SALE-ING ALONG AT THE TOP OF THE LEAGUE

22nd February 2020 - Sale Amateurs FC 9 v 1 Bollington FC - As per, doing for the underdogs is an in-built instinct inside the carcass of this long-term punk rock Fungalleer.  It is not the way to garner popularity, not the way to win praise but for me, it is the only way to try and help those getting off their arses and doing things the real way.  After finishing yesterday's match report I spent the rest of the morn tidying the kitchen and preparing for my wife to return from a shopping jaunt and informing her that we were off to watch some real raw-boned footy.  I got a frown but I had my escort for the day, I am blessed with one in a million. Lunches were devoured swiftly, this was a 2pm kick-off so time was of the essence that was for sure.  The drive down was done through blustery wind, I know I shouldn't have had that Turnip Pie for tea.  We arrived at the ground and after being greeted by some kindly bods, having a short walk counting a few wild species, we acquired team line-ups and settled in our positions.  This wasn't a day for those with any common sense or indeed for those with a desire to expose their private parts - it was definitely a witherer that was for sure.  So tucked up, pen and pad at the ready and brolly at our sides (just in case) we prepared to watch the antics of some Non-League action unfold - it be madness sir, madness.

Disclaimer - just to add that during this match many faded shirts caused great confusion for the reporter and with shirts swapped in a willy-nilly fashion it seemed my task to maintain some semblance of accuracy was impossible - I apologise for any errors in advance.

After various piles of dog shit had been cleaned up from the field, a chat with the Bollington goalkeeper who had recently made a save and got canine turdage on his face the teams took to the field and got ready to roll.  The early pressure came via the home team (although this was a neutral ground) with a throw in missing all heads and ending with a choice angled kick by No 7 (Danny Harwood) who brought a very good save from the guest keeper.  The same team remained urgent with the yellow and black colours indicative of the buzzing bee approach.  No 13 (Connor Rabbette) pushed on and won a free-kick from nothing.  The outcome was bugger all but promise was blossoming early on and only moments later a throw in was won, a touch on had with 2 players left to roam and close-in on goal.  No 16 (Mike Gleave) was the recipient, he had time aplenty and duly buried - game now on.  Within in the flash of a hummingbird's testes Sale were advancing forth once more, with a gratis-boot won.  The ball in came, it flew straight into the net - was there a touch or wasn't there - who knows but this was now 2 - 0 and Bollington looked shell-shocked.

The game raced on, the guests started to have a little more joy on the ball with a free-kick of their own earned.  No 6 (Jack Worsley) stepped up and sent in a mighty fine hoofing, the keeper fumbled onto the bar and the follow-up header was put just wide.  More balls came from the trailing pack, the response and effort was bang on, just more composure and movement up front was needed.  Suddenly, after such great heave-ho, the attacking side lapsed, a break came with No 9 (Stjon Tyla Clement) playing the ball to Harwood who tapped home with genuine ease.  Sale didn't seem to have had their appetite sated just yet, Harwood produced a cheeky flick next, Clement gathered, galloped and crossed, the visiting keeper looked mighty glad to gather.

The tide continued, a throw in saw Clement receive, cut in and consider several options.  He chose to shoot, the mittman was down quicker than Freddie Mercury on a bending man's arse crack and yet the danger of any further penetration passed.  From the incessant flow the Bolly Boys somehow worked up the pitch and earned a bonus kick.  Worsley struck well, it was headed back whereupon the initial hoofer belted back a fine driller that the goalie did well to hold.

Down the other end we travelled, I could barely keep up.  The bearded Harwood was hungry, a shot came and the keeper fumbled, Clement pounced like a pigeon on a pie (mmm pie), the man between the sticks recovered well and killed the danger.  Alas the respite was temporary, The Amateurs were on a roll, Clement was released with ease, a simple pass found Harwood who bagged yet another goal - 4 - 0 it was folks, who would have reckoned on it.

Now we had a brief battling period, alas it was the team who were tearing their opponents a new rectal gap who were the ones to break.  A rear guard bod for Bolly was put under the spotlight, a back pass was intercepted as the keeper was found in two minds.  Clement was the pilfering invader, the 5th goal was rolled home, what can I say?

As steam rose from the nib of my pen Bollington had one last spurt.  On the corner of the opposing box a clumsy tackle was forced and the reward was a spot kick.  No 5 (Liam Hough) was the taker and duly tickled the ball home - was this the start of the comeback of all comebacks or was I guilty of dropping too much acid and being caught up in the realms of fantasy?  Just before the break the Bolly No 13 (John Bradley) latched onto the ball just outside the box and sent in a hefty drive that wasn't far off the mark, if that would have gone in we could have had a whole new game on our hands - phew.  The referee blew for half-time next, the break was very much needed.

For the break myself and Gill opened our flasks and fought off the inclement thermals.  The Bollington team gathered nearby with the team talk positive and encouraging.  A few players indulged in a smoke, a few stretched their shanks and tried to keep warm, they had an uphill task ahead, all they can do is give it their best!

The second half began, No 12 (Will Sawar) for Sale showed feisty keenness with an interception and tussle for the ball earning a corner kick.  The ball from the angle was delivered, 'ping-pong' ensued, a cute leg flick finalised matters with the gloved guardian doing well to tip over this surprise effort.  The offside holler failed to negate the excitement of this inspired footballing moment.  Sale flew away again, No 8 (Andrew Petrov) was put in, the keeper was quick to leave his line and saved once more - not bad for a guy with 5 goals against his name.  The same net protector was called into action soon after with a low drive neatly saved in the bottom corner and then he rode his luck when caught off his line and watched a cheeky chip from Harwood drop on the wrong side of the vertical.

