Clitheroe 1 AFC Telford United 1

Northern League Division One
Att. 421

When you are used to industrial estates, wasteland and inner cities for your football action, it comes as a very pleasant change to venture out into the country and rock up to a place like Clitheroe. Situated in the Ribble Valley, the hills on either side of the ground are striking and proud. Thankfully the snow that coats them has relented to rest in this quaint basin of England and the cold snap does not claim this fixture.

Clitheroe will be exceedingly happy that this fixture was able to go ahead on a Saturday as not so many will have travelled from Telford on a weeknight. Indeed the Telford supporters probably account for at least half of the today’s total attendance.

Until the end of last season, Telford’s footballing representatives plied their trade in the Conference but the cost of chasing a football league dream was, for them, rather high, as they went bankrupt and effectively out of existence. À la Wimbledon, but with a more definitive ‘end’ to their original team of choice, Telford fans have chucked an AFC on as a suffix and started a new club in Northern Premier League Division One, 3 tiers below. Strictly speaking they should have started at the bottom rung of the Hellenic League, or somewhere similar but their fan base would bring dollar signs to the eyes of chairmen in whatever division they showed up.

Needless to say the vocal Clitheroe fans, about 4 or 5 of them, kindly remind their visitors of their previous status and team amongst their derisory banter. A sole Telford fan retorts in the second half ‘three of you singing, there’s only three of you singing’. The pause that follows being a communal sucking in of breath, all of us around waiting for someone to say the obvious. Eventually a jolly fellow obliges with the blatant, but still funny, ‘two more than you, then’.

The financial banter is the only thing that is even slightly vulgar about Clitheroe. As I say, the village is just beautiful, a very typical upmarket-ish country town, with modern coffeehouses sat next to shops stocking exclusively woollen garments, and local butcher’s crowing about their prize-winning sausages. There is a kind of fort that looks down upon the town and, as the above photo shows, upon Shawbridge, the home of Clitheroe FC.

Shawbridge is a classic non-league, bits and pieces ground and pretty well appointed when you consider they only popped up from the North West Counties League at the end of last season. A small stand and, the other side of the player’s tunnel, an even smaller structure that could be seating, could be terracing depending on your mood. There is also over on all 3 other sides, but mainly flat0standing or perhaps with a couple of long steps. It feels like home though, the vaguely crumbly bits befitting the antiquity of the town surrounding, with its tall chimneystacks, and a handsome church popping into view over the stands.

Considering their positions at either end of the Unibond Div 1, AFC Telford should find this easy, but far from it. In the first quarter of the game while glorious chances are missed at both ends, Clitheroe’s header just past the post with time, space and a gaping goal on their side is the most disappointing.

Midway through the half, Telford get themselves a penalty but keeper Kris Richens dived full length to make a quality save from Kyle Perry, while the follow up scooted just past the far post.

The miss and penalty let off seemed to galvanise Clitheroe who finally took a well-deserved lead as the ball was held up in front of Telford’s flailing keeper, and laid of excellently for Jason Jones to dance past one defender and thump a defiant shot into the top of the net. The manner of his dance towards the vocal throng on the terraced side showed that this clearly meant a lot.

Perhaps the pressure got to Telford a touch as Leon Drysdale responds to a fairly soft-tackle by rolling rather dramatically on the turf. An indignant Clitheroe gent tells him, forthrightly, “get oop lad, the Grammy’s were last week.”

One can only assume that he thought Drysdale were planning to enter his pained whimpers into the ‘Traditional Pop Vocal’ category.

Clitheroe came out in the second half in the same manner as they had finished the first. However, this only raised the ire of Telford who fought back with gusto forcing a succession of corners. This allowed Clitheroe, however, to pick them off and break away with a shot that cannoned back off the bar.

This though was the last meaningful cut of Clitheroe pressure as Telford commanded from then on, equalising in the 65th minute. A free kick curled into Richens’ body and he made his only mistake of the day in not holding onto it, which allowed meaty midfielder Jack Cudworth the chance to tuck it away.

The final 15 minutes was all Telford but they were just about kept at bay, their best opportunity a skimming shot that looked bound for the bottom corner before Richens’ palmed it just wide of the post.

