THAT'S MOORE LIKE IT

27th February 2022 - Moore Utd 2 v 1 Maine Road Reserves - It seems the world is on the brink of the apocalypse, and yet no matter what, too many folks are marching into Hell with their heads screwed on backwards and not prepared to do a damn thing for the planet.  It makes me puke!  The morn was spent recording nature at a local park near to the ground, with a little effort a few species go on the map and conservation efforts can be done with a little more knowledge - in truth it is pissing in the wind.  Talking of pissing in the wind, why would anyone in their right mind do a football report for a game with only 16 folk in attendance?  Why would anyone stand around in a chill and scribble away and try and put something back?  Well, the option of doing fuck all is no option at all and as a DIY doofer I am happy to pitch in and try and do something for the game at level 'real'.  This is where it matters, down in the soccer cellar where it is one constant struggle to just keep things ticking over without any hope of any big time success.  This is bread and butter booting and I fuckin' love it.  Like my nature jaunts and the music I promote, it is all about getting back to zero and seeing things unaffected and unmolested by greed and kudos.

And so, we arrived at the club early, had a brew, conducted our pootling, returned and had a chat with Maine Road Reserve Coach Darren Jones, a fine amiable chap, trying to do something positive and eager to get his arse in gear.  After the jaw wag me and the missus sat in a bowling hut and had a bite to eat before having a natter with the day's referee - another nice bloke helping keep this game moving.  Eventually the players were out, the few in attendance were in position and we were pitchside with the grandad of The Roads No 10 (Joshua Clegg) - and good company he was.

The game began on the stroke of 2pm, a mere 30 seconds had passed before Moore United attacked down the flank with No 11 (James Sowerby) delivering a choice cross that No 7 (Dylan Glass) connected with and fluffed but duly jabbed home at the second time of asking.  Was this the quickest goal in Cheshire League history?  If so, will the ghosts of Ross and Norris McWhirter be summoned to verify this claim and would the spirit of Roy Castle do a tap-dance in celebration?  Either way - Maine Road reserves looked as though they couldn't give a toss and weren't impressed by this early kick up the arse.

Moore continued to be the more animated pack and repeatedly advanced with notable purpose.  A gratis hoofing was earned, No 10 (Tom Smith) posted onto the cranium of No 9 (Kane Hackett) who disappointingly nutted the globe over the timber.  The hosts came again, Hackett put in a troublesome cross that saw the Maine Road defence get their knickers in a twist and snap a few elastics.  Somehow the trailing teams gonads of fear were tucked in and the danger was dealt with.

Maine Road eventually found their feet on the uneven and adhesive surface.  Clegg was on the end of an overhit free-kick and duly darted and won a corner.  The angled punt was caught by the wind and looked to be curling into the far corner of the meshing but the inside of the post was unkind and the ball bounced to safety.  Moore broke with rapid pace, a cross came and two wannabe assassins flew in to make that all-important killer contact - the final touch never came.

Again the resident ranks poured forth with No 8 (Jordan Rudge) and Glass linking up with the former player having a pop that had a trifle too much elevation. Maine Road, in return, put together a sweet passing move that ended in a free-kick decision.  The attempt on goal from a standing ball was ruddy poor and punishment was duly issued as Moore attacked and wellied the ball from one side of the pitch to the other.  A cross came. Hackett launched himself like a pseudo Bob Latchford and executed a flying header to double the lead - the guests looked gutted.

The game entered the final third of the first period.  More assaults on the MR goal came with headers and shots dealt with but all sending a strong message that the home team were hungry for more.  No 2 (Chris Slater) came close but had a brace of efforts blocked and Road in return had a weak penalty shout after No 11 (Joesef Aloush) went down like a poleaxed piss-pot and Clegg had a pop on goal, but the unforgiving pitch saw the ball bobble and end up flying into the now bracing air.

Half done, we headed back to the hut beside the bowling green and had a warm drink and a choccy bar.  A sit out of the wind with my best mate was grand and by heck the Bounty Bar was smashing.  

Back out for the second half we went to witness Maine Road playing a perilous passing game at the back and not showing any urgency to advance.  Possession was eventually lost, Rudge supplied Hackett who sent the ball into the box where Glass was denied on the line.  A corner ensued and Hackett connected with his noggin but sent the ball wide.  Maine Road were like Naughty Norman Price in a memorable episode of Fireman Sam (no, not the one where he got bummed) and were playing with fire.  

The hosts sensed another goal was about to be gained but the closest they came was when No 6 (Jack Lawrence) had a long range drive just bend away from the target zone.  The blue clad team tried to up the ante but were lacking composure and an all round sharpness. Too many times they lost 50/50 balls and a lack of off the ball work was costing them dear.  

Another corner came for Moore with the guest keeper doing well to punch and then hold the follow-up shot.  The Road kept huffing and puffing with No 12 (Zach Curtis) having a pop wide and then another shot that brought the home keeper into his first bit of action of the day.  The save was regular - nothing more, nothing less.

The game bundled on, from a midfield mire one of the red clad residents was released and had only the keeper to negotiate.  The attacker's first touch was shabby, the mitted man collected the ball with great relief.  A corner the same way came soon after, an ambitious gent tried to execute a hopeful overhead with the result a punt off target and a ruptured scrotum.  Some route one football followed with the Moore keeper booting long and Rudge chasing and looking destined to score from 5 yards out.  Inexplicably the post was struck and I am still wondering how he missed it!

