21st August 2018 - Chadderton FC 1 v 7 Lower Breck FC - Crikey, a full on period I have on my mucky mitts of late, 2 farm trips with the Young Carers, fungi fruiting and in need of attention, halfway through decorating the kitchen, work, reviews and walks to lead as well as a backlog of buggery that never seems to shift. This was my first visit of the season to Chaddy Land, a place I have frequented many times before and one where I have witnessed some good football. It was needed tonight after nightly terrors are sending me AWOL and making me work hard to keep on a stable mental track. Latest installments of nightmarish nonsense have seen me have sex with an elephant, attend a gig with a serious dose of the shits and score the winning goal for Rectal United against the bargain basement team, Haemorrhoidal Young Boys - a bleeding awful side they are too. I don't know where these nocturnal visions spring from, perhaps eating out of date Pork Pies in bed doesn't help or wearing super tight control knickers (for scientific purposes) is affecting the blood supply to the old grey matter - who knows, I just hope this report is not affected in anyway! So, we arrived, met up with STP Stu, had a cuppa and a natter and found suitable spots to observe the night's proceedings.
The air was damper than the armpits of Dickie Davies after a night in a Premier Inn with the snooker Lothario Willie 'The Horn' Thorne and as the ball got rolling is wasn't long before all combatants were perspiring too. Chadderton came on strong from the off, No 9 (Oumar Camara) was fed and blasted over without really considering his options. At once we went down the other end with the nippy No 11 (Louis Austin) sending in a looper from the angle that needed a decent tip over. The corner was swung in, a firm contact was had by the fiery crust of No 10 (Callum Hill), the ball pinged off and had just a little too much uplift. Austin went on a run for the Breck soon after, another angled punt was the result this time it was a daisy cutter that wouldn't stay on the inside of the upright - it certainly was a frisky start to the game. Chadderton tried to regroup and rebuild but after pushing forth were caught with their trousers down by a streaking break that saw No 9 (Peter Donnelly) cross to Austin who pulled the trigger and was denied by a lunging carcass. The guests were far from deterred and like a wasp on a sugar-dipped nipple they were straight back with a final shot saved close in. A kick from the angle was awarded, the delivery was cherry ripe, the ensuing header strong, on target and responsible for the first goal of the game, Callum Hill was the hit man, it was just what the quack of the glorious game prescribed.
From here Chadderton looked to immediately respond with No 10 (Jack Turnbull) running his nuts off and winning possession in midfield before laying off to No 11 (Ryan Shenton) who struck goalward. The save was firm enough and from a follow-on corner no triumph was borne. Turnball picked up his conkers, another corner came, to the near post it went and saw No 7 (Jack Snape) touch close in, bring a gasp from the onlookers but only find fresh air rather than the sought after mesh. From here crosses came at both ends of the park with Chadderton having the better of the play. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a long Chaddy ball went forward, a defender went to wallop clear, No 3 (Siyam Muhammed) hustled and duly got in the way of the clearance. The ball took a pseudo-deflection and ended up in the net - fortune favoured the chancer - back to all square peeps. The travelling team now spurted like a willy with a plumbing problem, Austin flashed along the flanks, played back to his No 2 (Jamie Morton) who cracked in a concrete cross. A heavyweight header brought a dazzling save and the ball ended up like a cricketer's escaping teste - loose in the box. Donnelly for the LB lads was in the right place at the right time and found the target - the lead was restored...and then doubled as it turned out. Just 3 minutes later No 7 (Jay Colbeck) shot and saw a deflection go wide, The cross that came was knocked out and No 6 (Mason Neviitt) fired home with determined focus. From here the half settled, some serious work was being put in by both sides with the hosts chasing every last ball but the guests staying firm and not losing their discipline. Several shots came each way but no further netting was rippled. As we wandered for a half time cuppa Chadderton applied late pressure, Lower Breck absorbed like the safety knickers of Old Mother Hubbard, no leaks were had.
Tea and a Mars Bar for half time - like The Undertones we certainly needed one and it went down mighty well. The break flew by, we had barely re-parked our posteriors before the teams were out and at war.
As in the first period Chadderton came out quickest and had the initial sortie forth. The Breck defense was close-fisted, they gave nothing away but when a period of hard scurrying followed and Turnbull for Chaddy was put through via a superb dissecting pass, it was with disappointment that he saw his shot saved by the keeper's plates of meat. Turnball was offered a second bite of the dangling cherry (cor blimey, tis almost pornographic) but chose to cross into space that saw no eager executioners. In a flick of a grasshoppers foreskin Turnball was awarded a dubious free-kick soon after. No 2 (Samuel Riley) delivered a stunner, a shot was blocked, a wild handball claim turned down and another free-punt was rattled over the bar - by heck Chadderton were having a good go. A patchy period followed, a few subs came, the home replacement put 2 good balls in but Lower Breck survived and slowly but surely wormed their way back into the contest. The visitors eventually won the ball, a cross from nothing found the keeper's hands, the hands turned to jelly and the ball escaped and dropped...yes, you guessed it...into the net. Blooper duper do - never a nice thing to witness, No 2 (Jamie Morton) claimed the goal nonetheless.
The game was now over as a contest, Breck were still keen and absorbing all threats that were coming from their opponents whilst offering up further potential to add to the goal tally. On the 80th minute Austin chased an almost lost cause and crossed, a tap home for Donnelly was taken with ease - this was just getting silly. Next and Colbeck and Donnelly linked up, Colbeck put in the shot, a ruddy good save denied further salt being rubbed into a very open wound. To give Chadderton their due, they still strove for a strike but as their substitute popped one over a boot downfield saw Donnelly dash in and grab his well deserved hat-trick. As cool as a cucumber from the dubious areas of Ann Wiidecombes anatomy - and that's cool. Another Chaddy effort saw one of the subs crack wide and then Breck counterpunch with 2 quick passes that put Donnelly in. The man in form rounded the keeper and made the scoreline a genuine, 100% embarrassment. A few minutes later we were done, what could I say, who on earth could have predicted this one. We wandered off, I pondered Man of the Match and could get no further than Lower Breck's No 9 (Peter Donnelly), I mean 4 goals takes some effort and some skill and throughout he kept focus and in control and got his just reward.
FINAL THOUGHT - Irrespective of banging in 7 goals away from home Lower Breck are a darn decent side and very pleasing to watch with a team unit containing much pace, plenty of quick thinking and a super-abundance of options when in possession. They work for one another, chase back and seem to be able to soak up pressure better than the underpants of ex-Swedish international and full-time tubbo Tomas Brolin. I shall seek them out again soon and certainly give them a few more viewings. Chadderton are better than what the scoreline suggested tonight and have a good work ethic, some quite zipping players and a No 10 (Jack Turnball) who sets a scampering standard to be very much applauded The cogs are just not turning in unison at the mo though and the team just need to get the noggins down, make sure communication and encouragement is the key and that all areas of the park are used to stretch opponents and keep em' guessing. I always enjoy my trips to Chadderton FC, it ain't too far and we put in a few visits each season, I wouldn't mind another 8 goals next time, which way is up to the teams to sort out - gauntlet thrown lads!
Wednesday, 22 August 2018
Sunday, 19 August 2018
GALLS AND BALLS
18th August 2018 - 1874 Northwich 1 v 1 Abbey Hey - Up early, daughter dropped off for work and me and the good lady headed to Marbury Country Park for a bout of Cecidology - looking for plant galls. I had racked up a good amount of species over the years but the chance to see others having a pootle and picking up a few pointers was a chance not to miss. The walk was grand, we got 3 new species out of it and I found a species of Bird's Nest Fungus which we hadn't seen before (Cyathus olla to be exact). We left the walk after dinner having decided rather than indulge in some microscopy we would seek out a footy match. The Barnton Stadium wasn't far off so after a quick drive we were soon in position, bathed in sunshine, chomping chips and swilling tea - lovely. In fact the sun blazed continuously hard throughout the game and left us with ruddy faces and clammy conkers (well, me at least) and it didn't half dope us up sat in its full glare. The players soon took to the pitch, I had predicted 3 - 1 to a 74 fan earlier on, he used a Spanish term to refer to me as a fool in the most kindly way, well it's better than being called a wanker in Hindi - oooh me knotted turban!
The game started with the hosts using strict possession play combined with a good exhibition of patience. Eventually 2 crosses were cultivated after some dandy overlapping work. No 10 (Scott McGowan) missed the fleeting globe, No 6 (Mark Jones) made contact but hammered off target. Onwards and the same team came, the retaining tactics working well in the rear, with less effect at the forefront of matters. The Hey brigade looked initially set up to absorb and counter, a very dangerous option to take at this non-league stronghold - only time will tell! As 74 probed their No 2 (Matthew Russell) put in a stupendous cross that No 11 (Joseph Woolley) put the top of his bonse on but couldn't keep on target. A free-punt soon after kept the heat on, No 8 (Sam Freakes) struck and the mitter had to stretch and turn over. The corner was over-complicated and was akin to a trapped wasp in a cannabis factory - wasted. A period of Abbey Hey pseudo-pestering was the result, No 10 (Matthew Shaw) beetled in from a free-kick but was duly denied and then a cross was fizzed over and took mere millemetres of skin off the No 9's (Aaron Rodger) barnet and disappointingly flashed shy of the far stick. A distance shot from No 7 (Robert Swallow) of the Hey reinforced the growing confidence, the ball was clumsily pushed behind by a quite startled keeper. When the corner came the defense seemed unsettled, hesitancy was there to be punished and punished it was as No 11 (Keiron Dale) slammed home - kaboom baby, kaboom.
This fractured and stuttering game was now ripened by the goal, all we needed was for both teams to bear greater fruit and give all in attendance a darn fine harvest of excitement. 74 offered up the first seeds of hope with a corner that ended with a quite rank delivery. A counter-attack came, a throw, a foul and the peril was pissed on from a great height, the farmers of fluidity were certainly oliguria attacked gits today, darn those misable oriental eyes. Further efforts came towards the guests goal, No 9 (Kyle Riley) had 2 attempts, one waywardly nutted the other a touch on that needed clearing off the line. As Northwich pushed a picture perfect cross look destined to end in a goal as No 2 Russell snuck in and prepared to strike, The shot that came flew over the horizontal, it looked rusty and void of confidence. The final salvos of the first period came when two passages of play saw some neat link up work end with quite abysmal finishing touches - the drawing board needed more attention, the half ended and a good talking too was needed for the trailing unit.
