough – we can only wait and see.  

WALKING A STONY ROAD

25th November 2019 - Maine Road 0 v 3 Stone Old Alleynians - After a weekend of fungi, football and my 162nd Fungalised Punk Showcase I was rather frazzled today.  The black dog is nipping at my heels despite several kicks up its arse and an elastic band being placed around its stifling bollocks in the hope that they drop off and see the pesky cur run off into the distance howling in agony - here's hoping!  There are many factors for this latest attack, the list is endless, tis all part of being sensitive, caring and trying to resist the eternal downward spiral and lack of free-thinking.  One has to stay positive though and look at the good things in life and the folk keeping things simple and uncomplicated - onwards.  The day was spent getting the bike repaired and catching up with a bit of exercising thrown in to keep the blood flowing. I had asked the bicycle repairman to put a giant willy on my saddle so whilst pedalling I get constantly bummed which I hoped would keep my mind off the darker side of life, he refused so when his back was turned I stole 3 bells, an inner tube and the latest edition of 'Racing Rectums - The Bike Riders Guide To Sexual Saddle Sores' - that will teach him. 

And so, later in the day I arrived at the Maine Road ground, met STP Stu and shared a brew.  John D was also in attendance, recovering from a recent breast enhancement operation to try and achieve that 38FF good-time girl look - thank goodness I am not on bra-knitting duties. It was good to catch up with Dave Potter and Abbey Hey Pete too - good folk, enjoying the good game and as keen as mustard.

Tonight the game would be a true test for the Blues, Stone Old Alleynians had promotional things on their mind and were surely going to go at this one full throttle.  Predictions were made and out into the manky night we headed - I needed a good game, what I got was as thus:- 

The first corner earned went to the visitors, the ball in was of poor quality and a follow up shot was equally awful - as in the words of a rather corrupt Dick Dastardly both hoofings are best describe as 'shite, and double shite.'  The Road looked to construct one of their ever-busy moves, No 10 (Jamie Roe) fed No 9 (Jack Coop), the shot that came was weaker than Kestrel Lager, the response was direct and telling with a long ball flicked on into the path of No 9 (Jack Tomlinson) who wasted no time in letting fly and bulging the inside of the net - now that was the way to do it (so sayeth Mr Punch).  

From here we had a battling scenario, No 8 (William Bailey) for Stone was at the end of a silky move but failed to double the lead and then The Road cultivated 2 free-kicks, the second of which went straight at the keeper's carcass.  The Blues had a brace of corners next, again it was the second effort that posed most threat, how the incoming player missed the target is still beyond me - there be satanic powers at work methinks.

Stone remained patient in defence although an unexpected slip-up saw the home No 11 (Marcus Lane) have a chance to balance the books - it was only the side netting that was found.  Alerted into taking more positive action the Alleynians progressed with purpose.  No 7 (Michael Williams) went on a hurtful run, he was allowed to cut in and lay one on a platter for No 10 (Matthew Thomas) to wallop first time - the upright trembled harder than the erection of John Inman in a men's changing room - ooh I'm free!

As the game developed it was seen that the guests had more composure and were winning most of the 50/50 balls, The Road did their usual industrious buzzing but just seemed off the pace tonight and any threat they brandished was snuffed out at the last with cool authority.  The final folds of half one saw Stone dictate any aerial battles and then Thomas was released, the home keeper advanced, the ball was mis-kicked and dropped - luckily for the hosts the frontman lost sightof the ball in the floodlight glare - that would have been a real sting in the tail.  Soon after, the half was done!

A brew and choccy bar for the break and some good football chat - it transpired that Stockport Town had pulled in their biggest ever crowd tonight due to a sub-celebrity joining the fray - my punk streak just doesn't get it, and in truth, doesn't want to - I remain cerebrally free!