Now the wind whipped up, the rain fell with zeal, we were amid a scene from The Omen, the question was, which team would be struck down next and would the referee be exposed as the Anti-Christ - he did look like a rather shifty bastard!

With great endeavour the team on the back shank strove to build a move.  As foul luck would have it a ball that was attempted to go forth hit a Bolly players back and dropped to the attack-minded tootsies of Sale's Harwood who rounded the mittman and slotted home - it was the ultimate insult, now that was shit on the face.  Soon after the same scorer was in at the last once more and attempted to loop the ball over the last man, it was a shame that accuracy was just lacking.  

Onwards, more shots came at the Bollington goal, the scampering squad on the wrong end of a beating hung on until Harwood collected out wide, swept in a cross that Clement glanced on and into seventh Heaven the home team went.  From here subs were made, some comic-cuts football had and a few hefty, but fair, tackles executed.  Bolly dug deep, No 12 (Sam Bradley) had a crack at goal but the globe had too much uplift.  Sale started to stroke the ball about and a few more chances came.  All seemed to be heading to the finale without any further strikes until a quick spurt came, a collision in the box was had and a penalty given.  No 14 (Matthew Jones) was on it - 8 - 1 it was, oh my ruddy goodness.

That looked to be that, not so, from the kick-off Rabette was in and on it.  A simple run, a negotiation of the keeper, 9 - 1 and yes that was that.  The last gasps saw a few half chances arise but nothing of note, the scoreline reflected a one way riot and Sale Amateurs were very much deserved of their haul.  Man of the Match was close but Sale's No 18 (Dario Brown) played the captain's role perfectly, kept up the yap and organisation, kept his players informed and played with a cool authority that helped keep the defense as difficult to break down as one of Frank Lard's Indigestible Gristle Pies (the dirty old git).  

Me and the missus roamed homeward, this had been a jaunt to the depths of Non-League football and we had seen some decent friendly folk do their bit, indulge in matters in a good spirit and entertain we two watchers with great gusto  - we were appreciative of all that transpired.

FINAL THOUGHT - You know, several hours after this match a hefty goon known as Tyson Fury was in a thump up with the overrated winger known as Deontay Wilder but so fuckin' what!  For me, watching two sets of lads and their managerial staff have a good game of footy on a pitch best described as a cow-field, enjoy themselves and doing it with good heart and many a smile is far more real and deserved of my time than watching 2 ego-riddled arseholes knock lumps out of one another.   Don't get me wrong, I like a spot of boxing - Tommy Hearns, Julian Jackson, Muhammad Ali, Jack Johnson, Errol Graham and Riddick Bowe are a few of the names that get the jowls salivating but man, give me some real DIY football and I am convinced.  Today Bollington got beat in resounding style but having recently lost to the same team 11 - 0 this was something of an improvement.  The fact is, the lads came, had a go, were amiable and played with good banter and a smile on their faces - you can't beat that and remember, this side have only been going since the beginning of the season and are 4th in their league - that can't be bad can it.  Sale Amateurs seem to just have too much in many areas today though with several players as sharp as razors and showing a continual desire even when they had the game in the bag.  They try to play proper football and despite a pitch as uneven as the back of Quasimodo the players passed and moved and refused to play long and create an ugly spectacle.  They are top of the league, there was evidence today to see why - now all me and the good lady need to do is see these two teams on their home patches and repeat the reporting process.  

To add, thanks to the players and managers for having a natter and showing some good earthy spirit - I am a punk rock bastard, I am a lover of things real and done for the love of it - my appreciations are sincere!

HEY DE HEY

21st February 2020 - Denton Town 1 v 3 Heyside FC - The working week was done, my tits were aggravated by the permanently grotty weather and the fact that I was constantly cycling to and from work looking like a mud-splattered destitute.  I had had another cold, my joints were aching and my temperament was akin to that of a tortoise stuck on its back whilst a rectal bot-fly incessantly jabbed at the exposed posterior.  I grumpily rode home, had a bowl of pasta for tea and a Strawberry Split Lolly.  I exercised whilst watching Hi-De-Hi and wondering if Fred Quilley had ever been in prison for Equine crimes.  My good lady soon joined me, she is the eternal tonic to pick up the spirits of this cantankerous struggler and before long I felt a little more chipper and danced around like Peggy Ollerenshaw on acid (don't tell Miss Cathcart).  We got ready and headed out into the weather I have poetically labelled as 'ruddy shit' and arrived at the ground of Hyde United after gliding along the dampened roadways.  Tonight was the night of the Saturday Amateur Cup Final with one of my favourite sides playing a unit I had not seen before.  We purchased chips and tea,  and made our predictions.  I went for 7 - 0 to Denton Town with Denton Dave Starkey having a touchline breakdown due to the overwhelming shock and after the game devoting the rest of his life to naked Buddhism.  My wide Gill was more conservative and went for a 3 - 1 win for Heyside - we shall see!   Seats were eventually taken, pills of sanity popped and I amended my choice of outcome to a 1 - 1 draw with Denton winning on pens and Mr Starkey sticking to his strict Pagan beliefs and enjoying the odd roast-baby pie.

At 7.45pm the teams were in position and the central sable-clad official discordantly pronounced that the game was afoot - here we go again folks, ooh the excitement of it all.

