WHEN TWO TOWNS GO TO WAR

22nd September 2026 - Cheadle Town 1 v 3 Runcorn Town - I have been in the midst of the mycological mayhem with the fungus world keeping me on my toes as per.  I lead generalist walks these days but fungi creep in to matters and eventually force their way to centre stage - I blame the intrusive mycelium and willingness to munch away at one's resistance. Anyway, this was my first game for over 10 days, I was squeezing it in due to being busy again for the next few weeks. 

Living locally afforded me the luxury of arriving home from work and having time to catch up on a few tasks and have a chill before setting out.  I had a boxing work-out, finished the latest book I was reading, did a bit of tidying in the garden and watched some boxing - Riddick Bowe - now there was one of my faves.  Tea was downed, shoes laced up and the good lady was kind enough to drop me at the ground.  A position chosen after salutations to familiar faces and the pen was ready to scribble. I was joined by a man I know as 'Decorator Dave' - a top chap who loves his footy and music, sometimes a little too much as an halftime reveal shows.

The primary pootlings of the hoofings displayed two teams well-matched and with little in the way of any definitive chances until Cheadle built on a period of passing possession and earned a corner kick.  The ball was delivered with mid-pace and decent curve and duly met the crust of No 4 (Paul Turnbull) who flicked on and found the back of the net.  A dream start from the great opening gambits of promise, could the team now with their noses in front build on this? 

Runcorn Town now shored up the defenses, worked forth and became the more composed team that held the greatest threat.  Several moves, however, looked threatening but the end creativity factor was noticeable by its absence.  They visiting tribe did win a corner which was nicely posted and No 4 (Charlie Harland) rose, had a smattering of free space and a chance to bury.  The contact made with the noggin was middling, the direction of the ball poor and so, the one with the mitts easily pushed away.  A return surge, a shot from Harland again which was too tame and too easy for the goalie.  No 11 (Ed Burthem) for the same team was soon rampaging forth and put in a searing cross that flew across goal with no takers arriving - hey ruddy ho!

The travellers continued to make the most of the play and applied a decent amount of pressure without actually making any serious inroads. A carefully threaded pass caught the eye and No 9 (Connor Spiers) displayed good pace to latch on and shoot from a rather sharp angle. The wallop came, flew across goal and went behind.  No 7 (Kieran Alley) had a punt soon after but the ball bobbled and was wellied over.  It looked as though Runcorn were going to bag an equaliser but a Cheadle long ball came, the keeper dropped and as a clearance came the home No 7 (Ibrahima Diop) fired back but couldn't keep the globe down.

The half ended in a staggered fashion, a real injection of excitement was needed.  No 9 (Spiers) for Runcorn had a crack before the break but the effort lacked wallop and the mittman saved and did enough to deny an incoming player who was ready to pounce on the loose ball.  More huff and puff, a whole load of gasping and into the break we went.

I chatted to my fellow tooter for the night, we covered many footballing realms and some noise - Chron Gen, The Exploited, Blitz and Peter and the Test Tube Baby's - the first band the best of the lot for me, very effective noise.  I did mention that Showaddywaddy were booked in to play a punk festival next year (which sums up the mass dilution) and was surprised to hear that Dave had actually been bummed by the guy on drums - and it was all done 'Under The Moon Of Love' - well each to their own I say, 'hey rock and roll, I'm gonna shove this in yer hole - ooh heck.

Back to the game with my drainpipes hitched up and Runcorn were away, the home No 3 (Harrison Lomakin-Rogers) defended well, knocked a peach of a ball down the line, No 18 (San Adegoke) collected, worked inward and finisned with a diappointing shot that was way too limp.  Runcorn now held the ball, tried to crack a defensive puzzle and came up short on several occasions.  Spiers eventually found himself in a great position and the chance to shoot was had and duly lost as a pass was played instead and the ball cleared.