Come the final whistle, 1-1 suitably reflected the dominant periods of either side, but Clitheroe were likely the more relieved.

A decent game found in gorgeous surroundings, then. It’s what the hobo treadin’ is all about achievin’, when all is said an’ done.

Accrington Stanley 4 Barnet 1

Conference
Att. 1841

When I choose a game to go to of a weekend, there’s always a thought before, and sometimes after, that I could have picked the wrong game, that a better tie may be found elsewhere. You never know which one’s going to offer up the dull 0-0 or the gripping 3-3. Tis a lottery. When you consider I picked this one out weeks ago, I doubt I could have chosen better. For reasons pure and impure, it’s long been an ambition to come to Accrington Stanley...

…and I know what you’re thinking…

…and yeah, I quite fancy a glass of milk right now n’all.

The Accrington Stanley name is, of course, synonymous with old school league football, but despite the same handle, this current club is not the same as that which played in the league between 1921 and 1962, nor the Accrington FC which was a founder member of the league in 1888*. This current club was formed in 1968 reaching the pinnacle of the non-league pyramid just a couple of seasons back. In my humble, it’s not about the financial set up though, but about local affection and like fellow Conferencers Aldershot Town, Accy command a great deal of ‘traditional’ support where the history appears to have been bolted on. However those wilderness years in the lower echelons probably explain the plethora of Blackburn and Man United winter coats and beanie hats in attendance.

The name of a club does mean a lot. It is essentially what you attach to. For example, which club has greater claim on the 1988 FA Cup? AFC Wimbledon or Milton Keynes Dons? I know what the AFC fans think, and I agree with them. There’s probably more who were at Wembley that day that catch the bus to Kingsmeadow than get a train to the National Hockey Stadium, put it that way.

Accy have a significant hardcore and many young faces line up behind the relevant goal in each half. Indeed, I have never seen quite such a variety and array of flags from a home side outside of the league. Giant ones proclaiming their pride alongside smaller ones, such as one which reads ‘Accrington Stanley: Barbados Tour 1995’. Ten years on, I expect they are still working off the hangovers. Arguably the ultimate beano. A Bajan flag unsullied by text also flies proudly further along, while a standard bearing the fizog of Che Guavara is waved throughout the game. Not that it is overly high-brow and politically radical on the terraces here as in the second half we get ‘Accy Stan sing the comedy dramas’ as ‘That’s Living Alright’ is knocked out after a sadly aborted ‘I Could Be So Good For You’.

The Interlink Express Stadium (or the Crown Ground to us traditionalist types) is not exactly as I expected with the stand running the entire length of one side but with very little depth. An old-school corrugated shed runs opposite with uncovered terracing at either end. Should they ever make it into the league, they would find themselves a long way behind the times. However, for the aesthetes, there is a corking view of what I assume is part of the Pennine hills looming over one of the terraced ends.

I came to this game expecting Barnet, who are running away with the Nationwide Conference this season, to run the show but for the entirety of the 90 minutes they make very little impression on the Accrington goal. There is one shot in the second half which the Accy keeper has to force onto the bar and out, and then there is their eventual consolation in the 85th minute, nicked while Stanley were stupidly giddy from hitting the onion in the 83rd AND 84th.

So that’s the ending spoilt for you, let’s take it back the beginning. In fairness though, there is no twist. Accrington pass, move and create for most of the game, it is a scintillating performance that keeps notorious Conference goal-hound Guiliano Grazioli quiet (if you ignore said consolation). Lee McEvilly is particularly impressive, chasing everything and holding the ball up excellently. It is he who scores the first goal, dancing deftly through the Barnet defence to push it under the keeper(the goal is celebrated below).

Accy have several chances to increase their lead in the 1st half, including a header over a gaping goal from 2 yards and a tip over from the Barnet keeper Scott Tynan (below), but it is not to be. Their assault begins instantaneously in the second period as well with saves and goal-line headers required to keep it respectable for the champions elect. Eventually Rory Prenderghast meets an up and under sweetly to double the margin, before Mullin and Craney do their two-in-a-minute double act, that is swiftly followed by a defiant but largely pointless opening of the Barnet account. While the class that has raised the Bees so dominantly to the top of the pile can be seen in bursts, it is well muzzled by the Lancashire side, who are only denied a 5th by the off-side flag. Make no mistake, if the result flattered anyone, it was probably Barnet.

