AND BEFORE THE BLIP

4th November 2020 - Cheadle Town 3 v 1 Cheadle Heath Nomads - The last match for a while, the reason, because we have fucked up the planet, fallen victim to idiocy and proved, in many ways, we deserve nowt less.  Harsh, think about it, a twat at the helm at No 10, a couple of twats battling it out in America for more control and a world full of people making heroes, chasing the coin and just going with a flow of utter wankery.   In between the lockdown lunacy litter has been dropped, people have consumed like nutcases and no real lesson has been learned - get back to zero ya buggers.

 As per, simplicity dictates this end, I seek out things DIY and approachable and do what I do.  If football, for instance, was best likened to many countenances then the premier league would be a flimsy glamour pageant with mugs on show comparable to the likes of Rylan Clark-Neal, Tom Jones and Donatella Versace - utterly unreal, affected and drastically processed.  The Non-League game is more like a Butlins's Beauty Contest with an array of fizzogs comparable to Hilda Baker, Mo Moreland of the Roly Poly's and Bella Emberg - far more real, natural and a trifle warted - do ya get my drift?

So, after a day of patchwork labour I had a chill at home and then headed out for a date with Lowbrow Linda the Footballing Lady of Honesty.  The temptress of hoofing promised me a good kick about and much mesh bulging action (hot damn brother). I am a faithful man but this soccer siren has a strong pull and so I was a willing victim for another 90 minutes of red hot action.  On the touchline was STP Stu, another hopeless pervert to the golden game, please give us and many others your sympathy, yanking the plank over old copies 'Match' and 'Hotspur' is not the same.

So worked up and ready, positions taken and at 7.45pm the moves were made and this is how things panned out.

The Nomads opened their night's account with some steady passing primarily within the rear ranks.  Several crosses were had at the opposite end of the pitch with several Town players having to put bonse on ball to ease any potential danger.  No 11 (Jack McConnell) had an early pop deflected over with the corner about as threatening as a man with a gun-shaped blancmange.  The hosts eventually grew into the game and as ever, No 9 (Pat Davin) was a notable menace.  The said player did have a dig, the shot was low and firm but the visiting No 1 (Joel Torrance) spread his legs quicker than Joan Collins in a stud farm and saved well.   This was a good lively game.

A free-kick for the hosts followed, the mittman rose, dropped and caused a moments panic.  The Nomads survived by the skin of their scrotums and tried to recompose themselves by striking the ball this way and that.  Soon after the aforementioned scrotal sacs were withering in fear once more as Davin probed in the angle, neatly negotiated space, beat two players and laid the ball on a plate for No 11 (Enock Amankwaa) to slap home.  The shot, from all of 3 feet out, was ballooned into the misted night sky - it was, what is known in the trade as, 'a shock laden shitter'.  

The game rolled on, Davin was slipped through next, the guest keeper slipped on to his arse, a shot was released with the gloved gent somehow regaining his feet and making a more than adequate stop.  From the resultant corner bugger all was had and the Nomads quickly released the escape valve.  McConnell scampered as though there was a plate of fish and chips awaiting at the other end of the pitch.  Alas the player was distracted by the imaginary delicacies and duly over-salivated and saw his shot deflected wide.  Again the angled kick was poor - work on the training ground needed methinks (and a bit more salt on the chips please).

With 5 minutes left on the timepiece the Nomads cultivated one last flourish.  McConnell had another pop with the globe skewing well away from the target zone.   As luck would have it the spinning sphere landed at the feet of No 6 (Ashley Crank) who buried without fuss - now where did that come from?

The final sequences of the period were ragged in the extreme and as both teams wandered off for the break we wondered which way this one would finish with the guests somehow in the position of ascendancy.

Myself and Stu stayed put for half-time and chatted with the Nomad's ex-manager Andy Gray.  Andy was still as keen as ever, supportive of his side but not eager to plunge back into the managerial position as yet.  Myself and Stu are thinking of setting up a new team called Covid Utd where all player's will be riddled with viruses and other ailments therefore guaranteeing opponents will socially distance and allow us to bag many goals.  If we can make sure our leprosy suffering frontman Carl Crumble can stay in one piece before the season starts Mr Gray may be appointed as the new manager (rubber gloves will be provided and of course a needle and thread in case Mr Crumble's nob falls off).

And back to the game.  A tepid start was eventually warmed up with a Town advancement.  Davin flicked on with his glabrous belfry, a pass saw the player receive once more, put in a sharp cross that saw an upending in the box.  A lifeline was dangled, the home team were given a spot kick which Davin drilled down the middle to level the score - was this the start of the comeback trail?

Next action and a Town free-kick entered the box, chaos ensued, pinball was played out, the Nomads were lucky to get out of a very tricky situation.  Again the home lads progressed, No 8 (Matthew Russell) who had been given space aplenty all night came on, put a cross in that resulted in a superb defensive header but the ball dropped into a position of peril and was pounced upon by No 14 (Max Greenhalgh) who gave his side a deserved lead.  This was the turn-around complete, now Nomads what have ye got?