Shots came at each end, both abysmal if the truth be told.  Runcorn had a corner, a shot was cleared off the line and I was wondering if the scoreline was truly now set in stone.  Cheadle had a few flourishes forth, Runcorn held their own and cultivated an attack with a ball played out wide to a fully focused Burthem.  The player with the globe cut in, colleagues hollered for a pass, the man in possession was indeed seemingly possessed and deaf as a fuckin' doorpost.  Further inwards he worked, a chance to offer up an opportunity looked lost when the shank was swung, the ball sent forth and the bottom corner found.  A fine goal but if it would have missed an ear-bashing would have ensued - oh the lucky perisher.

Now the game was back on, surely the next goal would win this.  A free-kick was won by the guests, into the box the ball went with chaos reigning.  No 17 (Will Ebbrell) was on it like a wasp on a honey-dipped nipple and executed a quick turn and twat and duly found himself the scorer of a deserved goal.  What a turnaround, the hosts were in need of an instant strike back.  They came on, a free-kick was won on the edge of the box. No 11 (Keane Barugh) put boot on ball, added some sexy curve but forgot the 'direction' and 'power' assets and so missed the target zone.  Another free-kick came for the hosts and didn't lead to anything and then Runcorn broke, No 2 (Emmanuel Sholabi) fed No 14 (Ebou Badjie) with the ball breaking nicely and allowing for a shot to come.  A pass was taken instead, Spiers swooped and the ball was bumbled home and 1 - 3 it was.  The game was done and dusted and fizzled from hereonin. The closest we came to another stroke was the very last kick of the match with Harland for Runcorn lumping a free-kick from his own half.  The ball rose, fell and the home mitter had to tip over.  There was no time for a corner, the visiting pack had done enough already - the 3 points were going on a trip.  Man of the Match was chosen from a tight contest but I thought Runcorn Town's No 4 (Charlie Harland) was a pivotal point of reliability and played the game with a steady and effective approach throughout.  Nothing too flamboyant, nothing out of this world but a concrete contribution to the kick-about that deserves note.

FINAL THOUGHTS - This was not a classic but it was a fair game and I thought the best team won.  Cheadle Town are in a new league, they will hold their own but just that final polish is lacking.  I really can't pinpoint what this needed extra sheen is, they are a capable unit but tonight just seemed to lack ideas and an overall urgency.  I suspect they will grind out many results, have a few tip-top days and one or two, like tonight, where they will come unstuck.  Consistency is always the key don't ya know.  Runcorn Town play at a ground I have a soft spot for, I do need to get back there.  They have had many highs and lows recently but, going by tonight's evidence, seem like a decent unit.  They are riding high at the moment and I can't see why this shouldn't continue - they just need to make sure they bury their chances when they arise and play for the full 90 minutes with variety and positive vibes throughout. I went home singing to myself, 'Chronic Generation' was the song, not 'Three Steps To Heaven' by the aforementioned cover band - and I even managed to avoid any cerebral visions of quiffed up love sessions - bonus.

A 'DAB'BLE BEYOND

12^th September 2026 - Nantwich Town 2 v 3 Wellingborough Town - The Gods of Time and the Commanders of the Calendar have conspired to create a befuddling period of hecticness and therefore this is the last match I can attend for a couple of weeks.  The fungi, leading walks, work, catching up with CD reviews, writing the latest books, recording wildlife and striving to clear a backlog are some of the reasons that the diary is rammed - thank goodness I turned down the invite to join the local Nude Snooker Club - my pink tipped cue is flagging and certainly not up to a good 'chalking' and 'Screw Shot' buggery.  