Back to the night's action, the start to the second period was frisky, there was little to choose between both units with Stone striving to find the second goal of the night and give themselves a cushion on which to settle.  Some heated tackles were thrown into the mix and the thermal levels were rising.  A Stone player rose from the melee and sent forth a fiery shot, the block from the home No 6 (Oscar Campbell) was robust and exuded a stunning commitment to the cause.  Stone were not to be quelled, Williams made a move, flashed a cross that the keeper did well to reach and push away.  More shots came the same way, one straight at the keeper, one wide of the mark and then the resident No 3 (Paul Earlam) dared trespass and used quick feet to try and find a way through.  The visiting team, as per, protected as a pack Williams was released once more and sent in another incandescent cross.  The defending was unsure, No 11 (Jacob Vernon) looked to blow apart the netting, the ball however was highly elevated and boomed way over the horizontal.

From here Maine Road continued to stutter, Stone Old Alleynians moved the ball with care and bided their time.  Suddenly an opportunity arose, a quick ball, a dash, a tumble in the box and a penalty was awarded.  The guilty keeper awaited the spot kick, it came and left him no chance of a reprieve, No 3 (David Ablewhite) was the executioner, I now believed the game was done as a contest.

From here there was little to report until a hold up for a crook player was followed by a quick restart.  Stone sprang with certainty, a wicked cross caught The Road napping which allowed Vernon to slap home and add a very pronounced and affirming full stop to the footballing fiasco.  A late shot by Roe in return had good power but lacked precision and that was indeed, that!  Man of the Match goes to the controlling and unbending Stone Old Alleynian No 4 (Luke Askey), a player who put in a quiet, unassuming stint that did the business and helped snuff out any rising threat before the 'red alert' level was reached.  He bossed his area, mixed it up when necessary and was part of a very efficient machine - job done!

FINAL THOUGHT - So a few of us came, made predictions and all were wrong.  We expected goals from both sides and a lively contest, what we got was a one sided affair in many respects with the home team just seeming out of sorts and not able to crack the soccerised code the Stone team set them.  I expected more from the Blues this season, they impress and frustrate in equal measure but I remain convinced that, when on it, they are a match for anyone except perhaps the more robust teams and the ones of a loftier stature.  The guests looked an organised unit and, if they want to stay in the promotional mix, they will have to be.  There are at least 11 teams in the mix and the run in will be something real special with one or two teams faltering, one or two going on a surge and a few others just maintaining a consistency to remain in the end dog fight.  The team at the top are there to be shot at, Stone Old Alleynians, certainly have their sights set - now all we need hope is that the trigger finger is held steady and opponents are taken down in a slow, steady and surefire manner - keep your eyes on the forthcoming weeks people, this one is going to the wire.

THIRD ROUND THOUGHTS

23rd November 2019 - Wythenshawe Town 4 v 1 Cheadle Heath Nomads - The weekend is here, it started last night for us when myself and the missus dimmed the lights and watched a 2 hour documentary on witchcraft - it were reet good, the nudity a bonus but I remain unsure about dangling one's John Thomas over cleansing flames as well as kissing the anus of some bloke dressed as the devil.  The morn of the match was spent casting a few spells using nothing more than 6 dried foreskins, the umbilical cord severed from a recently born Impala and the hard-baked nipples of a Portugese Nob-Rot.  Ingredients used were powdered arse hair, the dandruff of a Yeti and the skin-flakes of a 500 year old leper.  According to the books, if the brew is mixed just right the match one attends will produce 4 goals and one of the official will bear a child.  If I get it wrong then my willy will turn into an asp, I will lose the ability to cook toast and the referee will spontaneously combust on the 83rd minute - of course, I took the blending process very seriously. 

After a mix and match morn we popped into a local Christmas Fair held at an environmental centre, we have no real interest in the festive madness but just wanted to offer some support - they are a lovely bunch. I was dropped off at the match soon after where I met STP Stu and had a chat with many fine faces.  My good lady went spending brass, I hope she gets something nice, she be a reet good un'.

As 3pm came, predictions were in, and we were all set to witness a 4 goal thriller, if not, my cauldron will be smashed and I will bend my magic wand (ooh yes).

The opening throes saw a long Nomad ball come, No 9 (Richard Tindall) used good strength to chase, a firm hand in the defender's back and quick legs to connect and bury - there were only 2 minutes on the clock.  It all became too much for the father of the Nomads No 7 (Adam Stuart) who claimed to have sat in a damp patch but I reckon he had pissed himself with over-excitement - it can happen, especially on a winter's day!  This opening goal was just what was needed for the tie, Wythenshawe soon reacted, a corner came, a penalty claim waved away by a referee who kept his cards close to his chest all afternoon long.

