'ELL'-EVATION GAME

16th November 2019 - Ellesmere Rangers 3 v 2 Cleator Moor Celtic - Another week done, another busy and fruitful period had.  The week had involved 4 days of work, some fungus hunting, a couple of football matches and the completion of a Dr Who adventure starring Tom Baker 'The Androids of Tara'.  The jaunt was cheap and cheerful, two words which sum up the best things in life, I am under no illusions, keep it simple, put back, enjoy and stop fiddling with your purple tipped sonic screwdriver and you won't go far wrong.  As an aside, when I was younger my neighbours had a TARDIS in their back garden, it kind of took the shine of the space age TV series when I saw it rocking to and for one day and saw scrawled in the side 'Terry and Rita's Devious Intercourse Shed' - and I always thought Terry was a homosexual just like my Dad, what a turn-up.

And so to today's game, after a morn of shrooming at the Oswestry Old Race Course Nature Reserve we arrived chilled and in need of some food, warm tea and goals.  This was a new ground for us and a chance to support a team who are struggling to say the least and another team who had travelled a mighty distance to play this Macron Cup 1st round tie - yes, right up my street,  I am a lover of the underdog and the trier, I was happy to be a neutral but wished both teams the very best, this could go any way and if you have your very own time-travelling device, you could watch it all again if the excitement was too much to take in all in one go.  So, after tea and chips and a natter with some lovely peeps we went out, parked our arses and watched this 1st Round of the Macron Cup unfold.

The initial stages saw both teams adopt an open method of play which was surely indicative of a game destined to produce goals.  The first shot soon came with the home No 10 (Seth Ellis) launching a firm dig which got deflected and went for a corner.  The angled punt came to the back post,  No 2 (George Taylor) rose with relative ease and nutted down in front of goal.  The fastest to react to the waiting sphere was No 5 (Owen Lloyd) who slotted home to finish a wonderfully simplistic move.  From the kick-off the trailing pack launched a hoof at gola that, in truth, wasn't too far off the upright.  The Moor kept on striving and feeding on any loose scraps like ravenous Greenbottles on a freshly turned turd.  No 11 (Thomas Ward) provided a brace of delicious crosses that found no takers and after a pea-rolling free-kick that the keeper easily gathered the Ells responded with their own No 11 (Jack Briscoe) knocking forth several teasing crosses.

This was a fine game, the next goal could go either way but when the hosts charged with frisky focus and No 7 (Brendon Price) was tumbled on the edge of the box it seemed a genuine chance was to be had.  Up stepped No 8 (Stuart Dickin), a mid-paced peach was struck, the top corner was found, what a cracking way to double the lead - the home support seemed elated.

The Rangers continued to play some good football based around much intelligent movement and a willingness to graft.  Soon after their No 9 (Karl Bailey) forced his way through like a 20 stone shopper at a pie-shop sale.  Impetus was had, he found space to shoot and buried, I am still at a loss why the liner was waving his flag and nullifying the celebrations - the rotten sod.

With great haste we sped on into the main bowels of the match, Ellesmere won a throw that was touched on.  No 4 (David Howells) hurtled in like a souped up Express Train.  The strike that followed was direct and full of bollock-busting gumption, the keepers thigh was up to the task and duly blocked in solid style.  Straight down the opposite end we went, No 10 (David Little), Ward and No 9 (Callum Birdsall) linked up via a rapier rampage, the latter player had the apical effort, the keeper saved well.  The hosts broke, Bailey rasped one, another corner was had.  The ball went  in and out, Bailey shot, the keeper sprawled low and saved.  The ball went AWOL, Price collected and hammered one to the netting, the keeper produced the double block and kept his side very much still in it.

We reached the latter stages of a sterling opening period.  Ellesmere came again, a lightning cross from the flank missed the first rising head but Bailey was waiting and nutted to the bottom corner, the visiting No 1 (Craig Rule) was there again to stave off any further injury to the scoresheet, great work squire.  From here Cleator Moor sprang, a pass and Ward delivered another choice ball into the box that was met by the robust Birdsall who, under extreme pressure, still managed to bundle the ball home.  It was a perfect moment to drag a goal back, 60 seconds later and the half was done.

Half-time, a piddle, a brew and a choccy bar.   There was a sharp chill now pervading the air, we headed back out like hardy souls and hoping for a repeat performance of the first half goodness.  

The second period began with Price for the hosts skewing a shot off target and then The Moor Men got stuck in, a long ball was played that saw Birdsall battle like a dog for a sugar dipped sausage and 2 - 2 it was.  The hosts now needed to rearrange the ranks and stop sitting too deep - they did just that and earned a corner for their efforts. A good booting came, a near post flick header from Ellis went just over the bar.  Briscoe had a long range pop next, it also went over.  Up to the other danger zone next, another cross from the angle and a flick header - how it missed is anyone's guess - man I was struggling to keep up with the action. 

A gloopy midfield battle followed, we waited for a team to break the tackle-laden treacle and have the next crack at goal.  As things transpired it was Bailey for The Rangers who grabbed the constipated cow by the stubborn udders and battled, won the ball and passed to Ellis who knocked a first time touch just the wrong side of the vertical. This game was still a liberated affair, The Moor came next, Little collected, hurtled toward goal like Linford Christie pursued by a tooled up Nob-Reducing Doctor.  The shot came, it was bursting with zeal, in fact it had so much 'oomph' only the darkening night sky was found - a chance gone for sure!