The first attack came soon after the kick-off, it was a mid-paced sortie with Denton the cultivators.  A cross came, No 9 (Jake Massey) flew in like a seagull on a dropped hotdog and was just denied at the near post.  A corner came, No 2 (Yannick Le Gal) was waiting at the back post but his belfry-based touch was utterly ineffective and the ball dropped behind for a goal kick.  Things remained relatively quiet from here with the only suggestion of excitement coming when The Town's No 11 (Michael Bennett) went on a mission and saw the ball fall to No 6 (Lewis Cooper) whose shot went straight at the awaiting keeper.  

Heyside eventually got to grips with the flow, they won 3 corners on the bounce - the first ended in a deflected shot, the second was defended by an awaiting noggin and the third pinged straight off the horizontal.  It was hardly edge of the seat stuff, unlike the time when Yvonne and Barry Hargreaves indulged in a nude Bossonova-based dance complete with dangling anal ganzas.

The match continued in a drudging style with Denton stuttering and Heyside sputtering and the rain coming down with utter unrelenting spite.  And then, from out of the dark, bleak wankery No 11 (Mark Hopwood) for Heyside was away.  The opposing mitter was off his line and duly back-pedalled, the striker advanced and the man with the gloves slipped on his arse.  The chance to open the scoring was here and when the shank was swung it seemed the net was surely to bulge.  Not so, the keeper, having regained his footing somehow managed to make the save - it seemed a veritable life-saving moment.  The corner came, I think everyone expected little when up rose the HS No 8 (Jordan Schofield) and in an unchallenged position nutted the ball into the meshing.  It was just what the game needed.

Now there was life in the ticker of that there game...  Heyside came once more, the ball eventually fell to the galloping feet of No 2 (Gareth Hill) who, under extreme hassle, lost the ball for a goal kick - Denton Town were certainly living on the cusp.  The half wound down with little else to report and with an aching chuff and a full-bladder we deemed it time to move to the other side of the ground and view the second 45 minute spell.

With golden liquid expelled in latrines smelling like an elephant's dung-heap we pootled through the awful rain to the shelter of the opposing viewing point.   We were hoping that the second half would be a more gratifying spectacle, if not then my next urine passing session may be done on the pitch - one can only take so much don't ya know!

A lively start to half two was highly welcomed, the conditions were as pleasant as one of Mr Partridge's morning farts after a night on the lash - ooh very nasty.  From a Heyside free-kick a stunning ball was posted that No 5 (Josh Briddon) latched onto and touched just wide of the upright - now that would have been some start.  In return Bennett for the DT squad continued to bust a gut in the earnest attempt of getting the game back to all-square.  From a trifling moment of Denton action Heyside attacked, Hill darted, laid the ball off and watched a further pass fall to No 9 (Adam Dale) who neatly collected and buried with little fuss - it was a tidy goal, it was a kick in the globes for the trailing team.

The leading lads now began to express themselves and moved the ball around with far more confidence than previously shown.  Denton hung in, had an attack that saw a rapid cross get nailed in the net only to be waved offside by a very eager liner - it was just one of those nights it seemed.  The out-of-luck squad came once more, a sweet ball entered the box and looked to be heading into the net but No 4 (Mark Ashworth) was there to clear at the last and keep the HS scoresheet clean.  

The last 15 minutes soon came, the team in front won a free-kick after their troublesome No 12 (Matty Williams) was tumbled.  The Town's defenders did enough, a break came and a free-kick earned - alas it was hoofed straight into the wall, this was just not good enough.  A corner came the same way, again the defending Ashworth was in the right spot at the right time.  The ball was redelivered, this time No 3 (Gary Molyneux) nutted clear at the last, it seemed there was there no way through for the driving Town?

The closing stages were industrious, the thermal temperature of the game now grew, it became slightly heated, almost like certain unmentionable parts of Gladys Pugh when in close contact with Geoffery Fairbrother (I really do need to get out more).  No 9 (Jake Massey) for The Town connected with a strong cross but could only fracture the Heavens.  The opposing ranks responded and progressed with purpose, a simple ball was played to No 15 (Chris Rodgers) who indulged in some cool control and stroked home - 3 - 0 and thank you, game done.

There was now little time left, a couple of minutes at most.  Denton Town tried for a consolation with a long ball dropping to No 15 (Jake Phelan) who had one look, a second look and duly glided the ball into the bottom corner - nice.  The game ended with this lovely strike but it was all too late and Heyside had thoroughly deserved their victory.  We pootled around the ground and watched the squad lift the cup and my personal choice for Man of the Match was the winning team's No 4 (Mark Ashworth) who was just a rock in the rear and a player who kept a consistency and calmness throughout and made sure that the opposing ranks were kept at bay.  To be fair the whole back line was impressive but this chap just shaded matters and got the nod - not a bad night's work at all.

FINAL THOUGHT - As per, with these football finals, the game started with hesitation the dictator and liquidity lacking.  Eventually both teams got flowing with Heyside always showing greater hunger, a sharper edge and a larger range of options (unlike the breakfasts at Maplins - chips and egg, egg and chips or just chips).  Denton did display a certain stubbornness but when moving forward lacked a pacey punch, failed to offer swift support and just seemed to be void of that killer instinct - it is an area that needs desperate work, perhaps a little more width would be the remedy - who knows but whatever, I shall be on a touchline soon watching them indulge in the hoofing game again.  Heyside started poorly but improved all the while and eventually played some good football and got the goals they deserved.  As said, at the back they are as tight as Joe Maplin's cheque book and when in the mood played some quick-thinking football when going forth.  These precious cup wins can give a team untold confidence and from here who knows where they may end up - you never know - that elusive Knobbly Knees Contest of ye olde Patella Town may be next up or in fact...promotion!