In the squint of a psychopaths leery eye the guests were soon racing away.  A placed pass saw No 7 (Kyle Foley) appear and be in a position to level the score.  The keeper left his line and spread himself well, the save was better than perhaps initially deemed.   The Town now had to indulge in a spot of net-protection, they did it well and eventually latched on to a stray ball,  One pass, two pass and bang, Amankwaa had brought up the home team's third out of nothing, I felt as though that was that and it proved to be the case.  The Nomads struggled and strained like a constipated Hippo, one cross came and caused a terse episode of havoc but the front players reacted as quick as dung beetles stuck in some rather tacky defecation - the chance went begging.  The game dissolved, the hosts killed time, the referee decided enough was enough.  Man of the Match goes to Cheadle Town's No 8 (Matthew Russell) who was a dynamic force of encouragement, as steady as a rock and a man who was always in space and being an eternal option.  Enjoy the break fella.

And homewards, into the mist for a time to catch up on other fronts - it will happen, tis no time to be idle and contemplate one's arse-crack although the old posterial pubes do need a trim.

FINAL THOUGHTS - a good night out again, fine company and a decent match viewed and by heck, the weather was fine and dandy.  Cheadle Heath Nomads have had a decent run and yet have come unstuck during their last two matches.  The reasons - well, from my touchline perspective there is too much time spent dawdling at the back, limited options when surging and just a little lack of mithering when the opponents are on the ball.  Before the season started things were not looking great for the Nomads, now they are a whole lot brighter, the recent two blips are best forgotten, there is time now to reflect and crack on.  Cheadle Town looked to have better prospects before the campaign began, in fairness they have still not got fully flowing and have struggled to find true balance.  They have some good components in the mix though but need to push on when the league recommences.  Ambition is still high but they are in a tough league and could be the ultimate underachievers.  They deserved the win tonight and this could be the start of a good roll - tis a ruddy shame things are on hold again but there ya go, the titties are tough and if we don't crack on with a bit more sense they will be mighty rough too.  As per, tis onwards, sidewards and a few angles thrown in here - until next time - up the underdogs!

WIN WIN AND A WIND IN THE WILLYS

31st October 2020 - Winnington Avenue 94 6 v 2 Newton Athletic - We may be facing another lockdown due to that fat lump of lard who has been given the role of PM (how the Hell did that happen)?  I am not going to get down by this impending bout of insanity, you see in the main people reap what they sow and I am making sure I sow wildflowers and positive vibes instead of ego claptrap and self-indulgent spores of shittery - here is my latest report.  The weather turned foul during the morn, as windy as the bean-eating cowboys whose Saddles were Blazing and as damp as the brow of Donald Trump when asked to decipher the meaning of 'truth'.  Undeterred we cracked the whip and did our chores, prepared for the football fix and headed out with brollies packed and in my case, a pair or Larry Luvlumps Latex Undies protecting the nether regions.  We arrived nearly 2 hours before kick-off, anyone turning up wearing a syrup or with an allergic reaction to enthusiasm had my deepest sympathy - this wasn't the place for such folk. There was a breeze whipping early on whilst we had a wander and found several species of fungi, it was good to see Lactarius blennius still holding on.

Back at the car park we met STP Stu, entered the main ground and spent an idle hour nattering and watching the teams get set up.  The referee kindly provided me with teamsheets and I was set to scribble a report.  This is the textual twaddle I came up with.

The home team made the greater proportion of early running with much urgency and pressurising passing the result.  No 11 (Steven Warburton) was a constant release valve and provided many crosses at the end of his scampering runs.  One early delivery found the cranium of No 10 (Thomas Sneyd) who could only nut wide - it was a chance.  The guests certainly needed to relax and get a grip on the game and this was reemphasised when WA94 came forth again with No 8 (Joshua Mainwaring) firing firmly, the keeper blocking but allowing No 9 (Joseph Lanceley) to waltz in and tap home to bag the all important first goal.  

The home team remained in total command, almost like a teenage Hitler playing with his set of toy soldiers - 'Zee vill submit you Schweinhunds'.  A free-kick came next, surprise, surprise it was for the resident team.  The delivery was decent, No 4 (Ben Lambert) appeared with the ball on the line and pulled off the impossible by completely missing the target zone, as in the words of Paul Daniels when he actually cut a woman in half by mistake 'now that's tragic'.

From nothing Newton Athletic advanced with the apex of the move coming via No 11 (Ben Woodman) who fired and made the keeper earn his crust.  Two corners followed, the first saw the hosts lucky to survive, the second needed nutting off the line and clearing.  The ball was soon redelivered, No 6 (Adam Pownall) was clattered, the outcome, a penalty kick.  No 9 (Dan Christian) stepped up, stroked the  ball home with consummate ease - the game was now all square, what a ruddy shocker!