From the restart the Ell's wasted no time, a lengthy ball found Price with only the keeper to beat.  The brow remained free of perspired indecision, the eye picked a spot, the foot made a touch that saw the ball go up, leave the mitter standing and drop into the awaiting net - what a sweetly taken termination to a quite uncomplicated move - as per, simple is always sweetest.  

Now the final stages were entered, Ellesmere chose to sit deep and play with fire, Cleator Moor tried to worm an opening and get this one back to all square.  The time ran on, the trailing pack stuttered and were allowed little space with only a free-kick hoofed straight out and a long ranger thumped too high the best they could offer.  The referee eventually called time, I think the outcome was fair indeed although it was a touch and go contest.  The Man of the Match for me goes to the Ellesemere Rangers No 2 (George Taylor) for being a rear rank component that won everything in the air, mopped up much potential danger, played with a controlled deliberateness and made many a good surge forth so offering options to his colleagues - keep up the grand work chap.

And that was that, a trip out to a grand club after a morn of mooching - we have already stated that we shall return, thank you to all for making for a friendly and worthwhile visit.

FINAL THOUGHTS - I won't tell a lie, I expected an away win here but, I was thoroughly delighted when Ellesmere Rangers ran out winners.   The team have been through a rather testing struggle of late and struggled to gain any impetus in this competitive NWCFL.  Today they showed more than enough to indicate that relegation is not a certainty and opposing teams will certainly not be getting things all their own way.  At times they moved well, played with alert composure and had many options when in position.  More importantly, when not owning the ball they worked hard and kept the opposite pack honest and without time to plan.  For me, as long as they hold onto their belief, stick to their principles and when in front, avoid getting pushed back, then I think the next few months could look rather rosy - I hope so.  Cleator Moor Celtic are holding their own of late and there were many elements on show today to prove why this is the case.  Several players have pace, the pack has a never-say-die attitude and when called upon they can muscle their way back into a lost cause and keep a winning outcome possible - these are fine aspects of a decent side for sure.  A little more pace is perhaps needed, a quicker start to games so as to avoid any early setbacks but other than that - they should move on a little further as the season progresses.  For now though, tis the Macron Cup I have my eye on, I see Ellesmere play either AFC Blackpool or AFC Emley - we may just well have a piece of that!

HEY 'O', LET'S GO

12th November 2019 - Abbey Hey 1 v 1 FC Oswestry - A North West First Division top of the table clash with emphasis really on each team to go at it and secure the 3 point prize.  Abbey Hey had the greatest need, they were 11 points behind their opponents, if they could snatch this one then we would really have a contest to savour.  Today I had had a drenching on my way to work, had been busy during the toiling hours and after returning home had a session on the punchbag and then read the latest installment of a take on the Frankenstein tale.  Since a nipper I have been intrigued by Mary Shelley's famed yarn and all its resultant creations be they on paper or celluloid. Pondering this tragic saga I got to thinking about what parts one would use if they were to create the perfect footballer - tis a topic for debate that is for sure.  The footballing brain of Johann Cruyff; the feet of George Best; the balance of Diego Maradonna; the shot power of Roberto Carlos; the tough determination of Tommy Smith, the hands of Dino Zoff, the barnet of George Berry and of course, the temperament and attitude of Pele.  Throw in the pot-belly of Franny Lee, the fat arse of Willie Foulke and flair of Nobby Nobson and surely a true cut and paste player is complete - feel free to design your own!

And so, at just gone 7pm we arrived at The Abbey Stadium, had a natter in the car and decided to enter the ground 20 minutes prior to the match.  We had a warm drink and picked our usual spot where we chatted with John D and the Dad of the Abbey Hey keeper who pops up here and there on the trail of his son's roamings.  A draw was a likely result tonight, a home win could happen, an away win would be no surprise, one thing was certain, Abbey Hey Pete had been on some industrial glue and was absolutely steaming - good lad!

The game began with the 'O's gaining a quick free kick that was delivered with decent velocity and nutted over with equal tempo.  No 7 (Jake Dunford) for The Hey had a sortie and dig soon after with the guest keeper unruffled and tidily saving.  The hosts started to play some rather slick football however the game was a somewhat patchy affair in general and left one a trifle uninspired.  Suddenly out of the drabness No 2 (Joseph Neild) for the home pack found time to advance and consider a thump at goal.  The ball kindly sat up, the leg swung with certainty, the strike was true and the diving keeper was sweetly beaten - the game needed this, it was a very choice strike for sure.

As time progressed the leading team remained on top whilst the guests just didn't seem with it.  The travellers eventually managed to earn a free-kick that entered the box with pace but it was punched clear with determined gusto.  A lob came back as the keeper tried to regain position, it looked to be dropping in, thankfully Neild was there to clear the chaos.  The Oswestry ranks now decided to work forth, another gratis kick was lumped into the box, the lofty No 5 (Steven Evans) nutted back at the far post, the ball went across the face of goal but no potential assassins were to be seen.  The same team came again, a long ball this time that was flicked on allowing the ever-energetic No 7 (Harry Bower) to nip in and side-foot wide - the offside flag quelled any potential excitement.