And after a morn at Brereton Heath where we saw a small collection of fungi, a trip to a tucked away bookshop where several purchases were made and then a coffee and a walk around Barony Park where a few more fungi were noted, we arrived at the ground in good time and stood in a small queue.  As it transpired, the line of folks were a bunch of Swedish guys over in this part of the world for a conference.  A chat was had, one grand chap said that 2 of the party were missing and would we like their spaces as guests - we accepted and entered the ground on a bonus freebie - thank you so much fella - what a lovely thing to do. We duly purchased a brew and chips and found a lofty perch that gave great views of the pitch.   I was hoping that prior to a mini-break I would get a goal-feast and a fair game, as it transpired this is what I got:- 

From the off an early free-kick came for the hosts after the No 9 (Luke Enright) was tumbled and the ball went dead.  No 10 (Josh Hancock) posted, No 8 (Callum Saunders) rose and made cranial contact but the ball was way off the mark.  A corner soon came for the guests after some nifty work by the No 7 (George Ball).  Alas the post into the box was rather piss and equally poor and any chance of a goal was not to be had.  From here the hosts had a good bout of pressure but a lack of vision and creativity brought little to get aroused by.

Wellingborough resisted the flow, cultivated a move with No 8 (Nathan Hicks) finalising matters with a booting from an acute angle that went wide but earned a corner.  In the ball came, a header and a shot were both blocked as Nantwich bumbled by and came on.  Enright put in a sweet floating cross, Hancock connected with the crust but the ball lacked direction and went straight into the mitter's awaiting upper limbs.  

The game now levelled out, for me the hosts were just shading things but of course this matters not one jot if the scoreline reflects an 'all-square' situation.  The home lads came again and tried to add to their slight advantage with Hancock laying the ball on a plate for No 2 (A J Kandeke) who didn't pull the trigger at the first time of asking and when he did let fly he was rather wayward in his attempt.  Enright of the same team was soon having a pop at goal, the end result was akin to a fat idler who had not done any exercise for many a year - weak and wide sir, weak and wide.

The half rattled on, Nantwich were nearly caught snoozing when the visiting No 3 (Sam Warburton) threw in a ball to No 10 (Danny Draper) who let one fly that just whizzed over the horizontal timber - that would have been a shocker.  Wellingborough built now on this potential, No 5 (Jack O' Connor) had a header straight at the keeper and then the same team won a free-kick deep in their own half.  A couple of passes followed the bonus booting, No 11 (Kai Fifield) fed Draper who made space, delivered a firm shot and whoosh, the first goal of the game was bagged - it was a fine strike if the truth be told.

The final splutterings saw semi-glimpses at goal for both teams with no players grabbing the gonads of opportunity and wanking out any prize pips.  At the death of the first 45 a free-kick for the hosts found the nut of No 6 (Paddy Kennedy) whose header struck the crossbar and that was that - we were heading into the break with the travelling team 1 goal to the good.

Movement was minimal for the break, it had been a long day and we were seizing up.  A stretch, a ponder of other results, a chocolate fix and a laze - ooh these busy bods need a rest.

Half two and Nantwich came out with a real spring in the step with the ball pinged one way, then the other before Kandeke was in possession out wide.  A cross was put in, was there a deflection, either way the ball somehow ended up in the back of the net?  I may have misread matters here and the claimant of the goal may have this down as a peach of a strike - ah the world of fantasy is a strange realm.

This was an electric shocker to the visiting lads and they now looked to make haste and get back the lead.  Some progressive advances were made, the Dabbing chaps stood proud.  A corner eventually came, the ball was lofted high and the home keeper hollered.  The defending pack had an attack of 'frozen body syndrome' and Doughboy O' Connor pounced and bumbled the ball homeward.  

The overall temperament of the game rose, Nantwich were in the position of needing to score but also needing to make sure they stayed impenetrable at the back.  Wellingborough, to their credit, were not sitting on the lead and were seen to be keen to get another and bury this one for good.  The guests were having the bulk of possession and Nanthwich were having to put in a robust hustle which they did darn ruddy well.  A ball did come forth for the hosts, No 14 (Bruno Cina) was galloping forth with curry-dipped conkers it seemed, alas the keeper was quick to read the danger and quell the threat.