The classic 80s advert, that even as we speak is running through your mind, doesn’t quite fit with the current image of Accy Stan though, and on todays showing, you’d be quite proud to don their shirt. In the mid-80’s, when Liverpool were at the peak of their dominance, Accrington Stanley were plying their trade in the North West Counties league, hence the milk saturated child’s incredulity. Today, a similar marketing ruse would probably find a Man U supporting nipper necking Yakult so he doesn’t have the ignominy of turning out for Castleton Gabriels in later life.

Indeed after todays game, Accy find themselves in second place but the tightness amongst those below Barnet aiming now for the play-offs is such that previous incumbents of second spot, Crawley Town, managed to drop 5 places in the space of an afternoon. Nonetheless if they keep this kind of performance up, Accy should be in the mixer come May and next season we could well see a very familiar name amongst the 92.

For now, the semi-skimmed is on ice.

*Claydon, P. (2004) Peel park revisited. Groundtastic, GT37.

Vauxhall Motors 1 Runcorn FC Halton 2

Conference North
Att. 232

The question on my mind today is: who supports the workies sides in senior football (that referring to Saturday afternoon sides in the football pyramid, not old guys trapping a ball with their zimmer frame on the local Rec)?

Vauxhall Motors have had considerable success in the last few years, even defeating Queens Park Rangers in an FA Cup 1st Round replay at Loftus Road on penalties a couple of seasons back. All clubs pray for these days as a financial boost and also to create awareness in the local area but nonetheless to what do Vauxhall FC fans align themselves?

They can’t possibly all just be Vauxhall workers, surely? Usually when you support a club, there is a pivotal moment where you fall in love with it as representing your hometown (or a relatives hometown), issues of geographical, personal and familial identity abounding. This pivotal moment can concern a club with no personal connection to yourself though, and just be a result of a team, or a single player, capturing your imagination in some way. That’s why I followed Southampton for so long despite being a Portsmouth resident – you can blame Peter Shilton for that. Perhaps therefore the QPR games did just that for some of the faithful here but I doubt their gates have rocketed since then and they certainly aren’t stellar now.

I felt like going around asking fans about their VM connection but my inherent shyness, plus the fact that a chap going round saying ‘Do you work here? Mmm? MMM?’ would probably be expected to follow that up with ‘No? Well then could you vacate the premises’, warned me off.

Furthermore, who PLAYS for the workies sides in senior football? To compete at this level it is difficult to limit yourselves to players from the county, let alone the town your team represents (and some say this is making non-league football edge towards the professional game in terms of football clubs and local identity), so working from the sign-up sheet in the rest room would be nigh on impossible. That said, I like the idea of Vauxhall Motors boss Owen Brown pulling a scratch XI from the canteen queue, but it is fanciful.

Apparently though, the Metropolitan Police side that remains with their heads above water in Ryman League Division One South (2 leagues away from Conference South) IS still made up of jobbing filth. Again, who watches? Off duty officers? Elderly couples still in love with the notion of the upstanding boys in blue (and white at away games)? I personally think it’s ex-cons lapping up the delicious irony of coppers tackling blokes and then getting cautioned themselves.

Portsmouth Royal Navy FC certainly used to be all sailors which made for a very transient squad (any port in a relegation battle) and have changed their name and raison d’etre to ‘United Services Portsmouth’ to help avoid a matchday panic in the dockyard and blokes forcibly removed from their messes and thrown into a kit. They languish in the lower echelons of the Wessex League. Tis hardly surprising.

I will return to this subject in a week or two as a game I have pinpointed as a potential will give yet another example of this.

Certainly though, it seems bizarre that ANYONE should end up at Rivacre Road to watch Vauxhall Motors, as even though they are vaguely associated with Ellesmere Port, they are well outside it in the middle of fackin’ nowhere, which decimates your potential walk-up audience.