We progressed into the latter stages of the half, Abbey Hey put together a sound sequence of passes with their No 11 (Daryll Grant) a integral component in the move.  The attack eventually broke down, a break followed with Grant guilty of a push therefore giving away another free-kick.  The ball was booted, the keepers hands were adhesive and Hey started to build once more.  Several corners ensued, half-chances to grab a second goal came and went as the triggers were left unpulled, we went into the break at 1 - 0 and in truth, far from exhilarated.

We stayed put for the break, had a natter with Pete and John and discussed the in's and out's of the footballing world.  Pete then started shooting heroin and John brought out his crack pipe - me and the missus stuck to our moralistic stance and stayed on the Acid and Mushroom cocktail - we do have standards.  Eventually, after the purple spotted pixies had left the pitch on the back of their lime green jelly camels the whole world tilted back to setting 'normal' and the game got back underway.

The start to the second period was industrious but the conveyor belt of footballing construction refused to deliver any finished products.  One or two late tackles were the spanners tossed into the clanking works, it all contributed to a rather unattractive spectacle.  At long last the Abbey Army broke with precision, pace and passion, Grant posted a choice delivery, No 9 (Szymon Czubik) arrived and put in a close-in header, the save was of elevated quality to say the least and maybe the highpoint of the game so far.

The game dissolved soon after with peppered tackles and salted silliness knocking the stuffing out of the fluidity.  Pushing, shoving, late lunges and a couple of players sent off, the referee was losing a little order and needed to get this one back on track.  Eventually, from the confounding crappery The 'O's won a free-kick.  The ball came and was cleared, we entered another stagnant period before Bower for the guests had a fair pop on target that was well-dealt with by the alert mitter.

Into the tail end, Oswestry pushed but Abbey Hey looked comfortable.  2 free-kicks from an acute angle were delivered, the hosts snuffed the threats and then their No 16 (Remeece Brown) had a wild shot on target that went up and over the bar and into the sable night beyond - it could have been the killer blow, it wasn't, what more could I have expected?  We now entered added time, I put my notepad away, I immediately got it back out as a long Oswestry ball came, Evans nutted on and No 8 (Scott Bright) was unceremoniously upended.  The penalty was a sting in the tail, up stepped No 10 (Christian Sargeant) and slapped home with cool aplomb - the hosts looked a trifle miffed. The closing seconds saw a penalty claim the other end, much fluster but no further breakthrough - all square it was, Man of the Match goes to Abbey Hey's No 11 (Daryll Grant) for being the eternal live-wire, holding good threat throughout and working up a good lather in a game that had very little in it.  This hadn't been a classic though, we headed homeward cold and a bit deflated - it happens.

FINAL THOUGHTS - From a fractured match we saw two teams grind each other down and make for a touch and go spectacle that saw little in the way of high end action.  FC Oswestry are a funny team, they play in such a way as to just get the job done although tonight they were fortunate to scrape a draw.  They did get something out of the game though which shows a side, when not playing at their best, still managing to salvage something from the debris.  For me, this attribute is one that could signify true champions and although I am still not convinced, they keep doing what they do and are topping the table - one cannot argue with that!   Abbey Hey are a better equipped side than last season and seem to be capable of holding their own with most teams.  Again, on this evidence, they are hard to judge and in such a competitive league they will have to finish games as soon as they get the chance if they want to be in the end mix up.  No doubt I'll catch both these units along the way in yet another absorbing campaign, I hope they are involved in a more entertaining match for sure and I hope the Jelly Camels are of a soft pastel pink next time so as to nicely contrast with the chattering community of verdant grass - oh the flashbacks!

DERBY DAY DITHERINGS

11th November 2019 - Stockport Town 1 v 3 Cheadle Heath Nomads -  Why is it that grown people feel the need to stand in icy conditions watching other grown folk kick a ball about with the only hot places on show being under the collar?  I am bewildered, I am one of these thermally abandoned voyeurs - I think I may have a problem?  Having spent the day dealing with many tasks I set out early so when arriving at the ground I would have a chance to re-warm the carcass, dry-out and have a read.  I also wanted to catch up with folk as they arrive, the early bird just doesn't get the worm he has the option of dangling it and making people feel uncomfortable - corruption is a trait I just can't shake off.  So after a walk in the rain, a bus ride laden with many sodden folk and a short trot along some dampened streets I arrived at the Woodley Sports Centre with only 6 words on my mind, they were 'shit, fuck, bollocks' and 'tits, fanny, arse' - a sextet of descriptives to perfectly sum up my emotional state.  As stated, I met and chatted with many fine folk one of which was Chairman Rob Yorke who kept me abreast of things for sure.  Alas, when I eventually went out into the cold I decided that the sexual annelid I suggested I may dangle was kept under wraps - cruelty to wrigglers is not a thing I am into and besides, it were reet nippy lad.  Predictions were made, tea slurped with the arriving STP Stu, I even indulged in some chips.  Eventually the carcass was parked in the bracing night air, as an assist to fight off the cold I had put Vicks Vaporub on me cobblers - I think I was having a funny reaction as I did feel rather faint and somewhat aroused - I must read the label more carefully in future.  The teams came out, as did my notepad, by heck I hoped this one was going to be a good un'.