Wellingborough would not be muffled, they came on in more waves with Fifield feeding No 12 (Charlie Green) who crossed and saw the ball trapped and then released. Green was there and poked toward goal - the outcome was off target, man that should have been a goal methinks.  The dominating team now surged again, No 9 (Neo Richard-Noel) delivered a cracking cross that just lacked a killer's touch.  And yet again the Wellingborough side advanced with No 6 (Matty Slinn) executing a shot that the keeper pushed away and soon after a ball came into the box with Richard-Noel looking to head on but no ball-based bump on the bonce was had.

Things were looking as though they would stay the way they were although I did note to my missus that the guest No 15 (Zayn Hakeem) was looking like a threat.  No sooner had the words left my gob than the perilous blighter was away on an eye-snagging run, cutting in and sending the ball homeward. 1 - 3 it was and this was a very good finish to the end of a sharp sortie that saw the player have only one thing on his mind.

Now the hosts were having to commit, we entered the frazzled gaspings with a header from the Wellingborough's Draper causing no further blemish on the scorecard.  Nantwich bounced back, Cina had the final pop of a move with the ball zooming up, up and away, a bit like the Nimble girl who needed a few extra crusts it seemed.  The last 5 minutes arrived and the team with the lead were still making most of the running.  Draper had a header go wide and things were looking too comfortable especially seeing that this was a cup game.

Into the dingly dell of added time, from out of the blue the home No 5 (Tom Graves) put in a cross and with the keeper hesitant, Kennedy waltzed in and buried a tidy header.  Thoughts of a serious smash and grab comeback came but were soon banished when the referee blew for full time several second later - ooh the rotten bugger, a few more minutes and who knows what may have transpired?  We headed homeward pleased with a good game though. I thought Wellingborough Town's No 4 (Rhys Kelly) deserved the Man of the Match shout, a player who was assured, conducted matters at his own pace and who read and dealt with any threats and who refused to get ruffled when attackers came his way.  Concrete stuff and mighty cool too!

FINAL THOUGHTS - A good day out watching a couple of teams I know little about.  Wellingborough Town seem to be on something of a roll and one can see why.  A very organised unit with 5 wins out of 5 in the Northern Premier League (Midlands).  That is a solid start and backed up by another cup win, could this be a season of undoubted success.  They look a resolute unit with many options, we shall see what is what and I do wonder if I can sneak in a trip to their ground very soon.  Nanthwich are in a lowly position in the Northern Premier League (West), it could be a case of a bit of bad luck with a surge to come or indeed, the sign of a long and awkward season ahead.  I see potential, but potential untapped is pointless and work needs to begi'

n to shore up the defences and sharpen up the apical components.  I really think this is a grand sent up, with some good mooching areas nearby and of course, a bookshop, we would be foolish not to return but, that darn dairy is bulging, and I have so many plans and so many teams who I like to visit - bugger.

THANK FUCK FOR CHIPS, PIE AND FUNGI

31st August 2026 - Uppermill FC 0 v 0 Flixton FC - Bank holiday Monday so out and about we went with a walk around Knot Hill NR producing 30 species of fungi and helping me get the shrooming eye back in after a long year of bugs. birds, blooms and other natural fascinations.  I have had a good run of footy games of late and was getting a nice fix of goal action and so, whilst on the precipice of leading many walks and putting on a few more up close and personal DIY gigs, I was hoping to round off the month with a glut of strikes - what a disappointed fool I turned out to be.

We arrived at the ground early, had a coffee and a read and then grabbed some grub and moved to the opposite side of the ground where people were absent.  The pie and chips I had were top ruddy notch and the chips that my veggie lass had went down well too.  We sprawled and read a little more and then the breeze rose slightly and a chill came from out of nowhere.  Now we really did need a good match to keep us thermally intrigued - here is what went on, no wonder I went home and had to warm my conkers in a couple of microwaved eggcups.