From a touch and go period No 11 (Max Lewens) for the hosts sent in a rasping cross that the opposing mitter did well to hold low down.  A bit of pepper was sprinkled on this 3rd round cup dish with several robust tackles being committed.  The Town came on again, a corner entered the box but was cleared with all players leaving the danger zone en masse.  The home No 8 (Dominic Smalley) stood his ground, received a fine pass and took one look before slamming home the equaliser - tidy.

The game continued as a solid battling escapade, the Nomadic No 3 (Craig Coates) put in a solid cross next that No 2 (Jack Warren) nutted into the side netting.  Soon after Coates had a dig of his own, the outcome was a tame tickle that refused to concern the keeper's awaiting conkers.  The Nomads advanced again, No 6 (Ryan Eiselt) posted a quite sumptuous cross, Warren dashed in and poked toward goal, I was not alone in wondering how it missed the target!  In response to this minor scare The Town advanced and earned a corner.  The ball from the angle was drilled low, Smalley connected albeit in a rather unconvincing manner.  The ball went up, came back down, unfortunately for the guests, it was on the inside of the net - 2 -1 it was!

The closing stages were now played out, gumption levels were high, tenacious urgency was exposed from the trailing pack.  No 10 (Kieran Herbert) knocked forward a solid ball for Tindall to chase.   The ever-willing front man collared the globe and leathered only for the heels of the home No 3 (Jerome Wright) to be in the way.   The loose ball was thumped towards goal on the half-volley by No 8 (Phillip Yuille) - the save that came was regulation. Soon after we were at the half-way stage - this was a game still very much undecided.

For half-time I nattered to ex-Nomads player (Stephen Kirby), a decent lad now hoofing the globe at Knutsford - we must get up that way again soon.  After the chat I then checked some chicken entrails I had in my pocket to see if the 4 goal prediction was still on.  According to the alignment of the duodenum and left kidney things were looking good, the only cause for concern was the south-facing lungs and wavy appearance of the gullet - we shall see what transpires.  

The Nomads started the second half with a corner that was met by a mistimed header.  A follow-up onslaught was negated by an offside flag and then the same team had to defend as the hosts swarmed the box like blowflies around a rather unclean rectum.  The Nomads had to earn their crust, somehow the danger was scrambled clear with Tindall eventually released and using good power to find time to shoot.  It was a shame that the apical effort was what the vulgar would term as 'wank'.

The next goal was of the utmost priority, if The Town snatched it I felt as though it would be game over.  Next and Warren for the Nomads played a choice ball that was followed by a quality cross - it was a shame to see the header fly way off line.  This led to a claggy period which was eventually broken by a Town ball that released the reliable Lewens.  A flashing cross was executed, No 7 (Niall Sultan) was quick to react and slap home - was that the final nail in the coffin - it certainly seemed like it?

Another gritty and somewhat patchy session came, a free-kick by Tindall of the Nomads was a mere pea-roller and into the last 20 minutes we went.  Both teams were busy, the Cheadle pack were just lacking that creative force up front, Wythenshawe seemed happy to roll any punches and try and thump back.  The resident No 4 (Dean Warburton) hit one straight at the keeper and then was at the pinnacle of a quite focused move but could only lash over.  Things were getting tight, within an edge of box melee Herbert for the Nomads found time to shoot, the upright was quivered with the follow-up shot clouted wide.  With time running out a free-kick was given to Wythenshawe Town high up the pitch.  The team chose to pass and poke, whilst the Nomads pissed about and failed to clear the danger.  Suddenly a leg was stuck out, Stuart's name went in the book and the penalty spot was pointed to.  Up stepped No 9 (Matthew Wilson) and scored with little fuss, 4 - 1 - the score-line looked a trifle cruel on paper but there ya go and seconds later it was confirmed as the whistle fractured the night air.  Man of the Match goes to Wythenshawe Town's No 3 (Jerome Wright), a player who may have holes in his socks but who has no holes in his defensive game with a keen eye watching the play, keeping all things tidy at the back whilst always looking to create and release at the same time.  A good player this, once again the 90 minutes work was applaudable.