The opening action and the first free-kick of the game which came for the visiting pack via a strong delivery met by an equally strong punch that led to a Lion's breakaway with No 9 (Jardel Depeiaza) at the helm.  His attempt to advance into the zone of peril was thwarted by a crude drag back, the free-kick that followed was an inadequate reward as it lacked any real potency - please return to 'go'.  The Nomads responded with a surge but were again caught on the hop.  No 7 (Rourke Neal) for The Lions played a choice ball, Depeiaza chased and had a back-pedalling keeper to beat, the trigger however was pulled too late and the mittman had time to recover and save.

As Stockport Town now grew in stature the guest No 2 (Craig Coates) found himself under pressure with no real options.  He was still a fair way from goal, found a fraction of space and decided to have a punt.  The strike was mid-paced, low and easy for the keeper - or so it seemed!  As the man between the uprights bent low the greasy ball entered his hands, wriggled free, continued rolling through his legs and into the net - what a blooper, what a gift for the Nomads! 

From here the affair was as balanced as the heaving hairy conkers of one Eduardo Perineum the 3rd who once held a Teste Fest at his castle in Dewhurst where the end of night dance was held on his left nut - what a man, what a scrotal memory!  And to the action, Neal of the Town swung his shank next in the hope of mesh penetration, the visiting No 1 (Aaron Tyrer) dived low and grabbed the ball at the second asking.  The Town came again, the move that started in silky fashion became threadbare with too many passes pissing on the promise and then Neal tried to go it alone but again matters were stretched and one touch too many was taken.

As the half wound down the trailing team pressed, the leading pack maintained an honest and uncomplicated footballing methodology.  The home pack eventually found room to advance, Depieiaza received a ball from the angle, cracked one off from the edge of the box (and on such a chilly night too) and scored an absolute beauty that left the diving keeper with no chance whatsoever.  We were back to a situation akin to a family of irritating intellects - 'all ruddy square'.  The Nomads had one last sortie, No 10 (Ashley Stott) raced with gathering impetus, the defending No 2 (Chiek Thiam) produced the tackle of the night (well, unless you discount the tackle of the aforementioned E. Perineum of course) and saved his team's hides for sure.  It was a perfect place for a break.

The interval was spent acquiring a brew and chocolate with my mate STP Stu, we got blasted by a hail-storm in the process - tis no good for balding heads you know, I must fish out my John Dempsey syrup (type in 'John Dempsey Hair' on google, search the images and invest).  And so back to the game...!

The Nomads came out firing, a flaming cross, a corner, a close in header - the next goal was sought but to no avail.  No 3 (George Blackwell) had a foray into pastures promising, the chance to shoot went by the by, a follow-up boomer by a colleague brought a corner from which there was no way through to the tantalising target zone.  The Town rallied, the Nomads were resolute and in return their No 14 (Benjamin Woods) flashed down the wing and launched one, the save was spot on, the danger eventually passed.  Back and forth the action went, chances came, chances disappeared into the footballing void and then Blackwell for the guests bust a bollock, played the ball to No 11 (Phillip Yuille), received the ball back and put it into the box and up popped No 8 (Adam Stuart) to grab a surprise lead goal and cause the resident team untold concern. 

Now was a real test of the home team's character, they earned 3 corners on the bounce, each one was met by a defiant rear guard, each one snuffed out with gritty resilience.  The team in the ascendancy came again. No 6 (Ashley Crank) delivered a free-kick with rectal thrutching accuracy (I do get excited), the header home was spot on, why on earth was the liner waving his flag?  Note made - some linesmen are real party poopers!

A smattering of chaos now came at each end of the park but last ditch tackles, over-weighted passes and ill-luck kept the goals unmolested, the Cheadle chaps were making this a battling affair and dragging it to their own comfort levels and forbidding their opponents any time to create something fluid.  From the nasty mush Stott had a chance to finalise the evening's result, a hesitation however was enough to give the keeper a moment to make the save and turn behind.   The resultant corner was way too strong, The Town were still in this one.

The home stretch opened before us, The Lions moved up the pitch, a ball in and a last ditch clearance was deflected and needed gloved assistance.  The corner led to a Nomadic break, Woods found himself around the keeper and with an open goal to penetrate - the ball however would not obey the toed command and rolled by the wrong side of the vertical.

With gloved hands scribbling away and a trembling todge requesting I get out of the darn cold, I duly scribbled the final notes.  A late Town free kick brought icy gasps, Neal's cranial effort was wide of the mark.  We entered added time, my prediction of 1 - 2 was looking a certainty and my trip to Oily Erics The Turf Accountant was looking to be a pleasurable event until...with seconds on the clock Woods for the guests raced away, had time to shoot and shoot he did.  A deflection was had, the ball seemed destined for the strike zone and when the net bulged great scenes of triumph were witnessed for a 'never say die' unit.  As contrast, countenances of dejection were noted for the opposing team who were expectant more, and even though my torn up betting slip fluttered away on the vicious breeze I found myself with no complaints.  The game ended seconds later, Man of the Match goes to Cheadle Heath Nomad's No 6 (Ashley Crank) for a strong and disciplined performance that dealt with many zippy and nippy players in a focused and unflustered manner and for many crunching tackles that kept the opponents on their toes and sometimes - on their arses.

After farewells to some fine folk, oops nearly forgot - Happy Birthday Sandra, and a quick chat about the outcome I headed home - chilled and thrilled as seems to be the norm these days - we must be mad.