With time running out the scoreline looked settled but on the 90th minute Clegg for Maine Road was in possession out wide, sent in a teasing cross that No 8 (Sam Barnett) bumbled into the net.  2 - 1 and thoughts of a comeback were on, but banished seconds later when the full-time whistle blew.  I think the deserved side won and their No 8 (Jordan Rudge) a good choice for Man of the Match.  A brilliant work ethic, some all round effective movement and a willingness to get stuck in all over the park - a choice stint.

FINAL THOUGHT - a ragged match on a testing playing surface with both teams at the bottom end of the league and looking to build some late season impetus.  Maine Road were disorganised and out of sync today and looked like a team in need of some serious attention.  Commitment to loose balls was lacking, not enough verbals left players in possession not knowing what to do next and a willingness to run off the ball for the full 90 minutes wasn't there. On the plus side, there were many players on show capable of skilful touches and appearing to have the ability to up their game and their sides fortunes - here's hoping.  Moore Utd wanted this and worked hard from the off.  The desire got them through a tricky fixture that was lacking in general flair and delicacy of touch.  The key, when in the mire, is to just dig deep and give it 100% - I think the long ball game is an option here and when the back is up against the wall - kick big chaps, kick big. Sometimes winning ugly is the only way - just ask Quasimodo about the time he won the jackpot on Liberace's One Armed Love Bandit - ooh err!

ROBIN BUGGERS

24th February 2022 - Avro 1 v 2 Ashton United - A week of wicked weather was a good way to blow away the cobwebs and consider why Mother Nature is kicking back against a human mush of neglectful gits?  I did just that and despite already being a nature doofer have decided to try and do a bit more.  Over the last few days, despite work, I still managed to squeeze a Non-League report in and go forth and record a couple of mosses and springtails.  Neither efforts will bring any form of popularity but putting back is what we must do rather than wallow in a pit of self-complacency and apathetic inertia.  After a day off work I went out and about up at work I darted home like a ferret with a curry-dipped rectum. I spent the afternoon reviewing a few songs, microscoping a few bugs and eating chicken butties before heading out and meeting my good lady on the way home from work. We both went to get my daughter from her place of work and then I was dropped off at tonight's footballing ground whereupon I met my mate STP Stu.  It goes without saying that we put the world to rights and partook of a ruddy good brew and some fine chips from Macie's Diner.

Positions were taken and I produced my notepad.  I was a man armed and ready to vandalise paper - I was hopeful of a fine Manchester Premier Cup semi-final encounter, what I got was this:-

The game began, Avro had a couple of early pops at goal that the mittman collected without furrowing the brow. Ashton were struggling to settle as Avro beavered away with good industry.  The guests did manage to win a free-kick which was delivered with whipping accuracy, but the home team stood firm and cleared the danger.  

The game continued in a somewhat fractured and messy fashion with both teams quick to neutralise any threat although Ashton came mighty close with a curling corner posted with pace and pinging off the head of No 5 (Harry Coates) at the back post and dropping inches wide.  On matters went in broken style with very little coming in the way on nob-tingling action. Ashton tried to penetrate but Avro were tighter than a niggardly clam in a recession.

Suddenly the hosts began an assault from the mush, the attack looked to be an innocuous affair until No 9 (Louis Potts) received at the angle and twatted from range. The ball flew with fiery zeal, the keeper lunged but the sphere would not be denied access to the onion bag - 1 - 0 - by heck the game needed it.

From here Avro played with renewed vigour, Potts collected in midfield and executed a delicious curling cross ball that No 11 (Michael Afuye) collected before dashing with ardour - alas the ball escaped true control and ran into the dead zone.  A free-kick soon followed, all that came from it was a clattered keeper who bounced up and just got on with matters - well done that man.

The Ashton pack now dug deep, a late attack saw the ball enter the box, ping back out and get rifled back via the lashing hoof of No 4 (Micahel Brewster) with the crowd of players dissected and the home keeper producing a quite top notch save.  Moments later the Avro net was bulging but the goal was disallowed for who knows what?  Several more jaunts forth were made by the visiting squad before the break with No 14 (Florian Yonsian) having a wild lash fly way off target and No 2 (John Lufudu) partaking of a soaring run that ended with little in the way of threat.  The interval came next, it was a chance to stretch the legs and let the squads rethink matters.

As per, we stayed put for half-time, stood up and shook out the chill with many dashing forth for a drink and of course, a squirt.  I was happy to hold onto my thermally gratifying golden liquid and keep my lower parts a trifle warm. Stu was of the same frame of mind and clenched with devoted passion.

Half two began with a lowering of the chuffs onto cold plastic and a slight groan from the prostate glands.  Avro had a corner that the keeper punched with ease. Afuye collected the stray globe, exposed some mercurial feet and let fly a shot the keeper duly held on to.  

The game ticked on from here, Ashton Utd were showing very little in the way of creativity and were severely out-hustled by the home squad who really had the bit between their teeth. The result of these counterpunching teams was a shabby period that saw little in the way of high end action. Avro kept on niggling away with Potts nutting on from the middle of the park and No 12 (Liam Ellis) gathering and sending forth a good dig that the mitter did well to save. The game looked to be ending in a 1 - 0 home win when...

...from seemingly nowhere the away team were born again. Despite Avro going close the Ashton Army survived and started to push with some real zeal.  Suddenly, on the 90th minute the leading pack became jittery, a ball entered the box, from the defensive disarray Yonsian appeared and wasted no time firing at goal - and as if by a quirk of twisted fate - the net duly bulged.