During the 15 minute break we two tooters stayed put and soaked up the solars. I was getting quite doped up and my missus was doing a fine impression of a narcoleptic opium head - phew, what a sizzler.
Period dos (ooh the Spanish has twisted me mind) started, Abbey Hey produced an immediate attack of penetrating style. Rodger and Swallow advanced (bloody hell, how sinister does that sound), a shot followed, a solid save was donated in stubborn response. The ball was put back in an infringement halted the flowing waters of Hey intent. 74 needed to get their skates on, they reacted via a stunning laser-like cross-field ball by their No 5 (Daniel Thomas). The recipient was Riley who toe poked close-in but once again failed to find the hotspot (I think time out is needed to psycho-analyse some of the losers who appeared on Strike It Lucky - well those that survived at least). The hosts now grew in confidence, a ball in, a thumping downward header, the liner had seen a flaw in proceedings, start all over again lads. No, wait, controversy raised its many angled head and stuck a thumb up the rear of regulation with the result being a penalty given. A booking was had, No 10 (Scott McGowan) was the man with responsibility on his shoulders. The ball was placed, the striker waltzed forth and struck the back of the net with convincing sanguinity - all square, all to play for - a spanner in the works of the AH effort, a true test of resilience was now to be met head on. As soon as the joy of the home fans had settled down they were called upon once more as No 7 (Callum Gardner) flashed one wide and McGowan brought down a long ball, cut outside and slapped one outside of the vertical - Abbey Hey were now hanging on.
The game from here looked to be going one way with the hosts very much in command. A rapier assault saw Thomas come out on the unlucky side of fortune with a close in effort that was somehow knocked clear. Swallow for Abbey Hey swooped forth next, he weaved and wandered and fired with purpose but it was a reckless effort and allowed the keeper to finish his latest novel and enjoy the Cuban Cigar he had kept for times of peace. From here action was like a gorilla with a bladder and bowel nerve problem, it was coming thick and fast at both ends. 1874 scrambled away a couple of threatening incidents, their No 15 (Kazim Waite-Jackson) nearly smuggled himself in but failed to make sturdy contact - it was becoming a very animated finale. No 5 (Stephen Solademi) had put in a great stint for the travellers with some eye-catching defensive work and when he roamed forth, put cranium on sphere he was mighty unfortunate to not find the net and stand proud at destination hero. The Hey heaved, a cross was headed on and was tipped over, was there a twist in the tale, were we witnessing a Dahl-esque mockery to send one lot of fans home buoyant, the others with a sinking feeling in the chip soaked gut. The answer soon came and was a resounding 'No' as both teams lacked finesse and composure in the final third and allowed proceedings to end with points shared. This had not been the greatest spectacle, both teams need to find a true vein of form mighty soon although I am sure Abbey Hey will be delighted with a hard-grafted point. Man of the match could have gone to either No 5 but for me (Daniel Thomas) was a consistent class act and looked in command of all matters at all times. A definitive cornerstone of a team looking to start chugging hard very soon, with players like this the upsurge shouldn't be too far away.
FINAL THOUGHT - Not a momentous game, not an edge of the seat thriller liable to relax inner gubbins that will bring about an unexpected spillage in the trouser department. No, this was a game of grit and grind both teams would be happy to get out of the way. Sometimes, a footballing problem can be as elusive as a gastropods genitals and as easy to deal with as a bout of rectal thrush (so they tell me). Here there may be several problems going on within the 74 ranks or just a case of luck linking up with liquidity and forcing a change in fortune that can duly bring about just rewards. Pace seemed to be one component lacking in both units, a focused deadliness in front of goal perhaps another aspect to look at but having said this, determination and desire are not to be questioned and all was given right up until the last blow of the whistle and made sure the Fat Bag in the wings was not allowed to holler before the correct given time. The season is still young, when we move into the meat of the matter will we have a good insight into how these teams will fare, until then...keep on supporting, keep on enjoying and, if you be so kind, keep on reading these reports - cheers and beers amigos!
The game started with the hosts using strict possession play combined with a good exhibition of patience. Eventually 2 crosses were cultivated after some dandy overlapping work. No 10 (Scott McGowan) missed the fleeting globe, No 6 (Mark Jones) made contact but hammered off target. Onwards and the same team came, the retaining tactics working well in the rear, with less effect at the forefront of matters. The Hey brigade looked initially set up to absorb and counter, a very dangerous option to take at this non-league stronghold - only time will tell! As 74 probed their No 2 (Matthew Russell) put in a stupendous cross that No 11 (Joseph Woolley) put the top of his bonse on but couldn't keep on target. A free-punt soon after kept the heat on, No 8 (Sam Freakes) struck and the mitter had to stretch and turn over. The corner was over-complicated and was akin to a trapped wasp in a cannabis factory - wasted. A period of Abbey Hey pseudo-pestering was the result, No 10 (Matthew Shaw) beetled in from a free-kick but was duly denied and then a cross was fizzed over and took mere millemetres of skin off the No 9's (Aaron Rodger) barnet and disappointingly flashed shy of the far stick. A distance shot from No 7 (Robert Swallow) of the Hey reinforced the growing confidence, the ball was clumsily pushed behind by a quite startled keeper. When the corner came the defense seemed unsettled, hesitancy was there to be punished and punished it was as No 11 (Keiron Dale) slammed home - kaboom baby, kaboom.
This fractured and stuttering game was now ripened by the goal, all we needed was for both teams to bear greater fruit and give all in attendance a darn fine harvest of excitement. 74 offered up the first seeds of hope with a corner that ended with a quite rank delivery. A counter-attack came, a throw, a foul and the peril was pissed on from a great height, the farmers of fluidity were certainly oliguria attacked gits today, darn those misable oriental eyes. Further efforts came towards the guests goal, No 9 (Kyle Riley) had 2 attempts, one waywardly nutted the other a touch on that needed clearing off the line. As Northwich pushed a picture perfect cross look destined to end in a goal as No 2 Russell snuck in and prepared to strike, The shot that came flew over the horizontal, it looked rusty and void of confidence. The final salvos of the first period came when two passages of play saw some neat link up work end with quite abysmal finishing touches - the drawing board needed more attention, the half ended and a good talking too was needed for the trailing unit.
During the 15 minute break we two tooters stayed put and soaked up the solars. I was getting quite doped up and my missus was doing a fine impression of a narcoleptic opium head - phew, what a sizzler.
Period dos (ooh the Spanish has twisted me mind) started, Abbey Hey produced an immediate attack of penetrating style. Rodger and Swallow advanced (bloody hell, how sinister does that sound), a shot followed, a solid save was donated in stubborn response. The ball was put back in an infringement halted the flowing waters of Hey intent. 74 needed to get their skates on, they reacted via a stunning laser-like cross-field ball by their No 5 (Daniel Thomas). The recipient was Riley who toe poked close-in but once again failed to find the hotspot (I think time out is needed to psycho-analyse some of the losers who appeared on Strike It Lucky - well those that survived at least). The hosts now grew in confidence, a ball in, a thumping downward header, the liner had seen a flaw in proceedings, start all over again lads. No, wait, controversy raised its many angled head and stuck a thumb up the rear of regulation with the result being a penalty given. A booking was had, No 10 (Scott McGowan) was the man with responsibility on his shoulders. The ball was placed, the striker waltzed forth and struck the back of the net with convincing sanguinity - all square, all to play for - a spanner in the works of the AH effort, a true test of resilience was now to be met head on. As soon as the joy of the home fans had settled down they were called upon once more as No 7 (Callum Gardner) flashed one wide and McGowan brought down a long ball, cut outside and slapped one outside of the vertical - Abbey Hey were now hanging on.
The game from here looked to be going one way with the hosts very much in command. A rapier assault saw Thomas come out on the unlucky side of fortune with a close in effort that was somehow knocked clear. Swallow for Abbey Hey swooped forth next, he weaved and wandered and fired with purpose but it was a reckless effort and allowed the keeper to finish his latest novel and enjoy the Cuban Cigar he had kept for times of peace. From here action was like a gorilla with a bladder and bowel nerve problem, it was coming thick and fast at both ends. 1874 scrambled away a couple of threatening incidents, their No 15 (Kazim Waite-Jackson) nearly smuggled himself in but failed to make sturdy contact - it was becoming a very animated finale. No 5 (Stephen Solademi) had put in a great stint for the travellers with some eye-catching defensive work and when he roamed forth, put cranium on sphere he was mighty unfortunate to not find the net and stand proud at destination hero. The Hey heaved, a cross was headed on and was tipped over, was there a twist in the tale, were we witnessing a Dahl-esque mockery to send one lot of fans home buoyant, the others with a sinking feeling in the chip soaked gut. The answer soon came and was a resounding 'No' as both teams lacked finesse and composure in the final third and allowed proceedings to end with points shared. This had not been the greatest spectacle, both teams need to find a true vein of form mighty soon although I am sure Abbey Hey will be delighted with a hard-grafted point. Man of the match could have gone to either No 5 but for me (Daniel Thomas) was a consistent class act and looked in command of all matters at all times. A definitive cornerstone of a team looking to start chugging hard very soon, with players like this the upsurge shouldn't be too far away.
FINAL THOUGHT - Not a momentous game, not an edge of the seat thriller liable to relax inner gubbins that will bring about an unexpected spillage in the trouser department. No, this was a game of grit and grind both teams would be happy to get out of the way. Sometimes, a footballing problem can be as elusive as a gastropods genitals and as easy to deal with as a bout of rectal thrush (so they tell me). Here there may be several problems going on within the 74 ranks or just a case of luck linking up with liquidity and forcing a change in fortune that can duly bring about just rewards. Pace seemed to be one component lacking in both units, a focused deadliness in front of goal perhaps another aspect to look at but having said this, determination and desire are not to be questioned and all was given right up until the last blow of the whistle and made sure the Fat Bag in the wings was not allowed to holler before the correct given time. The season is still young, when we move into the meat of the matter will we have a good insight into how these teams will fare, until then...keep on supporting, keep on enjoying and, if you be so kind, keep on reading these reports - cheers and beers amigos!