FINAL THOUGHTS - I once put on a punk unit known as the 'Stubborn Bastards', a glorious set of chaps making a racket that was joy to my fractured sonic soul.  The name came to mind as I sought a description of the Cheadle Heath Nomads pack, it seems to fit, the club motto should read 'Nomadus, stubbornus, bastardito' it has a certain ring don't ya think.  The team have found a way not to get beat and this, of late, is also contributing to a way of getting a win.  They are a real conundrum for teams to work out, they work as a pack and are grinding out results here, there and everywhere including games they seem to be initially struggling with.  The key aspects are 'unity and discipline' - if these are maintained, the league is their to be climbed.  Stockport Town are under a metamorphosing process with perhaps big ideas considered.  Dreams and ambition are art-very well but it is the results on the pitch that matter and sometimes winning ugly is an art-forms that need to be mastered if true progress is to be made.  I liked many aspects of what I saw tonight, several players looked outstanding in fact and with just that extra touch of fine-tuning certain strides can be made.  We will have to wait and see what the future brings, despondency, delight, upswings or upsets - for those already intrigued, keep watching.

S 'ILK' THREADS NEARLY UNDONE

9th November 2019 - Ilkley Town 3 v 2 Newsome FC - The morn was spent bent double in the woodlands where I examined my Bleeding Crusts and had a good fiddle with my Tawny Funnel.  I have been using various creams and lotions of late, I am still bending with ardour but have avoided a good rogering from a randy badger or a swift penetration via an elderly lady with a brolly.  After dabbling in the dells, myself and my good lady headed to the Ilkley Town FC ground where we were hit with a nob-rotting icy blast that really got beneath the protective layers (and beyond).  We purchased a brew, by hook and crook acquired something akin to the team line-ups (one dodgy photo and some scribbling may help things be correct) before taking up our position on the touchline and having a chat with some rather chilled chaps.  Luckily we had arrived later than expected and didn't have long to wait in the bracing air and a shared Wispa Bar helped keep our minds distracted.  A Red Kite glided over before the whistle blew and soon after 16 Curlews made for the hills - I considered these a good omen, anything less than 5 goals would be frowned upon and so, my DIY abacus was produced, it may look like a penis with some skewered tangerines on it - I promise it is nothing of the sort!

The game began with the Ilkley Army on it, they swarmed forth like shit hunting Dung Flies, in search of the cow pats of success.  The home No 2 (Alfie Heaton) traveled down the wing, the cross had pace, the defensive header that came saw the ball touched onto the bar, the close-in follow up header produce a top-notch save, what a start this was!  Ilkley came again, a corner was earned and delivered with exposed quality, the Newsome boys did well to escape.  No 11 (Harry Brown) dashed next, the ball was played to No 10 (Tom Fleming) who shot with untamed keenness and sent the ball over the horizontal.  Eventually the visitors marauded, No 3 (Darius Mattheson) flew the flank, the ball in was decent enough but the Ilky men stayed organised.

The next action soon followed, the resident No 9 (Tom Smith) played the ball out wide, a cross was hammered in, No 7 (Joe Hendrie) was the assassin who tapped home - it had been coming.  No sooner had the celebrations died down then Newsome sprang a reaction, No 11 (Luke Gibson) went on a stunning surge, the ball was touched out wide, the defending however was textbook.  

Eventually Newsome put together a few more moves that held significant threat but the hosts were in a groove and duly broke again via Heaton who produced another gallop and cross that led to a close in shot.  This time the keeper dived, held and released.  Newsome attacked, Gibson received and shot from the angle, sadly it was the outside of the netting that bulged inwards.  More attempts at goal came in this all-action affair, No 3 (Joe Garside) for the Town had 2 pops, one way over, the other saved, No 9 (Dean Siddiq) had a crack at the opposite end of the park, the outcome was wide of the mark.

From here the next goal was difficult to call, and then the home team progressed, Brown sent in a steamer, the mittman dove and spilled with the loose globe pounced upon by Smith who duly accepted the gift and buried.  From here the home side found the net again but a flag killed the celebrations and Siddiq at the other end should really have pulled one back but didn't even test the keeper.  The final attempt on goal of this thrilling first half came from Newsome's Gibson, it was a low piledriver, it was mere inches off target - half done.

For the quick break I dashed for a piddle, it was a mighty difficult task getting my cold-avoiding todge from the beneath the thermalized layers but out it was forced, I expelled the last bit of bodily warmth before dashing back to join my good lady and share a choccy bar (it must be noted that I did tuck in and zip up before leaving the bogs and I did wash my hands before handling the chocolate).

The second half began, Newsome had 2 quick corners, the outcome was far from troubling for the leading squad.  The visitors were now playing like a team renewed, No 8 (Coron Rowe) put in a sweet cross that was cut out at the last and then a corner came after a lunged tackle was ignored, Ilkley now had their backs against the wall.  Once again the guests trespassed, Rowe played a ball to No 9 Siddiq, the keeper was back-tracking, a clumsy collision came, the penalty spot was appropriately pointed to.  Up stepped No 7 (Lee Bradshaw) to take the kick, the delivery had solid impetus, the gloved guardian was very unfortunate not to save it. 