Penalties now loomed, we were in added time. Ashton summoned one last surge with a ball threaded through, space found and No 15 (Ben Hardcastle) keeping his head and firing the ball home.  Uproar ensued from the visitors, utter disgust was emanated from the resident ranks. What the utter buggery had happened here then? Before the final whistle it could have been 3 (and confirmed my pre-match prediction) but Brewster was denied by a solid near post save.  Soon after the game was done, The Robins had been under the cosh, kept on pecking away and eventually fluttered away with the fatball of success.  Man of the Match however goes to Avro's No 11 (Michael Afuye), a man who posed constant threat, weaved this way and that with eye-snagging skill and on many occasions led his markers a merry dance - next time I hope he is on the winning team.

FINAL THOUGHT - This was far from a classic game, in fact at times I think I would have been more enthralled watching game of chess between Plumpton's champion of the board Monotone Mick Bishop and Flatline Peter Pawn of Bolton.  To be fair though both units battled away with the hosts working as a tireless pack and giving the opposing force very little room to manoeuvre.   They moved with sharp impetus and I thought defended with a concentrated focus.  They are doing well in their respective league and tonight was clear evidence of why that was.  Ashton United didn't play that well (or weren't allowed to) and really had a somewhat mundane night but yet still pilfered the end prize.  The determination to play out the full running time got them through and maybe, just maybe, their name is already written on the cup.  They got lucky tonight, the buggers stole the show, they will have to be on it next time if they want to be crowned champions - get yer tickets booked folks and good luck to em'.

SECOND HALF ST'ISLE

19th February 2022 - Stafford Town 1 v 5 FC Isle of Man - After a lengthy break I was ready to scribble a match report again and decided a new ground would be an ideal reason to put pen to paper.  An early morning trip with the missus was made to Stafford with tea and cake in the Albert Cafe on Victoria Park had and then a walk around the local shops made due to the piddling rain having put a kybosh on our nature ramblings.  We also had a lovely trip to a rare second hand book store tucked away on a business estate. Visits are by appointment, we were lucky the owner was on site.  After making a few purchases we headed to the football where warm drinks were glugged and much needed victuals consumed. It must be stated that the purchased pasty was a ruddy stunner and didn't half warm the cockles.  I did consider shoving it up my arse to keep certain other bodily parts thermally pleased but I think I chose the best option - what a beauty it was.

So, after a middling wait a good crowd took up their positions, the teams came forth and the game got underway at 1.45pm (an early start so the IOM lads can get their plane back home). No sooner had the game started than the home No 8 (Declan Arber) had received and executed a delectable turn which gave him time to feed his comrade No 9 (Matthew Pinder).  A dash was made, the visiting keeper advanced and the wannabe striker was tumbled. Penalty pleas rained down on the lugs of the central official, his failure to agree got him labelled 'useless'.  Well I suppose its better than being called a 'wanker'.

The game continued, the guests progressed with liquid precision, No 9 (Sean Doyle) was the at the apex and put in a shot that was a trifle too tame allowing the mittman to collect with ease.  Soon after the same team advanced once more with a corner void of excitement but a free-kick culminating in a looping shot by No 4 (Jack Camarda) who, once again, could only find the awaiting keeper's gloved paws. Within the twitch of a fidgets foreskin the guests came yet again. A ball entered the box, a bout of head tennis ended with No 7 (Lee Gale) sending a rasper across the face of goal with no striker in position to touch home.  The two circling Buzzards overhead seemed disappointed although a nearby Carrion Crow was in a right flap.  Seeing that he has a close relationship with The Ravens I could see why.

The game remained animated, Arber and effervescent No 7 (Nathan Scott) for The Town indulged in a lovely link-up next with the latter player posting a shot cum cross into the zone of peril but without any incoming striker found.  The Staffs pushed on but were caught by a straight forward break that saw No 11 (Daniel Simpson) race away and only have the keeper to beat.  The No 1 (Henry Smith) stood tall, kept his eye on the globe and saved with eye-catching efficiency - well done fella.

This was proving to be a good contest with Stafford Town doing well to edge matters.  Scott was an active and integral component and had the next pop at goal with the guest gloved guardian only holding at the second attempt. Again the hosts came, numerous chances to bury were on offer but mis-kicks and mis-timings were the order of the day.  The Isle of Man pack though failed to clear their lines and the so-far impressive Arber received, had a look and walloped home - a well-taken goal and a well deserved lead to say the least.

Onwards we raced, the guests had a rare sortie with the ball going many ways before Williams sent in a whistling shot that the keeper left and saw fly past his upright.  Next, and following a Staffs foray forward the IOM unit broke with electric pace via Simpson who galloped like a gopher with his gonads on on fire. The legs were a blur, the cross released was sugar sweet and found the awaiting cranium of No 9 (Sean Doyle) who nutted home to round off a brilliant counterpunch.

The dregs of the first half came, Scott for the hosts rattled away and provided a cross that saw Pinder denied at the last. Before the break the visitors forced the hosts into some last ditch defending that resulted in a corner.  The angled hoof came and was heading straight into the net but the keeper reached up on high and tipped over.  Another corner from the opposite side followed.  The ball was struck firm and long and the greying bonce on No 6 (Sean Quaye) was there to bury and turn the half on its head.  The guests had been under the cosh, but strode off the pitch for the break 1-2 in front. By heck football is a capricious game.

The wind was now whipping with spite, a queue deterred us from partaking of a brew, we stayed put and dithered and talked about the sunny days when my penis actually resembled a penis and not a shivering slug.  I normally don't feel the cold but we had been out since 9am and I was jacket-free - I does stupid very well.