Wednesday, 15 August 2018
VALE DENTED
14th August 2018 - Denton Town 2 v 1 Congleton Vale - There were no plans for a match this week, I had been stressed of late with family affairs, the usual busy life I lead and a constant bout of nightmares were all taking their toll but, after a day at work tapping keys and sorting many things we decided a bit of fresh air and some good non-league would do the noggins good. My young daughter cooked our tea, a veggie curry for Kings and Queens of cuisine - she's a good un'. So, warmed to the cockles with the spicy dish we headed out and arrived at the ground in good time to have a natter with a couple of blokes who run things, purchase a cup of tea and get snaps of the teamsheets (on my wife's phone of course because I still don't own one and hopefully...never will). We sloped off into the clement air, took up our positions and awaited the teams. A smell of nearby dog-shit wafted passed (oh those selfish owners with defecating dogs) but our pleasure was not dampened and as the players and officials graced the pitch we watched the game unfold. Here are my humble observations.
A fast fluttering start was had with both teams brandishing the tips of their attacking epees with blatant intent (ooh the crude buggers, they'll have somebody's eye out). From the main meat of the matter (or quorn of the concern if ye be veggie based) a free-kick for the guests was had. The spherical object of desire was swung in, contact was made via a noggin and the save that followed was one handed and quite superb. The ball remained in the box, No 8 (Dan Buehler) had a go with the bonse, another single-mitted save was executed, ruddy fine work indeed - stand up and take the applause Aaron Dollard. The danger was eventually cleared and followed by a bout of midfield mither. The Vale went down to 10 men for a short period after a head was clonked and treatment given but this still remained a competitive affair. In fact, during this 'one man down' period the visitors had a crack on goal when No 11 (Harry Pointon) swung the shank. The ball flew with purpose but, like a Buzzards fart, had too much uplift and ended up in the Leylandii on the other side of the fence. No 7 (Tyler Harrison) came next, a corner won but the weight was hefty and a break ensued that duly fizzled and kept all things even. Action came at both ends, half-arsed shots with much bluster were the result until No 9 (Daniel Heffernan) and No 7 (Stefano Idugbor) for the Dentonians linked up and produced a cross that was banged into the perilous zone but just couldn't attract any eager executioners. The Congleton boys worked back, Denton sprung an attack with the captain No 3 (Mike Bennett) battling hard along the flank and slotting in to Idugbor who worked a gap and hammered home to break this stubborn deadlock. It was a lightning bolt up the rear of the travelling tribe's arse but from here they remained on the back foot as Denton pushed on. A corner was soon had, the ball in was weak, the follow up shot wank - abstract thoughts of a new Mr Men series came into my wayward head - hello Mr Weak, why hello Mr Wank, what a weak and wank kind of day it is - etc. etc.
The game now fell into the latter folds of the first half with the host No 10 (Godfred Amankwaa) having the next effort via a grass grazing sizzler that the gloved one duly grabbed. Denton Town looked stable and in command, No 5 (Luke Bottrell) at the back was rock solid and played a lengthy ball to Heffernan who duly lobbed the keeper. It was a simple but effective move and as the netting settled it was with great disappointment that the liner had ruled offside. A Dentoid free-kick saw the trees at the back of the goal lose a few leaves and at the other end No 4 (Paul Spruce) nearly galloped in but was muscled off the ball and the chance went begging. The half ended in hard-working fashion - I was enjoying this one.
A cup of tea and a shared biscuit for half-time as we were trying to be good and shed a few pounds - it is not easy - chocolate, cake, fish and chips, pies, crisps oooh and lard butties - how can one ever lose weight?
The second half began, the first action came via a Denton free-kick. No 11 (Francisco Costa) roamed into acres of space, was given time to cross and find the poking toe of No 9 Heffernan who forced the keeper into making a very efficient save. Both teams bustled about and were yet to find their true feet in this chasing period. From a Congleton advance, Denton swept back with Heffernan providing a cross and Costa shooting and dragging wide. Another Denton attack followed, Heffernan to Amankwaa, a save and a loose ball trickling against the post before being belted away. Within seconds the guest keeper had 2 saves to make, the first particularly impressive after a sizzling drive by Heffernan. A corner came, another brace of blocks by the pestered mitter, one from Amankwaa and another from the eager and hungry Heffernan. From this battery of booms on goal Congleton fought hard and won a bonus boot. The kick came, a deflection was had and the ball was banged home - 1 - 1, no - an infringement had been seen, outrage ensued, as you were folks.
Like a pair of mating Shield Bugs some fine end to end action took place and birth to another goal seemed on the clashing cards. The Town were passing well, moving the ball with patience and duly winning a corner with 20 minutes left on the ticker. The angled effort came, several swipes at the ball were blocked until Amankwaa pounced, twisted the hips and wham, 2 - 0 it was and in truth, a justifiable lead was grabbed. Denton came again soon after, Heffernan let go a steaming shot, the keeper was there to deny him yet again. Bennett had a deflected effort not long after, it could have gone anywhere but was gladly collected by the busy man between the sticks. From mounting pressure a Congleton rarity was achieved - a free-kick no less. The execution was simple, the ball floated across goal and No 15 (Ollie Griffiths) performed a simple header, an easy goal, the game was far from over. The last dregs, another free-kick for The Vale, this time dealt with. Desire and passion dictated the closing minutes, a late Congleton corner saw the keeper dash forth - it was shit or bust folks. Ball in, out, throw in, blast over and...the referee had had enough. Phew, that was a decent game on a lovely late summer evening with a few goals had, a couple of nice chats and 2 cups of tea to boot. Man of the Match for me goes to Denton Town's No 5 (Luke Bottrell) who I thought was dominant throughout, in command of his own situation and who played a perfectly measured and robust game - a veritable linchpin at the back that is for sure. We watched the players tootle off and headed home, I think we will be back soon to this ground - by heck tis only 20 minutes down the road, what excuses can I offer?
FINAL THOUGHT - The bare bollocks of non-league football were on show tonight as a small run club came up against another budget built team and played the game how it should be played - with good heart, good respect, decent passion and for the sheer love of it. My heart is always with this kind of shizzle, there is something more real about things that throw caution to the wind and have little concern for the coin and the corrupting crap that comes with it. I don't think there was a booking in tonight's game, barely any obnoxious dissent was given, and the flow was constant throughout and brought many moments of excitement for we low down perusers of the glorious game. I am glad to do my reports for events such as this, I hope it keeps people invigorated and, perhaps, sexually on edge (I live in hope) but more than anything if it gets a few extra arses on the touchline, a few others doing something and those that are already committed determined to hang on in then I'll be happy with that - a fine night out, free entry too - by heck what is there to complain about - well besides the dogshit of course. End verdict - splendid and both teams look to have enough to hold their own in this league - well played to all.
A fast fluttering start was had with both teams brandishing the tips of their attacking epees with blatant intent (ooh the crude buggers, they'll have somebody's eye out). From the main meat of the matter (or quorn of the concern if ye be veggie based) a free-kick for the guests was had. The spherical object of desire was swung in, contact was made via a noggin and the save that followed was one handed and quite superb. The ball remained in the box, No 8 (Dan Buehler) had a go with the bonse, another single-mitted save was executed, ruddy fine work indeed - stand up and take the applause Aaron Dollard. The danger was eventually cleared and followed by a bout of midfield mither. The Vale went down to 10 men for a short period after a head was clonked and treatment given but this still remained a competitive affair. In fact, during this 'one man down' period the visitors had a crack on goal when No 11 (Harry Pointon) swung the shank. The ball flew with purpose but, like a Buzzards fart, had too much uplift and ended up in the Leylandii on the other side of the fence. No 7 (Tyler Harrison) came next, a corner won but the weight was hefty and a break ensued that duly fizzled and kept all things even. Action came at both ends, half-arsed shots with much bluster were the result until No 9 (Daniel Heffernan) and No 7 (Stefano Idugbor) for the Dentonians linked up and produced a cross that was banged into the perilous zone but just couldn't attract any eager executioners. The Congleton boys worked back, Denton sprung an attack with the captain No 3 (Mike Bennett) battling hard along the flank and slotting in to Idugbor who worked a gap and hammered home to break this stubborn deadlock. It was a lightning bolt up the rear of the travelling tribe's arse but from here they remained on the back foot as Denton pushed on. A corner was soon had, the ball in was weak, the follow up shot wank - abstract thoughts of a new Mr Men series came into my wayward head - hello Mr Weak, why hello Mr Wank, what a weak and wank kind of day it is - etc. etc.
The game now fell into the latter folds of the first half with the host No 10 (Godfred Amankwaa) having the next effort via a grass grazing sizzler that the gloved one duly grabbed. Denton Town looked stable and in command, No 5 (Luke Bottrell) at the back was rock solid and played a lengthy ball to Heffernan who duly lobbed the keeper. It was a simple but effective move and as the netting settled it was with great disappointment that the liner had ruled offside. A Dentoid free-kick saw the trees at the back of the goal lose a few leaves and at the other end No 4 (Paul Spruce) nearly galloped in but was muscled off the ball and the chance went begging. The half ended in hard-working fashion - I was enjoying this one.
A cup of tea and a shared biscuit for half-time as we were trying to be good and shed a few pounds - it is not easy - chocolate, cake, fish and chips, pies, crisps oooh and lard butties - how can one ever lose weight?