The restart came, WA94 strung together several passes, Lanceley provided a swift cross, Sneyd put in a header, 2 - 1 - one could almost here Newton Athetic's erections of success immediately deflate - it wasn't a pleasant sound - flaccid-tastic!

The game now settled, both teams battled well until Lambert for the home lads struck a beauty of a pass with the outside of his foot, Warburton crossed first time and No 14 (Joel Hind) put the ball into the net - a superb example of keeping things simple, effective and stunning.  Newton Athletic stuttered along trying to snatch a goal back, a high ball saw No 10 (Lewis Davenport) collect and release but the kinetic energy transmitted to the globe was minimal. The keeper easily held whilst scratching his arse with one hand and contemplating what he was having for tea following this kick-about.  Newton remained undeterred, 2 corners and 2 shots came, no joy was had but this was better. Suddenly Davenport for the visitors had a pop from distance, the ball flew straight and true and disappointingly rattled the underside of the bar, the player deserved so much more.

The last gasps saw a corner for Newton, the ball entered the box, much panic ensued.  Within the melee of sweating bods and swinging legs was the Athletic's No 5 (Sam Morgan) who stayed composed and slotted home - what a good way to finish the half.

The break was brief, I took a quick wander to expel liquid gold and returned to the viewing spot to have a drink from the flask and snaffle a choccy bar.  Initially this game looked as though it would be one way traffic, full marks to the travelling pack for making this a contest.

Half two commenced.  Lanceley for the Avenue had a weak header, the Atheltic came close when a cross nearly caused an own goal, this game was still up for grabs.  As Newton dashed and darted a defensive error came and Warburton profited and neatly rounded the keeper.  The goal gaped like the rear orifice of a bloke awaiting a prostate inspection, all the striker had to do was penetrate and feel the gland of triumph - alas is was not to be, the target zone remained unpenetrated, the upright was clattered, any doctor carrying out the same mistake would surely be jailed, the player needs a talking to.

The competition was still tight, the next goal could lead to so much excitement.  Newton's Christian had an attempt on goal but the shot lacked 'oomph'. Winnington responded, No 7 (Sam Didsbury) blazed a cross across the face of goal and soon after Warburton had a decent dig that needed pushing behind for the corner.  The angled kick came, the keeper was left flapping like a cockerel with a 3-pin plug up its jacksie, No 5 (Liam Baker) was at the back post and bumbled the ball home in unorthodox fashion -  4 - 2 - the exact score I had predicted before the game.

With a prediction on the line the minutes passed away but Winnington were hungry for more with several shots coming and a bullet header needed gloved assistance to see it over the bar.  Newton were still looking to get back into this one.  A low ball came, No 17 (Ross Kelman) swivelled quicker than the eyes of a porn addict when confronted with a 4-tittied woman.  The release that followed was on target, the save was spot on.  With the scoreline looking set the hosts dashed, a delivery came and Duffy finished without fuss. My prediction was pissed on, the game was finished as a contest and a few droplets of rain now started to fall from the sky.  Soon after Warburton had a other chance to increase the lead and bag a goal, the keeper produced a fine save.  Didsbury was the next player to progress, the ball was played to Duffy, a severe twatting followed, 6 - 2 it was - icing on the cake methinks.

The game now wound down, no team came close to further bulging of the net, the referee duly blew, what complaints could we have.  8 goals, plenty of action, a few fungi and a couple of Buzzards came and said hello too.  Man of the Match was a tricky choice, I thought No 16 (Ross Collins) was very effective for the Winny Warriors  and exuded loads of energy, displayed a quick footballing brain and was forever in the action.  For the time allowed the stint was effective, that is all one can ask.

As we drove home the Heavens opened and we listened to some obscure DIY music.  We like to keep all things earthy and real - you know the script - Non-League, Nature and Noise - simple.

FINAL THOUGHT - A new ground visited in the Cheshire League and some fine action had.  To be fair a place to get a brew and some snacks wouldn't have gone amiss and somewhere to rest the tired buttocks is always a nice option.  These minor niggles shouldn't detract from a decent trip out that saw Newton Athletic get turned over but still produce enough to give them hope for the future.  They battled 'til the end, fed on the odd scrap dropped and showed some good movement at times.  Their No 11 (Ben Woodman) was a tricky player and their No 14 (Tom Lane) ran his conkers into the ground and was deserved of something better - I hope to catch this lot again mighty soon.  Winnington today though, were very much the better team and played with great authority and much silky smooth attention.  From a critical standpoint many chances were wasted, they had a period when they seemed to switch off and at times they were a bit loose on the ball but hey, overall this was an impressive performance that could have attained a goal tally of double figures.  The next time I see these guys will be hopefully when they play my local team Denton Town - this should be a real test for both units - I may need to dose up on Bromide to keep the excitement levels down!