Walk-up I must though, as I ‘as no wheels. Nor do I want wheels, but they may have been handy tonight, as the walk from the station is about a mile and a half – no problem to this ol’ stroller – but some of it was through unlit woodland (on a proper road I grant you, but still a little unsettling, especially as I’d come prepared by wearing all-black). Drivers en route to the game must have been quite surprised to come upon me.

Being a Sports and Social, it is part of a complex with a good sized drinker and some plastic five-a-side pitches attached. As you might expect though there are few features in the ground apart from a small plot of covered terracing mirroring an equally small stand on the opposite side. At the back of the terracing is a touching tribute plaque, still surrounded by flowers, to Mark Pearson, the Vauxhall midfielder who collapsed in a game against Northwich Victoria in 1999, and later died, aged 34. Needless to say, I hope he continues to rest in peace.

The ground has been left behind in the wake of their meteoric recent success under Alvin Macdonald and I doubt it would qualify for the Conference National, but I doubt that is on the agenda. Vauxhall, like Crewe on Saturday, are punching above their weight and are probably more than happy with that.

Macdonald left the club and since then taken charge of Runcorn FC Halton, today’s opponents, and hence the reason I picked out this game, plus the fact it’s bit of a South Wirral local derby, but Macdonald has recently been removed from the Runcorn hot seat. Ah well.

The first half is interrupted half way through thanks to floodlight failure but we’re back into it after 15 minutes by which time Runcorn appear to have found their hunger, while Vauxhall’s Motors are still left back in the garage (had to be done). They find themselves 2 goals up with the minimum of fuss thanks to their use of the flanks, causing Vauxhall all sorts of trouble with their pass and move dynamics.

The Motormen go from 0-60 in the 15 minutes of the break and go for it hell for leather in the second period (or is it third after the bulb blackout?) and eventually and deservedly pull one back. They continue to pile on the pressure but, having used all 3 subs, the departure of their striker, seemingly nicknamed ‘Spud’, on a stretcher puts paid to any hopes of salvaging something from the game.

So Vauxhall remain in contention for relegation, and Runcorn are far from safe, both in terms of Conf. North status, and also for their future as a club, as the rent money for their tenancy at Widnes Rugby League’s Halton Stadium is proving hard to come by.

Here’s hoping they can find somewhere suitable back in Runcorn, to take them home, back south of the Mersey.

Crewe Alexandra 1 Wigan Athletic 3

Championship
Att. 7981

You may have started to think I have abandoned my non-league roots, what with all this Chester, Bury and now Crewe malarkey. Old Trafford a month ago? What has become of me? Clearly my patronage of Gigg Lane and such means I am edging towards the prawn sandwiches and away from the pie and peas. Well, not just yet any way. My original pick for today was the exceedingly proletarian Kidsgrove Athletic v Willenhall Town in Unibond Division 1, but a phone call ahead to the ground told me the game was off. I assumed rain, as I couldn’t really hear the guy on the other end. It was only after I’d proffered a cheery ‘Oh well then, fair enough’ and put down the phone that I realised what he might have said was that someone had died, causing the postponement. A gnawing at my knuckle moment, for sure.

Still Crewe was a change point and Gresty Road is new to me and right slap bang next to the station, hence the nickname the Railwaymen. I had a couple of hours to kill so I happened on a bar advertising itself as for Wigan fans and with free chip butties between 12:30 and 2. It was 1pm. Score.

Putting on my best Lancashire accent, I settled in front of the big screen showing Everton v Chelsea and plonked myself next to the table where the chips and bread were being slung. After a while newer punters began to think all the chips were mine, rather than an example of socialism in action, and I’m sad to say, comrades, that I had more than was possibly my fair share. Particularly for an impostor. Ah, the benefits of neutrality, and being a merciless blaggart.

17 notes is more than I’d usually care to pay for a game, I could probably watch Kidsgrove about three times for that, not that that is on the agenda. Once will do, and assuming no-one else stiffs (although checking the Kidsgrove site, it appears my worries were unfounded and, clearly, my deafness is becoming more profound).