The second half began, the first action came via a Denton free-kick. No 11 (Francisco Costa) roamed into acres of space, was given time to cross and find the poking toe of No 9 Heffernan who forced the keeper into making a very efficient save. Both teams bustled about and were yet to find their true feet in this chasing period. From a Congleton advance, Denton swept back with Heffernan providing a cross and Costa shooting and dragging wide. Another Denton attack followed, Heffernan to Amankwaa, a save and a loose ball trickling against the post before being belted away. Within seconds the guest keeper had 2 saves to make, the first particularly impressive after a sizzling drive by Heffernan. A corner came, another brace of blocks by the pestered mitter, one from Amankwaa and another from the eager and hungry Heffernan. From this battery of booms on goal Congleton fought hard and won a bonus boot. The kick came, a deflection was had and the ball was banged home - 1 - 1, no - an infringement had been seen, outrage ensued, as you were folks.
Like a pair of mating Shield Bugs some fine end to end action took place and birth to another goal seemed on the clashing cards. The Town were passing well, moving the ball with patience and duly winning a corner with 20 minutes left on the ticker. The angled effort came, several swipes at the ball were blocked until Amankwaa pounced, twisted the hips and wham, 2 - 0 it was and in truth, a justifiable lead was grabbed. Denton came again soon after, Heffernan let go a steaming shot, the keeper was there to deny him yet again. Bennett had a deflected effort not long after, it could have gone anywhere but was gladly collected by the busy man between the sticks. From mounting pressure a Congleton rarity was achieved - a free-kick no less. The execution was simple, the ball floated across goal and No 15 (Ollie Griffiths) performed a simple header, an easy goal, the game was far from over. The last dregs, another free-kick for The Vale, this time dealt with. Desire and passion dictated the closing minutes, a late Congleton corner saw the keeper dash forth - it was shit or bust folks. Ball in, out, throw in, blast over and...the referee had had enough. Phew, that was a decent game on a lovely late summer evening with a few goals had, a couple of nice chats and 2 cups of tea to boot. Man of the Match for me goes to Denton Town's No 5 (Luke Bottrell) who I thought was dominant throughout, in command of his own situation and who played a perfectly measured and robust game - a veritable linchpin at the back that is for sure. We watched the players tootle off and headed home, I think we will be back soon to this ground - by heck tis only 20 minutes down the road, what excuses can I offer?
FINAL THOUGHT - The bare bollocks of non-league football were on show tonight as a small run club came up against another budget built team and played the game how it should be played - with good heart, good respect, decent passion and for the sheer love of it. My heart is always with this kind of shizzle, there is something more real about things that throw caution to the wind and have little concern for the coin and the corrupting crap that comes with it. I don't think there was a booking in tonight's game, barely any obnoxious dissent was given, and the flow was constant throughout and brought many moments of excitement for we low down perusers of the glorious game. I am glad to do my reports for events such as this, I hope it keeps people invigorated and, perhaps, sexually on edge (I live in hope) but more than anything if it gets a few extra arses on the touchline, a few others doing something and those that are already committed determined to hang on in then I'll be happy with that - a fine night out, free entry too - by heck what is there to complain about - well besides the dogshit of course. End verdict - splendid and both teams look to have enough to hold their own in this league - well played to all.
Monday, 13 August 2018
FA FOR ROAD (LITERALLY)
11th August 2018 - Maine Road 0 v 1 Handsworth Parramore - My last match for a couple of weeks, gigs, walks and work are dictating at the mo, I was hoping this would be a good un' after waking up from another bout of nightmares, indulging in some decorating and in between, sorting out a few more wildlife records that seem to never end. This was the first FA Cup match of the season, Maine Road are a local side I have seen go downwards over the last few seasons and whom I was sincerely hoping would get back on a good footing as soon as possible. I knew nothing of today's opponents, I don't mind that, as a perennial neutral it all adds to the intrigue and mystique. So, after some chicken legs and trifle for dinner and a few final chores my good lady dropped me off at the ground where I met up with my fine non-league punk comrade Stu Taylor of STP infamy. Tea was an obligation, a seat taken, a chat enjoyed and we looked forward to the game ahead as well as the the following Manchester Punx Picnic. Chances are there would be more fouls, offside behaviour and claims of dirty play at the gig rather than during the match but one thing would be for sure, the noise would be lovely and liable to nobble yer nadgers in fine style. So as the teams came out, so did my nadgers (oops), I mean notepad, and what I witnessed was scrawled down as thus (with a few edit's).
The initial play saw the Parramore pack display a settled discipline and a determination to build with good patience. Their footballing approach was very easy on the eye and it was a surprise in some ways to see No 11 (Chrysty O' Brien) for The Road have the first crack on goal. A slight gap at the rear was pounced upon, the striker raced through but put the shot over the bar - a fair chance if you ask me. The HP lads continued to remain calm and pushed the ball around in a very authoritative manner, No 6 (Oscar Radford) at the back a typical example of the style on display. Suddenly, against the grain once more No 9 (Simon Thompson) for the hosts was in and used good strength that led to a run and a hefty release. The ball stayed low, a gasp from a few spectators exaggerated hope (and here's me thinking the referee's todger had fallen out), alas the target was missed but only by mere inches. In response the opposite No 9 (Jonathon Frogary) followed a bout of robust tackling with a 'turn and twat' effort that was also close but just missing the upright. Maine Road however were growing into the matters at hand, indulged in a wonderful move that brought great applause but only ended with a tame cross - the potential was there to be built on though, the first real stone of hope laid. A pressure now ensued, it was on the MR defense as the guests dug deep in the now expected mid-paced way. A throw-in high up the park saw a flick on in the box, a hoofing off the line and somehow the mitter ending up with his hands on the pinging globe. Soon after an exquisite move by Parramore saw several chances to shoot get passed by until No 8 (Jed Phillips) took it upon himself to try a sweet floating chip that just wouldn't come back to earth quick enough. In the all action game, Thompson had a swivel and shot at the other end and was just shy of the mark - the first goal here was going to be one crucial strike that's for sure.
A fair battling session followed, a captivating affair unfolded with many honest performances to be witnessed. From this spell of midfield warfare the visiting tribe burst from nowhere, a cross came, a nod on and up stepped Phillips to tap home - how easy was that? A deserved lead in many respects and as the half progressed Handsworth Parramore let the ball do all the work whilst they stroked it this way and that and kept their opponents scurrying. Before the half-time whistle me and my mate Stu wandered to get tea and watched the last bit of action on the move. Parramore progressed with purpose, the ball flew across the Road goal-face on two occasions, the mittman was mighty relieved to finally get his gloves around the globe. The half ended with the guests in control - we pootled off, purchased tea and considered a good do thus far.
The second half began with HP in ascendancy, Maine Road still scuttling away like beetles wired up on steroids. A talking to was needed for several players who seemed to be getting a trifle hot under the collar. The guests had a free-kick which went into the box, received a nut on and a powerless shot at the end, was the screw turning once more? More madness crept in, a few players needed a ticking off and a card by the man in black, amazingly some of these were delivered to the side in front - some buggers just never learn. These minor cracks allowed Maine Road to work back into the contest with No 10 (Jamie Roe) going on a belting little run that led to Thompson having another quick fire crack that was once more wide of the upright. I once knew a man with a quick fire crack by the way, 6 anal corks, 5 operations and 2 ring replacements couldn't help him - it were a shit life that is for sure (literally). Back to the action, a MR free-punt floated in from the angle and was nutted goalward without power and then after some more rampant roaming Thomspon was at the arse end of a quality move and struck a half volley that could have gone anyway but was ultimately dealt with. As Road pushed the Parramore sub had a cross cleared off the line and as the half-time draw man wandered in search of a winner Hp's Radford rasped in a blazing cross that ended with a lunatic lashing from a few feet out - luckily for the offender I missed his shirt number.
Both teams were now cancelling each other out via much industrious labour and I suspected one goal either way would throw this game into mode 'haywire' - but would another one come? A penalty claim by Handsworth was met with a Maine Road counter. Roe galloped like a good un' but when the last third came a pause, a loss of confidence and an attack of indecision saw the chance evaporate - it was akin to a young noodle attempting to buy his first packet of Benson and Hedges smokes - the approach was confident, the weaving through the aisles well taken, the final question unable to be delivered - one of life's minor tragedies. More huff and puff, more bookings, both No 9's went in the book. Mistakes started to happen, tired legs were being pushed to the max, no real threat arose with a few balls forth harmless, a couple of infringements quelling any danger and the defenses of both teams ruling the roost. The half whizzed by and ended as you were - Handsworth Parramore had maintained their slender lead, remained solid at the back and the Man of the Match must go to their No 2 (Oliver Yates) who played a blinder, co-operated well and played each and every ball with just the right amount of urgency and accuracy - no need for thrills and spills, safe and steady is always the way. Me and my mate headed off to a gig in Manchester that saw us never leave the bar and just indulge in a booze and a chinwag - at least the footy was up to scratch.
FINAL THOUGHT - So Maine Road are still looking to answer a few questions (aren't we all) and are trying darn ruddy hard to get this season rolling before the shit hits the fan and an uphill struggle is there before them. I think this time they can get some momentum going and if they keep a regular group of players a consistency can arise and a period of pleasure can be had for all involved. It isn't easy though, they are in a league of many chomping teams but after this dumping out of the cup they can zone in and set about making their own mark. Handsworth Parramore progress and are a side that I was quite taken with. They play football from front to back, are a measured outfit and have many calming influences who dictate the pace of the game and pick their passes with care. I shall make it my business to pay a visit to this NCEL based team and scribble a report on their home turf. Overall a good solid cup match, both teams had a good dig at the end prize of progression but there can only be one winner - and all the very best of luck to em'.