NOMADS WYTHERED

18th February 2020 - Wythenshawe Town 5 v 0 Cheadle Heath Nomads - Within the deluge of force fed shit, celebrity fuck-wits, hero worship, floods, detachment and apathy I find myself floating along on the sinking ship SS Fungal and wondering what the fuck I am doing.  The key though is 'doing' and so with moth-eaten sails billowing, leaks aplenty and the dreaded worm nibbling the timbers onwards things go - this way, that way and anyway way except the right one.  Today was busy at work, I kept on top of things by listening to some emotively charged music and arrived home ready to roll.  A quick tea, some catching up and then the good lady joined me and after a chew of the cud we set out in dire conditions to make our way to the  not too distant ground of Wythenshawe Town.  STP Stu was joining us again and after catching up with many faces and slurping a warming brew we chose our viewing situations.  Teamsheets were provided by the Cheadle Heath Club Secretary, the ever-amiable Nev Pearson, a man forever smiling despite having 8 nipples and a rubber left buttock.  These might not sound serious complaints but try telling that to Octo-Pap Nev when he is over-lactating, the local tit-predator is knocking on his door and his chuff is smouldering after sitting too close to the 3 bar 'lecky' fire - tis a hard life at times.  

So, in position, predictions made, (I was going for a 3 - 1 home win, Stu a 2 - 2 draw, Nev chipped in and went for 12 - 0 win to Wythy with one of the midfield players abandoning the match halfway through and going to the local sex-change hospital for a tin-pot boob job and a cut-price nip and tuck - a bold prediction if ever I heard one).  The teams eventually spilled onto the pitch, we were all agog and despite a pervasive chill nipping at the phalanges I managed to scribble the following observations.

The opening sequence saw a quite competitive spectacle with both teams huffing and puffing with equal desire.  If anything, the Nomads were just shading matters but at the apical part of each move were just lacking that incisive touch.  A sweet ball from No 5 (Ashley Crank) saw the guests mount some pressure that looked hopeful but was eventually undone by some quite abysmal passing.  A Wythenshawe corner was the surprising outcome, Nomads stood firm but remained under pressure.  No 10 (Steven Yarwood) was in possession of the ball out wide and delivered a cross to the back post that No 11 (Matthew Bryan) nutted home with relative comfort.  Did you ever have the feeling this was going to be a real long night for the travelling pack?

The game continued. Cheadle lacked any pattern and struggled to make any serious impression.  Wythenshawe were playing with obvious composure and control and looked mighty settled as a unit.  Another home attack soon came, Yarwood was the supplier to Bryan who hammered it low across goal for No 9 (Liam Crellin-Myers) to tap home and double the lead.  Now, now - surely this wasn't in the Nomadic script!

This was not looking good as regards a contest, one team were flying, the other trying, there was a huge difference.  Again the hosts flew the flank, a ball in saw Yarwood have time to settle and shoot.  The shot came, it was well struck, the guest No 1 (Aaron Tyrer) produced a save of exceptional quality and gave his team some semblance of hope.  The hosts were irresistible, a superb ball came, No 7 (Brad Byrne) and No 3 (Jerome Wright) indulged in some liquid link up play, the latter player beat his marker, evaded the keeper and slotted home to finalise the best goal so far - kaboom.

It would be nice to say that at this point Cheadle Heath Nomads dug deep and made a comeback, it would be equally gratifying to say that the blue tide was halted and we were able to witness a game of more balanced proportions - alas it wasn't to be.  The Town pressed again, Yarwood was given space to have a pop, the result was just off target and then No 2 (Dominic Smalley) popped up at close range to put in a header that the keeper just managed to fumble away.  A corner followed, Byrne had a punt that was scooped over before a period of midfield fuss ensued.  From the midst of the mither Town's Smalley was allowed to dash forth (not for the first time may I add) and have a shot from the angle that was too close for comfort.

The last gasps of a severely skewed half, a sugar sweet ball for the Town came, Bryan was away and chipped the mitter, the ball went wide but the same player was soon away again and firing with fervour.   This time the keeper was in the way and after one final crack from Yarwood the half was done - by heck what a whooping that was, at the finale The Nomads were rescued, the Town hindered in their forward flow - cripes.  

For the break we stayed where we were, had a choccy bar and considered the fiasco witnessed.   The game could easily have seen many more Town goals and their opponents receive a one-way ticket to 'Fucked City' - we were hopeful that something closer to parity would ensue.

The second half began, an early dig from Town's No 8 (Jack Timmons) was a warning and clearly stated 'we ain't finished yet'.  The guests however were battling and getting stuck in to all 50/50 balls and striving with severe might to get a sniff of something promising.  As the game pressed on, and the aforementioned Nev was seen to be wet-nursing 7 sprogs and leaving one nipple in reserve, the trailing pack had a good session of playing doctor with lots of prodding and poking taking place.  Alas Wythenshawe Town were not willing to recline and be put under any lasting examination and it wasn't long before their trousers were hitched up and they were having a good old probe themselves (ooh me sphincter).  Suddenly a move with extreme purpose came and a free-kick won.  Yarwood executed a quite mouth-watering chip pass, Byrne raced in, walloped home and that was indeed that for all those hoping for a comeback.

The pen raced across the paper, touchline treatment was given to those who had predicted a Cheadle Heath Nomads win and several over-zealous Wythy fans needed certain parts of their anatomy draining due to over-excitement.  No sooner had I finished my latest scribblings than Crellin-Myers was racing in only to be tumbled by an advancing keeper.  A yellow card was issued, a penalty awarded and Byrne slapped home with little fuss.