FINAL THOUGHT - Another cup game done, one that was closer than the end result suggested but one definitely won by the right team.  The away team had been on a decent unbeaten run, these things always come to an end and perhaps it is better here rather than in the league.  The line-up is being jiggled, there are places up for grabs, the main question is when will the finished squad be settled on and play as one consistent pack.  The team are decent enough now, the only problem seems to be the lack of width and the speed of support when flowing forward - there are options to call on, this is my 9th viewing of the team so far this season, there will be more.  Wythenshawe Town are a strong unit with many fine assets and even when not playing the most spectacular football they somehow get the job done.  The only real problem they face now is having their hands in many pies with a danger of a fixture overload liable, especially if the weather plays silly buggers.  It ain't no bad position to be in, I suspect promotion is the key requirement, I think that will be a very tall order this time around as this is a very competitive league with several of the top dogs looking very surefooted indeed.  I could hazard a guess as to where they will end up but the entrails I used today are already stinking - I shall get the PG Tips out and see what the leaves say - watch this space.

AN UNTREATABLE BOYLE

21st November 2019 - Wythenshawe Amateurs 4 v 1 Daisy Hill - I have a sore throat and a rather fat head at the mo, it could be a cold, fungal flu or the virus known as 'cup fever'.  I have seen a few cup ties of late, dithered my lower dumplings off whilst watching several magical games unfold - I really should use that knitted nut-bag my Grandma made after one of her sexual seizures - and here's me thinking I knew best.  The game tonight was attended due to its close proximity to home and because it was an opportunity to visit the Whammies home ground for the first time this season.  Again, with these encounters, they are a difficult one to call as one doesn't know where each teams ambitions lie or where they are placing emphasis.  What was certain was that there was a chill in the chuff and I was feeling rather shitty - I hate winter.  

And so, upon arrival I had a brew with STP Stu, we chose an appropriate viewing point and with tingle-keen fingers I prepared to scrawl.  We had both opted for an home win with a UFO sighting halfway through the second half, a brief pause whilst the referee finished the latest chapter of 'Nobby Nobson' and a yellow card for a nearby neighbour who was doing a spot of nude gardening with his rather strange looking dibbler - here's hoping!

With turf kicked up and the chase on for the globe of promise it was Daisy Hill who cultivated an early gratis gift via a free-kick.  The ball was played but the home team defended and dashed with No 9 (Daniel Egan) knocking a fair ball out to No 7 (Brandon Byers-Wilkes) who worked inward, passed to No 10 (Ross Aikenhead) who in turn, forced the keeper to make a very decent save.  The home pack were soon marauding again, No 3 (Luke Worth) launched a blisterer, it wasn't that far off the mark and then No 6 (Dominic Lillie) cracked a low drive that was equally close and perhaps signalled a long night's work ahead for the travellers. 

The following period brought much fluster but little in the way of control on a very firm pitch that wasn't helping matters at all.  The Ammies eventually put together a sound surge with a long, sweet ball that Byers-Wilkes gathered before leathering forth a blazing delivery right across the countenance of the strike zone.  Takers were absent, the ball was knocked out but a quick thinking No 11 (Travis Boyles) pounced like a jackal on a fly-blown corpse and firmly lashed home - the touchpaper had been lit.

Daisy Hill, despite being slightly under a cosh and 1 goal behind made some good running and earned a well-deserved corner.  The angled kick came, a flick header saw the ball go loose, No 11 (Alexander Spencer) posted a very firm dig that was met by a quality laden save.  Another corner followed and was quickly filed away under 'S' for 'shite'.

A fractured session developed, too many wayward passes were spoiling a somewhat crappy broth although The Ammies were still adding the main soccerised spices.  A moment of uproar came when a Daisy Dude was tumbled in the box and a crunching tackle did add a few extra verbal enhancements based, as per, around words like 'fuck' and 'wanker'.  The closing minutes saw an absence of excitement, we headed for a brew to stave off a rather nasty nip.