The initial play saw the Parramore pack display a settled discipline and a determination to build with good patience. Their footballing approach was very easy on the eye and it was a surprise in some ways to see No 11 (Chrysty O' Brien) for The Road have the first crack on goal. A slight gap at the rear was pounced upon, the striker raced through but put the shot over the bar - a fair chance if you ask me. The HP lads continued to remain calm and pushed the ball around in a very authoritative manner, No 6 (Oscar Radford) at the back a typical example of the style on display. Suddenly, against the grain once more No 9 (Simon Thompson) for the hosts was in and used good strength that led to a run and a hefty release. The ball stayed low, a gasp from a few spectators exaggerated hope (and here's me thinking the referee's todger had fallen out), alas the target was missed but only by mere inches. In response the opposite No 9 (Jonathon Frogary) followed a bout of robust tackling with a 'turn and twat' effort that was also close but just missing the upright. Maine Road however were growing into the matters at hand, indulged in a wonderful move that brought great applause but only ended with a tame cross - the potential was there to be built on though, the first real stone of hope laid. A pressure now ensued, it was on the MR defense as the guests dug deep in the now expected mid-paced way. A throw-in high up the park saw a flick on in the box, a hoofing off the line and somehow the mitter ending up with his hands on the pinging globe. Soon after an exquisite move by Parramore saw several chances to shoot get passed by until No 8 (Jed Phillips) took it upon himself to try a sweet floating chip that just wouldn't come back to earth quick enough. In the all action game, Thompson had a swivel and shot at the other end and was just shy of the mark - the first goal here was going to be one crucial strike that's for sure.
A fair battling session followed, a captivating affair unfolded with many honest performances to be witnessed. From this spell of midfield warfare the visiting tribe burst from nowhere, a cross came, a nod on and up stepped Phillips to tap home - how easy was that? A deserved lead in many respects and as the half progressed Handsworth Parramore let the ball do all the work whilst they stroked it this way and that and kept their opponents scurrying. Before the half-time whistle me and my mate Stu wandered to get tea and watched the last bit of action on the move. Parramore progressed with purpose, the ball flew across the Road goal-face on two occasions, the mittman was mighty relieved to finally get his gloves around the globe. The half ended with the guests in control - we pootled off, purchased tea and considered a good do thus far.
The second half began with HP in ascendancy, Maine Road still scuttling away like beetles wired up on steroids. A talking to was needed for several players who seemed to be getting a trifle hot under the collar. The guests had a free-kick which went into the box, received a nut on and a powerless shot at the end, was the screw turning once more? More madness crept in, a few players needed a ticking off and a card by the man in black, amazingly some of these were delivered to the side in front - some buggers just never learn. These minor cracks allowed Maine Road to work back into the contest with No 10 (Jamie Roe) going on a belting little run that led to Thompson having another quick fire crack that was once more wide of the upright. I once knew a man with a quick fire crack by the way, 6 anal corks, 5 operations and 2 ring replacements couldn't help him - it were a shit life that is for sure (literally). Back to the action, a MR free-punt floated in from the angle and was nutted goalward without power and then after some more rampant roaming Thomspon was at the arse end of a quality move and struck a half volley that could have gone anyway but was ultimately dealt with. As Road pushed the Parramore sub had a cross cleared off the line and as the half-time draw man wandered in search of a winner Hp's Radford rasped in a blazing cross that ended with a lunatic lashing from a few feet out - luckily for the offender I missed his shirt number.
Both teams were now cancelling each other out via much industrious labour and I suspected one goal either way would throw this game into mode 'haywire' - but would another one come? A penalty claim by Handsworth was met with a Maine Road counter. Roe galloped like a good un' but when the last third came a pause, a loss of confidence and an attack of indecision saw the chance evaporate - it was akin to a young noodle attempting to buy his first packet of Benson and Hedges smokes - the approach was confident, the weaving through the aisles well taken, the final question unable to be delivered - one of life's minor tragedies. More huff and puff, more bookings, both No 9's went in the book. Mistakes started to happen, tired legs were being pushed to the max, no real threat arose with a few balls forth harmless, a couple of infringements quelling any danger and the defenses of both teams ruling the roost. The half whizzed by and ended as you were - Handsworth Parramore had maintained their slender lead, remained solid at the back and the Man of the Match must go to their No 2 (Oliver Yates) who played a blinder, co-operated well and played each and every ball with just the right amount of urgency and accuracy - no need for thrills and spills, safe and steady is always the way. Me and my mate headed off to a gig in Manchester that saw us never leave the bar and just indulge in a booze and a chinwag - at least the footy was up to scratch.
FINAL THOUGHT - So Maine Road are still looking to answer a few questions (aren't we all) and are trying darn ruddy hard to get this season rolling before the shit hits the fan and an uphill struggle is there before them. I think this time they can get some momentum going and if they keep a regular group of players a consistency can arise and a period of pleasure can be had for all involved. It isn't easy though, they are in a league of many chomping teams but after this dumping out of the cup they can zone in and set about making their own mark. Handsworth Parramore progress and are a side that I was quite taken with. They play football from front to back, are a measured outfit and have many calming influences who dictate the pace of the game and pick their passes with care. I shall make it my business to pay a visit to this NCEL based team and scribble a report on their home turf. Overall a good solid cup match, both teams had a good dig at the end prize of progression but there can only be one winner - and all the very best of luck to em'.
Thursday, 9 August 2018
UNPREDICTABLE MADNESS
7th August 2018 - Cheadle Town 1 v 4 New Mills - I am shagged out at the mo, tis that time of year when I have run myself ragged chasing wildlife, recording what I see and having the fungus season hanging just around the corner. I have a few gigs lined up, exposing the usual DIY dogs and the CD reviews never end - phew. The football season is upon us, this is my 3rd match, a local dabbling featuring 2 teams I have seen many times. I have many grounds on the doorstep, it is good to nip in and support when I can, sometimes it is frustrating that I can' t be everywhere but there ya go - cloning is a long way off and is the world ready for a Fungalpunk army - they say one is enough (rotten bastards). So a day off work and used to tackle many things, time taken to finish my latest book 'The Great Gatsby' was crucial and several chores advanced a little further and avoided having my eye blacked by my good lady (I doth jest). Tea was chomped, the ground arrived at, many familiar faces were in attendance and company enjoyed. My pen was at the ready, the players came out - by heck, I best crack on.
The start to this one was wide open with a noticeable slackness and lack of uniformity apparent all over the pitch. No 7 (Remeece Brown) for the Town was the first to take advantage of the gaping opportunities but the shot was rushed, the ball duly dragged wide of the mark. No sooner had I scribbled my notes than No 9 (Rhys Webb) was weaving forth and pot-shotting but the guest keeper (Michael Street) blocked well and quelled an early breakthrough. The Millers were now under a well-brandished cosh but broke from the pressure and produced a neat bit of wing work that led to a cross and 'bang', No 2 (Jack Beswick) pounced like a magpie on a squashed squirrel, 0 - 1 - the flow had been defied. The visitors now perked up and No 9 (Aaron Dwyer) had 2 quick efforts, a lob and a drive, none of which were testing for the home mittman but which maintained a rising impetus. The good work was there to be built upon but a hopeful ball tossed forth by the Town saw the Millers keeper ponder, dawdle and duly cock-up. Webb caused consternation, pilfered on the line and slotted home - a faux pas by the man between the sticks, we were all level again. At this point I was accosted by a modern day Nostradamus, I was given an insight into how the season will pan out, it is a long story but if you stay tuned to the reports this season the prophet will be held aloft for his glorious insight or duly named and shamed for his misguided predicting mania - watch this space folks!
The game continued, a clobbering for the home No 1 (Daniel Whiting) led to a booking as New Mills looked to reassert their authority. The game was still reckless, both teams playing with untamed abandon and no doubt causing cerebral mystification of any defensive connoisseurs in the crowd. Brown for Cheadle went on a mission, rode several challenges, laid off to Webb who duly won a corner. The ball came in, a handball claim was hopeful, turned down and New Mills broke but were halted in their tracks by a scrambling rear pack. No 11 (Ruben Abreu) for The Town had the next chance, the keeper's hand was strong and from here a quiet spell came with general organisation still lacking. The Millers were looking the tighter unit though with No 7 (Ben Brooks) and Dwyer obvious release valves. A few chances came the visitors way late on but were nothing to write home about, instead I sent a death threat to my parents just for the hell of it (gotta keep life colourful don't ya know). The referee ended the fiasco, half time talks were needed, ping pong football ain't no good for the arthritic neck that's for sure!
I stayed put for half-time and nattered to the Stockport Town secretary about the ins and outs of this grimy but glorious game - thoroughly enjoyed it was too.
The teams came out for half two, the initial play was compelling and exhibited a rollicking desire. Dwyer was through on a brace of occasions but the 2 shots executed were too casual and highly disappointing. A scuffle came soon after, a talking to sufficed, Cheadle attacked, a ball in was palmed out, a poke close in was saved, the crazy football was rearing its head once more. As Cheadle found a spring in their step The Millers broke with Dwyer at the forefront of matters and wasting no time in using his sharp thinking and cool brow to cultivate a shot that found the back of the net - a decent strike indeed and just what was needed to heighten the levels on intrigue. From here the mania persisted, The NM lads were shading the level of quality and providing the better chances for the next strike. As the minutes ticked, Cheadle forced their opponents into deeper territory but there was always the threat of a counter strike, something the home heads needed to be very wary of. No sooner had my thoughts passed from cranium to paper than a break came. A throw in, a shot, a save and a follow up - No 8 (Carlos Meakin) was the beneficiary from a tame keeping palm and cracked home with general ease.
The game, as a contest, was now done. We went into the stretch for home expecting a New Mills win and as they still showed good hunger they also looked to contain matters and see the game to its rightful conclusion. A dry patch followed, Abreu for Cheadle had a blast over and then, from seemingly no apparent danger, No 4 (Aaron Kirk) for New Mills found himself with the ball 35 yards from goal and had a 'fuck it and see' moment. He swung the shank, the ball was propelled forth with sizzling intent, the goalkeeper stretched but saw the projectile fly by with pace and duly punish the awaiting mesh work. A ruddy fine strike, the icing on the lopsided cake and even a bout of late pushing from the hosts could only produce a volley wide from Webb. In return No 10 (Jordan Milne) leathered one for The Millers but was wayward and soon after, that was that. Man of the Match goes to No 10 (Jordan Milne) of New Mills for a hard working and subtle performance that kept his team ticking over in the right direction and competitive throughout - it was a shift done quietly but effectively. I appreciate that. Farewells were had, I buggered off home, what a funny game it had been!