Half-two and as the trembling pen was put to breeze blown paper the first action of note saw two attempts at goal by the leading back with both efforts not even close.  The game regained a certain parity with Stafford doing well to hang on in there.  In fact, it was the resident No 10 (Joshua Wilson) who had the next crack at glory with a low sizzler that zoomed past the vertical woodwork by mere inches.

The frontrunners now responded. Williams displayed meaty strength and beat off two players before cracking one wide.  Gale soon had a marauding meddle and put in a pinpoint accurate cross that Doyle  duly accepted at the back post and banged home - now that was a suckerpunch. Stafford strove to respond to this latest blow but were caught by a counter that was nulled by an offside call. The travellers came again, the ball was pilfered in midfield and Doyle was away and producing a shot that needed solid keeping attention.  The angled kick that followed saw Doyle in the mix again and contribute a flick header that was just to high to make an impression.

The game was flowing away from the grasp of the hosts with the opposing force always looking dangerous when in possession. More shots came at the Stafford goal with the lads under the cosh just managing to survive.  Stafford did summon enough spirit to win a corner that was delivered, knocked out, re-posted and finally executed by an audacious overhead kick by Arber - the outcome was closer than one expected but not close enough.

The closing stages came, the Isle of Man produced a scintillating 3-pass move that saw the end touch to goal bring out another splendid save from the man between the timber.  Shortly after though, more probing and good movement saw No 10 (Luke Murray) pick up on a clearance and slam the ball home with consummate authority.  The scoreline was now getting out of hand but the Ravens weren't done yet.  Another bout of passing, a ball in to Murray who took one touch and walloped home - that was that and soon after the referee brought the game to a close.  Stafford Town looked bewildered, the Isle of Man strode off and looked proud of a job well done.  The Man of the Match for me was Isle of Man's No 8 (Michael Williams) a solid player, a good decision maker and a crucial cog in a well-oiled machine.  If the visiting team were a scrumptious pasty then this bloke was a right fine chunk of meat (and I mean that in a non-homosexual way).

With the game done we beetled off homeward, a lovely visit to a fair ground this, we may just well return.

FINAL THOUGHTS - And so to the thoughts on the teams.  Stafford Town seemed to have had a whipping today, if one cares to take the evidence on paper as gospel - this was not the case.  They edged the first half and dug deep in the second and along the way displayed some good football and one or two quality players in their midst.  The final third of the game saw them run out of ideas and a little bit of huff and puff but they were up against a strong side who play with patience and a certain precision.  The hosts have had an average season this year but there are great foundations here on which to build - I hope they do just that.  The Isle of Man were one of my pre-season choices to be in the mix and after a slow start they are really on a strong roll and seem to be getting better.  The key to this - well, judging on today's evidence - the fact they remain calm, play to their strengths and repeatedly knock into the box choice ball after choice ball are surely a few reasons why they are doing so well. They do look an efficient machine and are hot on the tails of the leaders with a crunch match just around the corner.  If the IOM brigade can put one over on the leaders (West Didsbury and Chorlton) then the winning of the league can go right to the wire - by heck I can feel my pasty-holding hands shaking with excitement.

MID TABLE MEDDLING

22nd January 2022 - Cheadle Heath Nomads 3 v 1 Alsager Town - This is the first report of the year due to a stodgy start, a need to pick and choose where I scribble and having a slight problem re-capturing my mojo.  The Covid fiasco, the empty headed people, the general piss-take and the days of dishrag grey skies have jaded me no end and with the masses pissing on their own chips, the Mother In Law in hospital again and my good lady worrying her lovely head, I have good reason to be a pissed off bugger,  Never fear though, Fungalised defiance and determination runs deep and I am being productive in many ways. Work on my latest books has been solid of late and I have seen a few new bands this year as well as reaching a total of 50 matches attended for the season.

The morn was spent decorating, typing up some wildlife records and listening to obscure DIY noise by The Conspiracy, Little Bohemia, Smashing Red and other such creative forces. I have my own gig next week, rest assured it will be under-the-radar, as pure as the driven snow and not built on shittery, posing and pleasing the socialites - you see, I am still chomping.

I arrived at the local ground in good time, nattered with some fine, reliable faces, had a brew and 2 sausage sex rolls, one of which I ate whilst the other I shoved up my arse.  I took up my usual position beneath dreary skies and scrawled out my observations on another 90 minute session of ball-booting effort.

The jet-clad authoritarian blew his shrilling gadget, the globe was animated with the first unit to create anything worthy of ink spilling being the hosts who dashed forth and had a penalty shout duly turned down by the referee.  The Bullets quickly pounced next, a shot came that was tidily saved with a follow-up dig also palmed away, this time onto the post and back into the keepers arms.  Moments later the ball was stroked into the opposite net by a keen No 10 (Kyle Foley) although his erection of celebration was soon quelled by the numbing flag of offside.  The arousal levels were soon raised again though when Foley came on strong and No 11 (George Blackwell) sent in a cross that looked to be heading to the belfry of No 9 (Daniel McLaughlin) but instead dropped straight into the net - well, they all count.

From here the Nomads continued to play good, honest, 'on the deck' decent football making the guests earn their onions.  The game though became a battling affair with Alsager more than holding their own.  The next chance came the way of the visitors with No 10 (Stephen Jones) going on a fine, carving run that ended in the box with the final shot neatly blocked by the home No 1 (Adam Rigby).  A corner followed, it had great swing and surprised the attacking Jones whose head the globe pinged off and went over.     