The final gallop to the pea-wobbling closure saw little change in proceedings.  The Nomad's No 9 (Richard Tindall) had a snap shot whistle wide, Crank had a free-kick pushed away and a couple of bookings were thrown-in.  The hosts took the foot off the gas and confirmed a resounding victory that could, on a night with a little more fortune, have resulted in a double-figure haul - it really was that convincing.  Upon the final shrill of the man in black's oral device I pondered the Man of the Match and opted for Wythenshawe Town's No 10 (Steven Yarwood) who was urgent, quick-thinking, willing and thoroughly creative throughout thus offering his team many options and cultivating many opportunities - in truth though the choice could have been one of several blue clad players.

FINAL THOUGHT - There is little to add at this point that could really change the pattern of the tale already told - Cheadle Heath Nomads were really as bad as the previous textual dabblings state and Wythenshawe Town were bang on it.  For me, the guests have lost the plot and are not playing as a team, are quick to get on each other's cases and seem to be lacking pace in many areas.  They had a wonderful run mid season and then, things fell apart and despite the odd capricious win they are in need of a real shake up.  If one cares to look at the recent NWCFL form table one will see Wythenshawe Town sitting on top and Cheadle Heath Nomads wallowing in 16th position - tonight we saw the reasons why!  All is not over, I have faith, I am also on mind-altering drugs, but by heck, some serious backroom work needs to be done.   Wythenshawe Town are on a roll, they are a darn good side and will undoubtedly move up to the next level.  They play as a pack, pass with pace, have a forward thinking mentality and always seem to have an abundance of options.   All is going well at the moment and the camp seems to be in a healthy place.  Questions will be asked during the latter end of the season and at the higher level, then we can really see how good this lot are.  So far there is little to criticise but tonight they did have things a little too easy to judge - I have no doubt I will be seeing this lot a few more times before the season is done but so far, so ruddy good.

74 MARCHING ON

17th February 2020 - Maine Road 0 v 4 1874 Northwich - A cup match between two of my favourite sides and I found myself akin to the ring-piece of Elvis Presley after trying to dump a mass of 8 semi-digested Cheese-Burgers and a tub of fat-saturated fries - torn down the middle.  The day was spent cycling and then gardening where I produced my dibbler and did my dibbling thing.  The neighbour didn't seem happy with my antics and threatened to phone the local law - I warned her that I would set fire to her bush and use my secateurs on her withered buds - it seemed to do the trick and with a two-fingered salute and a toothless raspberry the pot-bellied fiend went back indoors to tend to her ginger pussy (Mrs Slocombe I do apologise).  I cracked on, fed the birds, trimmed some shrubbery, made a few bug homes and planted some seeds.  The afternoon was spent working on several books I have on the go and doing some laborious proof-reading.  I sent out news of this re-arranged match and then got myself sorted.  This game was an unexpected bonus after last weeks cancellation, the question was - would it be worth it or would it be similar to the Jimmy Edwards Nude Catalogue I had ordered off Amazon - a severe anti-climax.  I arrived at the ground with anticipation high and the pen ready to scribble - this is the tale that unfolded before my eyes and those brave enough to sit alongside me (STP Stu and John D - you are intrepid souls). 

The opening soccerised spillage saw the hosts produce the first foray on goal with some quick play ending in a shot that forced the keeper to dive, save and duly jump up and bollock his dozing defence.  The guest ranks reacted with vigor, a rapier-like move saw an unkindly bounce of the ball put the host's rear in trouble with No 3 (Jack Tinning) the pilferer and No 6 (Jake Parker) the striker of the ball - alas the bulge in the net was negated as an offence had been spotted and the embryonic celebrations were snuffed out - all together now - 'The liner is a spoilsport, the liner is a ...'.  From here the guest squad started to dictate but only one shot came at goal, via Parker, which went straight at the keeper.  The Road did what they do best, scamper and mither and put in an admirable work-rate.  Eventually this toilsome effort bore fruit with No 9 (Jack Coop) showing good strength and feeding No 6 (Oscar Campbell) who had a quick dash and dig that forced the keeper to reach up on high and pluck the globe out of the air with relatively easy hands.  The flow against the blue-clad hosts continued but time ticked on with surprising speed and the lack of genuine thrill and spill action meant that the MR lads were still very much in this.

With little of note to scrawl about the back stretches of the first period were soon upon us.  We needed a goal or perhaps a streaking Ena Sharples look-a-like - yes things were getting that desperate for we eager on-lookers.  During the last industrious minutes 74 strained harder than a constipated cow suffering from rectal tautness, The Road buzzed about like highly excited midgies around the said anal area - alas dynamic droppings of untold success were not delivered and too many times the guests were caught offside or in too much of a rush to cultivate some triumphant crapulence.  Green push after green push came, the odd promising fart was all we got and at the break we were left with our hooters raised sniffing the ambigious aroma of 'what might have been'.

We stayed put for the break, I had a quick piddle through a nearby fence and nearly lost my John Thomas to a pecker-eating Night Owl thus proving what good eye-sight these creatures are blessed with.  I tucked up quickly, was happy to see there were no Teste-Devouring Dingbats about and made my way back to my seating position with tackle intact.

The second half began with the guests attacking from the off.  A corner and plenty of pressure soon came but The Road remained impermeable and looked to pick up the odd stray scrap. The game remained a touch and go affair, Northwich had a corner after much midfield mither.  The ball was played short, hammered in and Tinning put his effort wide.  Now one could feel a certain thumbscrew of desire being turned and a new intense steam arising from the brows of the travelling army.  No 11 (Harry Cain) had a punt at goal soon after, the home keeper left it until the last minute before falling to his left and pushing the ball behind.  The corner produced sour FA but there was a goal on the cards and it seemed it was only going one way.