However Crewe’s family club image has always appealed to me. The club that creates so many talents but is always resigned to having to sell them, a kind of feeder club for the good of English football in general. They are aware of their limitations and that the Championship is the best they can expect and, indeed, have probably surpassed expectation by achieving relative stability at that level. The football they play, the players they produce and (NICKNAME BASED PUN WARNING) achieving these dreams beyond their station are the reasons that they have the longest serving manager in professional football, and possibly the only one to have a Top Ten dance act named after them, Dario Gradi (i.e. Dario G for those who don't follow the Tip Top 40 charse). Wouldn’t work quite so well with Stan Ternant, I guess.

Dario, after 21 years, isn’t the longest serving manager in all of senior English football though, fact fans, as one of my local non-league clubs here on Merseyside, Marine of the Unibond Northern Premier, have been under the command of Roly Howard for the best part of a third of a century. The other thing people know about Roly Howard is that he is, by trade, a window cleaner, and counts Mark Lawrenson among his customers.

Spit in the bucket, Roly. For me?

Again, though, I veer dramatically off-topic. As I say I like Crewe, they seem a patient bunch that have been given a better ride than they could have imagined, in a nice ground brought up to the 21st century with a gigantic main stand that towers over the three older structures. They seem the kind of fans who would be too polite to boo their own players, the type of crowd you’d like to take home to meet your mother, in essence.

Today though they must have been sorely tempted as Dario’s charges had patches when they appeared totally hapless in the face of an exciting Wigan team that certainly looked the part and still within touching distance of a first season in the Premier League. If this were so, it would come only 27 years after being elected to the league itself – ok, so it’s not a Wimbledon-like meteoric rise, but still pretty good I reckons).

Wigan certainly didn’t look as though they needed help but their first goal came very easily in the opening exchanges and after this Crewe seemed incapable of the passing football they are known for, delivering the ball mostly to their opponents. If I didn’t trust English football so, I’d smell a cut of Hansie action.

Things improve as the half goes on, climaxing with an equaliser right on half-time, with a spillage from the keeper leaving an out-stretched Crewe foot to finish the job. Indeed, Crewe looked of much greater spirit at the beginning of the second period, but it was to be a controversial incident that changed the game. Racing into the area, a Wigan player went down like a sack a’ shite after taking a few steps post-challenge to make sure of getting in the box, and Nathan Ellington calmly stepped up to slot away the spot-kick. Crewe fans took out their profound indignation on the challenged player by booing his every touch from then on, but inside though, you could tell they thought they might go to hell for being so beastly.

After that though it was back to Crewe defending as though accompanied by the ‘Catch the Pigeon’ theme, and when put through, Wigan’s Jason Roberts was given a chance a striker of his calibre just doesn’t miss. He lived up to the billing and put the game out of Crewe’s reach and kept Wigan dreaming of automatic promotion.

I’m in no doubt that Crewe are better than this display would suggest, but for the 90minutes this afternoon, 3-1 was as ideal a result as depiction of proceedings as they come.

Bury 0 Shrewsbury Town 0

League Two
Att. 2233

After the Saturday trip to Altrincham, this game 3 days later represented a chance to travel to the other extreme of the blue veiny tramline that winds it’s way from South Manchester to North. So, I found myself at Gigg Lane, Bury, home of the Shakers.

Time pressures mean I cannot give as much time to this game, blog-wise, as I’d like, but given the scoreline, there ain’t that much to tell. There was a mazy run from Colin Kazim-Richards that, had it resulted in a goal, would have been a Bury classic, but ‘nearly’ was the story of the game. A fair result in truth, although Shrewsbury did bring two full length saves from Andy Marriot.

Gigg Lane is an odd ground, which you can translate to mean that I took rather a shine to it. All-seated with an 11,000-ish capacity (that usually houses about 2,500 punters) it has a traditional feel but with modern features. For example, while at both ends their stands go from corner to the edge of far penalty box, the Cemetery End nonetheless curves round the corner into the South Stand, which is not something you often see in the nether regions of the football league.

Being less than a quarter full, it was notable that the Bury hardcore did not seem to congregate on a large scale, their support being dotted around in 1s and 2s. Perhaps they are not a particularly social bunch, or maybe they just don’t like each other. It was clear from the booing upon the final whistle that they weren’t that fond of their team either.