The brew was eventually acquired after an elderly Oxo Army had acquired their tipple, peppered it up and wandered off reeking of beefy fumes.  As we passed the clubhouse we noted a rather inebriated Neville Pearson (Cheadle Heath Nomads Secretary) leading a nude Conga and blowing a purple trumpet (I leave the rest to your imagination).  Thankfully Nev is booked into the Betty Ford Clinic in Ilkley real soon, as for the trumpet blowing, I think he may end up in prison if he carries on.

Our chosen spot for half two was between the dug outs, we spoke to a fine guy from the Whammies dug out, he promised to give us our money back for a crap first half ha, ha - I like the man's honesty.  Daisy Hill were the first to flow with any real designs, a great run came from a 'player unknown' with a shot just wide.  Note to Daisy Hill - get those numbers on the shirts sorted and made more visible!  The Wythy Warriors responded, Byers-Wilkes and No 2 (Christopher Howard) linked up, a teasing cross came, attackers were absent without leave.  Boyles was the next to invade, he squeezed a shot from nowhere, the guest No 1 (Dean Williams) produced yet another choice save - well played that man.

The action of this half was of a far better standard, but both teams looked to have a lot more focus and control.  The Hill advanced, a great knock landed at the feet of No 9 (Jamie Ramwell) who pushed the ball to the willing No 7 (Dann Warburton).  A first time drive was the right idea, it was a shame to see it fly over the bar.  Wythy next, Byers-Wilkes held up the ball, nudged on to the galloping Howard who advanced and slapped in a low drive - again the mittman was up to the task with a firm hand used to guide the ball away.  

Back and forth the play now went, semi-opportunities came and disappeared in the bracing air.  Both teams were getting stuck in, in truth there was very little in it and Daisy Hill nearly grabbed an equaliser when Warburton loaded up, released and sent a sizzler just the wrong side of the sticks.  A corner followed, the rising nut should have buried the ball, Whythenshawe were let off a very precarious hook.

Subs now came both ways, Wythenshawe's Aikenhead turned and let fly a decent dig, once more the orange clad keeper produced the goods.  Suddenly Boyles found the ball at his feet and went on a purposeful foray.  The soccerised basket of success was set to be filled, a shot was plucked from nowhere and from nothing the lead was doubled, it was a finely taken goal, Daisy Hill were now faced with an uphill struggle and that was being conservative.

As Wythy tried to drain the dangling gonads of opportunity of any remaining seeds of success the guest keeper produced a couple more saves and kept the leaking plumbing at bay.  The Hill were far from down and out and eventually, after No 15 (Tom Lee) played a superb ball, a corner was earned.  The delivery had pace and, more importantly, accuracy.  The nut of No 5 (Dean Singleton) was placed against the spherical object, propelled it forth and was seen to bulge the inner meshing - 2 - 1 - now this was an interesting scenario to say the least.  Alas, as is often the case, a team who had just glimpsed dazzling hope were caught with a temporary blindspot.  One of the subs was fed, he had a look and whacked in a cross, up stepped Boyles and slammed home, the two goal lead was restored and the lad had a hat-trick - who would have thought it?   No sooner had this body blow been delivered than the goal grabbing bugger was in again, on a one on one with the keeper who he duly rounded and sent the ball, from a slightly sharp angle, rolling into the net.  Wham, bam and up yer arse.

The last 5 minutes and a smattering of extra time came and went, Daisy Hill tried to get a consolation, came close but it wasn't to be and we wandered off wondering how this one had ended up at 4 goals to 1.  The reason, in the main, was down to the Man of the Match, Wythenshaw Town's No 11 (Travis Boyles) who was alert at all times, very forward thinking in his approach and who used his quick tootsies to great effect when leading the opposing defence a merry dance.  A predatory and precise outing, due thanks are given.  On the way home it must be noted that I saw the aforementioned Mr Pearson stark naked, up a tree singing Boney M's classic hit 'Rasputin'.  The Russian jig on a precarious branch looked lethal and believe me the site was far from arousing - I went onward, dithered and withered for many reasons.