FINAL THOUGHT - This game was a capricious affair guided by the hand of old Mother Wayward who insisted caution was thrown to the wind and a certain carefree venture was indulged in. Both teams (despite the convincing victory for the visitors) need to tighten a few nuts and bolts and make sure they are well drilled in what they do before they hit the hallowed turf again. The ball went back and forth quicker than the pendulous knackers of Eddie Large and at times the defensive cohesion was about as effective as Sid Little in an arm wrestling competition. I enjoyed matters nonetheless, I come, go and just want to see a game - tis great to be a neutral and just take the game for what it is and support oodles of sides rather than just one. Where these teams will end up is anyone's guess, one has ideas, one is looking to remain consistent, on this evidence a gambling man would do well to keep his coins next to his conkers. I contacted the aforementioned visionary after the match to see if he could shed any light on matters. He asked me to pop around his place and look upon his crystal ball - the dirty bugger, I know that operation down below had effected his mind!
The start to this one was wide open with a noticeable slackness and lack of uniformity apparent all over the pitch. No 7 (Remeece Brown) for the Town was the first to take advantage of the gaping opportunities but the shot was rushed, the ball duly dragged wide of the mark. No sooner had I scribbled my notes than No 9 (Rhys Webb) was weaving forth and pot-shotting but the guest keeper (Michael Street) blocked well and quelled an early breakthrough. The Millers were now under a well-brandished cosh but broke from the pressure and produced a neat bit of wing work that led to a cross and 'bang', No 2 (Jack Beswick) pounced like a magpie on a squashed squirrel, 0 - 1 - the flow had been defied. The visitors now perked up and No 9 (Aaron Dwyer) had 2 quick efforts, a lob and a drive, none of which were testing for the home mittman but which maintained a rising impetus. The good work was there to be built upon but a hopeful ball tossed forth by the Town saw the Millers keeper ponder, dawdle and duly cock-up. Webb caused consternation, pilfered on the line and slotted home - a faux pas by the man between the sticks, we were all level again. At this point I was accosted by a modern day Nostradamus, I was given an insight into how the season will pan out, it is a long story but if you stay tuned to the reports this season the prophet will be held aloft for his glorious insight or duly named and shamed for his misguided predicting mania - watch this space folks!
The game continued, a clobbering for the home No 1 (Daniel Whiting) led to a booking as New Mills looked to reassert their authority. The game was still reckless, both teams playing with untamed abandon and no doubt causing cerebral mystification of any defensive connoisseurs in the crowd. Brown for Cheadle went on a mission, rode several challenges, laid off to Webb who duly won a corner. The ball came in, a handball claim was hopeful, turned down and New Mills broke but were halted in their tracks by a scrambling rear pack. No 11 (Ruben Abreu) for The Town had the next chance, the keeper's hand was strong and from here a quiet spell came with general organisation still lacking. The Millers were looking the tighter unit though with No 7 (Ben Brooks) and Dwyer obvious release valves. A few chances came the visitors way late on but were nothing to write home about, instead I sent a death threat to my parents just for the hell of it (gotta keep life colourful don't ya know). The referee ended the fiasco, half time talks were needed, ping pong football ain't no good for the arthritic neck that's for sure!
I stayed put for half-time and nattered to the Stockport Town secretary about the ins and outs of this grimy but glorious game - thoroughly enjoyed it was too.
The teams came out for half two, the initial play was compelling and exhibited a rollicking desire. Dwyer was through on a brace of occasions but the 2 shots executed were too casual and highly disappointing. A scuffle came soon after, a talking to sufficed, Cheadle attacked, a ball in was palmed out, a poke close in was saved, the crazy football was rearing its head once more. As Cheadle found a spring in their step The Millers broke with Dwyer at the forefront of matters and wasting no time in using his sharp thinking and cool brow to cultivate a shot that found the back of the net - a decent strike indeed and just what was needed to heighten the levels on intrigue. From here the mania persisted, The NM lads were shading the level of quality and providing the better chances for the next strike. As the minutes ticked, Cheadle forced their opponents into deeper territory but there was always the threat of a counter strike, something the home heads needed to be very wary of. No sooner had my thoughts passed from cranium to paper than a break came. A throw in, a shot, a save and a follow up - No 8 (Carlos Meakin) was the beneficiary from a tame keeping palm and cracked home with general ease.
The game, as a contest, was now done. We went into the stretch for home expecting a New Mills win and as they still showed good hunger they also looked to contain matters and see the game to its rightful conclusion. A dry patch followed, Abreu for Cheadle had a blast over and then, from seemingly no apparent danger, No 4 (Aaron Kirk) for New Mills found himself with the ball 35 yards from goal and had a 'fuck it and see' moment. He swung the shank, the ball was propelled forth with sizzling intent, the goalkeeper stretched but saw the projectile fly by with pace and duly punish the awaiting mesh work. A ruddy fine strike, the icing on the lopsided cake and even a bout of late pushing from the hosts could only produce a volley wide from Webb. In return No 10 (Jordan Milne) leathered one for The Millers but was wayward and soon after, that was that. Man of the Match goes to No 10 (Jordan Milne) of New Mills for a hard working and subtle performance that kept his team ticking over in the right direction and competitive throughout - it was a shift done quietly but effectively. I appreciate that. Farewells were had, I buggered off home, what a funny game it had been!
FINAL THOUGHT - This game was a capricious affair guided by the hand of old Mother Wayward who insisted caution was thrown to the wind and a certain carefree venture was indulged in. Both teams (despite the convincing victory for the visitors) need to tighten a few nuts and bolts and make sure they are well drilled in what they do before they hit the hallowed turf again. The ball went back and forth quicker than the pendulous knackers of Eddie Large and at times the defensive cohesion was about as effective as Sid Little in an arm wrestling competition. I enjoyed matters nonetheless, I come, go and just want to see a game - tis great to be a neutral and just take the game for what it is and support oodles of sides rather than just one. Where these teams will end up is anyone's guess, one has ideas, one is looking to remain consistent, on this evidence a gambling man would do well to keep his coins next to his conkers. I contacted the aforementioned visionary after the match to see if he could shed any light on matters. He asked me to pop around his place and look upon his crystal ball - the dirty bugger, I know that operation down below had effected his mind!
Wednesday, 8 August 2018
BACH IN THE GROOVE
6th August 2018 - Sandbach Utd 3 v 0 Cheadle Heath Nomads - A midweek pootle with the weather set dry (what's new) and the temperature set warm (they didn't mention the nob-nipping wind). I had been off work today, been for a cycle, caught up with a few bugs and ran over a small dog that burst out of nowhere like a fart from a straining sphincter. The dog was fine, the owners apologetic, and so was I (on both counts). The afternoon was spent catching up, doing an interview for RSPB Stafford, sorting some wildlife photo's, listening to a bit of proto-punk (The Sonics and The Monks) and pondering about getting a new tattoo on me arse - I was tossing up between a nude Cliff Richard on a pogo-stick or a 'Barry Chuckle was a Glue-Sniffer' slogan just to be controversial. After taking my recent batch of head meds I decided to abandon both ideas and spend my money on a 'Dickie Davies Touched Me T-Shirt'. My wife says I'll get in trouble one day, but as I always say, I can plead insanity as good as the man in the adjoining rubber room. So, my lady came home, we got sorted, we headed on down to the ground and arrived with time to slurp and jaw wag with some decent folk. I had no idea how this one would go, I have lost my touch over the summer, in fact I never had it so here is the report free of any embarrassing predictions. Positions taken, tea finished, ball rotating - and...GO!
The commencement had plenty of fizz, the hosts were up for this after their season opening shock loss and so ran with gusto and chased every ball like a testicle-obsessed nut doctor (I have known a few tha' knows). The first opportunity to bust netting came via the home heads with a smart threaded ball finding the feet of the dashing No 6 (Ryan Allcock) who unfortunately dragged disappointingly wide. A stature grew in the hearts of the Sandbachians, The Nomadic 'erberts needed to stay solid and most importantly, calm. A eye-catching move came via the SB squad yet again, No 10 (Kieran Garner-Knapper) finalised matters with a low shot but the visiting keeper sprawled well and conceded the corner rather than the goal. The corner was wasted but Sandbach were rolling hard and No 11 (Michael Blundell) was certainly a pesky customer who needed special attention. Several gratis punts were won, somehow Cheadle managed to keep the goalmouth unmolested but the players were getting tetchy with their disarray - a creeping stress that was surely not going to help matters.
Allcock and No 7 (Josh Lane) were next to advance at the Linotype pack with quality link up play leading to a defensive panic that saw the ball belted behind. A brace of corners came, the one way traffic continued, No 9 (James Kirby) chanced his shank but was over eager and blazed high. The guests were living on a knife edge and soon after the blade was brandished with spiteful intent and an assassin move saw Kirby stay collected in the box and coolly lift the ball over the diving mitttman and break the most frustrating deadlock. The goal had been coming, there had only been one team in this, it was a justifiable strike. In the dregs of the half Kirby broke again but was thwarted by the keeper's feet and at the very last a Nomads free-kick was chucked high whereupon the keeper fumbled and brought a roar of hope from the guest bench. The gloved one recovered (just) and into the dressing room his side went, perhaps unlucky to be only one goal ahead.
My missus and I took shelter from a nipping wind. My nipples were getting angry, we supped tea and shared a Lion Bar - my nipples were happier.
The second half began with The Nomads ablaze and playing with a gratifying urgency that indicated desperate desire - those half-time verbal laxatives were certainly doing the trick. Despite being under the early cosh, Sandbach had the first chances via Garner-Knapper who flashed one right across the goal face and Kirby who had an off-centre lob. A free-kick soon after was dealt with and the Nomads broke. A superb cross was hammered in via No 10 (Liam Millen), the final touch was just missed, unlucky indeed. A great passing sequence was cultivated by the traveling squad, a corner was the reward, a corner that was duly wasted. A few crosses followed, recipients were late on arrival but the fight back was applaudable and the home side had their hands full maintaining their precarious advantage. A penalty shout soon after was hopeful but a strong run from the guest No 2 (Liam Danaher) held more promise and a foul was forced. The free-kick brought a corner, Sandbach mopped up and broke - Kirby was galloping, No 7 (Craig Coates) for Cheadle in hot pursuit. The defensive tackle put in was a stunner, if points were going to be gained for Cheadle this was a moment to remember.