This revitalised burst for Newsome continued, a free-kick went long, No 6 (Carl Sykes) was on it, lashed in a cross that found the cranium of No 5 (Steven Marshall) close in.  This time the mitter was not unlucky, in fact he had no chance of making a save - the equaliser had been grabbed, this had been a real turnaround.

The guests continued to make all the running but when their No 10 (Brighton Mugadza) was sent to the sin-bin the impetus was deflated quicker than a testosterone fuelled ball sac in a Swedish sperm bank (those magazines certainly do the trick).  The Ilk-Men were now in with a  chance to get their noses back in front, they took it with Brown and Heaton linking up, a cross hammered in that the keeper failed to hold.  Up popped No 10 (Tom Fleming), 3 - 2 - this was a decent  game to say the least and still on a precipice.

Now waves of Ilky pressure came, shots were had from all angles and were scrambled clear via some rather last ditch defending.  Garside sent in a cross that dripped with goodness, Smith arrived at the last minute - over the crossbar the ball went.  Brown sent in a sizzler next, the keeper kept his eyes on the sphere and saved low to his left and then moments later  Brown was at the end of a move he started.  He found himself in possession mere feet away from the strike zone, the touch was a shocker, the framework was left unmolested - how the Hell did he miss that?  Eventually Newsome won a corner but all it led to was a swift breakway, thankfully Matthesons long shanks were stretched and did their job, that could have been the killer moment.  One last flurry was had, No 8 (James Nightingale) for the hosts played one to Brown, surely this was the icing on the cake.   The globe was launched, the keeper blocked once more and after another Newsome sin-binning we were done.  This had been a fine encounter, many players had put in a decent spell of soccerised attention but the Man of the Match for me goes to Ilkley Town's No 6 (Darren Munday) who was disciplined, effective and strong whenever the moment needed him to be.  The focus throughout and the calm authorative manner will help keep his team honest and competitive - keep on lad, the season is still young, when the balls drop there will be much work to do.

Cold but pleased with the action we headed home.  The call in at the chippy was a bonus, this had been a decent day out.

FINAL THOUGHT - Well now that was interesting to say the least.  A foray into the West Yorkshire Association League and a good competitive match seen.  The guests Newsome FC must be congratulated on taking a first half hammering on the chin, dusting themselves down and coming out to get this match back to an all-square situation.  They battled well, obviously took their half-time team talk to heart and played some decent forceful football to put the outcome of the game temporarily up in the air.  The only thing they need do in future is not get on each others cases (and tits) and let the ball do the talking.  Positivity needs to be maintained and encouragement the key of all conversation, it will help the team to win more than they lose.  Ilkley Town impressed me during the first half and the swift attacking play, willingness to run in all areas and the heads down approach must surely keep them in the reckoning come the season end.   The league leaders may have a slight cushion, I suggest they don't get too comfy, Ilkley are not the finished product but play with a style to make them a real dangerous adversary for any team.  Today they could have had a bagful, maybe the shooting boots need a little more polish and sharpening, I do hope I can fit another viewing in of these guys before season end - tis all time, time, time.

SQUIBS, SQUEAKS AND SMOKE

5th November 2019 - Radcliffe FC 1 v 0 AFC Darwen -  A few seasons ago we had a visit to this ground for a cup match that saw the home team beat Burscough FC which included a few fine goals and an indulgence into the world of Pasty-opia.  We were returning tonight to partake of more delicacies and hopefully witness a few goals.  We expected the attendance to be marred by the fact it was bonfire night, an excuse for people to scare wildlife, piss off people's pets and, most horrendously of all, watch much hard earned cash go up in a brief spurt of utter nerve-jangling, simpleness.   The only fire that would be worthy of attending is when the Houses of Parliament burn down or if the good Lord sends down a bolt of heavenly lightning that sets ablaze that cancerous crippling commodity known as 'selfishness' - now that would be one big conflagration.  Away from my niggled punk stance and back to the football but maintaining the Fawke-esque slant and, after savouries and brews STP Stu joined us again with predictions were made.  The initials questions though were who would sparkle with success, who would be proven to be a soggy squib of embarrassment - the taper was duly lit - game on.

From a somewhat middling start a Darwen mistake in the middle of the park saw Radciffe's No 8 (Elliot Rokka) surge into space and have only the keeper to beat.  The shot that eventually came was dragged disappointingly wide but this was the start of a dominant period that saw the hosts persistently press like an aroused todger against the inside of some ill-fitting underpants and the guests sit deep and absorb like a pair of Discreet knickers (£6.99 a pack from Boots I hear, perverts go, go, go).  From the position of being on the back tootsie Darwen advanced several times, won gratis kicks and sent into the perilous zone numerous delicious deliveries.  The hosts were well-drilled and stood firm and continued to make most of the play.   As the sky lit up with multi-colored hues, annoying booms and bangs the action on the pitch still remained drab and without much to write home about.  

Out of the now smoky realms of the playing area a corner was cultivated from the Boro which in turn led to a follow-up cross that No 9 (Ben Wharton) connected with inches from the goal.  Somehow the globe went over the horizontal but undaunted, the same team came once more, a corner went in and out before No 6 (Matthew Crothers) dinked a delightful pass that saw No 4 (Tom Brown) blast with fiery zest.  The travelling No 1 (James Brindle) stood firm and produced a solid save with the ball going loose and there to be buried, somehow it was seen out of play.  Again the Darwen crew survived, again they won a free-kick in a decent position but once more the organised ranks of Radcliffe proved to be like the blinkered thinking of a self-centred politician - impenetrable.

