The opening action and the first free-kick of the game which came for the visiting pack via a strong delivery met by an equally strong punch that led to a Lion's breakaway with No 9 (Jardel Depeiaza) at the helm. His attempt to advance into the zone of peril was thwarted by a crude drag back, the free-kick that followed was an inadequate reward as it lacked any real potency - please return to 'go'. The Nomads responded with a surge but were again caught on the hop. No 7 (Rourke Neal) for The Lions played a choice ball, Depeiaza chased and had a back-pedalling keeper to beat, the trigger however was pulled too late and the mittman had time to recover and save.
As Stockport Town now grew in stature the guest No 2 (Craig Coates) found himself under pressure with no real options. He was still a fair way from goal, found a fraction of space and decided to have a punt. The strike was mid-paced, low and easy for the keeper - or so it seemed! As the man between the uprights bent low the greasy ball entered his hands, wriggled free, continued rolling through his legs and into the net - what a blooper, what a gift for the Nomads!
From here the affair was as balanced as the heaving hairy conkers of one Eduardo Perineum the 3rd who once held a Teste Fest at his castle in Dewhurst where the end of night dance was held on his left nut - what a man, what a scrotal memory! And to the action, Neal of the Town swung his shank next in the hope of mesh penetration, the visiting No 1 (Aaron Tyrer) dived low and grabbed the ball at the second asking. The Town came again, the move that started in silky fashion became threadbare with too many passes pissing on the promise and then Neal tried to go it alone but again matters were stretched and one touch too many was taken.
As the half wound down the trailing team pressed, the leading pack maintained an honest and uncomplicated footballing methodology. The home pack eventually found room to advance, Depieiaza received a ball from the angle, cracked one off from the edge of the box (and on such a chilly night too) and scored an absolute beauty that left the diving keeper with no chance whatsoever. We were back to a situation akin to a family of irritating intellects - 'all ruddy square'. The Nomads had one last sortie, No 10 (Ashley Stott) raced with gathering impetus, the defending No 2 (Chiek Thiam) produced the tackle of the night (well, unless you discount the tackle of the aforementioned E. Perineum of course) and saved his team's hides for sure. It was a perfect place for a break.
The interval was spent acquiring a brew and chocolate with my mate STP Stu, we got blasted by a hail-storm in the process - tis no good for balding heads you know, I must fish out my John Dempsey syrup (type in 'John Dempsey Hair' on google, search the images and invest). And so back to the game...!
The Nomads came out firing, a flaming cross, a corner, a close in header - the next goal was sought but to no avail. No 3 (George Blackwell) had a foray into pastures promising, the chance to shoot went by the by, a follow-up boomer by a colleague brought a corner from which there was no way through to the tantalising target zone. The Town rallied, the Nomads were resolute and in return their No 14 (Benjamin Woods) flashed down the wing and launched one, the save was spot on, the danger eventually passed. Back and forth the action went, chances came, chances disappeared into the footballing void and then Blackwell for the guests bust a bollock, played the ball to No 11 (Phillip Yuille), received the ball back and put it into the box and up popped No 8 (Adam Stuart) to grab a surprise lead goal and cause the resident team untold concern.
Now was a real test of the home team's character, they earned 3 corners on the bounce, each one was met by a defiant rear guard, each one snuffed out with gritty resilience. The team in the ascendancy came again. No 6 (Ashley Crank) delivered a free-kick with rectal thrutching accuracy (I do get excited), the header home was spot on, why on earth was the liner waving his flag? Note made - some linesmen are real party poopers!
A smattering of chaos now came at each end of the park but last ditch tackles, over-weighted passes and ill-luck kept the goals unmolested, the Cheadle chaps were making this a battling affair and dragging it to their own comfort levels and forbidding their opponents any time to create something fluid. From the nasty mush Stott had a chance to finalise the evening's result, a hesitation however was enough to give the keeper a moment to make the save and turn behind. The resultant corner was way too strong, The Town were still in this one.
The home stretch opened before us, The Lions moved up the pitch, a ball in and a last ditch clearance was deflected and needed gloved assistance. The corner led to a Nomadic break, Woods found himself around the keeper and with an open goal to penetrate - the ball however would not obey the toed command and rolled by the wrong side of the vertical.
With gloved hands scribbling away and a trembling todge requesting I get out of the darn cold, I duly scribbled the final notes. A late Town free kick brought icy gasps, Neal's cranial effort was wide of the mark. We entered added time, my prediction of 1 - 2 was looking a certainty and my trip to Oily Erics The Turf Accountant was looking to be a pleasurable event until...with seconds on the clock Woods for the guests raced away, had time to shoot and shoot he did. A deflection was had, the ball seemed destined for the strike zone and when the net bulged great scenes of triumph were witnessed for a 'never say die' unit. As contrast, countenances of dejection were noted for the opposing team who were expectant more, and even though my torn up betting slip fluttered away on the vicious breeze I found myself with no complaints. The game ended seconds later, Man of the Match goes to Cheadle Heath Nomad's No 6 (Ashley Crank) for a strong and disciplined performance that dealt with many zippy and nippy players in a focused and unflustered manner and for many crunching tackles that kept the opponents on their toes and sometimes - on their arses.
After farewells to some fine folk, oops nearly forgot - Happy Birthday Sandra, and a quick chat about the outcome I headed home - chilled and thrilled as seems to be the norm these days - we must be mad.
FINAL THOUGHTS - I once put on a punk unit known as the 'Stubborn Bastards', a glorious set of chaps making a racket that was joy to my fractured sonic soul. The name came to mind as I sought a description of the Cheadle Heath Nomads pack, it seems to fit, the club motto should read 'Nomadus, stubbornus, bastardito' it has a certain ring don't ya think. The team have found a way not to get beat and this, of late, is also contributing to a way of getting a win. They are a real conundrum for teams to work out, they work as a pack and are grinding out results here, there and everywhere including games they seem to be initially struggling with. The key aspects are 'unity and discipline' - if these are maintained, the league is their to be climbed. Stockport Town are under a metamorphosing process with perhaps big ideas considered. Dreams and ambition are art-very well but it is the results on the pitch that matter and sometimes winning ugly is an art-forms that need to be mastered if true progress is to be made. I liked many aspects of what I saw tonight, several players looked outstanding in fact and with just that extra touch of fine-tuning certain strides can be made. We will have to wait and see what the future brings, despondency, delight, upswings or upsets - for those already intrigued, keep watching.
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