An average start with both teams involved in a feeling out process and striving to find a semblance of fluidity.  Flixton had a few pushes and Uppermill indulged in some sharp passing sequences that tested the opposition's rear end - akin in fact to a prehensile todger seeking out a rectal opening with no sense of direction.  Throughout the first 15 minute spell there was little to call between the two sides and initial thoughts of a goalless bullet were already in the noggin.  The guests' No 7 (Jack Ward) attempted to banish these embryonic dreads with a firm dig but the home keeper was reading matters and had his carcass right behind it.

Flixton came on again via a breakaway that was emblazoned with promise.  The attacker at the nipple-end of the attack had his shot deflected wide, the corner was superbly headed away by the No 3 (Connor Bramham) but the referee saw an infringement so it was all academic anyway.  Uppermill responded, a lovely move saw No 11 (Zachary Hobin) played in, a nudge in the back came, a penalty was shouted for, the claim was as weak as a dolphin's urine - the referee duly ignored. (ooh me clenched blowhole)

A goal looked mighty unlikely as both teams battled away.  Flixton progressed with high hopes, 2 shots came from a mush of action, both were blocked.  Ward was the final recipient of a pinging globe, alas his shot was thumped with overly zealous desire and whizzed over the bar.  The hosts came on soon after, with a weaving foray.  No 10 (Dylan Fitzgerald) latched on to a loose ball, the shot was firm and on target, the mittman was there to put in a regulation save - ooh the rotten sod, just when a goal was needed.  

The half wasted away like the bobbing testicles of a masturbation addict, I was struggling to find inspiration to scribble.  Half chances came and went, the defensive units remain solid and the creativity of each teams frontline force was just lacking that little something extra and so, when we went into the break, with the scoresheet unblemished, it came as no surprise.  

I needed a water break and so nipped behind the stand and into some Holly bushes where the pecker was pointed, the sharp leaves avoided and golden fluid was passed.  Nearby I spied some dead Holly leaves, I was in fungi mode and expected to see a rather delightful shroom that grows on the leaves of the said plant.  A shake of the appendage, a tucking in and zipping up and a quick mooch - lo and behold, Marasmius hudsonii, the Holly Leaf Parachute - a superb looking fungus with a cap adorned with a display of dark setae.  A punky little blighter and the highlight of the footballing day out so far, although the chips and pie were in the running too - by heck they were choice.  Highlights of the day - I think so!

Back with the missus, a bit of choccie and a cuddle to stave of the nipping breeze and half two began.

Uppermill were out with a spring in their step.  A low corner was dealt with, confusion in the box saw a shot blocked and then No 7 (Kyran Leigh) walloped one from range that the keeper tipped neatly over.  The kick from the angle was rubbish.  Flixton made a push of their own, No 10 (Aaron Dwyer) fed No 9 (Lewis Simon-Byrne) who cut inside and let fly only to see the ball flash wide of the mark.  This was a promising start but several dead ball situations came and all were filed as 'wank' due to their poor execution and lack of creativity.  

The game remained stifled, balanced and screaming out for a goal.  Uppermill did well to work through a spell where they were getting pushed back but the nearest Flixton came was when Simon-Byrne  burst forth and fired well but was again off target.  The game dwindled away, sparks were lacking and a real blaze was never going to rise - into the dying embers we went with only a faint glow of any high end action had.  

Flixton's Simon-Byrne came on again, displayed great feet  to make room for a shot but once more, the target zone was not found.  The same player put bonce on ball when No 2 (Ismael Mendy) delivered, it goes without saying the meshing was left unbulged and the keeper was left with time to scratch his arse, read a book and smoke a quick fag.  Uppermill eventually worked up a move with a sweet sortie ending in a ball to Fitzgerald whose shot was semi-blocked and saved.  Into the smoldering ashes, Dwyer for Flixton fired a free-kick straight at the keeper and soon after we were heading home with a fuck-all score draw under the belts - it had to happen sooner or later. One of the reasons for this end result was the Man of the Match choice, namely Flixton FC's No 4 (Louis Holden) a rock solid defender who headed, tackled and just got in the way of many threats and duly stood his ground like a good old trooper.  A very reliable shift this and one that should be greatly valued by his team.  I was impressed.

