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!
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