The animation and overall spaciousness of game took on a different aspect with Maine Road very much playing the role of 'hanger's on'.  The home No 4 (David Brown) was the next to feel the heat after being forced to concede a corner due to much harassment from 74's No 9 (Scott McGowan).  The ball from the angle was hammered in, No 5 (Mark Jones) connected with his belfry but a deflection saw the pace taken out of the flight and the keeper gather with relative ease.  Urgency now took on a 'blue-light' level, we stayed on a razor's edge, for all of 74's heave-ho, one break and the sucker punch could easily be delivered.

Eventually a breakthrough came, borne from a 74 corner that was twatted in without finesse that found the reliable foot of McGowan who slapped home in his usual predatory style.  The goal had been coming, it was now up to the trailing team to dig mighty deep and see what they could summon up.  Alas soon after and  Road's No 3 (Paul Earlam) was liberated of the globe with McGowan playing the role of pesky thief.  A pass followed, Parker gratefully accepted and belted the ball home to double his team's lead - by heck, now this was more like it!

Propelled into the last section of the game and all hope looked to have pissed off over the hill and given a two-fingered salute to the home team but from nowhere Campbell battled and somehow bumbled the ball to No 8 (Ben Mooney) who had a first time shot that was mighty close indeed.  It was a ray of promise, was there still life in the rather battered cur yet?  As The Road tried to push once more the visiting No 2 (Samuel Hind) gathered and played a superb ball that McGowan chased.  Another defensive mix-up followed, Parker ended up in possession and without further ado fired home and kicked the living daylights out of the game as a contest.  0 - 3 it was, the exact scoreline my fellow on-looker had predicted.  I had been more bold and gone for 0 - 4 - it was looking like one of us was going to take on the mantle of Mr Predictor 2020.  74 continued to push, The Road defended for all they were worth, much to John's utter appreciation.  Suddenly we had mere seconds left, 1874 pushed one last time, a ball forth saw No 14 (Taylor Kennerley) collect and have a pop - kaboom - 0 - 4 it was and when the whistle went soon after I was seen to strut off wearing my prophesying crown and waving to many adoring fans (I do get carried away).  I saw John D storm off and accost the referee claiming the goal was offside - ooh the bitter bugger.  From my throne of self-satisfaction I chose a Man of the Match, it was 1874 Northwich's No 11 (Harry Cain) for being a relentless dynamo and a persistent crumb in the underpants of Maine Road.  The lad put in his all, was instrumental in causing much mither and deserved to be substituted late on after putting in some shift - It was worthy of a nod of appreciation.

FINAL THOUGHTS - I expected this to be hard work for Maine Road and indeed it was.  It was a shame but the boys in blue can be far from ashamed of what they did tonight with the work rate and sheer discipline a lesson for many teams to learn from.  The team were up against a very good side indeed, a side on a severe roll and looking to win the Premiership and bag the Macron Cup along the way - only a fool would bet against the double.  Nevertheless, the hosts kept things all square up until the 72nd minute and, with a bit of luck, may have pinched the opening goal and really put the pussy amid the flapping things.  Yes, there were many positives tonight and I expect the team to rebound immediately and make their next opponents pay - ooh heck, Abbey Hulton United be warned.  And to 1874 Northwich, well what can one say?  Promotion has been a long time coming but this season off they will go into pastures new for an adventure they are more than capable of dealing with.  Alongside the pending promotion they can add cream to the cake with another Macron Cup win and that would be fully deserved for a team who play good football, have a sincere belief in what they do and have a sound following who really do get behind their team.  I attended last year's Macron Cup Final and reckon I will be doing so again, what price 1874 lifting the cup - I am sure the odds will be shorter than Ronnie Corbett's sexual appendage and as certain as Donald Trump being diagnosed as suffering from cretinism - place your bets please!

DENTED IN THE WIND

15th February 2020 - Denton Town 0 v 1 Parklands FC - The J W Walton Cup was the theme today, a tie to be played at a neutral ground (namely Avro's Vestacare Stadium) with a quarter final place up for grabs.  Storm Dennis was on its way, I know a few people called Dennis, they are all bastards so this storm was looking set to be a real mischievous imp.  After a short drive we arrived at the ground and caught up with Denton Dave and his mate Rob Nicholson.  Hopes were far from high of a decent turn-out and when less than 20 neutrals turned up it seemed those lowly expectations were proven.  I presume that the wind was keeping all wig wearers, willy waggling flashers and sub-5 stone people indoors due to obvious danger but I did expect a good show from the more obese areas of society - perhaps there was a Pie Convention on nearby or Delia Smith was doing a nude cookery show on TV - darn those freckled titties.  Hey ho, myself and my good lady were in attendance and eventually found a wind-blown perch, wrapped up warm and watch the following escapade unfold.  

From a relatively quiet and somewhat tentative start the first dig at goal came via Denton's No 8 (Harry McLellan) who looked rather miffed to only fire straight at the keeper after have a fair amount of space.  The Parklands pack settled, they tried to play many threaded balls and maintain possession but on several occasions fell a little to easily into the offside trap.  The team did manage to eventually summon a liquid move with a choice cross-field touched on, passed to No 3 (Stuart Brady) who lashed and saw the keeper neatly palm over the horizontal.  The resultant corner was ruined by the gales - it wasn't the last angled hoof to be effected in this way.  

The impetus of the game was growing, Parklands came on again with No 2 (Adam Donohue) retrieving the ball in the corner, passing back to No 7 (Jeff Gleave) who delivered and saw Brady hit his effort wide.  Denton were still battling away, their No 6 (Lewis O' Connor) exhibited some good strength, shrugged off his markers and from the space made sent in a shot that was just outside of the upright.  Immediately we went up the other end of the pitch with Gleave having time to shoot but only hitting the man between the sticks.  