FINAL THOUGHTS - Well, a team with high ambition and coin being spilled, the other at the bottom of the league and looking to get the season rolling.  I have seen Flixton twice this season so far, they are not the finished article and may just be realising this North West Counties League is a tough old nut to crack.  I still think they will be in the end mix, a few minor tweaks and a bit more luck up front and a good roll seems to be on the cards.  It is a long old campaign and they are in a healthy position so far, without really breaking in to full stride it seems.  The fact is though, I have seen better teams come unstuck in this league and not make the most of their potential - heads up, socks up, get stuck in chaps.  Uppermill belied their lowly position today and stuck to their guns and dug deep when needed.  They had a few good chances too and if a smattering of good fortune fell their way, they could have nicked this one.  There is a long season ahead, a win is urgently needed and a small run of unbeaten games required - at some point they are going to have to fine tune the attacking focus and put some serious work in the creativity factor.  They are close to a complete team but not there yet - will matters turn around, I for one hope so.

AND FROM THE GROT

29th August 2026 - Cheadle Heath Nomads 0 v 1 Eccleshall FC - The long hot summer that frazzled the senses has finally ended.  We need rain but after only a few days, it is a pain.  I have had a hat-trick of soakings this week, a couple were had whilst leading a tribe of kids on a wildlife pootle.  Today I had a walk with the lasses, it was hard work.  The head was aching, the legs fagged and the grey skies getting on my tits.  We did find a fungus that we hadn't seen before, namely the Dwarf Bovist (Bovista demoxantha), a little puffball that looked like many others although a lot fresher than my own personal puffing balls I can tell ya.  We also noted a patch of Collared Earthstars (Geastrum michelianum), marvellous things I never tire of seeing.

From here I was dropped off at home so my lasses could go shopping and have some precious time together.  I recorded some outstanding wildlife sightings, had my dinner and nailed the aforementioned Puffball with a bit of microscopy.  Time cracked on, I hopped on the bike, arrived at the ground and found my usual perch where I had a quick read of a book regarding that talented artist Édouard Manet, I wondered what kind of artistry I would see on the field today.  A chat with a few fine faces, I was joined by a gent I know who wanders around the peripheries of many a ground and certainly knows his music - he is grand company although when he confessed to having a fling with a Cleo Laine look-a-like I remained on my toes.  I certainly didn't want to dress up as Johnny Wankworth and make a day of it - ooh me sexual saxophone. 

The game was soon underway and the damn rain was still falling. As the title says, and from the grot came the opening throes with an early corner won for the Ecky boys.  No 7 (Solomon Ashworth) posted, No 8 (Essa Faburay) gathered and forced his way through the pack like an eager turd through a pair of clenched muscular buttocks (I must take more laxatives).  A good header down was the end result, one has to applaud the keeper for a good save so early in the game.

Nomads were rattled but won a couple of gratis bootings.  No real tit-tingling action came although a throw was cranially flicked on by No 9 (Harrison Riley) with the mittman needing to punch clear to quell further threat.  Up the opposite end of the pitch we went, a guest free-kick came, No 9 (Maxwell Chimenes) barged forth, the ball went loose and No 2 (Archie Elsdon) was there to seemingly bury.  Alas the shank that swung only made air contact as the ball bounced by into No Mans Land - ooh heck.  Soon after the visiting No 11 (Dylan Bath) had a hopeful pop from range but the keeper was behind it and normal service was resumed (cue fine UK Subs album).

A few more minor flourishes came when suddenly a Nomad's ball came forth and Riley was in a wonderland of space with only the mitter to beat.  A goal looked on the cards but, like the lady in the 'Cock Linnet Song' he dillied and dallied, lost his way with nowhere to roam and the chance went a begging.  It was a terrible waste, I am sure his invite to the 'Goal Getter's Gala' will be scrubbed - ooh Roy of the Rovers will be gutted, not to mention Nobby Nobson, a man soon to be reignited into textual action.