As the half wore on 80% of the possession was for the home team with an equal statistical share of the pie indicated on the territorial graph too.  The half closed with No 10 (Matthew Wolfenden) going on a dazzling run that looked rather promising.  The Darwen pack closed in, worked as a unit and snuffed out the danger to go into the break all square.

A brew was had for half-time, the local fireworks had now fizzled out, the air had a stench of damp gunpowder and disappointment - all that money thrown away celebrating the life of a failed terrorist - silly gits.

The second half soon began, Rad pushed like a constipated mule, Darwen remained as patient as a soporific poker player with a handful of bullets.  Suddenly, against the flow, the visiting No 8 (Ben Langford) received the ball and made a quick dart.  A chance to shoot came from a reasonable distance, an extra touch was taken and the opportunity looked lost until composure was had, a space came and wallop, a gorgeous dipping effort was sent forth.  The ball was heading for just below the bar, the keeper stretched and tidily tipped over - that was indeed a good effort.  The corner saw the keeper push away for a throw which led to No 3 (Jamie Edwards) having a shot wide of the mark - promising to say the least!

From these slight scares the hosts reacted, a sizzling move saw Wolfenden lay off the ball to Crothers who, with the outside of the foot, sent in a sweet delivery that needed some last ditch defending to deny the incoming poacher right on the line.  Wolfenden had his own effort next after a good run saw the shank swing.   The shot was blocked, soon after Rokka wormed through, again his shot was dealt with, was it going to be one of those nights?

As Raddy pushed, Edwards for the guests gathered deep in his own half and ran the flank in a blur of whirring spindles.  The full length of the pitch was covered, a quality laden corner ensued, once more the resident ranks were immovable.  We now entered the closing stages, the clock was ticking quicker than the pacemaker of a fatman in a pork pie factory, this was going right to the wire.  A push and shove moment came, no cards were issued, the last 5 minutes were entered when, from nowhere, Raddy's Rokka was fed within the opponents box.  The guest No 5 (Luke Jarrold), who had been a reliable component all night, committed himself to a tackle that was clumsy and without malice.  Contact came, Rokka tumbled, the penalty spot was pointed to.  Up stepped the recently grounded player and struck home with ease, it was a sickener for the Darwen lads who had come with a plan that had very nearly worked wonders.   During the final stages the guests nearly got an equaliser but the shot just had a little too much outward bend and then Rokka for the leading team showed some cute skill to beat his marker and deliver a shot that was just shy of the upright.  The game ended soon after, Radcliffe had been the dominant force and had managed to squeak home with a late bonus.  The Man of the Match for me was an easy choice with Radcliffe's No 6 (Matthew Crothers) standing out as an exceptional player with great vision, an all round awareness and a touch that was showcased through a variety of passes and thru-balls.   A quality laden player for sure, one to keep his team fluent and competitive, nice one!

FINAL THOUGHT - And so, despite the promise of fireworks the main one's we got were off the pitch and on my ruddy tits they got too.  The game was far from a classic, the tea and scram were pretty decent though - one can't complain.  Radcliffe worked the ball well tonight and despite being frustrated they never let up and used the full playing area well and made sure their opponents worked mighty hard.  I liked the composure of the hosts and their determination to try and play good football rather than hoof it over the top and bumble their way to victory.  Maybe tonight was a game for such crude tactics, but full marks to the hosts for sticking to their guns and getting their just reward.  AFC Darwen came with the intention of soaking up and surprising and for the greater part of this match they proved themselves to be a tough nut to crack.  They are in the bottom 3 in their league, a position that doesn't reflect what was witnessed tonight.  They are better than what they think, I am going to make it my business to get up their end this season, it has been too long and when I do I am expecting the team to be rising in the ranks - you have been warned. 

BOGS, BALLS AND BLANKS

2nd November 2019 - West Didsbury & Chorlton 0 v 0 Cheadle Heath Nomads - The bog man cometh, the bog man leaveth, we have a new throne, I can now crapulate with the best of them.  Due to this bowel-assisting fitting the morn was spent keeping tabs and catching up on much computer-based work.  My good lady took her mum shopping, picked up our daughter who was nipping back from London for the day and then dropped me off at football - albeit a trifle late due to the aforementioned bloke with the basin.  It was a ruddy cold day, I attempted a bit of gardening in between the techno-twiddling, my nipples were like wine-corks, the fingers pinkened and my breath icy - I got done what needed doing though!  Today's game was a tough one for the visitor's with the hosts very much one of the favourites for automatic promotion.  After a dogged win in midweek though the Nomad's were not to be underestimated and, if getting off to a flier they could come away with yet another surprise victory.  I turned up with a brolly today, my long flowing locks don't like the rain, and yes, I do live in a fantasy land.  STP and Nev Pearson (Cheadle Heath Nomad's Secretary) were found to be nattering, I overheard only a couple of words 'Love', 'Inner Tubes' and 'Travel Lodge' - well, well, well - you just don't know with some people.   After a brew and a chat with some other fine folk myself and Stu made our way to between the dug-outs, the rain was not giving up, the pitch may be a great leveller.