FINAL THOUGHT - A game with a stuttering, shabby first half and a second period that gave greater reward and produced a rather tilted end score that didn't really reflect what went on.  Daisy Hill are struggling at the mo but they are a young squad backed up by a good vocal keeper who is trying to keep them alert.  I saw many positives tonight but work needs to be done when in possession with players off the ball making more decisive, diagional and problem posing runs and support just needs to be a tad quicker when on the attack.  They were remarkably unlucky to concede 4 tonight but that is all done and dusted and it is the league campaign that needs most attention.  A touch more height in the pack wouldn't go amiss either and I hope they get back on track real soon.   Wythenshawe Amateurs didn't have the greatest night tonight and for long periods struggled to gain any liquidity.  They are a decent unit who are not quite the finished package but are doing things the right way it seems and with many eye-catching players in the ranks they can surely build on what they have got.  The 4 goal hero is a gem, they have a good backbone to reinforce, perhaps a bit more killer instinct and passing precision and kaboom, onwards they will go.  Promotion is a step too far this time, a cup though is not beyond the reams of possibility - I am watching the draw as per.

A CAIN IN THE ASS

19th November 2019 - 1874 Northwich 4 v 0 Irlam FC - I have a question, it is threefold, it goes like this - Is it easier to 1. Unwrap a sherbet lollipop using nothing more than one's sphincter muscle, 2. Reproduce with a Conger Eel after a night on the cooking sherry or 3. Pick the winner of tonight's Macron Cup 2nd Round encounter?  Well, being a sherry connoisseur and having tackled the fishy problem with flourishing success I am left with a choice of two (as well as a family of elvers) and duly believe that the match we were anticipating was the more difficult conundrum to solve and was surely one to make the most soccerised sage furrow their brow with straining consideration.  To prove my decision was correct I popped into the local sweet shop on the way home from work and, having found no lollipops on sale, tried the aforementioned rectal procedure with a packet of out-of-date Spangles.  I succeeded in opening 3 orange flavoured ones and a brace of lemons although the fizzy centers have given me a touch of thrush and I find that I can't sit still for 5 minutes.  Despite this 'bit of bother' I profess to be a brave and hardy soul and I attended tonight's game, with my good lady, full of high anticipation and leaking many effervescent farts.  After going to the wrong ground because my head is generally up my overworked arse, we arrived, were greeted by the always friendly Irlam crew and then joined by our good friend STP Stu.  We supped tea and picked our spots - it were a bit parky lad but the bubbles below were thermally accentuating so I really couldn't gripe game on!

As was expected, the first stages of this match-up started with high energy and hungry hippo eagerness (now there was a game).  Irlam kept a lid on their enthusiasm and passed with good composure making the opponents build up an early sweat to get a foot on the ball.  The hosts though are always up for the fight and with nothing less than sheer tenacity forced the issue and won and angled kick.  The ball entered the box, was defended but delivered once again with the crust of No 5 (Ryan Mitchell) providing a flick header onto the top of the horizontal (please add own gasps).  Irlam reacted to this scare with a free-kick earned, No 3 (Dylan Allan-Meredith) took responsibility, sizzled one in, the shadow of the ball kissed the upright (ooh err) but on the wrong side unfortunately - unlucky!

As Irlam pressed on a supreme noteworthy moment came.  No 11 (Taylor Kennerley) of 74 battled like a chimpanzee with hormone laden nuts.  He was duly tumbled, got back to his feet, was bumbled again but refused to give in or react.  He had the foresight to stick out a leg and play a pass from the ground, he was rewarded with a peach (I should say 'banana' but poetical licence does have its limitations), No 9 (Scott McGowan) reacted quicker than a tapeworm on a freshly digested pie, the keeper was there to be beat and in casual style, beaten he was - 1 - 0 - what a moment, what a touch of priceless passion!

From here the home team became emboldened although an early substitute was needed after one of their players got clattered.  Irlam looked for scraps, they picked up on a stray ball, a pass was made and No 7 (Marcus Perry) flashed in and put in a delectable chip over the keeper.  The ball looked goal-bound, it bounced once and was mere inches from the strike zone.  From a battling period of play Irlam won a corner, in-box confusion followed, the 74 squad dashed quicker than a deviant on a promise, No 8 (Callum Nicholas) for the guests was desperate and committed a foul, his name went in the book of sin.  