This was still a touch and go affair, the first goal was getting more and more important.  Denton's No 11 (Mike Bennett) had a run and shot that was deflected behind for a corner. The ball from the angle was posted onto the belfry of the incoming No 2 (Yannick Le Gal) who could only make an attempt that was all to easy for the hand-padded protector of the mesh.  From here the Town started to monopolise as the opposing pack became somewhat ragged.  Unexpectedly, Denton were robbed of the globe, No 9 (Mikey Corrigan) for the PL squad was released, had the mittman to beat but failed to do so with the said gloved guardian doing just enough to save his side's bacon.  Soon after the same attacking bod was away again after slipping his marker.  He duly rounded the keeper and sent the ball goalward, alas Le Gal for The Town was in the way and denying the opening strike.  A late flourish from Denton saw McLellan fire at the keeper (again) and a then a free-kick get hoofed straight out of play.  

For the interval me and my missus stood up and hugged the rear of the stand so as to avoid a soaking.  The bar was shut so no warm drinks were available - these are hard times for Non-League Noodles - dust and fresh air it was then.  The teams soon came back out, from the off Parklands attacked.  The ball went into the box, No 8 (Jake Larkin) fed Corrigan with the final shot off target.  

The conditions now collapsed with the players struggling along and trying to make the best of matters.  Parklands won a corner, the ball was played in with a header seeing the ball drop at the feet of Corrigan who swung his shank and watched the globe get deflected into the back of the net - it was an untidy strike but they all count...and, it had been coming.  

Not long after the restart Denton won a corner that was fired in low and nearly turned into the net by a rather surprised defender.  The next corner was hoofed behind - ooh that wicked wind and those wanky toes - what a combo!  The energy continued, Parklands advanced, a whistling cross saw No 14 (Max Callan) get his knickers in a knot and fail to finish and then Denton bounced back, Bennett delivered, No 9 (Jake Massey) touched on and No 10 (Liam Turner) buried albeit from an offside position which was noted by the kestrel-eyed referee.  Soon after Turner got his cranium on a cross and had a chance to score from a legal position - the outcome though was off-target.  

The rain now fell as a spiteful wind-whipped liquid javelins, a battling period ensued from which Denton lost the ball in defence and in swept Corrigan for the leading team and looked set to kill the game stone dead.  The opposing keeper did his bit once more, the lad was keeping his team's hopes alive that was for sure.  

A few robust tackles were now flying in, a member of the Denton bench was booked for verbal activity, the game was entering the final throes and desperation and determination were the order of the day.  Despite the trailing squad busting many a bollock Parklands FC took on the stature of a highly aroused nob and remained firm and upright.  In fact the team with the advantage had a chance to score when Larkin had time and space on his side.  The shot was against the wind, the ball went wide, I think it would be unjust to blame the conditions in this instance.  A few more coughs and splutters, some time-killing antics by Parklands and that was that, the one goal had been enough and with the wind up their arseholes both teams wandered off - one set laden with smiles, the other radiating a rather 'fucked-off' aura.  Man of the Match was given to Parkland's No 4 (Sam Gleave) who was just a trustworthy and focused rock in the rear, a real fly in the ointment for the opposing attackers and a player who certainly read the ball and did what he had to do when required.

FINAL THOUGHT - Denton Town came, huffed and puffed but the Parklands' house would not be blown down.  It was a close game but for me the losing team just failed to create enough chances, never settled in the testing conditions and, may it be said, had their minds on a forthcoming final that was indeed, of loftier importance.  They could still have sneaked through here but they were up against a side who just wanted it more and who had far more creative juices flowing at the sharp end of play.  I did think Denton's O' Connor and their keeper (Mark Dilnutt) had very good games and are one's to watch in the future.  Parklands came today with a plan to work hard and feed the ball forth as quickly as possible.  In truth, they could have had a bagful if the strikers had their true shooting boots on but, at the end of the day, they bagged the crucial goal that saw them progress into the next round of this somewhat obscure cup.  Who the bloody Hell is J W Walton, is he a relation of John-Boy and if so, will he please confirm that Jim-Bob didn't sexually molest that rooster - it has been bugging me since the late 70's - gobble, gobble, cluck, cluck!

MORE PRUNES PLEASE

12th February 2020 - Runcorn Town 1 v 1 Hanley Town - The fact that Runcorn Town doesn't have under-soil heating, doesn't provide all on-lookers with pre-heated slippers and doesn't offer half-time massages for those parts of the body suffering from shiver-shock didn't deter me and my good lady from attending tonight's game.  We understand that teams at this level are on a tight budget but imagine our shock when we were asked at the gate to blow-up the match balls, give the seats a quick wipe over and donate 50p towards replacement underpants for the managerial staff - by heck times are hard!  We did our bit, I even offered to donate my personal 'Charlie Drake' underpants with a 'Hello My Darlings' message embroidered onto the silken gusset.   The man on the gate happily settled for a signed photograph of the said star though with, he says in a sinister whispering voice, a phone number.  After a call in at the clubhouse, a warming brew and some scrummy chips we wandered to our sheltered sitting points and awaited the game.  We both fancied a home win although Hanley Town are always liable to throw the odd spanner in many team's works.  We hunkered down, the wind was keeping quiet, the claws of Old Uncle Nipple Nipper were a greater concern, oh we hardy and insane Non-League watchers, I am sure that enthusiasm can be a dangerous medical condition at times.