The game began with the usual Non-League spirit there for all to see.  The Nomads had the first break, No 9 (Richard Tindall) swung his shank without a moments thought, the outcome was outrageously bad but when the same player raced in soon after, from a cross via No 10 (Ashley Stott), his low down header was ideal but the home No 1 (Andrew Jones) showed quick reactions and saved at point blank range.  On the guests came, Tindall put the ball into the box, the defense held firm, No 8 (Kieran Herbert) had a decent dig, the header away was concrete.  At long last the WDC pack advanced, won a corner which was well posted into the penalty area.  The keeper came and reached to push clear, the return shot from No 4 (Callum Jones) was what the professors of football term as 'shite' - they are an erudite bunch albeit a trifle coarse at times.

As the Nomads bustled forth once more The West broke.  The end point of the move saw a shot from range test the keepers agility.  The visiting No 1 (Aaron Tyrer) sprang, stretched and saved without dropping the ball - comfortable sir, comfortable.  The game was wide open, both Tindall and his opposite No 9 (James Cottee) had chances, both opportunities came and went in a real tight-arsed contest.  The hosts slowly wormed their way into a position of territorial advantage, the guests held firm and still managed to have the odd pop at goal with No 8 (Kristian Holt) denied by a regulation save.  From some responsive West pressure the ball was retrieved via the visiting No 2 (Jack Warren) who punted forth for Stott to chase.  The bounce was awkward, No 5 (Jamie Forbes) for the hosts mistimed his tackle, lunged, got 20% of the ball but 80% of the man, the red card was instantaneous.  The resultant free-kick slammed into the wall, the whole dynamics had changed, the game was now for the taking if The Nomads wanted it.

The dying embers of the first half nearly saw the initial breakthrough with the Nomadic No 7 (George Blackwell) feeding No 11 (Daniel Browne) who took one touch and twatted.  The keeper was beat, the upright had the final touch though and the ball rebounded to safety.  During the last few minutes both teams almost broke from the midfield deadlock but it was not to be - a stalemate, what would the second half bring?

The half-time brew went down a treat along with some cake I had purchased watching Maine Road earlier in the week. 4 Ring Neck Parakeets flew over and the weather was rather clement.  I was still in a T-shirt, my Arthur Mullard thermals were still in the drawer at home and my electric testicle cups may not come out until December - Nut-Tastic!

The second period was soon upon us, everything was still to play for, despite being a man down the WDC pack pressed first forcing the back-pedalling Blackwell to make a mistake but duly recover with a quite outstanding tackle.  Talking of 'outstanding tackle', I must remember to get my copy of 'Big Dick Muldoon's Love Manual' back from the neighbour!

The first quiet spell of the game followed, it was soon broken by a Nomads sub and a sweeping move.  A low ball was hammered into the West's box, the defensive work was exceptional and the danger was halted.  A repeat move came soon after, the end shot was a disaster - the visiting bench were getting a trifle frustrated.  Herbert had the next punt at the home goal, the save was tidy and from the corner the rear remained watertight.  Blackwell came forth, the cross was decent, again the blokes at the back earned their crust and when a corner caused chaos the ball remained elusive for those looking to fire home and a goalless draw was looking increasingly likely.

As we galloped into the latter stages the local Jackdaws took to the air and chacked out aerial encouragement whilst defecating on the local posers cars and pleasing me no end.  Nomadic waves came, they crashed against a stubborn black and white shoreline, the spume of disgruntlement was rising around the tootsies of the attacking pirates.  The last 10 saw a touch and go scenario with The West almost snatching a winner but No 6 (Matthew Eckersley) shot wide and No 4 (Callum Jones) launched a beauty that looked to be dropping just below the bar but somehow remained elevated and flew a few inches too high.  At the very death the hosts won a corner, Eckersley snuck in and put cranium on sphere.  The power applied was decent, the direction however saw the vertical missed by mere inches - a few moments later and that was that.  From amid much hard work the Man of the Match today goes to West Didsbury and Chorlton's No 6 (Matthew Eckersley), a player who stuck to his guns, worked hard all over the pitch and played with a composure that helped his depleted squad hang on and gain a share of the spoils.  As Stu and I headed homeward a creeping miasma starting to infiltrate the now empty playing area, I expected to see Count Dracula emerge from the mists, all I saw was a John Inman look-a-like waving a pink furry wand - I think it may have been colder than I thought - brain freeze can cause all sorts of hallucinations I hear.

FINAL THOUGHT - This was a classic example of one of those good to honest, earthy draws that showcases two teams battling like buggery and having no real sniff of success.  That '10 men against 11 scenario' is always a tough conundrum to solve and here we witnessed why this is the case.  West Didsbury and Chorlton were my tip for the top before the season began, I expected them to do the business today but even when they had 11 players on the pitch they were matched in every department by a side on an above average roll.  The loss of a player though did the home team no favours and maybe, with a full pack, they could have won this one, but hey, what the Hell is a 'maybe' anyway.   Cheadle Heath Nomads have turned a real corner and are now showing their battling prowess, organisational skills and dogged determination.   The next step is to become more clinical in front of goal and make sure that final ball in is deadly and that any loose balls are pounced upon and buried.  They are nearly a complete unit, after a rough start to the season they are making strides, if they continue with this kind of attitude there could be a real surprise in store for many opposing team - as per, the team will be getting my best wishes and due attention.