From here a few subs and bookings came, verbals overran and crosses came at both ends in a game that was now truly aflame. Cheadle's No 15 (Danny Browne) was effective since gracing the greenery and had a shot that just lacked killer contact - promising though, promising! This frisky encounter now moved into the back end depths (ooh heck, I am sure there is something homo-erotic in that statement). 2 Nomadic free-kicks came, but like an amputee postman, the quality of the deliveries were shite. Suddenly from the wrong end of the shit stick Kirby for Sandbach found space, turned, twatted and tingled the digits of the man between the sticks. It was a warning, a warning not heeded and after Cheadle had a minor chance Kirby came forward, spied the slightest glimpse of goal and slotted home like a seasoned pro (no not a whore dipped in herbs). It was a kidney punch for the side on the receiving end, and as they battled back and tried to salvage something from a match that was slipping through their grasp another break was had, Kirby was the man once again leading the charge and, just before the final whistle fractured the night air, he bagged his personal hat-trick and killed the game stone dead. The game was up, farewells had, the Man of the Match was undoubtedly the Sandbach United No 9 (James Kirby) who scored three but more importantly put in an outstanding stint and even when not in possession, he ran like a good un' and put the visiting defense under severe pressure - a fine example to all.
FINAL THOUGHT - A game of 2 halves, the first seeing the Linotypers get a real wake up call and get run ragged and shown that this league has teams in it that will certainly be no push over. Incredibly, after a 45 minute drubbing they only conceded one goal but, after a complete turnaround in the second half that displayed fine spirit, they conceded two - oh ye perverse footballing Gods, are we just mortals to be eternally discombobulated by your dabblings? This scoreline was I thought good for both sides insomuch as it showed the visitors that not getting out of the traps quick enough and only playing with sharp cohesion for the second half is not good enough and will undoubtedly lead to disaster, For Sandbach it was a good bounce back after a recent upset and certainly gets them to the team they want to be. We are still in the early days, it is important to get the points building and avoid that yanking pressure that can ruin a season before it has even started. One the way home we listened to some Talking Heads - the road to nowhere is an unforgiving bastard, I all should take note and buckle in for the journey ahead.
The commencement had plenty of fizz, the hosts were up for this after their season opening shock loss and so ran with gusto and chased every ball like a testicle-obsessed nut doctor (I have known a few tha' knows). The first opportunity to bust netting came via the home heads with a smart threaded ball finding the feet of the dashing No 6 (Ryan Allcock) who unfortunately dragged disappointingly wide. A stature grew in the hearts of the Sandbachians, The Nomadic 'erberts needed to stay solid and most importantly, calm. A eye-catching move came via the SB squad yet again, No 10 (Kieran Garner-Knapper) finalised matters with a low shot but the visiting keeper sprawled well and conceded the corner rather than the goal. The corner was wasted but Sandbach were rolling hard and No 11 (Michael Blundell) was certainly a pesky customer who needed special attention. Several gratis punts were won, somehow Cheadle managed to keep the goalmouth unmolested but the players were getting tetchy with their disarray - a creeping stress that was surely not going to help matters.
Allcock and No 7 (Josh Lane) were next to advance at the Linotype pack with quality link up play leading to a defensive panic that saw the ball belted behind. A brace of corners came, the one way traffic continued, No 9 (James Kirby) chanced his shank but was over eager and blazed high. The guests were living on a knife edge and soon after the blade was brandished with spiteful intent and an assassin move saw Kirby stay collected in the box and coolly lift the ball over the diving mitttman and break the most frustrating deadlock. The goal had been coming, there had only been one team in this, it was a justifiable strike. In the dregs of the half Kirby broke again but was thwarted by the keeper's feet and at the very last a Nomads free-kick was chucked high whereupon the keeper fumbled and brought a roar of hope from the guest bench. The gloved one recovered (just) and into the dressing room his side went, perhaps unlucky to be only one goal ahead.
My missus and I took shelter from a nipping wind. My nipples were getting angry, we supped tea and shared a Lion Bar - my nipples were happier.
The second half began with The Nomads ablaze and playing with a gratifying urgency that indicated desperate desire - those half-time verbal laxatives were certainly doing the trick. Despite being under the early cosh, Sandbach had the first chances via Garner-Knapper who flashed one right across the goal face and Kirby who had an off-centre lob. A free-kick soon after was dealt with and the Nomads broke. A superb cross was hammered in via No 10 (Liam Millen), the final touch was just missed, unlucky indeed. A great passing sequence was cultivated by the traveling squad, a corner was the reward, a corner that was duly wasted. A few crosses followed, recipients were late on arrival but the fight back was applaudable and the home side had their hands full maintaining their precarious advantage. A penalty shout soon after was hopeful but a strong run from the guest No 2 (Liam Danaher) held more promise and a foul was forced. The free-kick brought a corner, Sandbach mopped up and broke - Kirby was galloping, No 7 (Craig Coates) for Cheadle in hot pursuit. The defensive tackle put in was a stunner, if points were going to be gained for Cheadle this was a moment to remember.
From here a few subs and bookings came, verbals overran and crosses came at both ends in a game that was now truly aflame. Cheadle's No 15 (Danny Browne) was effective since gracing the greenery and had a shot that just lacked killer contact - promising though, promising! This frisky encounter now moved into the back end depths (ooh heck, I am sure there is something homo-erotic in that statement). 2 Nomadic free-kicks came, but like an amputee postman, the quality of the deliveries were shite. Suddenly from the wrong end of the shit stick Kirby for Sandbach found space, turned, twatted and tingled the digits of the man between the sticks. It was a warning, a warning not heeded and after Cheadle had a minor chance Kirby came forward, spied the slightest glimpse of goal and slotted home like a seasoned pro (no not a whore dipped in herbs). It was a kidney punch for the side on the receiving end, and as they battled back and tried to salvage something from a match that was slipping through their grasp another break was had, Kirby was the man once again leading the charge and, just before the final whistle fractured the night air, he bagged his personal hat-trick and killed the game stone dead. The game was up, farewells had, the Man of the Match was undoubtedly the Sandbach United No 9 (James Kirby) who scored three but more importantly put in an outstanding stint and even when not in possession, he ran like a good un' and put the visiting defense under severe pressure - a fine example to all.
FINAL THOUGHT - A game of 2 halves, the first seeing the Linotypers get a real wake up call and get run ragged and shown that this league has teams in it that will certainly be no push over. Incredibly, after a 45 minute drubbing they only conceded one goal but, after a complete turnaround in the second half that displayed fine spirit, they conceded two - oh ye perverse footballing Gods, are we just mortals to be eternally discombobulated by your dabblings? This scoreline was I thought good for both sides insomuch as it showed the visitors that not getting out of the traps quick enough and only playing with sharp cohesion for the second half is not good enough and will undoubtedly lead to disaster, For Sandbach it was a good bounce back after a recent upset and certainly gets them to the team they want to be. We are still in the early days, it is important to get the points building and avoid that yanking pressure that can ruin a season before it has even started. One the way home we listened to some Talking Heads - the road to nowhere is an unforgiving bastard, I all should take note and buckle in for the journey ahead.
Sunday, 5 August 2018
AND SO IT BEGINS...
4th August 2018 - AFC Blackpool 0 v 0 Cleator Moor Celtic - The summer break is over, the new campaign is here, the recent buzz in the air has not been borne from a sudden unexpected bee influx nor is it down to a sponsored Vibrator-thon led by that Princess of Genital Pleasure - Fanny O 'Russet. No, the tremble on the soundwaves is down to nothing more than the combined buttock-twitching nervousness of all those footballing fanatics who are eager to get down on a reality-sodden touchline, indulge in some refreshing tea and masticate on a good old soggy mass of grease-laden chips. These people want to cast off their back issues of Rubber Nipples 1976, close the final page of their Anal Internationale Annual circa 1928 and get their eager mitts on the latest Non-League programme where they can satiate another fetish, this time without the need for any margarine and clothes pegs (you would be amazed). And so, the day arrived, myself and my fine lady set off to Lytham St Annes where we indulged in a pootle around a local outdoor art exhibition, had a fine Full-English breakfast, took a couple of wildlife wanders and gave evidence to a policemen who had just arrested a nude Unicyclist outside of the local pie shop - I still say it was the gear-stick that the rider was having trouble with and that stain on his seat was certainly gravy. Anyhoo, we arrived at the ground in good time, an eagerness displayed that lasted throughout last season and will no doubt keep us in good stead this time around. The plan this season is to do a mere 60 reports and try and up the quality - this, is assessment No 1, from here it all goes downhill, sideways and occasionally over the other side - don't say I didn't warn you.
After chips, tea and an Arthur Bliss we took our seats and the teams appeared, the home 'erberts clad in tangerine, the away lads in peppermint and white hoops. The man in black let the players take up their positions, a check of the watch was had and that familiar trill of the whistle was heard for the first time this season as the globe got rolling and the action unfolded. No quarter was given in the early throes of the footballing passion with a whole lot of hustle and very little composure making for a somewhat stuttering start similar to the verbiage of Call My Bluff captain, Patrick Campbell (crikey, a flashback). The closest we got to a strike on target came via the visitors No 11 (Stuart Shaw) who lashed, forced the ball to spin quicker than Linda Blair's head in The Exorcist and watched as the sphere flew mile's off target. The hosts reacted, a corner came, No 11 (Carnan Dawson) produced a classy touched, spun and let fly. The ball headed goalwards, the man in green tipped over - a solid moment that raised hope. 2 more corners followed, the first was easily dealt with, the second was knocked to the back post were the liberated No 4 (Alex Caunce) nutted wide - a bad miss, sir, a ruddy bad miss! At the opposite end No 9 (Callum Birdsall) was grappled rather roughly and awarded a free-boot. Shaw stepped up and walloped into the wall with a re-hit thumped into the Heavens. The same occurrence followed, this time for the opposing team after more Wrestlemania affected a defending mind. The shot that came was bilge, had the summer months been so draining and had Big Daddy fever twisted so many vulnerable minds?