What else can I tell you by way of highlights? Well the argument between two Shrews fans concerning the merits of their current gaffer was quite entertaining on the tram ride back to Manchester Vicky station. Mmm, highlights, erm…well, I noticed amongst the billboards (believe me, I had plenty of time to look around) that a removal firm advertised their sponsorship of their local side with the phrase “Movers…and Shakers” written large. I bet when they came up with that, they could hardly contain themselves.

Altrincham 1 Barrow 0

FA Trophy Round 4
Att. 1119

After watching Altrincham’s pretty much expected ‘giant’-killing of Leigh RMI in the prior round, I said perhaps the ticket was to follow them through to the next, as they were drawn at home to Barrow. Indeed, my first dip into the Trophy this year was to see Woodley Sports triumph over H&W’s old Southern league chums Ilkeston Town. Woodley would go out in the next round to Barrow, so I’m kinda criss-crossing the road to Villa Park, I guess.

However I’m not so bothered that I wouldn’t happily miss the a round or go somewhere completely unrelated, the other factors played a part, those being a long-standing keenness to visit Moss Lane, and the fact that the crowd was likely to be fairly big and well up for it.

Indeed, below the Conference, you’d be hard-pressed to find two clubs with more history and tradition than those locking horns in the Trophy 4th round today. Barrow, of course, used to be a league club losing their status in 1972 having joined from the Lancashire Combination in 1921. This combined with a lack of competing sporting attractions in Cumbria and a yo-yo existence between the Conference National and the Northern Premier League since their return means they top 1000 for home crowd each week, and their travelling support is welcomed by bar managers throughout the Conference North. A sizeable throng is an attendance today.

Altrincham may only average crowds of 550 at home, but they nonetheless have had great success at the top of non-league pyramid since moving up to the Northern League in 1968. They were part of the first group of clubs that formed the Alliance (later to become Conference) in 1979, winning it in the first two seasons, although sadly this was before promotion and relegation replaced the election system of accession to league status. They would stay in the top-flight of the semi-pro game for the best part of 20 years, although are now in their 5th successive season at the second level, without particularly troubling any title races.

Both clubs also have a envious record in the Trophy itself, with Barrow winning it in it in 1980, while Altrincham have appeared in 3 Wembley finals since 1978 winning in that year as well as in 1986, losing to Enfield in 1982. Needless to say both clubs took a keen interest in this game, the excitement in Barrow leading to 4 coaches being parked up outside the ground and segregation being enforced, a rare thing prior to the semi-finals of this competition, or outside the more modern classier Conference grounds. As a side issue, I have been segregated with the H&W 3 times in our Trophy history, first when we rocked up to Rushden & Diamonds in 1999 as well as for the 2 legs of our semi-final encounter with Tamworth in 2002. If there’s one thing you learn from these experiences, it is far less nerve-wracking to watch your attackers pelt towards you, than the arses of your defenders as they scuttling back on their heels in something approaching blind panic. But I digress…

As kick-off approaches, the atmosphere is pretty buoyant and classic cup-tie, with balloons and singing aplenty. Barrow take up a great deal of their appointed end in a sea of blue shirts. Altrincham’s, amidst their balloons, are leading each other through an impressive range of songs, with their rendition of ‘ I Can’t Help Falling In Love With You’ delivered with mist on its eyelashes. Considering the myriad bastardisations of ‘Go West’ or ‘Here We Go’ that are the usual fall-back of the lazy chant-launcher, relative innovation occurs in the Alty repertoire with one number wrenching a melody and the occasional lyric from Franz Ferdinand’s ‘Matinee’. “Find me and follow me, from Altrincham to Timperley…”. There’s zeitgeist surfing a-happenin’ on the terrace steps of Moss Lane. Who would have thought?

The game doesn’t quite match the build up. While the first half is pretty end to end, the pace doesn’t see any scorch-marks added to the punishment that the pitch has clearly taken this season. Barrow have the first real chance, a header from close range, on the half hour, that scoops over a gaping goal. “Gilt-edged” murmurs an Altrincham fan next to me, quietly checking the numeracy of his blessings. The home side just about shade the first half possession and pressure though, causing a quite gummy old gent somewhere behind me to exclaim “C’mon Alty, we can beat this shower”, before instantly exclaiming it again. Whether this is an appeal for attention, or a short-term memory fault, I am far from sure, but the fact that the shower theme continues repeatedly in the minutes prior to half time may be indicative of a pressing desire to be bathed.