The arse end of the first half was exposed, Irlam tried to force a very uncertain issue, the green clad residents stole possession, McGowan knocked a sublimely wondrous ball out wide, No 15 (Callum Gardner) collected and cut inwards, he only had eyes for goal and walloped a beauty right into the top corner - he looked a trifle overjoyed, Irlam looked shell-shocked.  The closing stages saw the hosts make all the running with Irlam still trying to play their game.  The guests did trespass into advanced territory and had several chances to release but the trigger was pulled too late, solid blocks came and we were done.

A wander, a brew and some choccy for the break.  We moved to the opposite side of the ground, the spiteful wind in the mug was rather nasty, akin to being farted on by a recently defrosted zombie - not nice at all.

The embryonic thrusts of half two saw the Silver Street Blues try and grab an early goal back.  From a corner though they were caught with their conkers cold, 1874 dashed away, Gardner was on it with added options, the low drive was not what the Doctor of Soccer ordered - chance gone.  Again the Shack men tried to shake things up, again they were outworked, this time by the relentless No 7 (Harry Cain) who won the globe, touched on for McGowan who squeezed out a shot that needed mitted attention.

As the resident pack now dictated, the crowd gave generous support with the opposition getting slightly ragged and frustrated.  Cain progressed once more.   He was involved in a  delightful link up, t'was a pity the end shot was 'shite' and accompanied by a hollered expletive.  No sooner had the blue air cleared than the same player was at it again.  The pace, precision and pass were sweet, the re-gathering of the ball and the end strike where just jam, cream and cherries on the cake (cor blimey me waistline) - what a well deserved take this was - game signed, sealed and delivered methinks, only a fool would disagree.

The game, as a competitive spectacle, was done, No 9 (Connor Martin) for Irlam sent forth an hopeful looper that refused to drop below the horizontal and then Cain for the hosts was rampaging again and was given respectful note for riding a crude tackle and not rolling about with thespian extravagance - it was with frustration that the potentially piercing move was blunted by dutiful defending.  Irlam were getting stretched all ways, a few more bookings ensued, 2 substitutes followed and were indicative of the last throw of some very rattled dice.  Northwich rushed, a ball went out to Cain, one touch was taken, McGowan was fed and the shot came.  Pick that out - 4 - 0 it was - what a ruddy turn-up!

The closure saw shots come at both ends with the keepers answering the questions posed. No 4 (Charlie Doyle) for Irlam had the last dig of any real note, the home keeper stretched his carcass and saved without too much fuss, and that was that folks, I wouldn't have predicted this scoreline and anyone who says they did is in severe danger of being struck down by lightning.  The Man of the Match is a more moot point, it could go to any one of 11 players but for me, 1874 Northwich's No 7 (Harry Cain) was irresistible tonight (no, not that way you naughty buggers) and played with such head-down desire, awareness and general focus that the nod surely has to go his way.  The interplay, the exposure of a thriving inner engine and the goal, it was a complete night's work for sure and here is a player, who is a shining example, of why the team are doing what they are doing - let the applause ring out in agreement.

We pootled off after the match chilled but warmed, I don't think I need to explain the reason for two opposing sensations.

FINAL THOUGHT - Tonight I expected a close encounter, what was served up was primarily a one-way match with the winning team very much 'on it'.  These things happen, nothing really worked for Irlam and they were hustled and bustled out of the game by a team very much in the groove and with a deep-rooted belief.  Promotion this time must surely be a certainty for 1874 Northwich, a few cups may be thrown in for good measure, one thing is for sure, every time I see them play the atmosphere is welcoming, they attack the game with real gusto and they expose a potential waiting to be fully tapped - this could be the year the floodgates of promise truly open.  Irlam were just off the pace tonight, run ragged by a rabid machine and just didn't get any decent breaks.  Shit happens, this is all part and parcel of a long season but the fact is, they are in the upper reaches of their league, have had a few good cup runs of late and are a ruddy good side - the players and all involved shouldn't forget that.  The question is now 'how will they bounce back' - this is where real questions are answered and character and discipline is put under the spotlight.  I will be watching both sides as and when I can, I have said it before and said it again though, we are blessed to be tuned into this fine game, be grateful, be fair and be respectful and I think we can't go far wrong - oh, and remember it is just a game, above all else, just bloody well enjoy it!