The game progressed, both teams refused to run at their opponents rearguard, it was a mistake and the killer pass sought was nowhere in sight. The Celtic lads were now growing into the game, the Blackpool boys were on the rear peg and making a pig's ear of the most simplistic moves. No 3 (Rhys Little) for the travellers connected with a cross, put his pate on the ball and knocked it just over - there was a threat in the air, as well as a Swallow, 2 Feral Pigeons and the smell of footballing bollocks - I really do wonder what some people see! The Cleator contingency advanced soon after a silk laden move was spun, a handball appeal raised the hackles of the bench but the referee remained like the bowels of Elvis Presley - unmoved. Towards the latter end of the half AFC Blackpool dug in, a throw, a clutch of corners all accentuated promise but Cleator Moor stood strong and managed to ride the brief storm. Birdsall for the hooped ones displayed decent muscle as he wormed free from a trio of defensive bods and cracked off a punt. The shot was saved and fell to the eager hooves of No 10 (Liam Johnson) who offended decency with a quite stinking miss. The half ended on a note flatter than the mammaries of Mother Shipton - ooh heck.
We stayed put for half-time, tired out and happy to idle and check the score of other matches. The time whizzed by, half two was here and, I hoped, would be a more rewarding spectacle.
The second period began with a smattering of Blackpool pressure that saw a few crosses come in, one of which forced the mittman to produce a tidy save. The guests worked back, the nuisance that was Birdsall was tripped on the edge of the box but only a corner was given - what went on there then? The ball came in, a handball claim was had, the goalkeeper grabbed and shook off the hollering mania. Both teams now fizzed with life, the game moved up a notch but a panic pervaded and composure was lacking. At each end crosses came, the calmest man on the pitch looked to be the visiting net protector (Craig Divine) who did what he needed to do whenever required with a perspiration free brow. A lunatic penalty shout came for the Moorites, the referee still remained unimpressed. Cleator Moor were now shading matters, AFC Blackpool were back pedaling and getting themselves in some tricky spots. No 5 (Jordon Little) for the Moor had a close in header but cracked over and after a punch from the guest keeper led to a break it looked as though the first strike of the day was about to be had. A sugar sweet ball was played to Johnson who galloped, set his targets and indulged in a bigger botch job than the lip surgery of Lesley Ash - Cod-tastic!.
From here the tempo was turned up another notch, Cleator Moor had a hunger on, another attack soon came, No 7 (Tom Mahone) was at the sharp end and put in a cracking effort that just lacked enough dip to trouble the netting. 2 substitutes for the hosts suggested that the tide needed to be halted. King Canute, get yer boots on! No sooner had the 2 new boys graced the greenery than Mahone for Moor had a shot off target and then Dawson for the home team had a crack but only found the keepers ample midriff. The match levelled out, the home keeper (Alex Cameron) was forced to make a neat close-in save and a goalless draw seemed inescapable. A late explosive run by Celtic's Mahone should have borne juicy fruit but a rush of head blood, a slight bobble and all we ended up with was a sour grape. Cleator Moor had their peckers up now, another break saw uproar follow as an offside flag was hailed as dubious - I must say it seemed a trifle harsh. Only the away team looked like snatching this as the minutes ticked away, just the end killer quality was needed to bag a very important 3 points. Into the final seconds, the green and whites came on strong, a ball came and was punted out. A knock back in, No 4 (Jamie Glover) got his toe on the ball close in and poked forth, the save that came was of lofty standards and, as it turned out, made sure the points were shared. The game was done soon after, a fair result although the visitors were unlucky to pilfer the end prize. We two wanderers pootled off, game over, job done and the Man of the Match Award goes to the aforementioned No 4 (Jamie Glover) for Cleator Moor Celtic who was routinely efficient, kept the head down and eyes on the ball and went about his impressive work quietly but with authority - it is always the best way.
FINAL THOUGHT - A good day all round but just lacking a few goals. My opinions of both teams grew but as this is the first match of a long campaign a full on judgement would be a hard task to complete as tweaks and twangs are needed before any team is up and running it seems. There was good desire from many players but this was overlain by too much rushing and not making the most of the obvious spaces available on the park. Time is of the essence as a slow start can soon lead to a position with pressure and when pressure piles on mistakes can happen. A look at the results after the match has already shown some teams to be flying out of the blocks and a few new clubs holding more than their own, something which Cleator Moor Celtic did very well today. I think the guests, on this evidence will hold their own provided they build with patience and keep their heads cool. Blackpool are a well versed club and play steady game but the lack of chances on goal is a cause for concern and needs addressing as soon as. Dawson put in a good stint and their mittman looks to be a reliable force but teams need to function from front to back with all cogs turning - get the oil-can out lads, here's to a smoother run out next time around. PS - we passed the nude Unicyclist on the way home, all his cogs were turning well and many anatomical parts were well oiled - he may be a future signing for a club in need both on the pitch and...perish the thought...off it!
The game progressed, both teams refused to run at their opponents rearguard, it was a mistake and the killer pass sought was nowhere in sight. The Celtic lads were now growing into the game, the Blackpool boys were on the rear peg and making a pig's ear of the most simplistic moves. No 3 (Rhys Little) for the travellers connected with a cross, put his pate on the ball and knocked it just over - there was a threat in the air, as well as a Swallow, 2 Feral Pigeons and the smell of footballing bollocks - I really do wonder what some people see! The Cleator contingency advanced soon after a silk laden move was spun, a handball appeal raised the hackles of the bench but the referee remained like the bowels of Elvis Presley - unmoved. Towards the latter end of the half AFC Blackpool dug in, a throw, a clutch of corners all accentuated promise but Cleator Moor stood strong and managed to ride the brief storm. Birdsall for the hooped ones displayed decent muscle as he wormed free from a trio of defensive bods and cracked off a punt. The shot was saved and fell to the eager hooves of No 10 (Liam Johnson) who offended decency with a quite stinking miss. The half ended on a note flatter than the mammaries of Mother Shipton - ooh heck.
We stayed put for half-time, tired out and happy to idle and check the score of other matches. The time whizzed by, half two was here and, I hoped, would be a more rewarding spectacle.
The second period began with a smattering of Blackpool pressure that saw a few crosses come in, one of which forced the mittman to produce a tidy save. The guests worked back, the nuisance that was Birdsall was tripped on the edge of the box but only a corner was given - what went on there then? The ball came in, a handball claim was had, the goalkeeper grabbed and shook off the hollering mania. Both teams now fizzed with life, the game moved up a notch but a panic pervaded and composure was lacking. At each end crosses came, the calmest man on the pitch looked to be the visiting net protector (Craig Divine) who did what he needed to do whenever required with a perspiration free brow. A lunatic penalty shout came for the Moorites, the referee still remained unimpressed. Cleator Moor were now shading matters, AFC Blackpool were back pedaling and getting themselves in some tricky spots. No 5 (Jordon Little) for the Moor had a close in header but cracked over and after a punch from the guest keeper led to a break it looked as though the first strike of the day was about to be had. A sugar sweet ball was played to Johnson who galloped, set his targets and indulged in a bigger botch job than the lip surgery of Lesley Ash - Cod-tastic!.
From here the tempo was turned up another notch, Cleator Moor had a hunger on, another attack soon came, No 7 (Tom Mahone) was at the sharp end and put in a cracking effort that just lacked enough dip to trouble the netting. 2 substitutes for the hosts suggested that the tide needed to be halted. King Canute, get yer boots on! No sooner had the 2 new boys graced the greenery than Mahone for Moor had a shot off target and then Dawson for the home team had a crack but only found the keepers ample midriff. The match levelled out, the home keeper (Alex Cameron) was forced to make a neat close-in save and a goalless draw seemed inescapable. A late explosive run by Celtic's Mahone should have borne juicy fruit but a rush of head blood, a slight bobble and all we ended up with was a sour grape. Cleator Moor had their peckers up now, another break saw uproar follow as an offside flag was hailed as dubious - I must say it seemed a trifle harsh. Only the away team looked like snatching this as the minutes ticked away, just the end killer quality was needed to bag a very important 3 points. Into the final seconds, the green and whites came on strong, a ball came and was punted out. A knock back in, No 4 (Jamie Glover) got his toe on the ball close in and poked forth, the save that came was of lofty standards and, as it turned out, made sure the points were shared. The game was done soon after, a fair result although the visitors were unlucky to pilfer the end prize. We two wanderers pootled off, game over, job done and the Man of the Match Award goes to the aforementioned No 4 (Jamie Glover) for Cleator Moor Celtic who was routinely efficient, kept the head down and eyes on the ball and went about his impressive work quietly but with authority - it is always the best way.
FINAL THOUGHT - A good day all round but just lacking a few goals. My opinions of both teams grew but as this is the first match of a long campaign a full on judgement would be a hard task to complete as tweaks and twangs are needed before any team is up and running it seems. There was good desire from many players but this was overlain by too much rushing and not making the most of the obvious spaces available on the park. Time is of the essence as a slow start can soon lead to a position with pressure and when pressure piles on mistakes can happen. A look at the results after the match has already shown some teams to be flying out of the blocks and a few new clubs holding more than their own, something which Cleator Moor Celtic did very well today. I think the guests, on this evidence will hold their own provided they build with patience and keep their heads cool. Blackpool are a well versed club and play steady game but the lack of chances on goal is a cause for concern and needs addressing as soon as. Dawson put in a good stint and their mittman looks to be a reliable force but teams need to function from front to back with all cogs turning - get the oil-can out lads, here's to a smoother run out next time around. PS - we passed the nude Unicyclist on the way home, all his cogs were turning well and many anatomical parts were well oiled - he may be a future signing for a club in need both on the pitch and...perish the thought...off it!
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