Neither keeper is overly troubled during the course of the game, although Altrincham’s goal sees slightly more of the pressure until the 5th minute of injury time when Altrincham finally steered the golden goal competition away from irrelevancy. The Alty keeper, Stuart Coburn, had been asked by a fan just prior about how a fancied the trip the following Tuesday to Barrow-in-Furness. “I just hope we score now” he replied, as grumpily as he could muster. Moments later he was careering around the pitch as though a starved pitbull were snapping at his heels. Likely to have been contemplating a replay victory for the first three and a half minutes of added time, the Barrow fans’ collective exit was, understandably, slightly less animated.

Chester City 0 Cheltenham Town 3

League Two
Att. 1643

After the aborted trip to the Deva Stadium (or the Saunders-Honda Stadium as it is known to the PA announcer and marketing department) in January, this was a case of putting matters straight. Chester is a nice easy trip from Liverpool and is a quite beautiful city, like Chichester, York and Durham.

The football club however is a 2 mile walk from the station to the arse-end of an industrial estate, but while this conveys an image of tall chimneys and smog, it is fairly new build and no unpleasant. Indeed the Deva Stadium itself has only been in operation for 13 years, and still looks pretty new, and being of even on all sides, feels very comfortable, a bit like the new stands at Hartlepool's Victoria Park, only with a touch less terracing along the sides. An odd fact about the Deva is that it lies slap bang on the Anglo-Cymraeg border, with all but one stand and the club offices being 'in' Wales. Baaa (I'm partly Welsh, I'm allowed!!)

Tonights fixture pits two teams, then, with recent Conference experience. Cheltenham were traditionally a non-league side and their ground still conveys this which shows just how great Steve Cotterill's achievement was to take them from the Southern League to League One (Division Two in the old money) in the space of 5 years. Now Cotterill has gone and Cheltenham are back in League Two, but have fairly consolidated their position as a League side. Although with 3-up, 3-down mooted between League Two and Conference, they could well dip back into the murky non-league waters from time to time.

Chester despite a long league tradition fell out of the league a few seasons back but came back at the end of last year, a steady ship with Mark Wright at the helm. Wright, though, quit on the cusp of this campaign, the rumour being that he was doing the beast with two backs with one of his player's wives. Lost the dressing room, but won the bedroom, y'might say, but I wouldn't be so ungracious.

Now though Wright's former Liverpool team-mate Ian 'Ravishing Rick Rude' Rush is in charge in his first managerial job. He seemed to disappear for a few years after his playing retirement, but now he's back and was even touted for the Welsh job after about 5 games in charge at the Deva.

Ian Rush, aside from the goals and the pepperami-esque physique, was also legendary for his triumphantly Scouse tache. Indeed, despite now being clean shaven and flecked with grey hair, I may well start a feature 'Great Sporting 'Taches Of Our Time' based on many a facial-hair related conversation with my chum, 'Chas' McDevitt. Look out for that, readers.

The game was pretty good, with 2 keeper errors summing up the game. Cheltenham's keeper made a howler of a clearance only for the lob to be just a touch too weak, allowing him to race back and just palm it away before it crossed the line. When Chester were forced into a similar error, a lack of communication meaning a Chester defender Phil Bolland was not aware that keeper Chris Mackenzie had come out to the edge of his area to collect and thus booted is back pass straight into the keeper's foot, Cheltenham almost failed to capitalise. However, while the lob initially hit the post but the alert Steven Gillespie was on hand to tap in a second killer goal for the Robins. The luck was with the Gloucestershire side.

Apparently Gillespie also scored a penalty in the final minute but I had had to scoot for the train, and also missed a second yellow for Chester's David Bayliss. Rush described it as their worst performance of the season, and it was watched by the lowest crowd of the season, about a thousand below their average. On top of this Chester now hover over the relegation mixer, they should be okay as I fancy Cambridge and Kidderminster will succumb, but their forthcoming trip to Kiddie will indeed be vital.