Alsager came again soon after, No 7 (George West) pitched a superb ball over the top that Jones gathered and sent towards goal, once again the keeper saved his side's bacon. A follow-up punt came, it was closer to hitting the recently opened George Gibbons Brothel in Cheadle Hulme rather than the back of the net.  It seems as though we know where the best place to score is, although cross-eyed women dressed as football players has never been my thing.

Nomads now upped the urgency levels, No 2 (Robert Lewis) flew the line like a Moorhen with an avian pervert hot on its tail. A fizzing cross came that exposed McLaughlin's neck as being too short.  The chance went begging, but the same unit were foaming with desire, came on again with a quite sumptuous cross finding No 3 (Kieran Alley) at the back post who duly controlled and cracked home - a quite simple, but eye-catching goal.  

At 2 goals down the guest gang needed to summon up a response, but the best they could offer was a dig over the bar by their ever-willing No 11 (Bobbie McDonnell).  The closing stages of the half saw the Alsager keeper make a good save from a flashing Blackwell shot and then Foley put in a low-drilled cross that just needed the merest touch to send it into the net - alas that touch failed to materialise.  One last effort came via the toes of Alsager's No 9 (Christopher Smith) but genuine power was lacking and that was that.

For the break I stayed put and chatted with Johnny D who had recently started a collection of prosthetic legs in the hope that a civil war would break out soon.  John's business prowess is always to be taken seriously after his investment in absorbent underpants paid off when working in the Diuretic Gas Wars of Limpopo.  The man doesn't piss about when a chance to make some dosh is concerned, I duly put in an order for two-PVC feet and a plastic nipple - one never knows.

Half-two began in balanced fashion.  Thoughts of limb replacements were banished as the Alsager mob strained hard to make some headway. The Nomads just couldn't make any territorial advances as the opposing force pressed on.  The hosts stood firm however and eventually started to build some momentum.  After a grinding period a push came, Foley gained command of the globe and fancied his chances from range,  The peg swung, the ball was sent forth with loft and loop and as the keeper dove it was all to no avail as the top corner was found and the striker jigged around like a man with an arse full of happy pickles.  What a beauty, the delight was justified although when inserting pickles into one's rear always remember to add a finishing cork.

From here we were witness to 6 on-the-bounce corners for the Nomads, several of which held good threat.  Alsager looked relieved to have survived the half-dozen angled assaults and the hoofer was equally relieved to get back to normal play and be substituted soon after.  The home lads where now on top, Foley had another dig with a low daisy decapitator just humming wide of the timber and then, as in the words of Cilla Black - surprise surprise, it was as Alsager advanced, the ball was played in to No 8 (Ben Darby) who took one look and drilled home the ball to gain an unexpected comeback goal.  

We entered the darkening dregs with Alsager renewed but stumbling at the last, The hosts bounced back, a ball was passed to Foley who ran free and noted the keeper off his line.  A chip-shot came, the keeper reached up on high and got a mitt in the way - ooh the lucky blighter.  With a few minutes more played out in middling fashion the game was called to halt and I was left to bid farewells and ponder the Man of the Match.  The choice was Cheadle Heath Nomad's No 5 (Thomas Greenfield) for a quite concrete rear-guard session that was carried out with authority, good discipline and a high level of exactitude.  Keep it up good fellow.

FINAL THOUGHTS - Despite walking through cerebral treacle of late a visit to the Nomads is always a tonic due to the fact there are some good faces involved, a warm welcome guaranteed and the team always tries to play fair, honest football.  Today they got their just deserts and ran out winners due to effective off the ball work, some improved decision making and one stunning goal.  This could be the start of a rewarding run and with a few choice signings of late, I can't see why not.  Alsager Town have been involved in a minor upheaval recently but today exhibited sound evidence of a team sorely underachieving.  The lads worked hard and for 2 thirds of the game put in an applaudable display with many attacking moves well thought out and just failing at the last.  I can see no reason why they will stay in the bottom three and am hoping they build up a good head of steam soon.  Their No 7 (George West) was a particularly eye-catching component and their strikers have net-busting capabilities that just need tapping.  Keep an eye on The Bullet's folks, firing blanks is not their thing.

And that is that, next stop Maine Road v Alsager Town, hopefully the Mother-in-Law will get better, the skies will donate a bit of sun and Johnny D will throw in a bonus synthetic tit due to my company loyalty. The arthritic fingers are crossed.

BURSCOUGH BOMB

28th December 2021 - Burscough FC 0 v 2 Squires Gate - The final game of the year and after a few chores myself and the missus set off and had a scan around several fields near to todays ground. We only saw a few Pink Footed Geese, a flock of Fieldfare and a distant Egret that had all the hallmarks of a Great White.  A pop into Tesco for a drink and snacks was had before we parked up at the ground and devoured a large pack of crisps between us.  STP Stu arrived soon after and all 3 of us entered and purchased a brew.  Fatty me also had some crinkle chips which were ruddy excellent.  A walk around the ground followed and seating eventually chosen with the sun dazzling and the chill slowly growing.  

We people watched for a while, it was entertaining to say the least with a few hoppers twitching for details, some gas-baggers spouting untold depths of soccer knowledge and some perished buggers not really prepared for a chilly day.  'Tis comforting to know the world is full of harmless nutters.

And to the game!