The hosts continued to apply pressure but were soon caught on the hop when Ecky broke, a ball was chipped through to Bath who, from a slight angle, guided the ball home and bagged the crucial opener.  Eccleshall now turned up the heat, pushed on and looked to build on the opening advantage.  No 10 (Morgan Russell) came mighty close after a free-kick saw the ball ping about, land at his feet whereupon a delicate touch to goal hit the timber.  The travelling Chimenes was an increasing menace and was unceremoniously held back on several occasions much to the disgruntlement of himself and his colleagues.  

Both teams stuck at it, verbals came in spittle soaked flourishes, the liner gave as good as he got and the closest we came to an additional penetration was when Riley connected from a corner but could only flick over.  No 11 (Daymeon Almeida) for the hosts pulled one wide, Riley had another dig that was saved and that was it for the first 45 minute spell.

The weather remained at level 'shite', the fellow I had been chatting with continued to tell of his musical interests and how he once indulged in a naked wrestling match with a buttered-up Gene Pitney.  Apparently the referee for this contest was a one-armed Vera Lynn impersonator whom danced to the theme of 'Tales of the Unexpected' between every round. An interesting yarn and when the relator of this anecdote offered me an LSD tab, all became clear (and a darn site more lurid and heavy ma' an).

Half two, as giant millipedes rose from the emerald baize, fanged butterflies fed on the local photographer's paps and the rain that fell turned to crystalised amber an early Nomads corner came with fine accuracy that the keeper did well to fist away.  A shot was immediately returned and saved - it seemed the half-time talk was taking immediate effect.

The Cheadle chaps came again, No 12 (Leo Knight) finalised a move with a blistering shot that boomed the upright and then, shortly after,  No 8 (Tanor Collins) put one wide and No 11 (Almeida) walloped one over.  No goal but the promise was high and the hosts were making a good fight of it for sure.  

The game from here broke down as regards fluidity, it stuttered and spluttered like Freddie 'Parrot-Faced' Davis on trial for crimes against comedy.  A few spiced tackles came, the referee was put further under the cosh and passions rose and desperation duly invaded. I was left with little to scribble so used my pen to vandalise the stand - nothing too outrageous just 'My Dad has a big nob' and 'George Gibbons steals grapes from the local greengrocers' - one has to keep things varied whilst cultivating doubt.

The final flings of a highly frazzled and fractured game came.  Minor occurrences dictated as both teams battled away and snuffed each other out.  Eccleshall nearly had a golden chance when Bath was sent forth but the home No 1 (Charlie Jones) was still alert and killed the threat.  At the other end a penalty shout was borne of the oxymoron of hopeless hope and soon after, that was that.  I considered the Man of the Match as I grabbed the bike, and pootled off. No 3 (Matthew Jones) for Eccleshall FC was given the nod due to an extremely focused stint that had the eyes on the ball, many a great tackle and interception made and an 'under pressure' second half survived due to a good footballing brain.  And homeward I headed.

FINAL THOUGHTS - A very gritty game with two teams well-balanced and both looking to really get their season rolling.  Eccleshall were tidy and I expect them to be in the end shake-up but I thought during the second half they didn't do enough to break the rising pressure and seemed a little off the pace - a lack of fitness or just one of those days?  I thought they were highly resilient at the back though and during the first 45 could have had a couple of extra goals and buried the game.  Today though, they showed they have the gift of winning ugly, it is a fine asset to have.  The Nomads are stuttering along, they are like a 100 watt lightbulb with a dodgy connection - lots of energy is used but the end glow radiated is minimal.  The workrate is admirable, but a cool head is needed, a certain unrushed but direct approach essential and yes, as per, the blessings of Lady Luck needed.  The campaign is ticking on, the pressure is rising, if things stay as they are the chairman, Mr Gibbons, may have to up his theiving antics from the greengrocers and open his own stall to fund the team - hold onto yer plums folks, I shall be back here on several occasions and shall relate what unfolds.