At last, the clock crawled to 7.45pm, the two battling factions indulged and all eyes were on the galloping legs and the frequently wellied orb with the hope that a bulge in the netting would be viewed many times over.  The first squad of competing doofers and hoofers to have a glimpse at goal were Hanley Town who, after much scampering, won possession and put in their No 9 (James Melhado) from a tidy flick on.  A quick turn was executed, a free-kick earned with the bonus booting struck by No 6 (Timothy Sanders) who sent in a sweet dipper that clattered the crossbar.  The game now took on a distinct pattern with Hanley trying to play on the deck and thread through dissecting passes whereas Runcorn surprisingly kept punting the ball long trying to release their ever-willing No 10 (Craig Cairns).  It was the guest's tactics that produced the next pop at goal with No 7 (Neil Cope) sending in a low driller that the keeper saved with relative ease and then Runcorn had their first serious sortie forth with a resultant corner punched away but returned by No 8 (Shaun Weaver) who was unlucky to see the ball stay just a little too high.

A drab battling period ensued with about as much excitement as the love life of Pope Peter Flaccid and Mother Freda Frigid.  It was a testing time for the punters with the on-pitch constipation in need of a dose of the old footballing prune juice.   From the dull disarray Hanley's Cope had a decent run and shot that wasn't too far off the mark but very little else came in the way of sphincter tingling animation.

Eventually, towards the latter end of the first 45 minute spell, urgency began to rear a tentative head but as both units nibbled at the dangled carrot of success, no true chomp was had and the stubborn deadlock held firm.  Hanley did have one last flourish with a free-kick entering their opponents box and really causing unexpected panic but the hosts survived and the scoresheet remained unblemished.

We stayed put for the break, by heck it were too cold to move.  My good lady had a chat to our dancing daughter in London whilst I nattered to a few nearby footballing enthusiasts.  All were agreed that this game had been 'crap' thus far and needed a real rocket up its arse - here's hoping.

The second half began with decent impetus, the visiting No 2 (Harry Goode) had a solid early dash but was tumbled in the corner and duly ignored by the man in black.  From this moment we had an upsurge in a certain eagerness to get forward but both teams were guilty of telegraphing their passes and allowing the opposing team to snuff out any potential problems.  Shots eventually came at each end of the pitch, No 8 (Oliver Putnan) for the visitors had a short run, cut in and passed to Sanders who sent in a turf-grazing fizzer that the mitter saved with little fuss and then the home No 11 (Kieran Holsgrove) sent forth a similar shot that again was blocked by an unflustered keeper.  Hanley came on again, Cope rifled a strong shot that was deflected onto the post and behind.  The corner that followed was delivered and met by a steaming header but was alas, wide of the mark.

The game bumbled on, Runcorn's No 15 (Kevin Exell) chased down a ball and clashed with the keeper.  Many voices were raised, it looked a fair attempt at getting a semi-loose ball to me, the referee was of the same opinion, carry on folks.  Runcorn reacted, a swift move saw No 12 (Danny Byrnes) at the apex with his shot deflected for a corner that was ultimately wasted.  Suddenly, from the struggling shittery Hanley Town raced on, a low cutting ball flew in from the angle and as Runcorn were caught in a state of uncertainty Cope slapped the globe home.  The game needed this goal, it perhaps went to the better side, the onus was now on the resident ranks to move up a level.

Minutes ticked by, the dregs were soon upon us, Runcorn were now darting around like ferrets trying to get their teeth into a nude trampolinist's nut sac.  From out wide a hopeful ball was tossed into the Hanley box with the situation seemingly harmless.  For some reason all defender's and the keeper stood still and allowed Weaver for the hosts to stroll into space and nut homeward - it seemed a form of suicide by the travelling team, but no matter, the game was back to all square and the final minutes were to be utterly manic.

Several bookings followed, a few tempers became frayed, Hanley had 2 free-kicks, one punched away, the other a blazing shot that thwacked the underneath of the crossbar, hit the line and was finally cleared.  Runcorn immediately raced away No 6 (Joe Holt) was floored in the box, a penalty shout was waved away.  The hosts came again, a ball in saw Weaver nut back and Exell indulge in an overhead kick that ended with the ball falling at the wrong side of the post.   With seconds left Runcorn's Weaver had one final punt, the keeper fumbled, breath was held, but the ball was finally hoofed away and that was that.

And so, chilled to the marrow, not a classic game and a draw the final outcome.  Man of the Match was considered and No 7 (Neil Cope) for Hanley Town was given the nod.  A composed player with a good touch, an eye for space and an ability to create danger from the least expected situation - surely a doofer to watch.

FINAL THOUGHT - Well, the chips and tea were great, the programme one of the best I have seen, the journey to and from the game as smooth as one could wish for - but the game, by heck it were a grueller.  Runcorn Town looked uttterly one dimensional tonight, lost out on too many loose and 50/50 balls and just lacked that crucial Plan B and spring in the step to make any real impression.  Is this a case of mid-season blues and a touch of tiredness or was it just an off-night that any team can get even when flying high.  I always enjoy my trips to this ground, it is a favourite but I was a little let down by the home team's efforts tonight  but hey, shit happens.  Hanley Town are in the mire, are not playing well but tonight did enough to cultivate hope for the rest of the season and give themselves a springboard on which to build.  There were many player's who I noted to have a quality touch tonight, at times they played with liquid movement and if it wasn't for the pesky framework they could have easily won this one with relative ease.   The only worry is, their opponents were out of sorts and they didn't capitalise - take note lads, get them sharp-shooting boots polished and when a pair of vulnerable conkers are dangled - grab em'.