From the start Burscough won an almost instantaneous free-kick.  No 2 (Luke Denson) stepped up and put foot on globe, the effort was both weak and without troubling direction.  The action levels remained high, this was a game laden with early fizz and feistiness.  A Burscough attack soon followed with a low cross ending with the ball resting on the line before being launched clear - now that was close. The Gate Gang worked hard but couldn't gain enough of an early foothold to make any defining impression.  The Burscough bunch came on again, a cross-ball finding No 7 (Conor Christiansen) who fed No 11 (Thomas McNamara) who produced a neat turn and quality strike.  The keeper stretched and saved well and from the corner a defensive header nearly resulted in an own goal.  The follow-on angled kick produced bugger all.

A splat of middling action came with both units working hard but ultimately just negating each other's chances of posing any threat.  The Gate came on, No 7 (Ryan Riley) posted a firm cross, the curly mop of Burscough's No 5 (Mitchell Kinsella) nutted behind for a corner which came and gave rise to a penalty shout - the gent in jet was having none of it. Moments later the same team came again with No 2 (Jacob Ridings) putting in a fine cross that was met by an eager nut.  The ball however pinged off the belfry and went wide of the strike zone.

The Squires from the Gate now were on a roll, No 10 (Joel Mills) surged next with great feet exposed and a free-kick won. Riley took the gratis hoof with a good delivery had but some solid defending easing any peril.  The Burscough Bandits dug deep, cultivated a free-kick from a seemingly innocuous position.  No 9 (Declan Daniels) let fly a sumptuous strike, it was a shame the crossbar wasn't a couple of inches higher as this would have been a decent goal.

The half wound down, the visitors gained the upper hand and turned possession into profit when a corner was won, duly knocked into the penalty box with a nod on ending on the crown of No 6 (Joshua Westwood) who merely pushed on into the onion bag.  0 -1 it was and after a final long range shot from The Gate that failed to double the lead we arrived at the break.

I had a quick piddle during the interval, it was the last vestige of warmth within my body, I expelled the golden fluid with numerous cusses and begrudged muscle squirts.  Back in the seat and a cookie was snaffled and the teams were out and ready to roll.

Half-two began, the home team tried to build some immediate impetus and also made a couple of substitutions.  Squires Gate seemed happy to bide their time and try and grab the odd bonus.  A further goal nearly came when a choice cross caressed the bar and bounced off a striker's face.  That would have been a wicked turn of events.

Despite Burscough gaining territory, the opposing force looked unflustered and destined to bag the next strike.  In fact the next goal nearly came when the hosts pissed about with the ball at the back, the keeper received and tried to hoof clear only to clatter the globe into the SG No 10 (Joel Mills) - fortunately for the trailing team the ball pinged behind for a goal kick.

No 10 (George Lomax) for Burscough went on a sound run next and made space, fed McNamara who made room, let fly but could only find the keeper's midriff. Squires Gate, in return, prodded and poked like a sexed up prostate doctor, the only thing lacking was any notable penetration.  As several passes came and the away team advanced into the box Ridings was tumbled and a penalty was awarded.  No 4 (Daniel Gray) stepped up and the ball was sent into the awaiting netted orifice - 0 - 2 - from here, I couldn't see any way back for the hosts.

Time trickled away, flurries came at each end but no further hair-raising moments arose (especially for balding gits like me) and before we knew it, Squires Gate had thoroughly deserved their two-goal win with Man of The Match going to their No 7 (Ryan Riley) who I thought was subtly effective and a grafting element in the midst of a well-drilled and highly determined team.

We pissed off perished after the match, it had been a chiller but far from a thriller, not as though any Squires Gate fan would be complaining.

FINAL THOUGHT - Burscough FC have a great facility here and must be surely looking to push on in many ways during the forthcoming season.  The game today displayed a team out of sorts with no real cohesion and just a little lacking in the creativity department.  This could be just one of those days or the start of shitty things to come - I reckon matters will be addressed over the next few games this loss can be well and truly forgotten.  The team has many tried and tested players - some days though, even that can't help bag the points.  Squires Gate were remarkably resilient today and exhibited a strong discipline and organisational threat.  The lowly position in no way reflects what transpired on the pitch today and if they can quickly follow-up this away win escapade the season may end on a bright and shiny note.  We haven't visited this lot for a few years, hopefully if the twat known as Boris Johnson doesn't stop meddling with society and pissing people about we may get up there before the end of the campaign.  Even if we do, I will still regard Bojo as a twat anyway.

THE LEGENDS

26th December 2021 - Wythenshawe Amateurs 3 v 0 Wythenshawe Town - A Boxing Day game and this one designed with good will and fine generosity as two teams of Legends graced the verdant turf in the hope of raising a good wealth of conkers for Paces, a specialist centre, charity and school for children and adults with cerebral palsy and motor disorders - how ruddy nice is that?  The charity is based in South Yorkshire but does its outstanding work all across the country - I suggest all should take note and at least give them a follow on Twitter (@wearepaces) and share the word - every little helps tha' knows.  If you can make a small donation, then wham, bam and have a dollop of appreciative jam - it is mighty sweet to be kind don't ya know.

And so, after a festive day that involved a birding walk with a few fungi thrown in, a quiz with my fine lasses, the usual excellent fare cooked by my good lady and some escapist TV (a ghost story, Morecambe and Wise and Doctor in Love) we arose next morn slightly fagged but in the mood to shake off the slack.  Tidying, a clean, a few exercises and a nibble and then sorting the intro to this match report, arses were shifted and out we went to Hollyhedge Park to be greeted by some fine faces and a devilish nip in the air that was determined to wither my wotsits (and believe me they don't need much help these days).

Despite getting a quill and ink for Christmas I thought it best to use just pen and paper for my notes today, one doesn't want to seem pompous as one scribes the script of what transpired on the awaiting turf.  My mate STP Stu has no fear of exhibiting puffed-up grandiosity and today was attired in a royal cape, a pair of crushed velvet plus fours, some Harris Tweed socks and a pair of crocodile skin winkle pickers, the monocle was a mere trifle to accentuate the countenance. For some reason he was only speaking in Latin too - my response to his ramblings was terse  - 'magnus morus ridiculus' - one has to be honest at all times.

NB. Due to having no teamsheets and a DIY scribble of names from one team this report may be a little sketchy - I refuse to apologise and shall make up names at my leisure..

And so, after wags of the mandible and some victuals the chosen spot of viewing for myself, STP Stu, Andy Gray and my lasses was taken and this my dear readers is how the game unfolded.

The spheroid sac was hoofed, the start was fairly well balanced with The Town having a couple of early punts, but posing no threat to the mittman due to the poor accuracy levels. The Ammie Army eventually had a surge, No 11 (Edwin Satsuma) produced some hardy battling, gained the ball from his grafting and laid off a pass to No 8 (Clovis Chestnut) who eyed goal, swung the shank and... found the far end of the car park with his effort.

It seemed as though it might be one of those days when a blind homosexual had more chance of finding  a midget's member than any of these two teams had of finding the back of the net.  Soon after though I stood corrected as an Ammie free-kick was earned and taken and the ball forced a defensive attempt at a clearance which ended up as an own goal - well, I suppose they all count.  

The Town looked now to respond, No 10 (Mee Mee McGoo) exposed good strength behind the admirable belly and won a free-kick for his troubles.  The ball was knocked on, several shots came but numerous carcasses were lunged and the ball was kept from hassling the keeper, by heck some of these blokes are going to be aching tomorrow.

For a period the Ammies applied rising pressure with a few shots attempted but nothing in the way of threat arose.  Town's No 8 (Marfleet Muldoon) helped keep things as they were with some measured control and beefy work, the man was certainly burning off the Turkey.  In fact, it was the visiting team who had the next push with No 2 (Snapper O' Crapper) weaving out wide, cutting in and having a pop that wasn't too far off the mark. Soon after a Ammies break, the guests came again, McGoo held the ball up, had a little weave, laid the ball off for his colleague to sweetly strike.  The man between the sticks however was up to the task and saved with relative ease.

The Ammies were provoked into a swift response.  Satsuma dashed onto a neat thru-ball, a dink over the keeper was cheeky but did the trick, 2 - 0 it was with more shots following but failing to match the precision of this net rippling effort.

Some lovely football followed with the WA No 16 (Bilbo Boggins) driving down the line like a reindeer chasing a dangling scrotum (they are rather fond of them don't ya know).  The cross was perfect, Chestnut applied a firm header but once more the mittman did his bit and contributed a quite choice save.  The half ended with decent action at either end, once again the Ammies had the best chance with a two pass move denied by the ever-ready keeper - this had been a decent spectacle to say the least.

We stayed put for the break and were overjoyed when my missus and young un' brought myself, Andy and Stu some warm beverages - how kind.  We duly swilled, chatted nonsense and tried to comfort Mr Gray who was still fretting about the bald dwarf he had recently run over during his haste to get to the game.  I simply explained that the local circus had a renowned dwarf breeding programme and the short arsed shit will easily be replaced.  Mr Gray seemed relieved, wiped away an unnecessary tear and got back to watching the game.

Half two and many changes had been made throwing the accuracy of this report into wonderful chaos.  Town now looked hungrier but the Ammies were the better organised unit.  After much hustle and bustle it was the home team who had the first crack at goal, this time via a free-kick that was struck firmly but again halted from any net penetration by the agile No 1 (Bruno DaBung).  To be honest though, the visiting team were digging in well now and really working up a lather to try and get a goal back.  Several sorties came, no breakthrough was had, one goal now could really put the vicar amongst the choirboys.

More attempts to gather triumph came, the closest was when the Ammies keeper went walk-about and lost the ball leaving his meshed orifice gaping (I am just glad the aforementioned vicar wasn't lurking).  which went unmolested.  Seconds later though No 19 (Benny Mugwump) gained ownership of the globe, had a crack with the scrambling defender failing to clear off the line - 3 - 0 it was - game done.

From here a few tasty tackles clobbered some aging flesh, a couple of free-kicks were immediately consigned to the memory banks labelled 'wank' and many jaded legs, puffed out arses and wheezing lungs took us to the final whistle.  No 4 (Kenny Clitoris) for the Town had a couple of efforts that lacked a smattering of welly and luck and at the last a one on one situation should have full-stopped matters with a goal, but the end effort was shy of the mark.

We were done, the Men of the Match were all who had taken part for such a deserved cause, and a big round of applause must good to the officials, the backroom staff and all who turned up to support the effort.  Boxing Day for many, is about laying idle or chasing pseudo-bargains, this is the better option and here's to the next one, perhaps with a report that actually contains some real names... then again!

FINAL THOUGHT - Same again next year please!

PADDY POWER

17th December 2021 - Irlam FC 0 v 1 Padiham FC - Due to an incessant spillage of soul destroying shittery, unforeseen circumstances and having a busy personal life, my good lady and I have been rather neglectful in our attendances at the fine old ground of Irlam FC - a club run by fine welcoming folk, a ground it is always a pleasure to visit and where, more often than not, some good footballing action is witnessed.  After both putting in our usual stints at work and sorting out the various necessities of daily living we headed out to Silver Street with a chill pervading the night air and the roads not as busy as usual due to a certain virus-induced panic - beware, beware - 'tis Giant Ants and Invaders from Mars next folks, this is 21st Century suffering, most of which is self-inflicted - what a ruddy mess.  Anyway, Non-League Football is pure escapism and escape we shall with 90 minutes of DIY hoofing.  After a catch up with a few heart-warming faces, a tray of gut filling chips and a cup of thermally aiding cha this my dear readers, is what went on.

The globe of inflated air was first given a kick up the valves on the stroke of 7.45pm with both colour-clad units chasing the darn thing this way and that.  The first squadron to garner any form of success from the rolling reprobate were the visitors with a free-kick eventually earned after being on the wrong end on a clumsy tackle. The globe was posted, a nut rose from the mist and helped it on, No 4 (Tom Walker) keenly swung a shank but in his zeal put the ball way over the horizontal.  Irlam responded to this minor morsel of panic by retaining possession and passing with something close to purpose. Two corners were the meagre results, the first being utterly wasted, the second leading to a shot by No 2 (Morgan Kinsella) that was efficiently blocked.

As the mist settled a shot came from a Padiham player who went unidentified (visibility was rather troublesome at this juncture).  The effort wasn't far off and led to an immediate counter that saw the blue No 10 (John Main) gallop, place a pass to his colleague who rounded the keeper but, from a sharpened angle, could only fire and see the No 1 (Matthew Hamnett) recovered and there to push the ball behind for an angled kick.  The corner produced bugger all before we entered a period of sustained midfield battling.  A penalty shout from the Irlam pack was ignored and a few surges by the guests led to aggravating zilch but the first goal didn't seem to be that far away. As Padiham started to just gain the greater hold on matters an advancement came and a cross into the box gave rise to some semi-concerns.  An Irlam defender nutted away, the ball fell at the tootsies of Paddy's No 9 (Joel Brownhill) who wasted no time in firing home - 0 - 1 it was, one could almost feel a shock was on the cards.

Padiham now exuded greater belief and began to take charge of matters.  Their No 7 (Marcus Perry), an ex-Silver Street boy, went on a dazzling surge and needed tumbling at the last to avoid further penetration. Soon after the same player was the marauder once more as his blazing feet carried him forth, this time with a shot coming but lacking direction and so allowing the keeper to duly save.  No 8 (David Sherlock) had a follow-up but once again the mitter was there to defy a molestation of his onion bag (and who can blame him, it can be a painful experience).

To the half time break it was seen that Irlam were lacking in creativity and just out of sync.  A shot did come from range via No 7 (Millen Brown) with the ball nudged on by No 9 (Ethan Beckford) that nearly resulted in a lucky leveller - alas it was not to be and half-time it was.

For the break my good lady called her mum to get her shopping list for the morrow (she is 92 and someone has to keep up her weekly supplies of rum, fags, caviar and ecstasy tablets) whilst I chatted to the ever amiable Cheadle Heath Nomads manager Jake Davies.  For all trivia fans I can now add that Jake's attempt at keeping living terrapins in his jacksie for a 6 month period ended in failure after one of the said shelled bastards choked on a chip-laden turd - Jake though showed true grit and said another attempt is on the cards - ooh me carapace.

And back to the game... 

...Padiham flew from the traps and displayed an attitude that reeked of 'being up for it'.  Irlam strove to get back into the contest but for all their territorial profit Padiham stood firm and remained the impenetrable force.  Padiham seemed happy to play at their own pace and soak up matters before striving to pounce.  It was a good tactic against a team who were too predictable and lacking in ideas.  The Silver Street army ploughed on with earnest endeavour but each and every time promise rose, it was sent packing by some stout defensive work.  Padiham's Brownhill came close with a punt that just wouldn't stay on target but the game fell into the realms of all bluster with no boom.  

The last 15 came leaving me with little to scribble.  This was a 45 minute session for the midfield connoisseur with some serious mid-pitch intensity had.  Only a couple of half chances came before the final whistle peeped. Irlam had a free-kick that was delivered in a tempting way so as to force several incoming bods to lunge with desperation - the killer touch however was not made.  A substitute for Padiham (darn the mist) had the last dig of the game but couldn't negotiate the keeper and that, as it transpired, was that.  For Man of the Match I opted for Padiham's No 4 (Tom Walker) who stuck to his guns, looked utterly buggered at some stages yet kept on battling and remained solid and who was, a cornerstone to the away teams 3 point win.

Farewells were had and a short chat was enjoyed with that fine friendly Irlam chap Matty Kay - always a joy.  We plan to be back on the touchline next Tuesday - here's to better things for the Blues.

FINAL THOUGHTS - Padiham were desperate for points and tonight this was highly evident as well as a great disciplined and battling effort from all areas that made life mighty difficult for the home squad.  Given the display witnessed I can only envisage the guests surviving the drop and building from here to move up the table and put the wind up a few higher placed teams.   Here's hoping!  Irlam, as proven by the recent results, are on a rough roll but, over the years I have learned to never underestimate this lot and I am sure things will be rectified mighty soon.  The team are just lacking one or two ingredients, the most obvious one being the options available when in an advanced position.  Work off the ball and an injection of pace may help this, it seems only minor tweaks are needed to get things back on track. Again, my hopes are sincere.

So the season rolls on and here we have two teams hoping to gain some semblance of consistency - as said, I shall return to Silver Street next week and as a friend who lives near Padiham has requested a visit I shall be up their end mighty soon - get the chip pan on peeps.

A final mention must go to the two young chaps who were working the food hatch tonight - it is good to see young 'erberts doing their bit and being polite and welcoming in the process - ruddy excellent methinks.